Sunday Morning

The morning sun sliced through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the bedroom. Nicole stirred, her pelvis aching with a dull, rhythmic throb that served as a visceral reminder of Daniel’s intrusion. She slid from the sheets, her skin feeling tacky. In the bathroom, she leaned over the sink, splashing ice-cold water onto her face. She stared at her reflection; the dark circles under her eyes looked like bruises.

The kitchen smelled of burnt sourdough and bitter roast. John sat at the small wooden table, staring blankly at a laptop screen filled with rejected applications. Daniel leaned against the counter, shirtless, his chest broad and arrogant.

"Morning, sunshine," Daniel said, his voice a low drawl.

Nicole gripped the coffee pot, the heat seeping through the plastic handle. "Morning."

"You look exhausted, Nic," John said, finally looking up.

Nicole poured the coffee, the liquid splashing violently against the ceramic. "It's just... demanding. The quarterly reports are a mess."

Daniel stepped closer, his shoulder brushing hers. He smelled of cedar and a lingering, musky scent that made Nicole’s stomach flip.

"I'm sure her Boss knows exactly how to get what he wants from her," Daniel murmured.

John frowned, glancing between them. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Just a joke about corporate culture, John," Daniel laughed, the sound sharp and devoid of warmth. "By the way, Nic, this coffee is a bit weak. Just like your resolve."

Nicole froze, her fingers drumming against the granite countertop. "I'll make another pot."

"Don't bother," Daniel said, his gaze dropping to the curve of her hips beneath her robe. "I think we've both had enough energy for one morning."

John sighed, rubbing his temples. "I don't know how you handle that place, Nicole. I’d have quit months ago."

"I can't quit," she whispered, avoiding Daniel's predatory smirk. "I can't afford to."