Crossing the Lines Page 15

I look up at him. There’s an edge to his voice; it’s laced with anxiousness.

  “I love it. It’s so pretty.”

  He doesn’t look satisfied. “But?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I promise. “It’s perfect. But it doesn’t look like you, really.”

  He tilts his head to the side.

  “You’re, well, sort of old-fashioned. I guess I thought you’d put me in a room with, like, heavy curtains, and a canopy bed, and maybe even a vanity or something. I don’t know, like that would be your idea of what a woman’s bedroom should look like.”

  “Oh.” Finally, he smiles. “Your observation about me isn’t wrong.” He leads me inside, his hand resting on the small of my back. “But this is your room, Abigail. Yours alone.” He turns me to face him. “Do you really like it? I want you to like it here.”

  “I do. I love it.” I look around again and take in the cream-colored walls, the white bed with its lavender bedspread, the reading nook in the window surrounded by light floral curtains, the comfy-looking armchair, the dresser, the flat-screen TV on the wall. It’s feminine and romantic, yet still young. Like me, I guess.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. “For all of this. You don’t know what it means to me. Luke is so happy.” I meet his eyes. “I’m so happy,” I add.

  “Mission accomplished, then,” Mr. Thorne says.

  “What should I do now?” I ask. “Make you dinner?”

  “No, I have drinks and a dinner meeting in the city tonight.”

  “Oh.” For some reason, I thought he would be home with us tonight. Then I realize how ridiculous the thought is. Mr. Thorne is my boss, not my boyfriend. And he’s already promised not to interfere with my time with Luke.

  “Is there anything you need?” he asks. “There should be plenty to choose from in the kitchen for your dinner and you’re welcome to use the living room tonight to watch TV and so on. All I ask is that you don’t go upstairs to my floor. My office is up there and that’s my domain.”

  “Of course,” I say immediately. “We’ll stay downstairs, I promise.”

  “Good. It’s for the best. To establish some boundaries.”

  “Absolutely,” I say, nodding.

  He reaches into his pocket and hands me a key, as well as a piece of paper. “To the house, in case you decide to go out, and the code to the security system.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Anything else you need?”

  “I don’t think so.” Honestly, I have no idea. I need a few minutes to collect myself.

  “All right. You two have a good night.” He walks to the door before pausing, turning to look at me. “I’m very happy you’re here,” he says.

  He gives me a long look before he leaves, and I wonder if it means he’s reluctant to go. I’d like to think so, because I’m a bit sad he won’t be here tonight. I’m not sure what I expected, though. That he’d want to hang out with Luke and me? He’s a busy man, obviously, and that’s not what this is about. It’s an arrangement in which he pays me for my company and sex, and I get much-needed security for myself and my son in exchange. It’s enough. It has to be enough, and I won’t ruin this because of some fluttery feeling in my chest.

  Luke and I stay in for the night. After a quick text to Jo, I set him up at the kitchen table with coloring books while I cook us a simple dinner of spaghetti and meatballs with carrot sticks.

  After our usual nighttime routine I let Luke pick out a movie for us. In the kitchen, I look out the window at the streetlights and the neighbor’s house, with its friendly-looking lit windows. The only sound is the low hum of the microwave oven behind me as it makes popcorn for our movie—it turns out Mr. Thorne did have some in the house. It’s peaceful here. Quiet. Secure.

  It could be like this for Luke every night: a healthy meal, a warm bath, cuddle time on the couch, and then a good night’s sleep in a race-car bed.

  And for me: no worries about money, no yelling, no sirens outside my window, no crying myself to sleep. Instead, spending time with Luke at the beginning of the night, and Mr. Thorne at the end of the night.

  The best of both worlds, I suppose— my two lives finally co-existing in a way I never expected.

  Smiling to myself, I shake the popcorn into a bowl and join my son for a movie.

  At five minutes to nine, I’m in my room, drying my hair. Luke is fast asleep in his new room and I’m almost ready for Mr. Thorne. I’ve put on my nicest pajamas since I don’t own any lingerie and I hope that’s okay. I really want to make him happy tonight. With my hair done, I open the door to my room, and sit down on the bed, ready.

