I sighed contentedly as I tilted the pan, wrist moving in an easy rhythm while the eggs slid and folded into themselves, soft and golden.

  The kitchen smelled warm and familiar—butter melting, coffee brewing, morning light spilling zily through the sheer curtains. This was my favorite kind of quiet.

  Arms wrapped around me from behind, Elena fitting against my back as if she belonged there—because she did. Her hands rested on my stomach, thumbs brushing slow, absentminded circles that sent a flutter of warmth through my chest and down my spine. She leaned in, her chin near my shoulder, and spoke softly.

  "Those look amazing, darling..."

  Her voice was smooth and unhurried, the same gentle cadence that had made me fall for her over and over again, day after day. It still had that effect on me—steady, grounding, intoxicating all at once.

  I smiled, gncing down as I turned off the heat. The eggs were perfect—fluffy, just set, exactly how she liked them.

  "Only the best for the love of my life," I said with a quiet chuckle, my words easy and honest. I leaned back slightly into her embrace, savoring the moment, thinking—without fear, without hesitation—that someday "girlfriend" would feel too small for what she was to me.

  I carefully slid the steaming eggs onto the pte, positioning them next to the crispy, golden potatoes and the sizzling strips of bacon—her favorite breakfast.

  The memory of the first time she brought me home flickered in my mind. I'd woken up before her that morning, the unfamiliar warmth of her bed still sinking into my bones.

  Without overthinking it, I'd decided to cook for her. Back then, I didn't have a real reason to put in the effort; she was just another client, paying for my body like all the others.

  I let out a slow sigh, the weight of my past pressing down as I stared at the pte. My body bore the marks of those years—faint scars, both physical and otherwise.

  After my parents died in a car crash, I was left with nothing and no one. At sixteen, desperation drove me to the streets, offering myself to mostly older women with cold hands and colder hearts. I was just a kid, selling pieces of myself to survive, transaction after transaction.

  But then came Elena. I was barely eighteen when she first hired me. That night stood out like a beacon in the fog of those dark years.

  Unlike the others, she was gentle, her touch careful, her voice soft as she asked if I was okay, if I needed anything.

  I remember the way her eyes lingered on mine, searching for something beyond the surface. I knew then that she was different, that she saw me as more than just a body for hire.

  And I was right. Three years ter, at twenty-one, my life looks nothing like it did back then. Elena transformed me into something I'd never imagined I could be—a househusband of sorts, though we're not officially married. Not yet, anyway.

  I gnced at the pte again, the smell of breakfast filling the kitchen, and felt a quiet warmth settle in my chest. This routine, this life with her, was something I'd never dared to dream of during those hollow years.

  But now, it's real, and I'm holding onto it with everything I've got.

  I carried the pte over to Elena, who was now settled at the small dining table in our cozy apartment, just big enough for the two of us.

  The morning light streamed through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow on the scratched wooden table we'd picked up secondhand.

  I slid the pte of scrambled eggs and toast in front of her before taking my seat beside her, the chair creaking slightly under my weight.

  I watched her dig in, her movements slow and deliberate, savoring each bite as she twirled her fork between her fingers. Her light colored hair fell over one shoulder, still a little messy from sleep, and I couldn't help but smile at how peaceful she looked in these quiet moments.

  "Got anything big going on at work today?" I asked, letting my right hand drift to her back, scratching lightly over the thin fabric of her work shirt.

  My fingers brushed against the edge of her bra strap, the texture a subtle reminder of her beneath the clothes.

  She chewed thoughtfully before answering, her voice carrying that familiar dry tone.

  "Nah, just the usual grind. Stamping papers, replying to a million emails, setting up meetings with some foreign executives who probably don't even know what time zone they're in. Boring as hell. I just hope my boss isn't a complete jackass today. She's been on my ass ever since I rolled in te a month ago. One damn time, and she acts like I burned the pce down."

  I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin under my lips. Her cheeks flushed a faint rosy pink, and I rested my forehead against her shoulder, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Everything's gonna go just fine today, I promise."

  She tilted her head, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "I hope so... but hey, look on the bright side. If she pisses me off, I get to come home and take all that frustration out on your dick. You know you love it when I get all rough and pound you into the mattress."

  I let out a nervous chuckle, shifting in my seat. Truth be told, I didn't really enjoy it when she got aggressive like that. I endured it because I loved seeing the satisfaction in her eyes afterward, the way her tension melted away.

  If I didn't care so much for her, I'd probably wince or even break down every time she got carried away.

  My pelvis still ached from the st time, a dull reminder of her intensity. But as long as she was happy, I'd manage.

  "Y-Yeah, I guess that's true," I mumbled, forcing a smile as I reached for my coffee mug. The hot liquid burned my tongue slightly, but I welcomed the distraction, sipping slowly while trying to push the memory of her st 'stress relief' session out of my mind. Whatever it took to keep that happy smirk on her face.

  ——-

  Elena