Crossing the Lines Page 4

  Downstairs, Mr. Thorne’s back to work. I wait quietly until he receives a text, telling him that the cab’s arrived. Walking out into the hall, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a manila envelope, handing it to me. Again, I resist the urge to thank him. I’ve performed a job, and now I’m getting paid.

  “Good night,” I whisper and turn my back to him, wrapping my fingers around the door handle.

  “Abigail, do you cook?”

  I close my eyes, trying to prepare myself for what I know is coming.

  “Yes.”

  “I’d like for you to make me dinner on Wednesday night.” Again, it’s not a question.

  “All right.” I nod my head, feeling unsure.

  “Eyes to me.”

  I just want to go home, but I turn to face him, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

  “You did everything I asked of you,” he says calmly. “You earned that money. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I whisper, wishing it were really that simple.

  “Good girl. Be here at six on Wednesday and take a cab. I’ll pay the fare when you get here.”

  I stare at him. He really wants to see me again. I’ve done it. It’s what I wanted, but it also means that this isn’t over. I can’t just go home and wash the experience off me, knowing it was a one-time thing.

  “Thank you, Mr. Thorne.”

  “Get home safely, Abigail.”

  I nod and he leads me out to the waiting taxi, where he holds the door open for me. He hands the driver a bill and tells him to take me wherever I want to go in the city. Then he heads back inside, not looking back.

  The cab driver doesn’t try to make conversation, which is a huge relief. I glance at my watch, surprised that it’s only eleven o’clock, which means I’ve been at Mr. Thorne’s for just three hours. Discreetly, I open the envelope he gave me, feeling my mouth drop open in surprise. Instead of the agreed-upon amount, I count ten—not five—hundred-dollar bills.

  One thousand dollars. He paid me one thousand dollars!

  I feel dizzy with happiness, and my uncertainty about seeing him again starts to fade. Maybe soon I’ll be able to pay off everything I owe, and Luke and I will be able to stay in our apartment. I clutch the envelope to my chest, feeling tears drip down onto my hands. My hair and skin smell like apple pie and Mr. Thorne’s cologne, a reminder of what I’ve done tonight, but in this moment, I don’t feel any guilt or shame.

  “Hey, you okay, lady?” the driver asks, looking at me with concerned eyes in the rearview mirror.

  “Yes,” I croak. “I think I will be.”

  Chapter Six

  Jo is the only person I still speak to from my high school, which is strange since I didn’t really talk to her back then. I’ve realized that had more to do with my parents not thinking she was “good company” than any dislike on my part, but there was only so much I could get away with. Jo was wild back then. She partied a lot and became pregnant our junior year, leaving town to have her baby. We found each other in the city, one year after Luke was born, both of us in similar circumstances. She kicked her boyfriend Thomas out last year and has been raising her two girls on her own since then. She’s my only friend in the world.

  On Wednesday around noon, Luke and I head over to the diner where Jo works. I’m being frugal with the money I’ve made, but I decide to treat us to a hot lunch since I need to ask her about watching Luke tonight. I can’t keep burdening Mrs. Watt and I know Luke would much rather stay at Jo’s if given the choice.

  Jo looks a bit worn in her hideous pink uniform, but perks up at the sight of us. After Luke is settled in with an order of fries and a coloring book, I join her at the counter, which is the most privacy we can hope for at the moment. It’s on a day like today that I wish I could afford preschool for Luke.

  “So,” Jo starts, pouring me a much-needed cup of coffee. “Still no word from the douche?”

  I shake my head. As far as I know, Patrick could have left the country. But odds are that he hasn’t. It’s more likely he’s with another woman somewhere, since I suspected he was seeing someone before he left.

  “We really know how to pick ’em, huh?” She laughs, but it’s not a happy sound.

  “Yeah.” We’ve had this conversation before and I don’t feel like having it again. I like her ex-boyfriend. Thomas is a screwup, I can’t deny that, but he has a good heart and it’s in the right place. He loves Jo and their daughters, and he’s never left them. I know he still helps out and wants to be in their lives, even though Jo ended things between them. He’s nothing like Patrick.

