Crossing the Lines Read online

  He quirks an eyebrow at me.

  “Okay,” I admit. “I was going to ask if my salary would cover it. I’m more than happy to pay for at least part of the tuition myself, but …” He wants to take care of us. For some reason, he seems to enjoy doing that. “Thank you, Sir,” I continue. “You have no idea what this means to me, to us. I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

  He regards me closely, a gleam in his eyes. “Be careful about making promises like that, Abigail.”

  “You won’t hurt me,” I state with confidence.

  “No,” he agrees. “But I will push your limits and I’ll use you as I see fit. For my pleasure.” He reaches out to take my hand. “And yours,” he adds.

  “I know.” The thought of him using me for his pleasure, like he did last night, makes my skin tingle and my thighs clench.

  “Speaking of which,” he says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “I’d like to retain the babysitting services of your friend, Jo. Once a week, your son will spend the evening at her place.” He pauses for a moment. “That is, if it’s agreeable to you and Luke.”

  I can’t help but feel touched by his added comment, him considering the feelings of both me and Luke and ultimately making it my decision. “Okay. He likes spending time over there and I’m sure Jo won’t mind.”

  “I will, of course, compensate her,” Mr. Thorne says, sounding very businesslike.

  I shake my head, smiling at him. “You can try, but I think she’d feel weird taking money to watch Luke. Just like I’d feel weird getting paid to watch her girls. We’re best friends. We help each other out.”

  He considers that for a moment before nodding. I’m not sure he really gets it, though. Does he have any friends at all? Someone who would help him without getting paid for it? He seems so used to simply throwing money around to get what he wants: the fancy restaurant in the city that sent dinner here even though they don’t deliver, the movers for my apartment, Jo, even me.

  “You’ll make the arrangements, then?” he asks.

  “Of course. Can I ask why, though?”

  “I want you for myself,” he says. “One night a week when I can do anything I want to, when I don’t have to wait until nine o’clock to have you, and we won’t have to stay upstairs.”

  “O-oh,” I stutter. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Do you like that idea, Abigail?” He lifts our joined hands up, pressing a kiss onto the back of mine. “You dressing up for me and serving me? Letting me fuck you right here on this table before dinner just because I feel like it? Or maybe having you naked on your knees next to me as I eat, waiting for me to finish so you can be my dessert?”

  Oh my God. Blood rushes to my face.

  “Yes, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he teases.

  I would, but what does that say about me? “Does that …”

  “What?” he asks.

  “Do you think it makes me a … a bad mother, for wanting that?”

  He lowers my hand, but keeps it in his. “No,” he says in a firm voice. “If your friend Jo wanted a night a week to herself for any reason, would you think that about her?”

  “No,” I say immediately.

  “Then it’s non-negotiable,” he states. “One night a week, just the two of us. End of story.”

  “Yes, Sir.” My reply comes easily after hearing his reasoning and his order. It feels good having him make the decision so I won’t feel guilty. Is this what he meant about me being naturally submissive? It wasn’t scary at all. He listened to my concern and made me see it was unfounded.

  He smiles at me. “There’s my sweet girl.”

  I smile back, elated.

  After that, the negotiations are done, and Mr. Thorne goes up to his study, asking to be served dinner at seven o’clock as usual.

  I go into Luke’s room and join him on the bed, where he’s watching a movie. He snuggles up in my arms and for a while, neither of us says anything. Soaking up his affection and warmth, I feel strong. I know this is the right decision. Luke has a chance for a real life here: friends, school, and a mother who makes a steady income.

  “Hon,” I murmur, pausing the cartoon. “Do you like it here at Mr. Thorne’s?”

  “Mmhm.”

  “How would you like for us to live here all the time?”

  Luke tilts his head back, looking up at me.

  “Mr. Thorne has asked us to move in here so Mommy can be his housekeeper.”

  “What’s a housekeeper?”

  “Well, I’ll cook and do laundry. Stuff like that.”

  “Like a Mommy.”