  Half an hour later, I’m still ready, but there’s no sign of Mr. Thorne. I check on Luke, who’s still out cold, and tiptoe through the house, which is dark and quiet. He must not be back from his dinner. How long do things like that last anyway? Mr. Thorne said he was going to the city for drinks and dinner, so does that mean he has drinks first or last? He could be only on appetizers at this point.

  Feeling dejected, I head into the kitchen, where I make myself some more popcorn and grab a soda before going back to my room. My TV has Netflix, as it turns out, and I can’t help but smile again at Mr. Thorne’s thoughtfulness.

  Slipping underneath the covers, I sigh with pleasure as I get comfortable. The bed is amazing and the sheets are unbelievably soft. Looking around the beautiful room, I still can’t believe that I’m really here, that this is where I’ll be sleeping tonight, and maybe many nights to come. Turning to the TV again, I choose a romantic comedy I haven’t seen before and nibble at the popcorn, but soon my eyelids grow heavy. I sit up straighter, forcing myself to pay attention to the movie, but it’s impossible. Spending the last couple of nights on Jo and Thomas’ lumpy couch means I haven’t slept through the night and now I’m tired. So very tired.

  “Sweet girl …”

  I feel something brush against my forehead and struggle to open my eyes.

  “Shh, sleep.”

  “But … Sir.”

  “It’s okay. I didn’t know I’d be this late. Sleep, Abigail.”

  “Wanted to be with you,” I mumble.

  He caresses my cheek so briefly I barely register it before the covers are pulled up around my shoulders. Warm and tired, I go back under.

  The next thing I know, it’s morning and Luke is worming his way underneath the covers to snuggle with me. I blink against the brightness of my room and look around. The TV is off and there’s not a trace of my snacks from last night. Which means it wasn’t a dream. Mr. Thorne came for me last night, but I’d fallen asleep. I sit up with a start.

  What a disappointment it must have been for him, coming home to find me snoring away with popcorn grease on my face. I’m not off to a great start.

  “Let’s go make some breakfast,” I say, giving Luke a hurried cuddle.

  After a quick trip to the bathroom, we head into the kitchen and I find everything I need. Sitting on a chair by the kitchen island, Luke helps me whisk eggs and make pancake batter. I have no idea if Mr. Thorne likes pancakes, or even eats breakfast for that matter, but I have to do something to make up for not keeping my end of the bargain last night. I turn my attention to Luke and teach him how to flip the pancakes using a spatula.

  “Good job, baby,” I praise as he carefully lifts one onto the plate next to the pan.

  “It’s okay, Mommy?”

  “Perfect,” I tell him.

  He grins proudly.

  “You wanna make another one?”

  “Uh-huh!”

  I help him distribute the batter and hand him the spatula again, glancing up to check the time. I startle, seeing Mr. Thorne by the door to the kitchen, watching us. He’s wearing an undecipherable expression, a faraway look in his eyes.

  “Good morning, Mr. Thorne,” I say.

  His features become neutral in an instant. “Good morning, Abigail.”

  “Would you like to join us?” I motion to the set table. He looks at it and then back to us.
For a split-second, I think he’ll say yes. Then he takes a small step back, shaking his head.

  “Thank you, no,” he says. “I take my breakfast in the dining room. Would you mind bringing in the paper?”

  “Of course.” Is he unhappy with me?

  “Good morning, Luke,” he says.

  “Morning, Mr. Thorne!” Luke says. “I’m making pancakes!”

  Mr. Thorne smiles and nods before retreating. Hurrying, I run outside to get the paper before I assemble a tray for him, and while the coffee is brewing, I set Luke up with his own plate at the table.

  In the dining room, Mr. Thorne is already seated at the head of the table, dressed impeccably in another suit.

  Is he working on a Saturday?

  “Thank you,” he says, giving me a smile as I set the tray down and pour him a cup of coffee. “This is just lovely.”

