Chapter 321
**Sara**
I stared at the screen, waiting for another message that didn't come. He must have finally dragged himself to that shower. The thought wasn't helping my concentration.
"Video call later." I flopped back onto the bed. "Please don't let it be when I'm at my parents' house."
The idea of Tom calling while I sat between Mom and Dad made me cringe. Mom would definitely notice my blush, and Dad would start asking questions about why I was smiling at my phone like a teenager.
"Hey, Mom, just video chatting with my professor boyfriend, who sends incredibly inappropriate messages. Pass the potatoes?"
That conversation would go well.
I rolled onto my side, hugging a pillow to my chest. The way Tom could flip from playful banter to steamy suggestions in seconds was dangerous. Especially when I had to face my family later.
"Focus, Sara," I told myself. "Think about literally anything else. Like taxes. Or that weird smell in the office break room. Or Dad's attempt at cooking."
But my mind kept wandering back to Tom's messages, to his promises of what would happen when he returned. The man knew exactly what he was doing, leaving me with those thoughts before disappearing.
"Evil genius," I muttered into the pillow. "Absolutely diabolical."
At least I had time to compose myself before the video call. Unless he decided to call during dinner, in which case I'd have to fake a work emergency. Or pretend my phone died. Or possibly fake my own death.
"Sorry, Mom, I can't finish dinner. Need to fake my death real quick. It's for a good cause?"
I snorted at my own ridiculousness. The things this man made me consider.
My phone remained silent, offering no more deliciously distracting messages from Australia. Just the promise of a video call that I desperately hoped wouldn't coincide with family time.
Because explaining why Professor Thomas Blackwood was calling me after hours? That would require more creativity than I possessed. And probably a miracle. Maybe several miracles.
I closed my eyes, still smiling despite myself. The video call would be worth the wait. It always was.
I rolled out of bed, letting the bathrobe slip off my shoulders. The cool air hit my skin as I padded over to Tom's walk-in closet.
"Now, what fancy designer piece should I steal today?" My fingers trailed along the hangers until I found his favorite navy sweater.
I pulled the navy sweater off its hanger, the soft cashmere sliding between my fingers. The fabric probably cost more than—no, I'm not going there. Focus on how delicious it feels against my skin.
"Sorry, Tom, but your favorite sweater is mine for the day." I slipped it over my head, letting the oversized material drape down to my thighs. No bra, no panties - just his sweater against my bare skin. The thought made me shiver.
"If he could see me now..." I twirled in front of his full-length mirror, watching the hem rise dangerously high. The sweater hung off one shoulder, exposing more skin than it covered. My reflection looked thoroughly debauched, and I hadn't even done anything yet.
"This video call later could get interesting." I bit my lip, imagining Tom's reaction if he knew what I was - or wasn't - wearing underneath. His eyes would darken, and that vein in his neck would pulse...
I padded to the living room, curling up on his ridiculously comfortable couch. The TV remote felt cold against my bare legs as I flipped through channels, finally settling on some mindless reality show about rich people arguing over yacht parties.
"Rich people problems." I snorted, pulling my knees up under the sweater. "Like choosing which private island to vacation on is such a hardship."
Hours slipped by as I lounged, occasionally stretching like a cat in sunlight. The sweater rode up with each movement, reminding me of my naked state underneath. Every shift sent the soft fabric brushing against sensitive areas, making me squirm.
By one o'clock, my stomach demanded attention. I wandered into the kitchen, the cold marble floor making me dance on my tiptoes.
"Lunch time!" I sang to myself, opening his massive fridge. "Let's see what overpriced groceries we can destroy today."
I bent down to grab vegetables from the bottom drawer, then straightened quickly as I remembered my lack of underwear. Thank god for the floor-to-ceiling windows being tinted.
"This is what happens when you steal your boyfriend's clothes without proper planning," I muttered, carefully maneuvering around the kitchen. "One wrong move and hello, free show for the neighbors."
The sweater kept slipping off my shoulder as I chopped vegetables for a salad. Each time I reached up for bowls or seasonings, the hem inched higher, making me very aware of my exposed state.
"Tom would lose his mind if he saw me cooking in nothing but his sweater." I grinned wickedly, imagining his reaction. "Maybe I should send him a picture... No, bad, Sara. He has meetings."
But the thought lingered as I assembled my lunch, making me wonder how those meetings were going. Was he thinking about me? About our video call later?
I shook my head, pushing away thoughts of Tom's meetings.
"Focus on getting ready for family dinner," I muttered, stabbing a cherry tomato. "Not on what your boyfriend is doing halfway across the world."
After finishing my lunch, I headed to the bedroom to get dressed. After putting on my underwear, I slipped into black pants and a cream silk blouse.
The cab arrived at 3:15 PM sharp. I grabbed my purse and headed down, checking my phone for any messages from Tom. There was still radio silence. The ride to my apartment was quick, and the driver was mercifully quiet as I stared out the window.
Back in my own space, I settled onto the couch and flipped through channels, waiting for Charles. The clock ticked closer to 4 PM, but no sign of my perpetually punctual brother.
4:00 PM came and went.
4:05 PM. Nothing.
"Mr. 'Be Ready Sharp At Four' is late?" I texted him. "Where are you?"
4:10 PM. No response.
"Charles, if you're dead in a ditch somewhere, I'm going to kill you."
4:15 PM rolled around. Still no brother, no message, no explanation.
"Unbelievable." I fired off another text. "The one time I'm actually ready on time, and you're the one who's late. This is karma, isn't it? For all those times I made you wait?"
The TV droned on as I sat there, dressed and ready, getting increasingly annoyed at my brother's hypocrisy. The man who lectured me about punctuality couldn't even follow his own rules.
"Five minutes, my ass," I muttered, checking my phone again. "When you get here, you better have a really good excuse. Like saving orphans from a burning building. Or fighting off a horde of zombies."
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
