9. Chapter 8
RYAN
“Don’t make a sound, please.”
Mr. Thorne’s voice was low, almost strained, as he shakily pulled my shirt over my head.
He paused, like the reality of what he was doing had just hit him, then turned his back to me.
“Take off your pants and get in the bath.”
I cocked my head. “Why are you turning around? Not like you haven’t seen anything new, especially after spanking me.”
“Please, Ryan. Let’s not discuss this while you’re freezing.”
My mouth wanted to keep running, but my body was too cold to argue. I peeled off the rest of my clothes and sank into the lukewarm bath he’d drawn.
“It’s not very hot.”
“I know,” he said, still facing away. “I have to let your body adjust before raising the temperature. It’s safer to condition it slowly.”
Conditioning my body? That sounded… promising.
“You can turn around now,” I teased. “Fully submerged, I am.” I threw in a terrible Yoda voice for good measure.
“Get it, Yoda?” I teased. He didn’t react, like he was refusing to encourage me.
He glanced over his shoulder with the faintest shake of his head. “Ryan, my wife is sleeping. Please stop laughing so obnoxiously.”
Something about that, his wife upstairs, probably asleep while her husband was bathing me, sent a shiver of desire down my spine.
I leaned back in the water, eyes locked on him. “Clean me.”
His gaze held mine for a long beat. “You’ll be quiet?”
I grinned, all teeth. “As a mice.”
“Mouse,” he corrected automatically.
I tilted my head. “What?”
“Mice is plural. You’re singular—mouse.”
I flicked water at him. “Ugh, you’re such a teacher…” My grin widened. “So hot.”
He didn’t take the bait, just rolled up his sleeves and reached for a bottle of lavender shampoo, probably his wife’s. Mine now. He’d get used to that.
“Head back,” he murmured, massaging my scalp in slow, deliberate circles. His hands were huge, warm, and, God, they felt good.
Tell me more about what’s wrong with my English.” I bit my lip.
“I’m a psych professor, not an English professor,” he said while working the shampoo into a thick lather.
“Mm. Then tell me something psych-related.”
He humored me. “Our last topic was dependent versus independent variables, so—”
I groaned loudly, sitting up a little too fast. “Not that. Boring. Tell me something interesting.”
He pressed a palm to my shoulder and pushed me gently back into the water. “You said you’d be quiet.”
“I will… after you give me a fun fact.” I closed my eyes again, melting under his hands.
“Oh! Make it about me. Tell me something about myself.”
He gave a short, amused scoff. “Like what?”
“Why do I like big hands?”
He hesitated for half a second, then resumed massaging. “From an evolutionary standpoint, big hands are often associated with capability.”
I smirked. “I do like capable hands. Especially when they belong to capable men.”
His jaw ticked, but he kept working. The pressure of the sponge against my skin grew firmer as he scrubbed down my arms, then my shoulders.
“Do my neck,” I murmured, tilting my head to give him better access.
His forearms and rolled-up sleeves got damp as he worked the sponge up my neck and along my collarbone.
“What do you like?” I asked. “Big hands?”
“No.”
“Feminine hands?” I prodded.
“No.”
I sighed dramatically. “Please give me something. One thing, professor.”
A pause. Then, quietly, “I like it when people are quiet when they’re told to be.”
I bit back a smile. “So… obedience. Got it.”
His eyes flicked up, sharp, before he reached for the detachable shower head. “I’m going to rinse you off.”
I watched him work, the air thick between us, until a sudden rattle at the doorknob freezed me in place.
“Nathan?” A groggy female voice filtered through the door. My stomach dropped.
Mr. Thorne moved quickly toward the door. “Yes, honey?”
“Why are you showering this late? Come to bed.”
“I will, sweetheart. Give me a few minutes.”
“Open the door.”
There’s a brief silence before his voice came again, smooth but tight. “Give me a minute. I’m… wet.”
“Nathan, I need to pee.”
Our eyes locked. His jaw tightened. Then he was suddenly in front of me, gripping my arm.
“Ow—what the hell—?”
“Shhh.” He glanced around, then nodded toward the large walk-in shower with its thick curtain.
“Get in there.”
“What? No—”
His look shut me up instantly. He guided, okay, shoved, me into the shower. I’m too distracted by the fact that I’m completely naked and he’s seen all of me to argue further.
I heard him unlock the door and take a tiny peek by the corner of the curtain.