  I change the subject quickly. “Jo, I need your help.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Can you watch Luke for me tonight? Can he have dinner at your place?”

  “Sure. When are you dropping him off?”

  “I have to be somewhere at six, so probably half an hour before that.”

  Jo nods and wipes off the counter.

  “You’re not going to ask me where I’m going?” I blurt out after a few seconds.

  She gives me a curious look. “Well, I wasn’t,” she drawls, “but it sounds like you really want to tell me.”

  I realize she’s right. I do want to tell her. I know Jo won’t judge me; she’s not that type. And maybe her acceptance will assuage the indecision I’m starting to feel again. Mr. Thorne made it sound so simple: I’m doing a job and getting paid, no shame in that. But it’s less convincing now that it’s been a few days, and I have no idea what to expect of my visit at his house tonight.

  “I sort of got a job,” I confess. “But it’s not exactly something to be proud of.”

  Jo frowns. “You’re not in trouble, are you, Abbi?”

  I shake my head, looking over to check on Luke, who’s happily eating his greasy lunch. The sight makes me smile. “No, nothing like that. I’m … I guess I’m a call girl, or whatever you call it,” I whisper. “But just for one guy.”

  Jo’s lips part and she inhales sharply. “Holy shit! Of all the things you could have said, I never would’ve—holy shit, Abbi!”

  “Yeah, I know,” I mumble. “I needed the money. I’m doing this for Luke.”

  I see the pity she feels for me all over her sad expression. “Why didn’t you ask me?”

  “Because you would’ve given it to me. And you’re barely making ends meet as it is.”

  “Oh, Abbi.” Jo excuses herself to help a customer and then returns, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Okay, you need to start from the beginning.”

  I tell her everything: the failed audition at the strip club, getting picked up by Mr. Thorne, the visit to his house, baking pie for him, and finally, getting screwed on his kitchen table before he paid me twice what we’d agreed on. By the time I’m done, Jo’s eyes have widened to near-comical proportions.

  “And I have to be at his house at six tonight,” I add.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I figured.” Still wearing a shocked expression, she leaves again to help another customer. I check in on Luke, who’s happily coloring and looking at his comic books.

  “You want my opinion?” Jo asks after she comes back. I nod. “I think you’re in way over your head, hon. That guy—well, he sounds pretty weird.”

  I frown. Mr. Thorne definitely has some quirks, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be nice too. He wasn’t so bad.

  Now I’m defending him?

  “I mean, it sounds to me like he might be one of those …” She glances around and leans in. “You know, those guys who get off tying up women and whipping them.”

  “W-what?” I sputter. “He’s never mentioned anything like that!”

  “Yet,” she says in an ominous-sounding voice. “Come on, Abbi. He said he wanted to be in charge, you have to call him Sir, he held you down and fucked you, and he paid you double.”

  “What does that have to do with—”

  “To lure you back, to get you hooked on the money, so you’ll let him do more of that
stuff. How do you know he doesn’t have a dungeon or something in the basement?”

  “I don’t,” I admit. I don’t know anything about Mr. Thorne except that he likes cleanliness, punctuality, and women who do what he says.

  “Look,” Jo sighs. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t keep doing this. I mean, I know how badly you need the money, so I totally get it. But, it’s like you said—he’s a good-looking, rich guy. Why is he paying for sex in the first place when he could just use a hookup app?”

  I don’t have a good answer for her.

  “If he’s looking for someone to do that S&M stuff with, would you do it?”

  I shake my head. I don’t know much about that kind of thing but being tied up and whipped sounds awful. There’s no way I could ever do that. What if Mr. Thorne really does have a dungeon in the basement of his house? The thought makes me shiver.

  “Hey, are you scared of him?” Jo asks, placing her hand on top of mine.

  “No. I don’t get a threatening vibe from him, if that makes any sense? I wouldn’t have gone with him in the first place if I did.”

