Crossing the Lines Read online

  “Maybe. It’s not so uncommon in England. Did I tell you I grew up over there?” He finally looks at me and I shake my head, amazed at how much he’s suddenly sharing with me. That must be why his accent doesn’t sound completely American.

  “How long were you there?”

  “From seven to eighteen. It was better than being at home.”

  I watch him in silence, waves of pity and compassion washing over me. The more I learn about him, the more I feel for him. What a horrible childhood it must have been to prefer a strict boarding school to home. With an abusive father, a deceased mother, and the violence that his scars reveal, the kindness he shows me and my son is all the more amazing.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, placing my hands on top of his.

  “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. I don’t miss them.”

  “I miss mine sometimes,” I confess. “Even though I shouldn’t.”

  Mr. Thorne gives me a sad smile. He continues massaging my feet, and I practically melt into the softness of the couch, closing my eyes.

  “So, will you tell me what you were reading?” he asks after a while.

  I suppress a smile, grateful for the change of topic. “It was a … a dirty story,” I admit.

  “I gathered as much. I know what you look like when you’re turned on.”

  I open my eyes to look at him, reveling in the warm smile he gives me.

  “It’s okay,” he says. “What was it about?”

  “Um, a Master and his submissive. Some of it was very … descriptive.”

  He laughs. “I can imagine. I don’t have to ask if you liked it.”

  I shake my head, feeling a little embarrassed. “I was trying to learn more about this sort of thing. There’s so much I don’t know.”

  “You can always ask me. I’d enjoy talking with you about that particular topic.” He grins at me, lifting my foot and placing a kiss on top of it. Then his mouth moves lower and he delivers a gentle bite to my big toe. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through my body.

  “You have a thing for feet?” I ask, all the while wondering if there’s anything he could introduce me to that I wouldn’t like. It seems like he knows my body better than I do.

  “I have a thing for you,” he replies, lowering my foot.

  Jo said he was smooth and she’s right. But I don’t think it’s just a line. I think he really does have a thing for me, and not just sexually, even if he doesn’t realize it yet. There are just too many aspects of our relationship that feel real.

  His hands slide up my naked legs, but he stops as he reaches the hem of my robe, giving my legs a gentle squeeze before returning his attention to my feet.

  “Why’d you stop? Don’t you want to?”

  The hungry look he sends me answers my question and sends tingles up my spine. “I always want you,” he says, his voice husky. “But if I start, it’ll be past midnight before I’m done with you, and that isn’t what we agreed upon.”

  Boldly, I untie my robe and slide onto the floor, kneeling between his legs. “I don’t care. I want you too.”

  “Come here, then.”

  He surprises me by lifting me up, undressing me, and placing me on my back so I’m spread out before him. Instead of me worshipping him, he kisses his way down my body, his hands gently stroking me.

  “This is what I want,” he says just before dipping between my legs.

  His kisses and caresses are slow and sweet, making me shiver with pleasure. He moans against me, mumbling something about how good I taste before diving back in, teasing me with gentle little flicks of his tongue until I hear myself begging him for more, burying my hands in his hair as he gives me what I want. Flushed and panting, I feel him move up my body until his mouth is on mine and I taste myself on his tongue.

  “Fuck me,” I moan. “Please.”

  He pulls back, a sexy grin playing on his lips. I watch, breathless, as he reaches down to unzip his pants. But then he stops, looking pensive and holding himself still above me. His eyes search mine and he holds my gaze as he reaches for the top button of his shirt, unbuttons it, and then continues until it’s hanging open.

  I hold my breath, scared that even the slightest movement will make him change his mind about this, about taking this huge step forward with me. I want this so badly with him.

  Hesitantly, yet with a determined look on his face, he shrugs the shirt off and tosses it on the floor. He stands, toes his shoes off, and removes his pants and socks, standing naked in front of me for the first time.

  The healed wounds on his stomach don’t bother me at all. His body is perfect. It’s strong, lean, and powerful with well-defined muscles and long limbs. He’s showing me all of him, including something I wasn’t expecting—a tattoo of a scraggly matchstick figure on his right arm near his shoulder, the word Alive written underneath.

