by Lydia Thorn
CAUGHT IN THE ACT
HATE/LOVE, BOOK 1
LYDIA THORN
Caught in the Act Copyright © 2020 by Lydia Thorn. All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
AUTHOR NOTES
Warning: This book contains triggering situations and some light BDSM. Some readers might find its dark themes offensive.
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CONTENTS
AUTHOR NOTES
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
IVAN
Sophomore Year
This place smells like bad BO and shit, I shift in the creaky old chair in front of the worn cluttered brown desk in the tiny cramped office. Old Chinese food containers fill the little black waste bin, a framed teacher’s certification hangs on the wall above the light switch and wallpaper is still a thing. This office indicates the state of the rest of this school, this is my second visit here and I notice the halls are filthy, the water fountain only squirts warm water while the bathroom sinks only run cold. When Damien told me this was the new school that hired him, I expected something a little better than this dump. Sure, Damien’s reputation was destroyed but still, he was an excellent teacher at a prestigious private academy and that alone makes him deserving of more than a place like this.
I’m alone, the sun streaming through the iron bars on the window places my tall shadow in a jail cell. I pull out my cell and tap on the picture of a brown-haired male with a shit-eating grin on his face. My best friend, Jericho.
Ivan: I’m bored out of my mind.
Jericho: And I’m heating up noodles.
Ivan: What type? I didn’t eat breakfast this morning.
Jericho: I forgot; I just bought a bunch of different types at the market.
Jericho: I like surprising myself with the flavors.
Jericho: I’ll never get over this stupid time difference.
Jericho: Remembering that it’s morning there while at night here is a pain.
Jericho: Have to resist the urge to come get you so we can get drunk.
Ivan: Getting drunk sounds good this morning.
Jericho: We gotta have a drunk phone session one of these days.
Ivan: I look forward to that, I’ll need it after today.
Jericho: Have you seen him yet?
Ivan: No, still stuck in the principal’s office.
Jericho: Did I forget to tell you that this is an awful idea?
Jericho: Moving to a new school to chase after Damien.
Ivan: This is your fault for moving to Japan.
Jericho: Fuck you, you would have done this had I been there.
Ivan: You know me.
Jericho: Gotta go, noodles done.
Jericho: Good luck confessing your undying love.
I almost don’t notice the principal entering the room until he put his phone away.
“I believe you and I are going to get along swimmingly.” The greasy dickhead principal rubs his palms together. His breath smells just as terrible as this school. I won’t be the least bit surprised if the stench running up and down this place wasn’t coming exclusively from him. “You seem like the type who prefers all cards laid on the table so here are mine.” He straightens his gray and navy silk tie as if he’s a gentleman when he’s a bloated pig dressed in a marginally well-tailored suit. “I won’t mind turning a blind eye to whatever dealings you may partake in while on school grounds. In exchange, I demand you pay me five thousand dollars every month until you graduate.”
This piece of shit.
Why am I not surprised? Money, it’s always about money. The moment anyone sees the Lorenson family name, that’s the first thing that pops up in their minds. ‘How much can I get out of him?’ It’s why so many people flock to me no matter where I settle, they just wish to be associated with me because the Lorenson name alone can open so many doors, even to the other rich pricks my age.
That’s why despite the many faces who came and went only one friend remained a constant in my life, two if I counted Damien, but he’s nine years older than me and is more my brother’s friend than mine. On top of it, I would rather be on top of him than hanging out at the movies. That left Jericho, the only other person to treat me like a normal human being, who didn’t see dollar signs at the mere mention of my name.
But his dad had to move to Japan for business which meant he had no choice but to leave with him. The only good that came from his leaving was the fact that I had nothing else worth staying at my old school for and could follow Damien here, to this more middle-class school, with no regrets.
“What do you think I do that warrants you siphoning five thousand dollars per month from me?” I reply feeling my muscles tense beyond my control. I ball my fists to keep from punching this man in his face and leaving. But I’m here to support Damien and need to keep my cool.
The older man stammers, the sweat already beading down his unshaven face. “You had to have done something to land yourself here.” He says with a nervous chuckle.
“So, you think I’m a drug dealer or something?”
“N—No, sir…I just…” He squirms in his sweaty chair.
“Let me lay down my cards,” I say leaning forward for emphasis and having just about enough of this fool. “You will not see a single penny from me beyond what every student here is expected to spend. I don’t sell drugs nor do I do any other criminal activity. You can have me watched if it will soothe you, but it’ll just be a waste of your time.”
