Crossing the Lines

by S. J. Hooks

“You did?”

  “A baby shower for a friend.”

  “Lila?” he asks, breaking character. I nod. “You’ll do wonderfully. All of Lila’s girlfriends will want to hire you too, I’m sure.”

  “Well,” I say, not wanting to get my hopes up, “since we’re talking about it, I wanted to ask you … Can I borrow your kitchen a few days beforehand? Mine is kind of small.”

  “Be my guest. It’s not like I use it for anything anymore.”

  “You don’t?”

  He glances away. “I haven’t really been in there much since you left.”

  Oh, Simon. Underneath his tough exterior he’s a lot more vulnerable than he lets on.

  “Thank you. I won’t be in your way.”

  “I want you in my way,” he says. “I don’t want to be without you again.”

  Warmth floods my chest and I find myself falling completely under his spell, loving every second of our conversation. “I don’t want that either.”

  “Tell me something fun you’ve done recently,” he says, smiling.

  I return the smile, taking a sip of my wine, and start up our game again. “Well, I went to Disneyland for Thanksgiving.”

  “In California?” he asks, acting surprised.

  “Yes, with my friends and my son. He’s five. His name is Luke.”

  “I’d like to meet him someday,” Simon says softly. His happy expression is contagious.

  “I’d like that too.”

  “So, tell me about your trip. I want to hear everything,” he says, his gaze moving toward the two waiters approaching. “Oh, good. Our first course is here.”

  “First? How many did you order?”

  “A few.” He grins at me. “You’ll need to familiarize yourself with a lot of different courses for when you become Seattle’s best caterer.”

  I laugh. “All right. Sounds good.”

  Nearly three hours later, I’m in a food coma, languidly reclined in my seat, finishing my third glass of wine. Across from me, Simon looks just as relaxed, although he switched to sparkling water after his second glass since he’s driving. We’ve kept the conversation light and casual as the waiter brought us course after course, ending with cheeses and desserts.

  “Full?” Simon asks, smirking at me.

  I moan softly. “I couldn’t eat another bite. That was incredible.”

  “Good.” He signals the waiter. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

  “Mmhm.” I’m slightly buzzed in a very pleasant way and feeling warm all over. The waiter brings the bill to the table, and I reach for it, but my movements are slow, and Simon snatches it up, handing the waiter a black card without even looking at the bill.

  “I’ve got it,” he says.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Don’t be silly. I invited you, after all. Besides, now you owe me dinner sometime. I’d like something home-cooked.” He sends me a cheeky smile.

  “Oh, really?” I giggle. “I think we can arrange that.”

  Simon signs the check, and when the waiter goes to pull out my chair, Simon intercepts, offering me his arm instead. I lean into him, feeling heavy-limbed and content as he wraps his arm around me and escorts me out. The car warms up quickly on the drive home, and my eyelids grow heavier and heavier as I try to keep up with the conversation.

  “You can sleep,” Simon murmurs.

  “I’m not tired.”

  He chuckles in response.

  “Really, it’s only”—I look at his dashboard—“a little past ten. I can’t be tired yet. How would it look if I couldn’t keep up with my mature man-friend?”

  His lips twitch in amusement. “Don’t think I won’t pull over and put you across my knee.”

  His words send a jolt of excitement through me. I’m wide awake now.

  “Yeah, you’d like that,” he concludes, satisfaction radiating from him as he keeps driving.

  “I would. Maybe our next date.”

  He smiles. “I had a wonderful time tonight. Thank you, Abigail.”

  “Thank you,” I say, reaching over to lace our fingers. “Best first date ever.”

  “Couldn’t agree more.”

  I manage to stay awake for the rest of the drive. Once we’re at my place, he jumps out to open the door for me and offers me his arm again.

  “You’re such a gentleman,” I hear myself say as we start walking with me all but glued to his side.

  “I try. That dress of yours is making it difficult, though.”

  I look up at him, and he’s still smiling, so I’m not sure if he’s being serious or not. We stop outside my door, and he turns me gently so I’m facing him. His hands are warm on my face as he touches me, and I look up into his eyes.

  “May I kiss you?” He exhales. “God, I want to kiss you.”

  I nod, standing up on my toes to meet him halfway as he presses his lips against mine, hesitantly at first. I feel him relaxing into me, tilting my head to the side as he kisses me again, firmer, better, his soft moan sending my pulse into overdrive as I deepen the kiss, opening to him. His tongue caresses mine, and I press up against him, desperate for more contact until he wraps his strong arms around me, enveloping me entirely. A low whine escapes my throat as I cling to him, letting him take charge. Much too soon, he pulls back, his breath harsh against the side of my face as he holds me close for a few moments before letting me go. I stumble a little, chuckling as I get my bearings. I give him a shy smile, and he returns it.