  “Album logo,” he says, touching it briefly. “Misspent youth and all that.”

  “You’re beautiful,” I say, meaning every word.

  His gaze softens as he leans over me, spreading my legs to drape them around his waist. “You’re the beautiful one. Come here.”

  He wraps his arms around me and lifts me up, setting me on his lap. He smiles at my stunned expression, palming the back of my neck and pulling me down until his lips are on mine. As he positions himself, I break the kiss.

  “You’re not wearing a condom.”

  “I’ve been tested.” He draws a quick breath. “And I can’t get you pregnant. Vasectomy.”

  “Oh.” I have no idea how to respond to that. Why would he be this vigilant about not having kids? “I’ve only been with one person, but I’ve been tested too.”

  “Good.” His eyes seek mine. “I don’t fuck around, Abigail. It’s you and me, and no one else.”

  I nod, relaxing into his touch as he cups my breasts and seeks my mouth again. I love kissing him. He lifts me up, sliding against my wetness.

  “I haven’t ever, Sir,” I mumble in between kisses.

  He pauses, the corners of his mouth lifting up. “Simon,” he whispers, applying gentle pressure on my hips until I lower myself onto him slowly, inch by inch. We both moan in unison as my inner muscles clench around him.

  “It feels …” I shake my head, not able to describe it, the exquisite feeling of fullness, of having him inside me with nothing between us.

  “It feels fucking perfect,” he says gruffly before his lips smash against mine and his tongue invades my mouth.

  I’ve never been on top before, and I’m not sure what to do. Tentatively, I start to rock back and forth on him, loving how he can’t seem to stop touching me everywhere, how he gasps when I tighten my fingers in his hair and kiss his neck. His big hands settle on my ass, helping me move, faster and faster. Feeling my orgasm approaching, I throw my head back, my body taking over instinctually as mind-numbing pleasure sweeps over me, making me cry out.

  “Simon, oh, Simon.”

  I hear myself still chanting his name as I resurface. He’s reclined, watching me with an intensity that’s almost too much to take, his fast breaths making his lips part. Surprisingly gently, he cups my cheek and pulls me down for a hungry kiss, wrapping his arms around me. I shift on him, stopping abruptly at the sound of the hiss he lets out against my lips.

  “Did you?” I wonder out loud.

  He chuckles, running his hands up and down my back. “You didn’t notice?”

  “No,” I admit, feeling myself blush, hiding my face in the crook of his neck.

  “You were a bit preoccupied.” He laughs softly. “It was so fucking hot seeing you like that.”

  “Really? Even though I was on top?”

  “Mmhm.” He pulls my hair back, kissing up my neck and nipping at my earlobe with his teeth. “You did what I told you to do,” he says, tightening his hold on my hair. “I like that. A lot.” He taps my hip. “Up you go.”

  Disappointed I don’t get to keep enjoying his embrace, I lift myself off hi
m, my body already feeling cold without his touch. I’m barely on my feet before he pulls me down and turns me onto my side, facing the fireplace. He squeezes in behind me, draping his right arm around my waist to keep me from falling off the couch as I rest my head on his left one.

  “Did I say you could go anywhere?” he whispers, molding his front to my back.

  “I’m sorry … Simon.”

  “Good girl.”

  “I really should clean up, though. I mean, without the condom …”

  He tightens his hold on me. “Fuck it. It’s worth a little mess.”

  I can’t help but smile. It seems he likes the closeness as much as I do.

  For a while, I enjoy the quiet, closing my eyes and listening to Simon’s breathing and the crackling noises of the fireplace. His hand makes lazy passes over my body and finally settles on my breast, where he circles my nipple until it hardens.

  “Tell me more about the story you read,” he whispers. “What did the Master do to his submissive?”

  I’m glad he can’t see my face, the way my cheeks fill with color. “He … he spanked her.”