  Jo nods.

  “But if he really is into tying me up and hitting me, that’s not something I can do. I have to tell him that.”

  “Give me the guy’s address when you drop Luke off this afternoon, okay? At the very least, I’ll know where you are.”

  “I will. Thanks, Jo.”

  “I’m glad you told me.”

  “Me, too.”

  “So, how long do you think he wants to keep seeing you?” she asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. He hasn’t said anything about that. For all I know, tonight could be the last time I ever see him. It’s not like we’re on a schedule. I need to get a real job. Maybe the strip club will work out once I gain a bit of weight. I used to be pretty.”

  “Oh, I remember,” Jo chuckles. “The teen dream. And you’re still pretty. Why else would your Sir pay so much?”

  “I make a mean apple pie?”

  Jo snorts into her coffee. “I think it’s your other pie he’s after.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Was it awful?” she whispers, all traces of humor vanished.

  “I don’t know. Not really. It was different. You know, sort of rough, I guess. But it didn’t hurt or anything like that. It was …” Pretty okay. A little exciting, even. God, what’s wrong with me?

  “Worth the money?” Jo asks.

  I look over at Luke and nod. “Absolutely.”

  A few minutes later, I join Luke at the table and try my best to eat my lunch. However, the thought of telling Mr. Thorne there are some lines I won’t cross is making me far more nervous than when I was just going over there to cook and have sex. All I know about S&M is that there’s pain involved, and he promised he wouldn’t hurt me, so he can’t expect something like that from me. Or can he? Jo is right. I need to tell him. Now I just have to figure out a way to do that.

  Chapter Seven

  Getting to Mr. Thorne’s on time is easy now that I only have to hail a cab to take me there. As promised, he comes outside to pay the driver the moment we pull up. He doesn’t turn his attention to me until the cab has left.

  “Good evening, Abigail,” he greets. “You look lovely tonight.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” I’m wearing my prettiest skirt and blouse to get on his good side, and I’m glad to see that he approves. I wonder if this means I can skip the shower-and-change routine.

  “Come inside.” He leads me through the door, his hand resting on the small of my back. The gentlemanly gesture takes me by surprise. The moment we’re behind the closed door, his hand slides lower, giving my ass a squeeze before pulling me against his tall frame. Both hands slip underneath the fabric, skimming my naked thighs.

  “Are you going to be a good girl for me tonight?”

  “Wait, Mr. Thorne—” Nervously, I take a few steps back, out of his arms. “Can we please talk about something before we—er, start?”

  “Abigail, is something the matter?” he asks, frowning.

  “Well, no. I mean, not exactly. Mr. Thorne, I don’t have a lot of experience with this.”

  “I realize that.”

  “Right. But I have to ask. Are you …” I can’t get the words out. He’s looking at me, his eyebrows raised, hands buried in his pockets. His stance isn’t threatening, but his presence is intimidating.

  “Am I what, Abigail?”

  “Um, do you like, you know … S&M?” I squeak out the last syllable and then hold my breath. I can’t believe I just asked him that.

  He shoots me a roguish grin, his obvious amusement making him look much younger. “What do you know about S&M?” he asks, taking a step closer.

  “Very little,” I whisper. “It’s about getting tied up and whipped or beaten, right?”

  “It can be,” he answers calmly.

  “And do you want … that?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I won’t deny that my inclinations are a bit different than the norm, but I don’t define my preferences like that. There are some aspects of the BDSM lifestyle that I do enjoy, though.”

  I gape at him. He’s so casual about this.

  “W-what aspects?” I ask, feeling my eyes tear up. “’Cause the whole whipping thing—I can’t do that! I’m really grateful that you paid me all that money, and I do need it, but I’m scared you’ll hurt me—”

  “Abigail, easy,” he soothes, producing a folded handkerchief from his pocket. Gently, he dabs my eyes with one hand while he runs the other one down the length of my hair.

