I wake to the sensation of silk sheets against my bare skin and a weight across my chest. Sunlight streams through unfamiliar curtains, casting the room in a golden glow that makes my pounding head throb even more painfully.
Morgan's red hair spills across my chest, her breathing deep and even as she sleeps curled against me. Her arm is draped possessively over my torso, one leg tangled between mine. The scent of sex and expensive perfume hangs heavy in the air.
Fuck. What have I done?
Memories from last night flood my mind in vivid, shameful detail. The whiskey. Morgan straddling me on the couch. Following her to the bedroom where we continued for hours, trying positions I'd never even considered with Lana. The way Morgan commanded me, dominated me, made me beg for release again and again.
We weren't even that drunk. Not really. The alcohol loosened our inhibitions, sure, but I knew exactly what I was doing when I followed her to this bed. When I let her push me onto my back and ride me until we both collapsed in exhaustion.
I ease myself from beneath Morgan's arm, careful not to wake her as I slide out of bed. My body aches in places I didn't know could ache, evidence of our marathon session. Standing naked beside her massive bed, I feel exposed in more ways than one.
Morgan stirs, her eyes fluttering open. Unlike me, she shows no signs of a hangover, her green eyes clear and bright as they focus on me.
"Morning, work husband," she purrs, stretching like a satisfied cat. The sheet falls away, revealing her naked body marked with faint bruises and bite marks I barely remember leaving. "Sleep well?"
"I... yeah," I manage, suddenly very aware of my nakedness. I grab a decorative pillow from a nearby chair, holding it awkwardly in front of myself. "About last night..."
Morgan sits up, not bothering to cover herself. "What about it?" she asks, her tone casual as if we're discussing the weather instead of the fact that my boss and I fucked senseless mere hours after telling my sister there was nothing sexual between us.
"I feel like maybe we crossed a line," I say, the words inadequate for the magnitude of what's happened.
Morgan laughs, the sound musical and unconcerned. "Oh, Adam. We crossed several lines, and quite enthusiastically, I might add." She slides out of bed, completely comfortable in her nudity, as she approaches me. "But that's the beauty of being adults. We get to decide which lines matter."
Her hand reaches out, fingers trailing lightly down my chest. "Are you having regrets already?"
"No, not regrets," I say, my voice quiet. "Just... processing everything."
Morgan's eyes narrow slightly, her lips curving into an amused smile. "You're so shy all of a sudden." She gestures toward the constellation of purple-red marks scattered across her pale skin, the hollow of her throat, the curve of her breast, the inside of her thigh. "There's hardly any point in being modest now, is there? Not after what that mouth of yours did to me last night."
Heat rushes to my face as fragments of memory flash through my mind, my lips on her neck, her collarbone, between her thighs. The way she guided my head, fingers tangled in my hair, directing me exactly where she wanted me.
"I guess not," I admit, lowering the pillow slightly.
Morgan steps closer, invading my personal space with deliberate intent. Her fingertips trace the similar marks she left on me, a particularly vivid bite on my shoulder, the row of scratches down my back.
"You wear my marks beautifully," she murmurs, her voice dropping to that husky register that makes my stomach tighten. "I always knew you would."
Something about her phrasing makes me pause. "Always?"
Morgan blinks, then smiles, recovering quickly. "Figure of speech." She turns away, moving toward her en-suite bathroom with a deliberate sway of her hips. "I'm going to shower. Care to join me? I promise to be gentle this time."
I hesitate, torn between the undeniable pull I feel toward her and the nagging voice in the back of my mind that sounds suspiciously like Sarah. This is dangerous territory, blurring lines that should remain clear.
"I should probably get breakfast started," I say, searching for my scattered clothes.
Morgan pauses in the doorway, looking back at me over her shoulder. "Suit yourself. But the offer stands." She disappears into the bathroom, and moments later, I hear the shower running.
I dress quickly, my mind racing. What does this mean for our arrangement? For my job? For my already complicated life? I can still feel her touch on my skin, taste her on my lips. My body wants nothing more than to follow her into that shower, but my brain is finally catching up with the situation.
I hurry downstairs to the kitchen, trying to escape my own thoughts. The cool marble countertops ground me as I gather ingredients almost on autopilot. Eggs, bacon, fresh herbs from the garden. The routine motions of cooking have always calmed me, but today my hands tremble slightly as I crack eggs into a bowl.
What the hell did I just do? I slept with my boss after a week of working for her. I'm literally the walking cliché of a rebound mistake.
The whisk clatters against the metal bowl as I beat the eggs with more force than necessary. My sister's voice echoes in my head: "You're absolutely certain there's no sexual tension at all between you and this... house manager employer of yours?"
God, Sarah would have a field day with this. I can already picture her smug "I told you so" face.
I'm so lost in my spiraling thoughts that I don't notice the sound of bare feet padding across the kitchen tile until Morgan's voice breaks the silence.
"Mmm, it smells delicious in here."
I nearly drop the spatula as I turn to find Morgan leaning against the doorframe. Her silk robe hangs completely open, revealing every inch of her still-damp body. Water droplets glisten on her pale skin, trailing down between her breasts and across the flat plane of her stomach.