  “Mmm. You like it when I do that to you.” His fingers walk down my stomach and settle between my legs, making me gasp softly as he caresses me. “Did he fuck her?”

  I nod, unable to hold back a moan. “He used a, um, a vibrator on her first.”

  Simon laughs through his nose, delivering a gentle bite to my shoulder. “Maybe I should do that to you, sweet girl. Tie you up and tease you. You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes,” I admit, my heart already racing at the thought. “Being tied up by you, it’s not scary anymore.”

  He turns me over to face him and I see that he’s smiling. I start to lift my hand to touch his face, as he often does to me, but hesitate, unsure if he’ll like it.

  “You don’t have to be afraid to touch me,” he whispers. “I’ve noticed you rarely do.”

  “You want my hands on you?”

  “Among other things. Kiss me. Show me how much you want me.”

  His eyes are intense and demanding, but his lips are soft as I lean in, his kisses deep and tender. Before I know it, he’s between my legs, pushing inside me with a muffled groan. My hands slide over his skin, truly touching him for the first time, and it’s heavenly. I feel drunk on him: the sensation of having his naked body against mine, the taste of his lips, the faint smell of his cologne, the sound of his moans, and the pleasure-hazed look in his eyes as he moves in me, slowly and gently.

  This is making love. This is how it feels.

  I bury my face in his neck as tears pool in my eyes, my heart so full my emotions threaten to spill over. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice, too busy working me toward another toe-curling orgasm, which I yell out, clutching him to me in a silent promise to never let him go.

  I love you, Simon.

  Later that night, way past midnight, he walks me to my room downstairs, lifting my hand to his lips to press a kiss there. Impulsively, I stand up on my tiptoes to kiss him. He reciprocates immediately, moaning softly as I caress his tongue with mine.

  “I could get used to this,” he murmurs. “Having every night be like this.”

  Pulling back, he regards me cautiously, a line worrying the space between his eyebrows as though he’s scared he’s said too much. Doesn’t he know? I’m so his.

  I kiss him again. “Sleep well, Simon,” I say, his parting smile making my heart stutter.

  I know he felt it too.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The following morning, I can’t stop smiling or thinking about everything that happened the night before. It’s different now—not from the realization that I love him, because I think I’ve known that for a while. The acknowledgement of my feelings, however, changes everything. I’m just not sure if it’s for the better or the worse. I’ve been repressing my feelings, telling myself to simply enjoy this job for what it is, but now I know I want more, and for the first time it seems like Simon—after last night it feels right to call him that in my head—does too. If I let this play out, will it turn into a real relationship? My biggest wish is that one day soon he’ll simply ask me to be his girlfriend. Nothing much would have to change. I wouldn’t mind his work hours. I’d still take care of him just the same, because I love doing it. He and Luke could get closer, and we’d be a real family. Last night Simon shared more of himself with me than he ever has before, and it gives me hope. A fool’s hope, perhaps, but hope nonetheless.

  I bring the paper in and put it on the tray with the rest of Simon’s breakfast before carrying it into the dining room. He’s seated at the head of the table as usual, watching me as I enter.

  “You look lovely today,” he comments, looking me up and down.

  I’ve dressed up for Luke’s school interview, wearing a pretty white top with some lace on the collar and fitted dark jeans. I also put on makeup and styled my hair. “Thank you, Sir.”

  He tugs on the hem of the apron I have on over my clothes as I start serving him. “Nice touch.”

  I can’t contain my smile, knowing how much he likes seeing me looking domestic.

  “Where’s Luke this morning?” he inquires.

  “I let him sleep in since we don’t have to be at the school until noon.”

  “Good.” He reaches for me, pulling me into his lap, and before I can protest, his lips are on mine, his large hands cupping my face. I surrender to the kiss, but I don’t relax completely, my ears straining as I listen for any indication that Luke might be up and around.

  Simon pulls back. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s just … you know.” I nod my head in the direction of the hall.

  He frowns, letting go of me. “I apologize. Our agreement was nine to midnight. It won’t happen again.”