“Oh…” A student opens the door, his red and black plaid tie a mess though his black hair and black eyes are insanely striking on his pale skin. Features I can’t help but notice straight away. He’s smaller in size in comparison, he probably comes up to my chin.
“Uh…” The principal stands more than likely relieved at the interruption and gestures across the hall for the student to go before returning to his moist seat, leaving the door open. Seems our private conversation is at an end.
I watch the other student across the hall; anything is better than looking at this greasy man’s face. The student looks weak though he isn’t too skinny-- Beautiful and plain all at once. A guy like him could either have it easy or rough depending on his disposition. Handsome enough to want to be seen with
, but dull enough to not overshadow those around him. The way he hunches his shoulders screams low confidence.
The principal dismisses me around the same time the student finishes his reasons for being in the counselor’s office and we both head in the same direction down the empty wide hall. His steps are so light I can just about hear them, he must hate drawing attention to himself. He doesn’t smell like anything in particular which is a step up from this hall and that principal’s shit mouth. I wonder if sitting in that office made me too sensitive to how things smell.
My eyes shift a tad to get another look at the student without being too obvious that I’m staring at him. I just can’t stop looking at him and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the hair. It’s not as if he’s particularly interesting aside from the way his black eyes absorb even the light, it’s so fascinating. Eyes that suck in everything around him. Maybe he’s more dangerous than he looks. But I’ve been around enough beautiful people in my time to let myself get awestruck by one person’s looks but even so…he has such a long neck.
I reach the door to the math class in session and there he is, my reason for leaving my prestigious school to come to this dump. Damien, Hair so blond it is almost white, drop-dead gorgeous, with blue sensual eyes. The man’s body screams sex; a body made to be fucked. I try not to draw any attention to myself despite hearing the whispers of the other students as I take an empty seat in the back. The plain guy takes the one next to me, keeping his head low, an obvious desire to not want to be seen.
I bet he has a girlfriend, I bet she’s as plain-looking as he is, perhaps even plainer, has to be because at least he has his eyes, however, the thought of him topping anyone even a woman is hard to visualize. The woman would likely ride him.
My thoughts drift to the mysterious student again. I just don’t think I can settle down without my brain putting my perverted vision in its rightful place.
That’s not right.
A woman in the vision is wrong. I can instead picture him in a soft bed and a pair of thick manly hands parting his smooth legs like a delicate flower, his hands covering his face to hide his shame, his black hair wild and contrasting the white sheets, his skin so pale it blends with the color.
Okay, I’m overdoing it. I didn’t come to this school to daydream about some random guy, I came here to be closer to Damien, my teacher, and the man who made me realize my sexuality when I was fourteen. He’s never laid a hand on me, not that I would turn him away, but him in speedos was my day of reckoning.
Despite what Jericho said, I won’t confess a thing to him until I’m almost out of this place. By then I would be eighteen, an adult with my inheritance and something to offer a partner. For now, I’m content to sit back and watch.
CHAPTER ONE
LOUIS
Senior Year
Five Minutes Ago…
This was the last year of school, and the momentum I had at the start of the year crashed the moment my father did. I just wanted the year to end. To leave this place behind for good would be a dream come true. No more getting tripped in the hall, no more having to deal with the bullshit of the so-called elites who ran this place with impunity. Which was hilarious given how this was just a middle-class school where all of the elites except two were just a little richer than everyone else. They could afford the name brands and made sure everyone knew it. The exceptional two were probably richer than everyone at this school.
Nope. Fuck’em, leave’em behind, don’t even bother attending any future get together. That’s all I wanted, was for this hellhole school to see the back of my ass as I walk away.
But I now have a few months left of school before that moment could happen, so I’ve taken to daydreaming more than I should.
I sat in English class, my face out the window as the smell of sugar and cream filled my nostrils. In this other world, I stood on a stage with lights shining hot on me that was as bright as the sun itself. A plump man with a tiny mustache and balding grey hair slipped a gold medal around my long neck that read: Greatest Pastry Chef in the World.
“Mr. Laurent.” A deep familiar voice echoed from the applauding crowd. “Mr. Laurent.”
A sharp something pricked my back, and that was enough to bring back the reality of where I was. Brown desks, brown floor, brown corked wall, brown, brown, and more goddamn brown. If someone told me I was seeing the world in sepia, I’d believe them.
“Yes!” I replied when the sights and the smell of wood and chalky dust reminded me of where I was. “The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting…” I mindlessly repeated the last thing I read. My stupid attempt at making myself seem like I was paying attention.