  “Listen to me,” he says, tilting my head up so I’m forced to look into his eyes. “I won’t deny that I like submissive women, because I do. And I might find it enjoyable to tie you to my bed before I fuck you.”

  I gasp.

  “I may even want to spank your pretty little ass sometimes.”

  I start to shake my head, but he stops me, holding my chin between his thumb and index finger. “But, Abigail, I can promise you: It will be for pleasure, not punishment.”

  “I don’t see the difference,” I admit.

  “It’s really very simple,” Mr. Thorne says, taking my hand and giving it a gentle tug. “Come with me.”

  Obediently, I follow him into the kitchen, where he sits me down before pouring me a glass of water. He stands behind me, gently kneading my shoulders while I take a sip, and I can’t help but notice how it’s almost affectionate.

  “I enjoy submission,” he tells me, “but not punishment. Playrooms and instruments do very little for me. I don’t want you to fear me; I want you to show me respect. Doling out pain doesn’t turn me on—neither does humiliation.”

  “What does turn you on?” I know how the question sounds, but I’m not trying to be coy. I genuinely want to know if I’ll be able to do the things he likes.

  “You,” he answers simply. “Doing what I say.”

  “Oh.” I breathe out with relief before I turn my head and glance up at him. “So if you tell me to jump, I ask how high?”

  His lips twitch. “No, Abigail. If I tell you to jump, you start jumping until I tell you to stop.”

  I nod, swallowing reflexively as a twinge of fear passes through me. Holding my gaze, he leans down until we’re eye to eye.

  “I already told you, I don’t get off on inflicting pain. That’s not what this is about.”

  “So, you don’t have a d-dungeon in the basement?”

  His warm breath wafts across my skin as he laughs softly, giving my shoulders a small squeeze. “No. Nothing like that.”

  “Okay.”

  “You gonna be my good girl from now on?” he asks.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He leans in closer, his lips touching the shell of my ear. “You won’t regret it,” he whispers.

  Well, that remains to be seen. Knowing that he’s not interested in hurting me is reassuring, though.

  He moves to
stand in front of me, reaching out his hand. When I take it, he pulls me up, back into his arms. “Anything else you’d like to ask me?”

  “Are you married?”

  His eyes narrow and his voice turns glacial. “Why would you ask me that?”

  Oh, shit. “I’m sorry. You’re very … I mean, most men your age are …” I avoid his eyes.

  He draws a breath, letting go of me. “I’m no longer married.”

  I look at him, relieved to see his expression warming again. I won’t ask if he has children, worried that he might turn the question on me if I do. He can never know about Luke. I’ve had guys hit on me at the park only to practically run away once they realized I’m not Luke’s older sister or babysitter. I don’t know if Mr. Thorne would find me being a mom unattractive, but I can’t take that chance with him.

  “So, Abigail,” he says. “Would you like a shower?”

  “Not really.” Oops, that’s probably not how I should put it. “I mean, I just showered before coming over here, but if it’s something you’d like for me to do, I’ll do it, Sir.”

  He smiles. “Good answer. No, that’s quite all right. I wasn’t sure if you had access to one where you’re staying.”

  Does he think I’m homeless? “I have an apartment.”

  “That’s good.” He looks relieved. “I’d like for you to wear the outfit I’ve put out in the bathroom. You remember where it is?”

  “Yes, Sir.” I resist the strange urge to curtsy as I exit the kitchen and hurry upstairs to change. Once again, there’s no underwear, so I strip down and run a brush through my hair while I check my makeup. The dress is green with white polka dots. I pair it with the modest kitten heels he’s left me and look myself over in the mirror. I guess I’m playing a 1950s housewife tonight, which is definitely the type of woman that Mr. Thorne likes.

  Submissive.

  I know the word, but I can’t really identify with it. I guess it doesn’t matter, as long as I can do a good job of pretending while I’m here. When I come back downstairs, Mr. Thorne is working at the table, and I stand quietly, waiting for him to address me. I’m nothing if not a fast learner. After a minute, he looks up, smiling appreciatively as his gaze wanders up my body.