Our Little Secret

Rebecca's POV

I woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of my father’s booming laugh downstairs. My eyes snapped open.

The morning sun was filtering through the curtains of my bedroom and i was on my own bed, in my own nightgown. For a split second, I thought it was all a dream.

Then I moved. I felt a dull, pleasant ache between my thighs. The phantom feeling of being stretched and claimed pulsed through my body like a second heartbeat and it wasn't a dream.

It was Mark.

I sat up quickly, my heart hammering against my ribs. The house was alive. Mum was humming in the kitchen, and I could hear the clink of plates. I looked at my phone, it was 8:00 AM. I had snuck back to my room at 3 AM, tiptoeing past the guest room door, terrified that it would creak open and he'd pull me back inside but he didn't and now, I had to face him.

I took a deep breath, threw on a simple summer dress, and walked downstairs. My legs felt like jelly. When I stepped into the kitchen, my dad was standing by the stove, and Mark was seated at the table, a cup of coffee in his hand, reading the newspaper.

He looked up as I walked in.

He looked exactly the same. Freshly shaved, a blue button-up shirt, his hair perfectly combed and he looked like the respectable, trustworthy family friend he was supposed to be. There was not a single trace of the beast who had growled dirty, filthy things in my ear and torn my robe apart just hours ago.

"Morning, sweetheart," my dad said, not looking up from the bacon. "Did you sleep well?"

"Uh….yeah," I said, my voice cracking slightly. I pulled out a chair, placing myself directly opposite Mark.

As I sat down, my knee accidentally brushed against his under the table and i jjerked back but he didn't move. He just turned the page of his newspaper, his expression completely blank.

Then, the table shifted.

Beneath the tablecloth, hidden from my parents view, I felt his foot slide across the floor. It hooked around my ankle, dragging my foot forward until my heel rested against his calf. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. My dad turned around, placing a plate of eggs in front of me. I forced a smile looking up at him.

"So," my dad said, sitting down with his own plate. "Mark and I were thinking of hitting the golf course today. You want to come and keep us company?"

Mark took a sip of his coffee, his eyes finally meeting mine over the rim of the mug. There was a dark, dangerous glint in them that made my stomach clench.

His foot moved higher. It began to trace a slow, agonizing path up my calf.

"That sounds like a great idea," Mark said, his voice smooth as "But only if she wants to. I don't want to drag her away from her plans."

His foot was now brushing against the back of my knee. Under the table and in front of my father. My mouth went dry. I gripped the fork so hard my knuckles turned white.

"I, uh..." I stammered, trying to focus on my dad's face instead of the electric current shooting up my leg. "I'd... I'd love to come."

Mark gave a small, satisfied nod. His foot stopped moving, but it didn't pull away. It stayed there, warm and possessive against my bare skin, a constant, torturous reminder of what his hands had done to me last night.

"Good girl," my dad chuckled, completely oblivious.

I flinched. Those words were the exact same words Mark had whispered into my ear as I shattered around him last night. I looked down at my plate, my cheeks burning. And when I glanced back up at Mark, he was grinning at me, a predator's grin.

This wasn't just a one-night mistake. He had no intention of letting me forget it.

And the worst part?

I didn't want him to.