"Oh my God." I press my hands over my face. "You're critiquing your own spanking form. You're genuinely sick."
"Years of practice." He stands, straightening his uniform shirt where my flailing apparently wrinkled it. "Now. Are you done interrogating me, or do you need to come over my knee again?"
"I'm done," I say quickly, holding up both hands.
"Good." He grabs whatever folder he originally came in herefor, not Mason's, and tucks it under his arm. "Gym. Let's go. We've already lost fifteen minutes."
I follow him out of the office, still rubbing my ass theatrically. He holds the door for me, which he always does, like the gentleman psychopath he is.
"For the record," I say as we fall into step, "it didn't actually hurt."
"I wasn't trying to make it hurt. If I were, it would hurt."
“Okay, Daddy,” I say, playing with him again. I always notice how he gets when I say that. He chuckles, satisfied with himself, and he looks so happy.
And that's when it hits me.
We haven't kissed.
All of this, the million things we've done together already, the games, the stories, the bandaged hand, the rain, the fight, the apology, the meals where he watches me with those green eyes that see too much, the way my name sounds different in his mouth than in anyone else's, all of it, and we haven't kissed. Not once.
I stare at his mouth. It's right there. Eight inches away.
He notices me staring. We stop walking. His eyes drop to my lips as well, just for a second, and then back up. Something shifts in his expression. The humor drains away, replaced by something else.
My heart is doing something medically concerning.
"We should go," he says. "Gym."
"Yeah," I say. "Gym."
We start walking out into the hallway again, my ass still tingling, my lips still unkissed, my frustration through the roof. He's fucking edging me, that's it.
We haven't kissed yet.
Yet.
Chapter 15. Ethan
Things have been good for a while. A few weeks where I almost believe he's getting better. Then the chair starts being empty again. Mealtime is a nightmare, thanks to Liam.
I never loved the cafeteria. Loud, messy, fights breaking out, guards putting everyone on lockdown. But I'd take that a million times over watching Liam not eat. And he loves to do just that. Even when everything seems fine, even when nothing bad is happening. At least not externally. Who knows what goes on in his head.
Dinner. His seat is empty. I wait five minutes by the door. Sometimes he's late, usually on purpose. But fifteen minutes pass and there's no sign of him. I catch Jack's eye from across the room.
"Where's Marsal?" I mouth.
Jack shrugs. Not good. Jack almost always knows where Liam is.
I check our room first. Empty. I know where to check next. The communal bathroom down the hall. The knot in my stomach tightens.
The bathroom door swings open silently. No water running, no movement. Then I hear it: the unmistakable sound of someone being sick, followed by a ragged breath. Last stall.
"Liam?" I call out.
The retching stops. Silence.
I walk down the row. "I know you're in there, Marsal."