  “No!” I exclaim, much too loudly. “I mean, that’s not it. I liked kissing you ‘good morning.’ I was just nervous about Luke walking in.”

  Appeased, he smiles.

  Feeling bold, I lower my voice. “Tomorrow morning I could set my alarm early and sneak into your room.”

  As quickly as it appeared, the smile washes off his face. He pierces me with his gaze. “You’re not to come into my room when I’m asleep, Abigail. Not for any reason.”

  “Okay,” I whisper. “I’m sorry, it was just … never mind.” I climb off his lap, quickly unloading the tray as I avoid his eyes. His rejection makes my throat constrict, but I do my best to breathe through it. Last night felt like a huge leap forward for us, but this is a step backward.

  “Abigail.”

  I force myself to look at him, startled at how tired he suddenly appears. Slowly, he reaches out his hand, placing it on the table, palm up. An offering. I don’t have to think about it; I place my hand in his.

  “It was a very sweet suggestion,” he says softly, “but I don’t share a bed with anyone for a good reason.” Breathing deeply, he continues. “You’ve seen that mess on my stomach. I was attacked. In my sleep.” His voice is monotone, his eyes fixed on our joined hands.

  “I’m … I’m so sorry,” I whisper, feeling tears well up in my eyes. When I first met him, I thought he was a weirdo. Then I accepted his sometimes-strange demands, his need for control, thinking it was a quirk of his. But now I realize it’s much more than that. He’s damaged. Someone damaged him—badly.

  “I’m so sorry,” I repeat, not knowing what else to say. One of my tears lands on our joined hands, and he startles, looking up at me. Quickly, I wipe my wet cheeks with my other hand, trying to get myself under control.

  “We can’t ever share a bed,” he rasps. “Please, don’t bring it up again.”

  “I hog the covers anyway,” I say, trying for a smile as I shrug my shoulders. “And I have perpetually cold feet.”

  His tension disappears, the line between his eyes easing away as his face relaxes. “I’ll get you a heated blanket.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Thank you
, sweet girl,” he says, tightening his hand around mine for a second before letting go.

  After his revelation, it’s difficult to leave him to his solitude in the dining room, but I know that’s how he wants it to be. Is this the real reason he wants an arrangement like ours rather than a traditional relationship? Am I hoping for too much?

  Luke joins me for breakfast about half an hour later, excited for the visit at school. Then Simon appears at the door.

  “Good morning, Luke.”

  My son grins, giving him a wave. “Hi, Mr. Thorne! Guess what? Me and Mommy are going to live here. Like, all the time!”

  I stifle a laugh at my son’s innocence and his belief that this is news.

  “I know.” Simon chuckles, smiling at my son. “Your mother told me.”

  “And I’m going to school today,” Luke continues, bouncing up and down in his seat.

  Mr. Thorne remains passive; his eyes dart to mine for a second before he looks at Luke again. “Really?” he asks, sounding surprised. “Are you big enough for that?”

  “Uh-huh!” Luke nods eagerly. “I’m almost five. It’s my birthday soon, right, Mommy?”

  “That’s right,” I chime in. “In two weeks.”

  “See,” he says, “I’ll be five in two weeks.”

  Simon nods. “Are you going to have a big party?”

  Luke’s face falls a little. “I … I don’t know.”

  “Of course you’ll have a party, honey,” I tell him. “We can go to Aunt Jo’s.”

  “You can have it here if you want.”

  I look at Simon. “Really?”

  “Of course. Whatever you want. Use your card; invite your friends.”

  “Would you like that?” I ask Luke. “A party here? You can even get a Lightning McQueen cake if you want.”

  “Cool.” Luke breathes out the word. “You’ll come too, right, Mr. Thorne? To my party?” He stares up at Simon with bright, excited eyes.

  Oh, shit.

  “I, uh …” Simon looks taken aback. “Don’t you want it to be just for your friends?”

  “You’re my friend,” Luke says, like that’s obvious even though they just met a few days ago.