Page 9 of Unthinkable

“I don’t know.” I don’t, but the fact that I feel a change in the house is enough for me to push further. “Is she drinking more?”

“Define more.”

Annoyance surges through me. She’s purposely being vague. Has she always done this? Have I been aware and have chosen not to question it because it’s easier than dealing with the fallout?

“Immie,” I warn, in a tone I rarely use with her, and withdraw my hand.

She clucks her tongue and rolls her eyes, and I have an overwhelming urge to punish her for it.

Where the fuck did that come from? Not once have I laid a finger on her, nor have I ever considered it.

“She’s been going out more, if that’s what you mean,” she rushes out.

“How much more?”

Her eyebrows pinch. “A fair amount.”

Jesus, is she purposely being obtuse? I grind my jaw, then fix her with a pointed look. “Define a fair amount.” I lift my eyebrow, challenging her defiance.

“She’s sometimes sober.”

Great, just what I need to deal with: a drunk-ass, spoiled wife with a short fuse.

Instead of pushing Immie further, I opt to change the subject. “Have you heard back from any colleges you applied to yet?”

She rolls over to face the television again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I let out a deep chuckle. “You’ll pass your exams, Little Nightmare.”

“Shut up and brush my hair,” she snaps, but I don’t miss the smile in her tone.

Immie hates commitment, and with any talks about her future, she shuts me down, almost like she can’t deal with it.

“Please,” she tacks on, making me grin wider. She always did have manners. “Daddy,” she adds, then electricity fires through my veins, and the air is stolen from my lungs.

It takes me a minute to breathe again, and when I do, I squeeze my eyes closed, only to be greeted with images of Immie on her bed, legs parted.

No.

Just no.

What the actual fuck is happening?

IMMIE

If he really thinks I’m going to college, he has another thing coming. It’s never going to happen. Not only because I have no intention of being away from him for such a long period of time again, but also because he’s not going to want to be away from me.

The movie plays like background noise to my thoughts, each one of them as cunning and clever as the last, and I become lost in them.

Jensen fidgets beneath me, and it isn’t until I snap my focus back to the screen that I see his reasoning for becoming so uncomfortable.

A man is sitting on a sofa, receiving a blow job from a woman. Her head is bobbing in rhythm with his deep thrusts, and the sound of their pleasure fills the room.

“Shit. I’ll turn it.” He fumbles around for the remote, but he’s unable to find it. It’s beneath a cushion where I placed it.

I snort at the panic in his tone. “I’m old enough to do things like that, Jensen. I’m not a kid anymore.” I chuckle. “You can let it play out. Besides, I like it.”

He stills, minutes passing without him saying a damn thing, and when I roll over to face him, his body relaxes and the air rushes from his lips.