"Jesus, Morgan," I mutter, quickly averting my eyes and focusing intently on the eggs in the pan. "Don't you want to, I don't know, tie that?"
She laughs, the sound rich and unconcerned as she saunters toward me. "Why bother? It's nothing you haven't thoroughly explored already." Her finger traces a path along my spine, making me shiver despite the heat from the stove. "Besides, I like how you look at me when I'm naked."
I swallow hard, desperately trying to focus on not burning breakfast. "Coffee's ready if you want some."
"So domestic," she purrs, moving to pour herself a cup. "Almost like nothing happened between us."
"About that," I begin, carefully sliding perfect omelets onto waiting plates. "I think we should talk about…"
"Don't make a big deal out of it, Adam," Morgan interrupts, waving her hand dismissively. Her silk robe flutters with the movement, still hanging open as she leans against the counter. "It was just sex. Amazing sex, but still just sex."
I set the plates down on the island, trying to gather my thoughts. "But you're my boss. I work for you. I live in your house."
Morgan rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her coffee. "And? Adults can have complicated relationships. Look, I'm not asking for your hand in marriage. We had fun, we can have more fun if you want, or we can pretend it never happened."
"It's not that simple," I protest, though my resolve weakens as she reaches for her fork, the movement causing her robe to slip further off one shoulder.
"It's exactly that simple," she counters, taking a bite of omelet. Her eyes close briefly in appreciation. "God, even your cooking tastes better after we've fucked."
My face burns at her bluntness. "Morgan..."
"What are you so worried about?" She studies me over the rim of her coffee mug. "That I'll fire you if you don't sleep with me again? I wouldn't do that, Adam."
I take a deep breath, setting my coffee mug down carefully. "Look, I just don't think I'm ready to dive into a relationship right now. Everything with Lana is still so fresh, and I…"
Morgan's lips spread into a wide grin, her eyes glittering with amusement. "I wasn't asking to be in a relationship with you, Adam."
The words hit me with unexpected force, like a slap I didn't see coming. Something twists in my chest, a strange, hollow feeling I can't quite identify. Which is ridiculous because I literally just told her I didn't want a relationship. So why does her immediate agreement feel like rejection?
"Oh," I manage, trying to keep my voice neutral. "Right. Of course."
Morgan takes another bite of her omelet, watching me with those calculating green eyes. "You look disappointed," she observes, tilting her head. "Interesting."
"I'm not disappointed," I protest too quickly. "Just... clarifying boundaries."
Morgan sets down her fork and sighs, her expression shifting to something more serious as she studies me.
"I like you, Adam. I really do," she says, her voice softer than usual. "But you're a mess right now. And I'm worth more than being anyone's rebound."
I blink, caught off guard by her sudden candor. Before I can respond, she slides off the barstool and moves behind me, her silk robe brushing against my back. Her arms snake around my waist, and I feel her warm lips press against the side of my neck, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
"Maybe though," she whispers against my skin between gentle kisses, "if you really wanted me, not just as a distraction from Lana, but truly wanted me, I'd give you a chance."
Her teeth graze my earlobe. My body responds immediately to her touch, even as my mind races to process her words.
"Morgan, I..." I start, but the words die in my throat as her hands slide beneath my shirt, her nails lightly scratching across my abdomen.
The sudden blaring of Morgan's phone cuts through the tension between us. Her body stiffens against mine, and when I turn to look at her, her expression has transformed completely. Gone is the seductive temptress. In her place stands a woman whose face has darkened with unmistakable anger. Her eyes narrow dangerously at the device on the counter.
After a moment's hesitation, she reaches for it, glancing at the screen. The fury in her expression melts into resignation.
"Fuck," she mutters, pulling away from me abruptly. "I have a meeting to get to."
She tightens her robe with a sharp tug and heads toward the doorway. "Studio executives," she explains over her shoulder. "Can't keep them waiting."
I stand there, still reeling from her touch and the whiplash of her sudden departure. "Should I save your breakfast?" I call after her.
"Don't bother," she replies, her voice already fading as she climbs the stairs. "I'll grab something on the way."
Twenty minutes later, she reappears in the kitchen, transformed. Gone is the silk-robed seductress. In her place stands a polished professional in a tailored black pantsuit that hugs her curves perfectly. Her red hair is swept back into a sleek ponytail, and her face is impeccably made up, crimson lips matching her manicured nails.
"I'll see you tonight," she says, gathering her designer bag from the counter.
"Of course," I reply, trying to sound casual despite the lingering awkwardness between us. "Any requests? For dinner, I mean."
Morgan pauses, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Roast beef? Something hearty would be nice."
"Sure, I can do that." I nod, already mentally cataloging the ingredients I'll need.
She approaches me then, her heels clicking purposefully across the tile. Before I can react, she leans in and presses her lips to my cheek, the gesture surprisingly tender compared to our earlier intensity.
"Goodbye, work, hubby," she proclaims against my skin, her tone teasing but with an undercurrent of something more possessive.
I stand frozen, my cheek tingling from the unexpected kiss. The door closes behind her with a soft click, leaving me alone in the kitchen with nothing but the lingering scent of her perfume and a head full of confusing thoughts.
Why did her rejection make me want her more?