  I smile at him. “Yes, like a Mommy, I suppose.”

  “What about Daddy?” Luke asks quietly. “Is he gonna live here too?”

  Oh, God. I hold him tighter to me, tucking his head underneath my chin. “No, honey. Daddy isn’t going to live with us. Not anymore.”

  “Never again?” His voice is so small.

  “No, baby.”

  “Good.”

  I suck in a breath in surprise. Luke sits up and turns to face me.

  “I don’t like Daddy. He’s mean and he yells, and he makes you cry. I hate him! I hope he never comes back! Never, ever!”

  I stare at my son, from his clenched little fists to the fierce look in his eyes, and I suddenly see the past ten months in a different light. Every time Luke asked about Patrick, it wasn’t because he missed him, as I’d thought. It was because he was worried he’d come back.

  “Is that bad of me?” he asks. “Do you want him to come back, Mommy?”

  “No,” I whisper, answering both of his questions before pulling him back into my arms. “It’s just you and me now,” I tell him.

  “And Mr. Thorne.”

  “And Mr. Thorne.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Later that afternoon, while I’m prepping dinner, I call Jo.

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  “Hey. How’s it going over there?”

  “Good. I wanted to tell you, we’re staying here.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “Abbi, this isn’t because of what I said, is it? Because you’re always welcome here. And I’m sorry if I was negative.”

  “No,” I say immediately. “I know you’re just worried about me, and you were right. It is a job.”

  “But you like him,” she says.

  “I do. He’s been really great. I mean, you should see the rooms he’s made for me and Luke. The whole weekend’s been wonderful. And it’s not just the sex, even though that’s amazing too. I like talking with him, and he actually listens to what I have to say. And he’s generous and so nice to Luke. He makes me feel beautiful and wanted and …”

  “Wow,” she says quietly.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You really like him, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. I could spend hours denying it, listing all the reasons why that’s absurd and ridiculous to assume, but what’s the point? I know the truth and so does Jo. I’m falling for Mr. Thorne. “But he can’t know that.” I sigh. “That’s not what he wants at all.”

  “Are you sure? Because it kind of sounds like he does.”

  “I’m not sure about anything, to be honest. Sometimes it really seems like he does, because he cares so much about making us happy, but then other times he’s all business, sticking to the rules we’ve set out. It’s confusing the hell out of me.”

  “Is it enough, what you have now?”

  I pause. “Life isn’t a fairytale. He’s so good, Jo. We have a real chance here. Luke is happy.”

  “But what about you?” she asks gently.

  “I’m happy too. Really, I am. I feel safe with him. Plus, I thought Patrick loved me and that we’d live happily ever after, and look how that turned out.”

  “Yeah. I see what you’re saying. And you know I’m one hundred percent supportive of you. Just remember that you can always come stay with us—if it doesn’t work out.”

  “Thank you. How did y
our alone weekend with Thom go, by the way? Your mom had the kids, right?”

  Jo laughs. “I’m exhausted!”

  I grin into the receiver, reminding myself to offer to take the girls off her hands the next time Mr. Thorne goes out of town. I like hearing her this happy.

  The night passes easily. We have a nice dinner—Luke and me in the kitchen, and Mr. Thorne in the dining room. Then it’s Luke’s bath time, storytime, and bedtime, and before I know it, it’s nine o’clock and I’m ready to head up to Mr. Thorne’s part of the house—on time. Tonight, I’m wearing a simple cotton robe and underneath a soft, pale pink nightgown with lace trim. My heart pounds with excitement as I knock on the door to his office and wait for him to allow me entry.

  “Come in.”

  As usual, he’s sitting at his desk, engrossed in something on his computer screen as I enter and walk toward him. Without hesitation, I slide the robe off and kneel next to his office chair, keeping my eyes on the floor. I don’t know much about submission, but I do know that he mentioned something like this when we talked earlier. For a few minutes, I listen to the sounds of the keys tapping on his laptop mixed in with the music softly playing in the background, doing my best to breathe calmly and steadily. I like this, I realize. Kneeling and waiting for him to acknowledge me. The anticipation, the excitement that I don’t know what he’ll ask of me or when. It’s turning me on.

