Morning after

Chapter Fourteen

Andrea’s POV

I wake up the next morning wrapped in the kind of soreness that makes me smile and wince at the same time. My thighs ache, my core feels deliciously used, and there is a pleasant heaviness between my legs that reminds me exactly how thoroughly Tristan claimed me last night. 

I keep my eyes closed for a second longer, just listening to the quiet sounds of him moving around the room. Drawers opening. Fabric rustling. The low click of a watch being fastened.

When I finally peek through my lashes, he is standing in front of the full-length mirror, buttoning his crisp white shirt. The man looks unfairly good in the morning light with his tie half-done, hair still slightly damp from his shower, jaw sharp enough to cut glass. 

My stomach does a little flip. This is the same Tristan who had me on all fours last night, growling filthy praises while he fucked me senseless.

He glances in my direction and a knowing smirk tugs at his lips.

“I know you’re awake, Andrea.”

Busted.

I sit up slowly, clutching the duvet to my chest like it can protect me from those gray eyes. My voice comes out softer than I intend. “Good morning, Master.”

He finishes adjusting his tie and turns fully toward me. For a split second, the corner of his mouth lifts in what might actually be a real smile. 

Wait. Did Mr Hale just… smile? At me? The ruthless billionaire who barely cracks a grin in boardrooms just gave me a tiny, almost soft smile?

He walks closer, stopping at the edge of the bed. “I’m leaving for work soon.” His fingers brush a strand of hair behind my ear. “Have you thought about what you’d like for your first wish?”

Oh. That.

My mind had been too foggy last night, floating on endorphins and the aftershocks of two intense orgasms. I had fallen asleep before I could even decide on anything clever. I bite my lip, then decide to be honest.

“I’d like to call my family occasionally,” I say quietly. “Just to check on Ethan and Mom. I won’t say anything about… us. Or the contract.”

Tristan studies me for a moment, then reaches out and pats my hair gently, almost affectionately. “Smart girl. I knew you’d ask for this.”

My heart lifts with cautious hope. I look up at him, silently praying he does not shut it down.

“Because you were such a good girl for me last night,” he continues, voice low and approving, “I’ll permit it. Three calls a week. But you do not mention any details of our arrangement. My privacy stays private. No outsider hears a word about this. Understood?”

I nod quickly, relief flooding through me. “Yes, Master. I know. Thank you.”

He hums in approval. Then something shifts in his expression, a flicker of reluctance. He sighs, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair and messing it up again.

“Ugh… I don’t want to go to work today.”

My cheeks flush hot. The great Tristan Hale, tycoon and terror of boardrooms, actually sounding annoyed about leaving me?

He leans down, voice dropping into that dangerous register that makes my insides melt. “I’d rather stay here and have you over and over again. Spread you out on this bed and fuck you until you forget every name except mine.”

The words hit straight between my legs. I squeeze my thighs together under the duvet, trying not to squirm. Before I can respond, he bends to kiss me. I turn my face away quickly.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” I mumble, embarrassed.

Tristan does not even pause. He catches my chin gently but firmly, tilting my face back to his. “I don’t care.” His mouth claims mine in a slow, deep kiss that tastes like mint and pure dominance. 

His tongue slides against mine, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world even though he is supposed to be leaving. When he finally pulls back, my lips feel swollen and my breathing is unsteady.

“Come join me for breakfast, love.”

Love? 

I don't know why I'm surprised. It's not his first time calling me that, but right now, the pet name lands strangely soft after everything else when I do not have time to overthink it. 

He leaves the room, and I scramble out of bed. I grab one of his discarded shirts from the chair. It's dark gray, smelling like him and I slip it on. It falls to mid-thigh, the fabric soft and expensive against my bare skin. No panties. The thought makes me feel both naughty and nervous.

Downstairs, he is already at the dining table, coffee in hand. When I appear, his eyes darken as they rake over me in his shirt.

“You really do know how to tease,” Tristan says in approval as he pulls me onto his lap instead of letting me sit in my own chair. One strong arm wraps around my waist, holding me close while Claire quietly serves breakfast. 

We're having fresh fruit, eggs, toast, and that ridiculously expensive juice again. Tristan spears a piece of strawberry with his fork and brings it to my lips.

“Open.”

I obey, letting him feed me. The act feels intimate in a way that goes beyond sex, controlling in the softest way. His free hand rests on my bare thigh under the shirt, thumb stroking lazy circles that send little sparks up my spine.

Between bites, he leans in and kisses me again. This one is slower, teasing. His tongue traces my lower lip before slipping inside, deepening until I am melting against his chest, a quiet moan escaping me. He tastes like string coffee and I like it. When he pulls back, I am breathing harder, wanting so much more.

“You’re dangerous in the morning,” I mutter, trying to inject some sarcasm to hide how affected I am. “One more kiss like that and I might beg you to call in sick.”

Tristan chuckles, low and warm against my ear. “Careful what you wish for, Andrea. I might actually do it.”

He feeds me another bite, then another, his hand never leaving my thigh. The whole breakfast feels like extended foreplay, his fingers occasionally drifting higher, brushing just under the hem of the shirt but never quite giving me what I suddenly crave. 

By the time we finish, I am flushed and aching, my body already remembering last night and wanting a repeat.

Finally, he glances at his watch and sighs. He stands, setting me gently on my feet, then cups my face with both hands for one last kiss. This one is firmer, a promise rather than a tease.

“Be ready when I get home tonight,” he says against my lips, voice dropping back into that commanding tone. “I will test you. And I expect you to pass with flying colors.”

The words send a shiver down my spine, equal parts anticipation and nerves. Test me how? With what rules? The reward system, the punishments… everything still feels new and slightly terrifying.

He pulls back, adjusting his tie one final time, looking every inch the untouchable billionaire again. “Have a good day, Andrea.”

Then he is gone, the front door clicking shut behind him, leaving the penthouse suddenly too quiet.

I stand there in his oversized shirt, lips still tingling, thighs still sore, heart doing weird flips in my chest. Part of me wants to laugh at how ridiculous this all is. Me, Andrea Vale, pretending heiress turned contract mistress, getting fed strawberries on a billionaire’s lap like some twisted fairy tale.

The other part is already counting down the hours until he comes home.

And wondering exactly what kind of “test” a man like Tristan Hale has in mind for tonight.