  “I don’t think I want you to be a gentleman tonight,” I confess. “I know it’s only our first date, but I don’t want it to end.”

  “So invite me upstairs,” he orders in a rough voice.

  I shiver as he tangles his hand in my hair, tilting my face upward before he captures my lips with his. His kiss is demanding this time and makes my heart pound furiously as I cling to him, feeling my knees weaken at the sensations, the soft, warm, and certain glow of happiness radiating through me coupled with the frantic flutters of my heart telling me I’m right where I belong. Abruptly, he pulls back, gazing at me for a moment before he gently caresses my cheek.

  “Invite me upstairs,” he says again.

  I nod eagerly, my fingers trembling as I try to locate the keys in my bag. The house is quiet as we tiptoe up the stairs, and I let us inside my apartment, closing the door to the outside world. I turn to Simon, who’s staring at me with that same hungry look in his eyes, noticeable even in the darkness of the room. Before I can say anything, he sweeps me up and carries me to the bed.

  “I want to unwrap you like a present,” he says, reaching for my stilettos.

  I lie still as he undresses me, brushing against my already overheated skin in the process. He stretches out next to me, slanting his mouth over mine, his hands tracing my curves. I moan, arching up, needing more.

  “You’re so wanting,” he murmurs. “So needy.”

  “Please, touch me,” I beg.

  His fingers slip between my thighs, gently probing. “So wet already. There’s my sweet g—” He stops. “Abigail. I mean Abigail. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

  “Wh-what?” I draw a breath, dazed. He’s frozen above me, frowning. “Hey.” I lift my hand to run it through his hair. “It’s okay for you to call me that.”

  Some of the tension leaves his body.

  “I loved being your sweet girl,” I whisper. “That doesn’t have to change. I can still call you ‘Sir,’ sometimes. We both like it that way. And you said nothing would be off limits if we both enjoyed it, right?”

  His answering smile is brilliant. “You’ll still let me dress you up sometimes?”

  “Of course. I’ll even serve you naked.”

  “Fuck yes.” His voice is a growl. God, it’s hot.

  “I like dressing up for you, in the 1950s dresses and the aprons.” Then I ask a question I’ve been wondering for a while, but have been too shy to ask. “What do you like about it?”

  His smile turns into a roguish grin. “It’s a fet
ish, I suppose. Making you look prim and proper, all the while knowing”—he leans down and kisses me—“I can reach underneath to find you naked. Or that you’ll bend over for me, equally eager for a spanking or for me to fuck you.”

  I can’t stop a moan from escaping, completely turned on by his words.

  “You were right about me, you know,” he says.

  “About what?”

  “I never wanted a submissive, in the traditional sense. I wanted a girlfriend who’s sexually submissive, who likes taking care of me. That’s what I’ve always wanted. You. Just the way you are is perfect for me. I want everything with you. I may have been desperate, but I meant it when I asked you to marry me. I want to put a ring on your finger so the whole world knows you’re mine.”

  I stare up at him, wide-eyed. “Simon, I—”

  “We can have a long engagement,” he interrupts softly. “Time won’t change anything. I’ll just love you more.”

  My heart stutters, making me lose my breath for a second. “You love me?”

  A flash of surprise crosses his face and he lifts his hand to caress the apple of my cheek. He gazes at me, his expression warm and tender. “Of course I love you, Abigail.”

  My chest expands with unexpected warmth and tears rush to my eyes. He catches them all, brushing my temples with his thumbs, still watching me. I realize I haven’t spoken.

  “I wasn’t sure,” I whisper. “I hoped, because I love you too. I love you, Simon. I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time.” I wrap my arms around him as his lips meet mine, softly at first, then with more eagerness as he starts pulling his clothes off in between kisses. I watch him as he sinks inside me, his face a picture of pleasure, a moan escaping both of us at the same time. I’ve missed this so much, the delicious stretching and feeling of completion, his weight on top of me. Lacing our fingers, he loves me slowly, only taking his eyes off mine when he leans down to kiss me or to whisper sweet words in my ear. My heart is so full I have to fight not to cry with happiness, freeing my fingers to throw my arms around him, needing him closer. Even quietly and gently like this, our physical connection is breathtaking in its intensity, and he swallows my cries as I come.

  Afterward we lie close together, still touching and kissing. Neither of us seems able to stop.

