Luna woke before dawn, the predawn darkness still cloaking the estate in a soft haze of mystery.
Determined to reclaim a sense of normalcy after the tumultuous weekend, she decided to start the
day by making breakfast for Logan—a small, intimate act of care that she had longed to perform.
Slipping out of bed in nothing more than an oversized, loose-fitting shirt that had become her
morning uniform and her bare feet padding softly on cool marble, she moved silently through the
corridors of the home. The gentle hum of the early hour was interrupted only by the occasional
murmur from a slumbering staff member, but Luna had already instructed the chef to leave
everything to her for the day.
In the warm solitude of the spacious kitchen, she set about preparing a light breakfast. The aroma
of freshly ground coffee beans and sizzling bacon filled the room as Luna moved methodically
between tasks, her mind swirling with tender memories and a quiet anticipation for the man who
had become her anchor. The simplicity of the morning—the rhythmic chopping of fruit, the
clatter of utensils against ceramic plates—seemed to echo the steady beat of her heart, a silent
prelude to the passion that lay just beneath the surface of her composed exterior.
Before long, the soft murmur of footsteps signaled that Logan had awakened. Drawn to the
kitchen by the comforting promise of her care, he appeared in the doorway with a sleepy smile
that quickly shifted into something more intent as his eyes roamed over Luna. There she was,
radiant in her vulnerability—a loosely draped shirt and bare feet, a natural beauty unencumbered
by pretense. His gaze was magnetic, following every subtle movement, every gentle sway of her
hips as she moved gracefully around the kitchen.
Logan approached silently, a hungry glint in his eyes that spoke of a desire that had been
building ever since their tender reunion. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice low and
husky as he slid up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. His hand, warm and firm,
grazed the curve of her back. In that instant, the quiet domesticity of the moment transformed
into a charged arena of unspoken passion.
As Luna turned slightly at his touch, she caught a glimpse of his intense gaze lingering on her
exposed skin. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized that under her oversized shirt, she wore
nothing more—a realization that sent a thrill racing through her. Logan's eyes darkened, and
without a word, he pressed her gently against the cool surface of the dining table. Their breaths
mingled in the small space between them as he lowered his mouth to her ear.
"Keep your voice down," he whispered, his tone a mix of playful admonition and urgent desire.
"We wouldn't want the staff to hear."
A defiant spark danced in Luna's eyes as she met his gaze. "I don't care," she replied, her voice
husky with a blend of mischief and longing. The challenge in her tone only stoked the fire in him
further. With a smile that was both tender and commanding, Logan deepened his kiss, his hands
steadying hers as he thrust intot her with a measured intensity.
The passion between them escalated quickly. Logan's movements grew bolder, his thrusts deeper
and faster, while he kept a firm grip on her hands to guide the rhythm of their union. Luna's
moans filled the air—quiet, yet insistent—her pleasure mingling with the urgency of their
embrace. Even as his hand cupped her mouth to soften her cries, his eyes never left hers,
communicating without words the depths of his desire and the regret of their recent separation.
Just as the intensity of their passion threatened to overtake the moment entirely, the sound of a
ringing phone sliced through the haze of their intimacy. Logan paused, his forehead creasing
with annoyance as he glanced at the screen. It was his phone—an unexpected call from his older
brother, Henry. A note of tension flickered in his eyes as he answered, his voice low and clipped.
"Logan," he said, listening intently as Henry's words came through, laced with both authority
and exasperation. The conversation was brief but potent—a terse reminder that even on a
Saturday, responsibilities beckoned. "This is the office, Logan. You're needed immediately," his
brother's tone commanded, leaving no room for argument.
For a split second, the raw, animalistic passion that had filled the room was tempered by the
weight of duty and familial obligation. Logan's eyes betrayed a momentary flash of inner
conflict—a deep, almost animalistic reaction as the challenge of balancing desire and
responsibility clashed within him. Luna, sensing the sudden shift in his demeanor, pulled back
slightly, confusion mingling with the residual heat of their encounter.
"Logan?" she murmured, her voice trembling with a mixture of passion and concern as she
searched his eyes for answers.
Without a lengthy explanation, Logan pressed a soft kiss to her forehead—a tender goodbye that
contrasted starkly with the heated urgency of moments before. "I have to go," he murmured, his
voice carrying an edge of regret. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
Before Luna could protest further, he moved swiftly toward the door. In the entryway, his driver
awaited, standing silently as Logan slipped into the waiting car. Luna, still in the glow of their
heated intimacy and now bathed in the cool morning light filtering through the window, watched
with wide, concerned eyes as the car pulled away. Her heart pounded with a cocktail of desire
and worry—confusion mingled with the raw need for reassurance that he would return.
Inside the quiet kitchen, the scent of breakfast lingered as a bittersweet reminder of the intimacy
they had just shared. Luna remained for a moment, the echoes of their passion vibrating softly
within her. Her mind raced with questions about the sudden shift in Logan's mood—the
transition from unbridled desire to abrupt responsibility—and the implications it might have for
their future. Yet, as she gazed at the doorway through which he had just departed, all she could
do was wait in that delicate, suspended silence, heart heavy with both longing and concern.
In that quiet aftermath, as the sun began its slow ascent over the horizon, Luna moved to clear
the breakfast dishes—a task that now felt both trivial and significant—Luna's mind replayed the
moments of passion and the stark contrast of duty that had so abruptly reclaimed him. She
touched the cool surface of the dining table where his hand had once rested, and in that simple
act, she clung to the memory of his warmth. Outside, the sound of footsteps and distant voices
signaled that the day was unfolding, indifferent to the personal storms of those within the estate.
With every careful step toward the future, Luna silently vowed to understand the change in
Logan's mood, to seek clarity in the midst of their tangled emotions. Yet for now, all she could
do was wait—wait for his return, for the resolution of the conflict that had momentarily torn their
tender morning apart.
And as the estate slowly awakened around her, with the soft murmur of early activity and the
gentle promise of a new day, Luna stood in quiet solitude, her heart full of questions and her soul
yearning for the man who had just left.