I crack four eggs into a bowl, whisking them with a touch more vigor than necessary as morning sunlight streams through our kitchen windows. The events of yesterday, Morgan, the studio, the things I said while blindfolded, still haunt me. I can't shake the feeling that something fundamental has shifted between Lana and me.
The sizzle of butter in the pan provides a comforting background noise as I pour in the egg mixture. I'm determined to make this morning perfect: fluffy omelets stuffed with cheddar, bacon, and olives.
"Is that for me?"
I nearly jump at Lana's voice. She stands in the kitchen doorway, blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, wearing nothing but one of my 9/11 inside job t-shirts. It hangs loose on her frame, exposing one creamy shoulder. Her eyes look different somehow, wider, more intense as they track my movements.
"Yeah, I thought you might want breakfast in bed." I smile, trying to gauge her mood after yesterday's... performance.
"Bed is too far away," Lana says, practically gliding across the kitchen floor. She wraps her arms around me from behind, pressing her body firmly against my back. "I want to be right here with you."
Her fingers splay possessively across my chest, and I feel her lips press against my shoulder blade, leaving a trail of soft kisses up to my neck.
"Well good morning, Lana," I say, surprised but pleased by her affection. I try to focus on the omelet, which is starting to firm up at the edges.
"Good morning," she murmurs against my skin, her voice carrying an unusual intensity.
Lana's hands slide down to my hips, gripping them firmly as she continues kissing my neck. "I had the most terrible dream," she whispers. "Someone was trying to take you away from me."
"No one's taking me anywhere," I assure her, reaching for the grated cheese.
"I wouldn't let them," Lana says firmly, her grip on my hips tightening to the point of almost being painful. Her voice drops to a whisper that sends shivers down my spine. "No one takes what's mine. Even if you are a bad boy who needs punishing sometimes."
I flip the omelet, trying to process her words. "Punishment?"
She ignores my question completely, her fingers tracing patterns on my stomach as she presses herself even closer against my back. Her breath is hot against my ear when she speaks.
"I want to watch you cook," she murmurs, resting her chin on my shoulder. "You look so cute."
I feel her smile against my neck as she continues to cling to me, making it difficult to maneuver the spatula.
"You're making it hard to flip this omelet," I laugh but make no real effort to disentangle myself from her embrace.
"Good," she says, her lips brushing against my earlobe. "I like making things hard for you."
I nearly drop the spatula at her suggestive tone. This level of clinginess is new, but I find myself melting into it. After the emotional whiplash of the past few days, her attentiveness feels like a balm.
I slide the perfectly cooked omelet onto a plate and hand it to Lana, who finally releases her grip on me to accept it. She hops up onto the counter, crossing her legs as she balances the plate on her lap.
"This looks amazing," she says, cutting into it with the edge of her fork. Steam rises as the melted cheese stretches in gooey strands.
I turn away, grabbing the cereal box from the pantry and a bowl from the cabinet. The familiar rattle of cinnamon toast crunch hitting ceramic provides a comforting soundtrack as I pour myself a generous serving. Something about the simple, childish breakfast feels grounding after everything.
Lana hums with pleasure as she takes her first bite, her eyes closing momentarily in appreciation. "So good," she murmurs around her mouthful.
I lean against the counter opposite her, watching as she savors each bite. There's something different about her this morning, something in the way she watches me, her gaze never leaving me for more than a few seconds, as if afraid I might disappear if she looks away too long.
"What are your plans today?" she asks between bites, tilting her head in that way she does when she's genuinely curious.
"Thought I might work on a new story," I say, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into my mouth. The sweet cinnamon crunch is comforting, familiar. "I've had this idea bouncing around for a while."
"Oh?" Her eyes light up with interest. "What's it about?"
I hesitate, swirling my spoon through the increasingly cinnamon-tinted milk. "Another femdom piece."
"Hmm, that's interesting," Lana says, taking another bite of her omelet. Her eyes never leave mine as she chews thoughtfully.
She sets her fork down and slides off the counter in one fluid motion, her bare feet landing silently on the kitchen tile. The oversized t-shirt rides up slightly, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her upper thighs.
"You know, Adam, we're not very adventurous in bed, are we?" she asks, her voice casual but her eyes intense.
My heart sinks. After everything that's happened, is she really bringing this up now? Is this about Morgan? About how I responded to being dominated?
"What do you mean?" I manage, setting my cereal bowl on the counter with a shaky hand.
Lana steps closer, her fingers trailing along the edge of the counter as she approaches. "Well, you write all this femdom content," she continues, her head tilting curiously. "Wouldn't you want to try some of that stuff out with me?"
The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with implications. I fidget with my spoon, trying to find the right words.
"I kinda like the way we make love, though," I say softly, meeting her gaze. "With you, it's real. It's us. I don't need all the bells and whistles."
Something flashes in Lana's eyes, surprise, maybe even relief. She crosses the kitchen in three quick steps, gently taking my cereal bowl from my hands and setting it on the counter. Her fingers wrap around my wrist, warm and insistent, as she tugs me toward her.
"Come with me," she says, her voice suddenly urgent as she pulls me out of the kitchen.