  Simon groans a little, shifting around. “Tomorrow we’re going out, and I’m buying you a new bed.”

  “What? Why?”

  “There’s no way to say it without sounding ancient, so please just let me get you one with a good mattress, or better yet”— he dips his head to kiss my neck —“marry me, move in with me, and let me fuck you in my big bed every night.”

  “Simon.” I sigh as he drapes his arm around me and pulls me close.

  “Surrender,” he whispers against my lips. “You know I always get what I want.”

  “Eventually,” I say, opening my legs as he moves on top of me again.

  His chuckle turns into a moan as he pushes inside. “Eventually, then, but we’re getting that new bed tomorrow, you hear?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  I can feel the effect that one special word has on him, and I gasp as he thrusts—hard, rigid—his physical reaction to my words unmistakable.

  “Do you like that?” His hips snap forward again, taking me hard.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “How about this?” He tangles his hand in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my neck, holding me in place.

  “God, yes.”

  “There’s my sweet girl.” His mouth crashes against mine, his tongue sliding against mine in a hungry kiss.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” I moan, loving his possession of me just as much as his gentle lovemaking earlier. “My answer is yes.”

  “Yes to what?”

  “Yes to a long engagement. Yes to you and me.”

  Simon stops moving, his face lighting up. “Yes?”

  I nod, crying out as he thrusts again, moaning both endearments and dirty words, promises of great romance and naughty kink in our future together.

  Epilogue

  Three Months Later

  “Mommy, he’s here!”

  I smile at my reflection as I put in my earrings, the ones Simon bought for me when we lived with him. They go well with the ring on my finger. “Coming, hon.”

  I exit the bathroom just as I hear him coming up the stairs, Luke almost knocking me out of the way to get to him first.

  “Mr. Thorne!”

  “Hello, Luke,” Simon says, stroking his hair. “You know, you can just call me Simon now.”

  Luke frowns. “Why?”

  “Well, that’s my first name. And I’m not your mom’s boss anymore. I’m her boyfriend.”

  I accepted Simon’s marriage proposal and his ring, but I only wear it around him. We’re still taking things slowly, enjoying our long, secret engagement as we truly get to know each other. Soon, we’ll tell Luke, and I know he’ll be ecstatic. Simon and I haven’t discussed it yet, but it’s my hope he’ll want to adopt Luke as his own when we get married. They need each other too: a boy without a father and a man without a son.

  “But my teacher says you’re supposed to call grownups Mister and Missus. It’s, uh, respectful—especially to old people.”

  “Old people?” Simon gives him a look of mock horror, making my son grin from ear to ear.

  “Where are we going today?” Luke asks. “Mommy said you’re taking us out.”

  “I thought we’d go to the zoo. Is that okay?”

  “Awesome!”

  “Why don’t you go find your shoes and jacket?” I suggest, the words barely out of my mouth before my son runs off, eager to get going. Simon comes over to me, pressing a kiss to my lips, followed by another one.

  “Hello, sweet girl,” he whispers in my ear. “Thank you again for last night. And early this morning.”

  I look up at him, unable to hide how my face warms. Luke was at my mom’s house and I was with Simon. Kneeling for Simon. Bent over for Simon. Tied up for Simon. I shiver with pleasure, remembering, and he smirks, giving my ass a quick squeeze. We’re still working on our sleeping arrangements, and for now I spend the night downstairs in my old room when I sleep over at his house. I don’t mind. This is what Simon needs right now. Besides, I love having him sneak into my room in the early morning hours, waking me with kisses and caresses, unable to stay away from me a minute longer than he has to. We haven’t spent a full night together yet, but I know we’ll get there one day.

  “Come on, let’s go!” Luke hollers from downstairs, bringing both of us back to the present.

  On our way out the door, Simon puts his arm around me, and my heart does a somersault, seeing how Luke slips his little hand into Simon’s. The two of them smile at each other.

  I think of everything that’s happened to bring us to this perfect moment, and I know in my heart I would do it all over again. Some lines are worth crossing.

  The End

  About the Author

  Although she is a native of Denmark, SJ Hooks has always had a keen interest in the English language.

  She has a BA in English Literature and an MA in American Studies. As a single working mother of two special needs children, her days are busy.

  At night, when she isn't passed out on the couch, she's in front of her computer, writing stories of love, humor and passion--the best things in life.

  You can find SJ Hooks Here:

  www.facebook.com/sjhookswritesbooks

  www.goodreads.com/author/show/10961381.S_J_Hooks

 

 

 
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