  “Good evening, Abigail.”

  I look up. “Good evening, Sir.”

  He swivels the chair around to face me before leaning down, gently pressing his lips against mine. When he pulls back, I raise up on my knees and attempt to deepen the kiss. He chuckles softly, reaching up his hand to cup my cheek as he sits back in his chair, out of reach. I’m disappointed, but I lean into his touch as he caresses my face, smiling at me.

  “Please put your robe back on,” he says, “and make some tea.”

  He wants tea? Here I am, showered, shaved, and dressed for sex, and he wants tea?

  “Now, Abigail.”

  I stand, suppressing a sigh.

  “No pouting,” he admonishes. “Unless you want a spanking?”

  My stomach does a little flip, but I remain unmoving.

  “Well? Do you?” he asks, looking amused.

  Well, yeah, kind of. It seems he’s right about me, because the thought of being across his lap with my ass in the air, the heavy thud of his hand slapping against my skin is … not unpleasant.

  “Maybe, Sir,” I whisper.

  He chuckles. “Be a good girl and make that tea.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He reaches into his desk drawer, handing me a black monitor. “I got this earlier today when I was out. Put it in your son’s room. We’ll be able to hear if he wakes up.”

  I smile. Relaxing and enjoying our time up here will be so much easier if I don’t have to worry about Luke waking up and looking for me, and the fact that Mr. Thorne thought about it makes my heart beat faster. He’s just shown me that he’s able to put Luke’s needs ahead of his own.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  I put my robe back on and head back downstairs to the kitchen, where I put water on to boil before going to Luke’s room to place the monitor.

  I put the pot, a mug, milk and sugar, and some cookies on a tray and carefully carry everything back upstairs, wondering what we’re doing tonight. Was he serious about having me kneeling next to him while he eats? Maybe that’s what we’re doing now with the tea. The thought of it gives me a twinge of excitement.

  “Just put it on the coffee table, please,” Mr. Thorne says as I re-enter his study.

  I do as I’m told, noticing that he lit a fire while I was gone. The room is even more inviting and warm now.

  Mr. Thorne comes over to me, motioning to the couch. “Have a seat, Abigail.”

  I sit down on the edge and look up at him, wondering if we’re going to talk about something. Leaning down, he lifts up my legs, turning me sideways so I’m reclined against the side of the couch, and then grabs a pillow, which he places behind my back so I’m even more comfortable. I watch in stunned silence as he pours tea into the mug and turns to me.

  “You take sugar, right?”

  He’s serving me? I nod, confused about the sudden switch of our roles. It’s so thoughtful of him, though. I can’t help but like it. He smiles and adds sugar before placing it on the table within my reach. Then he goes to his desk again, takes something out of a drawer, and comes back to me. All the while, I stare at him like a moron.

  “This is for you.”

  He places a tablet in my lap. An iPad. I’ve never had one, but I know how they work, sort of, since Jo’s girls have one.

  “For me?”

  “I got one for Luke too,” he says with a shrug. “You decide when he should have it.”

  “I-I, Mr. Thorne—” I’m completely overwhelmed. “T-thank you,” I manage after several stuttering breaths.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “What, uh, what do you want me to use it for?”

  “Whatever you like. Games, books. I have some headphones if you want to watch something. Just enjoy yourself.”

  He hands me the tea, grinning at my stunned expression.

  “I don’t understand. This is your time. Don’t you want me to … you know, do something for you?”

  “This is what I want you to do for me,” he says.

  He’s said that before, that he only does something if it’s what he wants. But why would he want to spend his night like this?

  Because he likes me and wants me to enjoy myself. The thought is intoxicating, making my heart race.

  “Thank you, Sir,” I say softly.