I follow her willingly, confused but intrigued, as she leads me down the hallway to our bedroom. The morning sunlight filters through the blinds, casting golden stripes across our unmade bed.
Lana turns to face me, her expression intense yet vulnerable. She takes both my hands in hers, her thumbs tracing circles on my palms.
"Adam, I know we avoid the topic, but you're dating a pornstar," she says, her voice steady despite the weight of her words. "I can be anything for you. A teacher, a Pokemon gym leader, an aged up so its not weird Asuka in a chargers uniform. [A/N: I fucking love the chargers] Whatever fantasy you've ever had I'm sure we can figure it out."
I blink, taken aback by her directness. "Lana, I—"
"No, let me finish," she interrupts, squeezing my hands. "I've been holding back with you because I was afraid of blurring the lines between work and us. But maybe that was a mistake." She steps closer, her body pressing against mine. "Maybe I should be giving you everything I'm capable of."
Her lips find mine in a kiss that's different from our usual ones, more assertive, more demanding. She walks me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed, then gives me a gentle push that sends me sprawling onto the mattress.
"What if I told you," she says, climbing onto the bed to straddle me, "that I can make you feel things you've only written about?"
Her hands pin my wrists above my head, her blonde hair falling around us like a curtain. There's something fierce in her eyes, possessive in a way I've never seen before.
"Is this because of yesterday?" I ask, feeling like we might need to address it.
Lana's expression doesn't change, but her grip on my wrists tightens slightly. "There is no yesterday," she says firmly. "There's only us right now, in this moment."
She leans down to kiss me again, her body pressing against mine in all the right places. I surrender to the sensation, letting her take control as she works her way down my neck with hungry kisses.
"Tell me what you want," she whispers against my skin. "Tell me your deepest fantasy."
I blush deeply, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. The idea of actually speaking some my fantasies out loud suddenly seems impossible.
There's one thing I've always wanted to try. I've written about it dozens of times.
"It's so embarrassing," I whisper.
Lana gently rubs my face, her touch tender despite the commanding position she holds over me. Her blue eyes soften with genuine affection.
"I love you, Adam," she says, stroking my cheek. "Just tell me. Whatever it is, I want to know."
I swallow hard, gathering my courage. "Do you know the Amazon position?" I finally ask, my voice barely audible.
Lana shifts her weight, her eyes lighting up with interest. "Like where I'm on top of you with your legs up?" she asks, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "I thought you might be too shy for that one."
I feel my face flush even redder. "I just thought it might be fun."
She laughs softly, a sound filled with affection. "You're so cute, Adam." Her fingers trail down my chest, leaving a line of heat in their wake. "Let's try it."
Before I can respond, she's already moving, her hands deftly working the waistband of my pajama pants. She pulls them down with a quick tug, leaving me exposed and vulnerable beneath her. The thrill of it makes my heart race.
Lana's eyes gleam as she positions herself, her thighs straddling my waist in a way that feels both intimate and commanding. She leans forward, brushing her lips against mine in a whisper of a kiss.
"Ready?" she asks, her voice low and sultry.
I nod, the anticipation making my pulse quicken.
She shifts her weight, lifting my legs and pinning them at her sides. The position feels strange at first, but as she lowers herself onto me, a jolt of pleasure shoots through my body. I gasp, the sensation overwhelming and intense.
"God, Lana," I groan, my hands instinctively reaching for her hips.
Her movements are slow and deliberate, teasing me with each downward stroke. "Is this what you wanted?" she asks, her voice breathy with exertion.
"Yes," I gasp, my head spinning from the sensation.
Her pace quickens, the intensity building with each thrust. I feel like I'm the girl in this position, my body surrendering completely to her control. My cock moves in and out of her with dizzying speed, her pussy impossibly tight around me.
"Look at you," she moans, her hands pinning my wrists above my head. "So cute, so submissive. Just like in your stories."
I gasp at her words, my body responding with a surge of pleasure. Her face is loving, but there's a new edge to it, something possessive and fierce that makes my heart race.
"You like this, don't you?" she breathes, her voice both dominant and tender. "You like being my little plaything."
I groan, overwhelmed by the sensation. "Yes," I manage to gasp.
Lana's movements grow more frantic, her blonde hair cascading around her flushed face. "I'm going to fuck you so hard," she whispers, her eyes locking onto mine with a burning intensity. "No one else will ever compare."
Her words send a jolt straight to my core, the promise of forever in them. My hips buck upward, meeting her thrust for thrust, my body completely lost to the pleasure she's giving me.
"You're mine," she gasps, her grip on my wrists unyielding. "All mine."
The edge of desperation in her voice pushes me closer to the brink. "Lana, I'm going to…"
"Do it," she commands, her pace relentless. "I want to feel you cum inside me. Now."
I cry out as I explode, the pleasure crashing over me like a tidal wave. My entire body convulses beneath her, my vision blurring with the intensity of it. She watches me the whole time, her eyes never leaving my face.
"Good boy," she whispers, finally slowing her movements as I finish inside her. "That wasn't so scary was it?"
"No. I suppose not."