Casual Breakfast

Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, sharp and golden, too bright for Emily’s bloodshot eyes. She hadn’t really slept—just lay there, staring at the carved ceiling, her mind looping over the night in jagged fragments. Jason rose easily, kissed her shoulder, and murmured about breakfast downstairs before tugging on a clean shirt. He looked… normal. Content. As though nothing had happened.

She took longer to get ready, slipping into a pale wrap dress and sliding her feet into flats. In the mirror she looked ordinary, put-together, even refreshed after a shower. But she could see it in her own eyes—that flicker of something hollow, something restless.

The dining hall was alive with chatter when she arrived. Dozens of voices, clinking glasses, the scent of coffee and pastries, the sheen of fruit piled high in silver bowls. Jason fit in seamlessly, leaning toward a colleague, already animated in conversation about some project. His hand brushed her thigh under the table when she sat beside him, grounding her—or trying to.

Emily’s hands wrapped around her coffee cup, but her gaze wandered.

The host commanded the far end of the room, white shirt unbuttoned just enough to look effortless. He laughed easily, and when his eyes met hers across the space, her stomach flipped. For a split second, she saw herself bent over this very table, his large hand pressing down on her back, his cock driving into her as the entire hall pretended not to look.

She blinked quickly, heart hammering, but her eyes drifted again, caught on Jason’s immediate supervisor—a sharp-eyed man with sleeves rolled up, a pen still tucked behind his ear. She pictured him gripping her under the arms, hauling her against a wall, his body slamming into hers hard enough to rattle the picture frames. Her thighs pressed unconsciously together beneath the table.

Even the men she didn’t know weren’t spared. The ones from overseas offices, their accents lilting across the room, their faces half-familiar. One in particular had darker skin, his profile striking in the sunlight. And her mind betrayed her, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he was the one from last night—that the shadows had hidden more than just a jawline. She imagined his voice, low and foreign, whispering her name while he split her open again.

She swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the coffee cup.

Jason glanced at her, smiling briefly before turning back to his colleague. He didn’t notice the heat in her cheeks, the glaze in her eyes, the way her breath had quickened.

She scanned the rest of the room. Men with their wives. With their girlfriends. With no one at all. She couldn’t tell. She couldn’t know. But her gaze lingered too long on certain shoulders, certain postures, certain pairs of eyes that might have been watching her last night.

She tried to eat, but every bite turned to paste in her mouth. Her body still hummed with the memory of hands that weren’t Jason’s, and every man in the room could’ve been him.

Jason touched her thigh under the table. “You okay?”

She smiled faintly, ****, and nodded. “Just tired.”

He squeezed her leg gently, returning to his conversation, never suspecting.

Emily’s gaze drifted again, searching the room for the one who had already taken her once.

And in the silence of her own head, she wondered if she’d let him do it again.