Painted

Chapter 18

Morning light spilled through the windows of Rebecca’s condo, casting a warm glow over the living room and kitchen. The faint hum of the city outside was muffled by the thick glass, leaving an air of serenity that neither Rebecca nor Sarocha was in any hurry to break.

Rebecca stirred first, stretching languidly in bed and turning to find Sarocha still half-asleep, her dark hair mussed against the pillow, her face peaceful. For a moment, Rebecca simply watched her, marveling at how calm and beautiful she looked in the soft light of morning.

Unable to resist, Rebecca leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Sarocha’s temple. "Morning," she whispered, her voice husky with sleep.

Sarocha’s lips quirked into a sleepy smile, her eyes fluttering open. "Morning," she murmured, her voice low and warm. "What time is it?"

"Too early to be productive, but late enough to get up," Rebecca replied, grinning. She ran a hand through her hair as she slipped out of bed, pulling on one of Sarocha’s oversized button-ups. It hung loosely over her, barely covering the tops of her thighs. "How about breakfast? Something greasy and satisfying."

Sarocha propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes roaming over Rebecca with an unmistakable glint. "You mean me, or actual food?"

Rebecca laughed, tossing a pillow in her direction. "Food first, you animal. You’ll have to wait your turn."

Sarocha caught the pillow with ease, grinning as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Fine, but only because I’m starving." She followed Rebecca into the kitchen, still dressed in just her sleep shorts and tank top, her hair a wild halo around her face.

Rebecca began pulling ingredients from the fridge—eggs, butter, cheese, a few vegetables. Sarocha leaned against the counter, watching her move with a lazy smile. "You’re getting comfortable," Sarocha teased, gesturing at the way Rebecca casually wore her shirt.

Rebecca turned, her lips quirking into a smirk. "Your shirt, technically," she said, holding her arms out to emphasize the fit. "But yeah, I guess I am. Got a problem with that?"

"Not at all," Sarocha replied, stepping closer. Her hands settled on Rebecca’s hips, her thumbs brushing over the bare skin peeking out beneath the fabric. "In fact, I think I like you better in my clothes. Makes me want to... ruin you in them."

Rebecca flushed, swatting at Sarocha’s hands even as she leaned into her touch. "We’re making breakfast, remember? Hands to yourself."

Sarocha chuckled, her grip loosening but not disappearing entirely. "For now," she said, stepping back and grabbing a cutting board to help chop vegetables.

They worked together in comfortable silence, punctuated by playful nudges and stolen kisses. Rebecca cracked eggs into a bowl while Sarocha expertly diced bell peppers and onions, occasionally sneaking pieces into her mouth.

"Hey!" Rebecca swatted at her hand with a spatula. "Those are for the omelet."

Sarocha raised her hands in mock surrender, grinning. "You’re so serious about breakfast. It’s cute."

Rebecca rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. She turned back to the stove, pouring the egg mixture into the hot pan and swirling it around. "You’re lucky I’m feeding you at all after last night. You wore me out."

"That’s funny," Sarocha replied, stepping closer again. Her arms slipped around Rebecca’s waist, her chin resting on her shoulder. "Because you seemed to have plenty of energy to spare when you—"

"Don’t you dare," Rebecca interrupted, her cheeks heating. She tried to wriggle away, but Sarocha held her firmly, her laughter warm against Rebecca’s neck.