"Sit," she says softly, guiding me to the edge of the bed.
I do, watching as she kneels between my legs. Her hands move to my belt, and I catch them.
"You don't have to..."
"I want to." Her eyes meet mine, dark and determined. "Let me take care of you. Please."
I release her hands, my breath catching as she unbuckles my belt and unzips my jeans. She pulls them down along with my boxers, and I lift my hips to help. The cool air hits my skin, but then her warm hand wraps around me and all thought scatters.
"Mia ..." Her name comes out as a groan.
She strokes me slowly, her touch gentle but sure. When she leans forward and takes me into her mouth, my head falls back, eyes closing. The sensation is overwhelming. Heat and pressure and the soft, wet slide of her tongue.
Her hand works in tandem with her mouth, finding a rhythm that has my fingers gripping the comforter. I force myself to look down, to watch her. The sight of her like this, taking care of me, giving me this, nearly undoes me.
"God, Mia." My hand moves to her hair, not guiding, just touching, needing the connection.
She hums around me, the vibration sending sparks up my spine. Her free hand rests on my thigh, steadying herself as she takes me deeper. I can feel the tension building, coiling tight in my core.
"I'm close," I warn, giving her the chance to pull away.
She doesn't. Instead, she doubles her efforts, her pace quickening. The pressure builds and builds until I can't hold back anymore. I come with a strangled groan, her name on my lips. She stays with me through it, swallowing, her hand gentling as I shudder through the aftershocks.
When she finally pulls away, I'm boneless, spent. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and climbs onto the bed beside me. I pull her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"Thank you," I murmur.
"You don't have to thank me." She nestles against my chest. "I wanted to."
We lie there in comfortable silence, my hand tracing lazy patterns on her back. For the first time all day, the ache in my chest eases. Not gone, but manageable.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I ignore it.
It buzzes again.
"You should check that," Mia says softly.
Reluctantly, I reach for it. One new message from an unknown number.
It's a photo. Of this room. Of Mia and me, taken through the bedroom window. The angle is clear, unmistakable. Someone was outside, watching us. Watching her take care of me. The timestamp shows it was taken minutes ago.
Below the photo, a message:You were warned.
38
MIA
Noah left before dawn, slipping out like a ghost to avoid the twins seeing him. The pillow beside me still holds the indent of his head, and I press my palm against it, feeling the lingering warmth.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. A text from Jack glows in the early morning light:Need to talk. Meet me in the parking lot before school?
My stomach drops like a stone thrown into deep water. Jack doesn't do cryptic morning texts unless something is seriously wrong.
I shower quickly and get the twins ready for school, my mind racing through possibilities. Did someone see us at the mountain resort? Did his daughter Emma find more evidence? Has the school board made a decision about the parent complaints?
Rory chatters about a science project while Corey quietly eats his cereal, his hazel eyes thoughtful.
After dropping them at school, I hurry to the academy. Jack's sedan is already in the parking lot, positioned in the far corner away from the building instead of in his assigned spot. I pull in beside him and cut my engine.
