Craving: A Kylo Ren Tale

Eight

I wake a few hours later around 6:30, and begrudgingly pull myself out of the lush bed. My mind is thick with a wine hangover, and it takes a full minute before I remember...

He may or may not have heard me masturbating while thinking about him.

Fuck.

Well, he can't know it was about him. But he's cocky enough to realize the power he had over me on that terrace in the middle of the night. I'm sure it was written all over my face.

I'm determined to be as professional as possible today.

Show no weakness. That's my new mantra around here.

After brushing my hair and braiding it into a neat side ponytail that hangs down my shoulder, I throw on some clothes. High waisted dark jeans with a Ziggy Stardust shirt tucked in and a cardigan thrown on top.

I groggily make my way to the opposite end of the apartment towards the kitchen, and take the route through the living room to avoid the master bedroom.

The hangover might be raging in my head and I'm running on like 4 hours of sleep, but I could make coffee in a coma. I worked as a barista to pay my way through school, and of course Kylo has a fancy machine, so I get to work grinding beans and making a brew.

A few minutes later and I have enough espresso to make myself an Americano, and one for Kylo as well. I've decided that if he won't tell me what he wants served around here, I'm making whatever I crave and doubling it. If he wants it, he can have it. If not, whatever, starve I guess.

After sipping half of my mug while admiring the early morning view of the city, I grab some food from the pantry and fridge.

Butter goes into a hot pan, sizzles and melts. Two bagels get tossed in, cut side down. While those are toasting, I fry two eggs and once they're over-medium I throw a slice of gruyere on each.

Around 7 am, as my hangover is finally receding, Kylo wanders into the kitchen to see a bagel sandwich and coffee waiting for him on the counter.

I'm sitting at the round kitchen table, eating my own breakfast and reading emails on my laptop. I look up to see him even more dressed down than ever- a pair of black sweatpants, a black tee that hasn't yet been smudged by paint, and black socks on his feet. Even though he's essentially in pajamas, he has a commanding presence in the room.

"Good morning, sir. Breakfast is on the counter if you're hungry. I'll be running errands today. Leftover Italian in the fridge for lunch if you decide you want it. I'll be back before dinner. Is there anything you need while I'm out?"

I try to keep my tone as professional as possible. Try to blink last night out of existence. Even though he's fucking gorgeous after rolling out of bed.

His voice has that sexy just-woke-up rasp to it as he speaks, which honestly surprises me. I half expected a grunt in response.

"Yes, it's Thursday so you'll have to-"

"Pick up your dry cleaning, yes. Anything else?"

Finally having the chance to cut him off feels amazing. I've already gone over the spreadsheet that details when and where to go for regularly scheduled tasks. Like his dry cleaning on Thursdays, or picking up orders of art supplies on Mondays.

I'm two steps ahead of him, and it's a wonderful feeling.

The look on his face is half annoyed for being cut off, I think to myself serves him right, and half pleased that I'm on top of things already. But if he is pleased, he doesn't voice it.