I wake before the alarm because I feel him waiting. The sheets are still warm, my body heavy with sleep and my will soft around the edges. That’s when he takes me easiest. Before I remember I’m supposed to resist.

The kitchen is dim when I step into it. Dawn is just beginning to stretch over the horizon and he’s already waiting at the counter. He’s so smug and self-assured. Damn him. He knows exactly how this will unfold.

“I’m not in the mood,” I say, but even I don’t believe it.

He doesn’t answer. He never does. He likes to let the silence work for him. He enjoys watching me try to deny the pull between us. The way I lift my chin like I have any control here.

“You’re bad for me,” I murmur, and the air around him warms in response. It’s subtle at first, a slow bloom of heat. Then steam rises in slow spirals, deliberate as a man loosening his cuffs after a long night.

His scent hits next. It’s dark and decadent, laced with something nutty and sinful. It curls into my lungs, and I inhale deeply before I can stop myself.

The machine clicks as it cools and my pulse jumps. My body is traitorous and eager as it reaches for the ghost of his beckoning fingers. He knows exactly what I’ll do, and I hate that he’s right.

“I could walk away,” I whisper. He lets me believe that for a heartbeat.

“Say it.” His silence seems to demand. “Admit you’re mine.”

The moment my hands close around him, warmth floods into my palms. I lift him slowly, aware of my surrender, and his heat brushes my lips.

When I take him in, the first sip burns. It’s bitter, edged with hazelnut. It slides down my throat as my head tilts back and a moan escapes my mouth. He settles into me, clearing the fog from my mind while staking his claim.

I swallow again. I can’t stop this.

Every dawn, I come to him.

Every dawn, I let him have his way.

It’s only coffee. But he rules me like a king.