  “You’re not upset with me, then?” I ask, folding my hands to keep myself from wringing them.

  “Not at all.”

  “I, uh, I didn’t mean to fall asleep last night,” I mumble.

  “You were tired,” he says simply. “And I was late, unable to reach you. Which reminds me, I should have your phone number and you mine.”

  I nod in agreement.

  “We’ll work it all out as we proceed,” he says with confidence.

  “So you do want to proceed?”

  “Of course,” he says immediately. “I’m very happy you’re here. Both of you.”

  He takes a sip of coffee.

  “What are your plans for today?” he asks, digging into his food.

  “I’m not sure,” I admit.

  “You should go shopping,” he suggests. “I noticed that Luke needs new boots. It’ll be cold out soon. Get whatever the two of you need.” He reaches into his pocket and takes out his wallet.

  “Mr. Thorne, I don’t feel comfortable—”

  He silences me with a stern look. “I thought we already went over this. Let me take care of you. I want to.”

  “I know, but you’ve already given us so much.”

  “Is it going to be an argument every time I want to spend money on you?”

  “No, Sir,” I mumble. “I’m just not used to it.”

  His expression softens. “That’s fair. But you’re under my roof now, and I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

  I nod.

  “Good.” He hands me a black debit card. “I can drop you off at the mall on my way to work. Get anything you want: clothes, shoes, toys.”

  “Thank you,” I say again, reminding myself that this is part of the agreement we made. “Will you be working all day?”

  He sighs. “Probably.”

  “But you’ll be home for dinner?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  I beam at him and he smiles before he turns serious again.

  “In the future, I’d like you to dress before starting breakfast.”

  “You don’t like my pajamas?”

  “I like them very much,” he replies. “You look soft … and warm. It makes me want to …” He shakes his head lightly. “Well, no matter. We agreed to keep everything professional during the day, so a less casual atmosphere is better.”

  “Oh. Luke too?” I ask.

  “No, he’s fine. It’s you,” he replies, looking me up and down. “Between nine and midnight, you have my full permission to wear something like this.”

  “All right. I’ll go get dressed,” I tell him.

  “Make sure you have some breakfast first. This is delicious.”

  I flush with pleasure. “Thank you, Sir.”

  I leave him to his food and his paper and join Luke in the kitchen. He’s excited about our trip to the mall, and so am I. Inspired by our conversation just now, I’m going to buy an outfit for tonight to make up for the fact that I fell asleep last night. I want Mr. Thorne to be pleased with me and show him we can make this arrangement work under these conditions. Tonight has to be perfect.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Shit, shit, shit!”

  I check myself in the bathroom mirror, dismayed by my frazzled appearance. So much for a perfect night. It’s already past 9:00 p.m. and I’m supposed to be upstairs with Mr. Thorne, showing off my purchase. Instead, I’m still in my regular clothes with dried bathwater stains on the front of my shirt, my hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. I look like what I am: a tired mom.

  Making the transformation into Mr. Thorne’s fantasy is not an easy one, but I do my best, taking the world’s fastest shower and running a brush through my hair. By the time I’m standing outside his office door it’s after 9:30 and I know I’m in trouble. This might not seem like a big deal, but I know Mr. Thorne. He doesn’t do tardy.

  I swallow down my nerves along with a few deep lungfuls of air before knocking lightly on the door.

  “Come in.”

  Mr. Thorne sits at his desk, typing on his laptop, not acknowledging my presence at all. The room is warm thanks to the lit fireplace, but it does little to relax me. Finally, Mr. Thorne looks up at me, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. I feel naked underneath his gaze, which is actually not that far off. I’m wearing pale blue cotton and lace—a nightie I picked up today, hoping he would approve. Judging by the way his eyes have darkened, I’d say I’ve succeeded in that feat, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let this go. It means that he wants me, though, so that’s something.

  “I asked you to be here at nine,” he says. “That’s not an unreasonable request, is it?”

  “No, Sir, but—”

  “And it’s now,” he continues, glancing at his watch, “almost a quarter to ten.”