  He nods once and the corners of his mouth lift up. “Enjoy your tea,” he says before he returns to his desk.

  I stare down at the treasure in my hands. Games and movies don’t interest me that much. Books, however—I’ve always loved reading. It’s one of the few things I’ve always been able to afford, thanks to public libraries. I quickly open the internet browser and go to Amazon.

  “Mr. Thorne?”

  He looks up.

  “Can I … can I buy a book, please?”

  “You can buy all the books you want, sweet girl. Just add your card to your account.”

  I beam at him and catch the sound of him laughing softly as I jump off the couch and sprint downstairs to find the card he gave me.

  Five minutes later, I’m scrolling through Amazon, ready to buy something, but I have absolutely no clue what to get. I take a sip of the tea and as I place it back on the table, I glance over at Mr. Thorne, who’s still working with a small smile on his handsome face. The sight of him sends a rush of warmth through my chest.

  He likes having me here.

  Even when I’m just sitting here, doing nothing much of anything, it gives him enjoyment. Is it the certainty that he can command me to do sexual things at the literal snap of his fingers? Or is it knowing that he provided me with this enjoyment and relaxation? I don’t really get it. The sex is one thing; I understand that. And even when he dresses me up, I get that too—him wanting something pretty to look at. But this? I don’t even know if we’re “on the clock,” so to speak, or if this is like a night off.

  I reach for the mug again and as I take another sip, I realize this is exactly what I wished for the first night I came up here and saw his study: to curl up by the fire with a cup of tea and a book on a cold night. Back then, I never thought it would happen, and almost ruined our evening by crying because Luke would never know what it was like to live in a house like this, to feel safe and protected. All of that has come true, thanks to Mr. Thorne. Tonight is a cold night and here I am, enjoying the warmth of the fire. Downstairs, Luke is sleeping peacefully in a quiet neighborhood, with a full stomach, about to start at a very good school. I owe everything to Mr. Thorne. He has literally made my dreams come true. Now, I want to make his come true. I will be the best … whatever the heck I am, and do ever
ything in my power to please him.

  Turning my attention back to Amazon, I sneak a glance at him again, and then type in the word “submissive.”

  Holy shit. There are so many titles, and some of the covers are verging on pornographic. I meant to find a textbook or something, but the highly suggestive covers call out to me, and soon I find myself engrossed in a novel, my eyes and fingers flying across the screen as I lose myself in the sordid tale.

  “Abigail? What are you reading, you naughty girl?”

  Oh, fuck. My heart feels as though it’s trying to pound its way through my chest as I turn my head toward his voice. Mr. Thorne’s still at his desk, but now his attention is on me. How long has he been watching me? How long have I been reading?

  “Sir, I-I … um, what do you mean?” He can’t possibly see what I’m reading from across the room. Discreetly, I click the button on the front of the iPad to close down the Kindle app.

  He shoots me a roguish grin and comes over to me. Slowly, he moves to sit on the other end of the couch, reaching for my ankles. I uncurl my legs, letting him put his hands on my feet, which he starts to caress with a gentle touch.

  “You don’t have to hide what you’re reading from me,” he says.

  “I’m sorry. My father once caught me with a, er, mature book. He got really angry with me, and he punished me, not that I think you’d do that.”

  “Did he hit you?” There’s a sharp edge to the tone of his voice.

  “No, nothing like that. He never even spanked me, thank God. That would make what you and I do really awkward.”

  Mr. Thorne chuckles, nodding his head before turning serious again. He runs his thumbs across the soles of my feet. It feels incredible.

  “He took away all my books,” I tell him. “My dad was really strict.”

  “Mine hit me,” Mr. Thorne says, staring into space. “He was a mean son of a bitch.”

  “What about your mom?” I whisper, a stab of pain making my chest ache.

  He shakes his head, his eyes still unfocused. “She died giving birth to me, and he remarried pretty soon after. My stepmom wasn’t interested in raising someone else’s kid.”

  “Is that why you went to boarding school?”