The morning sun hit the windows of the penthouse, as Rick stood in his private kitchen effortlessly dicing a slab of leftover Wagyu beef for a casual mid-morning snack.
He moved with the fluid precision of a true culinary master, his pitch-black Shadow-Forged Cleaver turning into a dark blur, separating the marbled meat without making a sound against the heavy wooden cutting board.
Just as he tossed the premium cuts into a hot iron skillet to sear the fat, his phone vibrated on the counter, displaying a call from Dr. Elena Vance.
Rick let out a low, entertained chuckle, wiping his hands on a clean towel and answering the call, fully expecting the strict surgeon to beg him for another raw session on her mahogany desk.
"Morning, Doc," Rick answered lazily, his deep voice carrying a dominant, teasing edge. "Are your thighs still shaking from yesterday, or are you calling to book another private appointment in my bed?"