  “I know.”

  “And you know how I feel about punctuality.”

  “It couldn’t be helped. I’m sorry, okay?”

  “No, not okay. Why are you late? We agreed that our time together is nine to midnight.”

  “I couldn’t get Luke into bed,” I admit. “Look, maybe … maybe this can’t work.”

  Admitting this to both myself and him isn’t easy, but now it’s the second night in a row something has disrupted our agreement. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something. Having a child means keeping a perfect schedule is impossible. And I should have known that before ever agreeing to this.

  I wait for Mr. Thorne to say something, but he just sits there quietly observing me. It irritates me that he’s so calm and collected all the time, which only highlights how emotional I feel around him, not in control of my feelings at all.

  “This was so stupid,” I say. “I-I told you I can’t be what you want. I told you, but you wouldn’t listen. I can’t keep to your ridiculous, perfect schedule and take care of my son at the same time. It doesn’t work that way. This isn’t working!”

  The moment I turn to leave I hear him get up, and he’s behind me before I can even get the door unlocked, whirling me around to face him again.

  “You’re angry with me,” he says, surprise evident in his voice. “I didn’t think a sweet little thing like you had it in her.”

  His words fuel my anger, and I clench my fists. “Excuse me?”

  He grins. “It’s … cute.”

  My mouth drops. “Cute?!”

  “And very sexy,” he adds, gathering me into his arms.

  I push on his chest, but it’s like trying to move a brick wall. Tightening his left arm to keep me in place, he lifts his right hand to pull down the strap of my nightgown, palming my breast. His lips caress the shell of my ear.

  “Are you still angry with me, hmm? You wanna yell at me some more?”

  Trying and failing miserably to hold on to my anger, I moan as he kisses my neck and plays with my nipple.

  “You can leave, but you’re not going to. You know why?”

  “Why?”

  Grabbing my hips, he lifts me up and carries me to his desk, spinning me around and bending me over it. With a firm grip on my neck, he lifts up the hem of my nightgown, exposing me
to him.

  “You’re not going to leave,” he tells me, tapping my inner thigh to make me spread my legs farther. “Because you love submitting to me far too much.”

  I can’t help but groan as he sinks two fingers inside me, curling them to hit the right spot. He moves his fingers slowly, each pass making me want him more until I’m squirming.

  “See what I mean? You want me to fuck you, Abigail? Make you come? Even though you disobeyed me?”

  I nod eagerly, startling as he stops touching me and instead grabs my shoulders, spinning me around to face him. With rough hands, he pulls the nightgown off my body and winds my hair around his left hand so I’m forced to look up at him.

  “You didn’t say please,” he tells me, his eyes glinting with something dark and a bit dangerous.

  I shiver as he cups my naked breast again, massaging it none too gently before pulling my nipple. I’m trapped between his large body and the desk, completely naked and at his mercy. Somehow, it only makes me want him more.

  “Please, S-sir,” I manage, my breath catching in my throat. “Will you?”

  He smiles. “Will I what?”

  I frown. He knows what.

  “C’mon,” he coaxes, making his voice soft, “beg me for it, pretty girl. You can do it. Beg for my cock.”

  I feel another spark of irritation at his demand and it surprises me. I’m not usually like this with him.

  “Hmm, defiance,” he muses, his lips quirking upward. “Am I pissing you off again, Abigail?”

  I raise my chin, staring right back at him.

  “Well? I’m waiting.”

  “Fuc—” I don’t get to finish the swear. It happens so quickly, I barely have time to register it before his mouth is on mine, kissing the hell out of me. It’s aggressive and wild, and I don’t hold back, tearing at his clothes as his hands roam over my body, grabbing and groping.

  “You little brat,” he growls at me, biting my lip. “I’m going to fuck the defiance right out of you.”

  He lifts me up and practically tosses me back onto the desk, face down. I gasp as he enters me with a rough thrust. He fucks me hard, grabbing my hips to keep me in place as I cry out each time his hips slap against my ass.