Chapter 8: Fooling Around

Words : 1665 Updated : Sep 18th, 2025

Nixon Walker treated her like a favorite toy. The tingling he stirred up left Mckenzie Looske melted into a puddle, and he gathered her into his arms. After a short while, her clothes had soaked through, leaving little to the imagination. The damp cloth clung to her, rose and fell with her quickening breath, drawing Nixon's hungry eyes. The sight hit him hard and made his head swim. He still paused to ask, "Is it okay now?" Mckenzie bit her lower lip. "Mm. Come on." The moment she nodded, Nixon set to work on her clothes. In under two minutes, she was down to her underwear. "Here I come!" Just as he was ready, both of them caught a whiff of something scorched. "Oh no!" Mckenzie seemed to realize all at once. She sprang off him, ran to the stove, and stirred the rice with the spatula. "This is all your fault! You didn't even remind me-the rice is about to burn!" Nixon chuckled, unconcerned. He got up, walked over to the stove, and wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Then let's do it like this-won't hold up dinner, and we can still…" Outside, Ophelia Reed was working through her homework when laughter floated from the house. She wondered if Mom and the teacher were playing some fun game again. But the teacher had told her not to go anywhere until she finished every problem. She kept writing, though her eyes drifted toward the kitchen again and again. She wanted to join in. Half an hour later, they were back at the table, looking perfectly put together. The flush hadn't faded from Mckenzie's cheeks, though otherwise she seemed her usual self. "Mom, Mr. Walker, what game were you playing in the kitchen? I want to play too-can I join next time?" Mckenzie's face went scarlet in a blink. She had no idea how to answer her daughter. She hurried to dish up rice instead, then shot a warning glare at Nixon, who was chuckling beside her. After dinner, he assigned Ophelia a few arithmetic problems, all simple ones, just to test whether she had made any progress that night. When it was time to go, Mckenzie walked him to the door. "Mm… thanks for today." "Are you thanking me for helping your daughter, or for helping you?" Nixon flashed a sly grin. He leaned in, meaning to pull Mckenzie close and steal another kiss. Before he got near, she sprang away. She glanced around with a guarded look, then let out a breath. "Mr. Walker, the countryside isn't like the city. Out here, sound carries-neighbors hear everything. Try to be more careful." "All right." Nixon sounded a touch disappointed. He had only managed one round. It was nowhere near enough. He wished the pot on the stove had bubbled a while longer, so he might have had more time. As it was, the food had cooked too fast, and he'd finished in a rush. He had just turned to go when Mckenzie called him back. "Hey." "What is it? Want to go again?" "Knock it off." She still blushed as she murmured, "If you're free after class tomorrow, come tutor Ophelia again. I'll stew a chicken for you-the broth will be nice and rich." Mckenzie hated to see him go. It had been ages since she'd felt something so shattering. At first, after so many years without it, she hadn't been used to the force of it. Once she settled into it, each time seemed to crash straight into her soul. It almost made her cry out, but with her daughter outside, she had to hold it in. Nixon was a scoundrel. Each time he pressed harder than the last, as if he wanted to make her call out. For all that roughness, he kept whispering "sis," that soft, teasing way men address an older woman they're close to. By the end, tears had slipped down her face. It was an invitation as clear as day, and Nixon's spirits, which had just dipped, rose again. She was irresistible. He couldn't wait to have her again. "All right. Tomorrow I'll prep the chicken for you too-make it nice and… tasty." "You are impossible." On the way back to his place, Nixon walked as if he were floating. It wasn't that he was drained. It was the giddy lightness that followed release. Mckenzie was exquisite. She was unlike Briana Lyson, whose allure flared outward. Mckenzie's charm welled up from the bone and flowed out through her, saturating her down to the last strand of hair. When those strands curled around her fingers, it made Nixon feel like he could die right there. She seemed shy, yet every gesture radiated sensuality. For a woman, that was rare. It wasn't some put-on coyness. Ophelia Reed's father had been lucky to find such a wife. If only Nixon could someday marry a woman like that. Thinking along those lines, he reached his door. He called it a dorm, but it was really just a little courtyard place by the school-a tiny single-story room barely big enough for one. Night had fallen heavy. He had switched on his phone's flashlight early, and when the beam slid ahead, he saw a woman's silhouette by the corner of his wall. She wore white, hair loose over her shoulders. If Nixon weren't the bold type, the sight might've scared him to death. "Dr. Lyson?" Not sure, he called out. Sure enough, the woman turned at once. A face as cool and pure as a lotus on a still pond came into view. Only now a bright red handprint burned on her left cheek, stark against her fair skin.

Chapter 8: Fooling Around

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