The second Nathan cracked the door, his wife was already looking at him like she had sniffed out a secret. She’s sharp-eyed, arms folded, blocking the hallway like she owns the place.
“You’re acting weird,” she said.
“I’m not,” Nathan answered too fast, voice tight.
I twisted the shower knob just enough for the water to start hissing. Not full-on running, just enough for the sound to slip past him and land in her ears.
Her gaze flicked toward the bathroom. “Who’s in there?”
“No one,” Nathan said, stepping out and pulling the door almost closed behind him. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
I was still able to make out his wife’s facial expressions.
She studied him, then tilted her head. “You still going to insist I’m projecting?”
Nathan hesitated. “Lilly—”
“Because if you are, I’m leaving! I can’t keep paying for it forever, Nathan. I feel like you told me you were over me accidentally screwing Paul, but then you get like this! And I can’t even ask why you're acting super odd without you then gaslighting me about some projection bullshit!”
The words hit me like a slap.
Paul? She cheated on him?
On Mr. Thorne?
Him?
My brows pulled together, heat creeping up my neck. She cheated on a man like Nathan? What the hell was wrong with her?
That fucking bitch.
Nathan’s shoulders shifted, subtle but stiff. “We’ve moved past it,” he said, but it sounded like he was reciting lines.
She sighed, softer now. “Then why do I still feel like you’re holding back? Like you’ve been… halfway here ever since?”
“I’m here,” he said.
“No, you’re not. Not really.” Her voice lowered, coaxing. “We could fix this. We could start fresh. We could have a baby.”
The word landed hard.
Baby?
My pulse tripped, then spiked.
Nathan didn’t answer right away, and that silence said more than anything.
“You don’t want to?” she asked, her eyebrows pinching.
“It’s not that.”
“Then what? You’re thirty-three, I’m thirty-five. We don’t have all the time in the world.”
I stood frozen in the steam, my ears straining for every syllable. My mind was already spinning, her, pregnant. Nathan’s hands on her. Him kissing her stomach. Their kid calling him Dad.
My jaw tightened. I didn’t like that picture.
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You know what I think? I think you’re still punishing me. That’s what this is. You haven’t forgiven me. You just… tolerate me.”
Nathan exhaled slowly. “Lilly—”
“You can’t even talk about it without looking like you’d rather be anywhere else. You haven’t touched me the same way since.”
Her voice dripped with something between guilt and accusation, and I couldn’t tell which irritated me more.
My head was loud now, too loud. She had cheated on him and still thought she was in the position to demand a baby? To fix their marriage with a kid like it was a damn glue stick?
The thought of them with a child was like someone pouring bleach into my brain. It burned. It stuck.
Nathan finally said something too low for me to catch, and she just sighed, softer this time. “Think about it.”
He kissed her goodnight, and I heard her steps retreat upstairs.
Nathan followed her.
Why?
I was still standing there, gripping the curtains like they were the only thing keeping me upright, and all I could think about was that word. Baby. And how much I hated the idea, when I saw my phone, in the corner of the bathroom, near Mr. Thorne’s jacket.
He found it?
I went to look at it, and saw the latest messages.
One was delivered 2 minutes ago.
Landon:
U safe?
Hey, pick up.
“What?” I snapped into the phone.
“Don’t fuckin’ yell at me! I’ve been calling for the last hour. Where are you?”
“I told you I’m with… my—”
“Yeah, your little fuck buddy, got it.” I could practically hear the eye roll. “You good then? ‘Cause I’m about to leave.”
“What? You’re still here? It’s been like two hours!”
“Yeah, just got tackled by some dude… ‘cause of that little dumbass in my trunk and, yeah. You need a ride back or not?”
From where I stood, I could still hear them, Nathan and his wife, voices raised just enough for me to catch the edges of their argument about the baby thing.
Ew.
“Yeah. Go where I left you.”
“Already there.”
I hung up.
The bathroom was on the lower half of the house, which made slipping out easy. The air outside was colder than I expected, sharp against my skin. My head was a mess, images I didn’t want crowding in anyway. Nathan with her. Nathan with a kid. Nathan kissing her the way he—
No.
The thought was like acid under my skin, eating through everything else. My chest felt tight, not from the cold, but from how fast I was walking. I didn’t even remember shutting the door behind me, just the pounding in my ears and the way my jaw locked so tight it hurt.
By the time I hit the street, I’d already decided.
If she thought a baby was gonna fix their marriage, she was wrong.
I’d make sure of it.