Mr. Mortensen was not amused. But then again, when had he ever been? In the four years I’ve attended this school, not once had I ever seen the man smile at anything or anyone. He was a towering man and full of muscle, his rich black hair was always slicked back and his demeanor was always calm and ‘too cool for school’. Mr. Mortensen had been a teacher here going on eight years since he left the military and he had seen damn near everything, so nothing surprised him. He sometimes enjoyed telling his class stories of the gruesome deaths he’d encountered during his marine days. Like how one of his friend’s brains was blown out during a friendly fire event, or the time a child suicide bomber carrying a large teddy bear, blew up a small bomb diffusing team. In short, the man seemed pretty morbid, and even harshly jaded.
I remembered when I first saw him. Jealousy took root almost straight away. Here I was five feet, eight inches with black hair I didn’t know what to do with, and scrawny if soaking wet and it just seemed like all the guys walking these halls had been eating testosterone for breakfast and then I walk into the classroom and the teacher is freaking Hercules!
This was hardly a boost to the self-esteem, though Mr. Mortensen was easy on the eyes. No doubt about it.
“We have long since passed the known quotes of Sun Tzu.” His low voice boomed in the silent room and all eyes were now on me, the weight of their gaze felt like a thousand boulders on my chest.
My eyes dart for the door. If only my body was brave enough to follow. “Sorry, I was…”
“Sleeping, Mr. Laurent, it’s called sleeping.” Mr. Mortensen placed the thick textbook on the desk behind him. “I know none of the classics are exactly page-turners, so I can forgive you for sleeping on Sun Tzu. However, I feel one such as yourself could benefit the most from his teachings.”
Is he calling me out? “I don’t plan to go to war, sir,” I replied, a smug sense of satisfaction crept over me.
“And yet you just read one of his most important lessons. The art of avoiding war, at least needless bloodshed. The moment you converse with another, even before words come out of your mouth, you are at war. And you either defeat the enemy or be defeated.”
Oh, he just seems so damn proud of himself for that little analysis. I still didn’t know what this had to do with me or why I above all needed to understand it. “I don’t know if I would say all conversations are war.”
“Oh?” Mr. Mortensen’s thick black brow rose, and he leaned against his desk, his very brown desk, the color I was starting to despise. “And what is happening between us now?” Mr. Mortensen gestured between us.
“I know what’s happening to me,” Rei whispered. I didn’t need to look at him to know what’s going on. Rei, formerly known as ‘boring as hell Jim’ had the biggest crush on Mr. Mortensen and he didn’t even try to hide it. If he had ovaries, they would be on the floor right now.
Rei was the first friend I made at this school when I arrived sophomore year. We were as night and day with Rei’s light blond hair clipped into a pixie cut and my jet-black hair which sat just past my ears. Rei was skinny and tanned, and my skin is pale despite the Persian blood which ran through me on my father’s side. And I wasn’t as skinny as Rei, just frail looking. Rei also had a sunnier disposition. His personality and love for life permeated within him while I was more…su
bdued.
“We’re just talking.” I ignored my friend and replied to Mr. Mortensen.
“No, we’re at war, Mr. Laurent.” Mr. Mortensen replied so conceited and full of himself, at least that’s how he came across to me. “And you’re trying to prove to me that your way of thinking is better than mine as I’m trying to prove the opposite to you.” He gestured to me again, yet his eyes seemed dull and uninterested. As if the conversation bored him. “Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.” He sighed and reached behind him but only to feel the stupid brown desk behind him. “I need you to go to the teacher’s lounge and pick up the practice tests for the final exams.”
“Yes, sir.” Anything to get away from this class is a reward.
“Oh my God, if he and you, you know what, please give me every last detail,” Rei whispered to me as I head out the door.
Present
So yeah, that’s why I’m here. In the teacher’s lounge and staring at the most disturbing and beautiful sight. Ivan Lorenson, the six-foot-two blond-haired Adonis and Sun King of the school and our math teacher, Mr. Bowie, a delicate clean-cut looking man with hair so light it looks almost white. Hell, one could mistake him and Rei for siblings though he wasn’t half as skinny, and I know why Rei’s hair is so damn light, bleaching. Mr. Bowie’s chest rises and falls just as slow, his white button-up dress shirt accentuating his toned lean figure, his eyes closed…and…he’s asleep!
His dark blue pants is undone, his long smooth cock appearing and vanishing within the greedy mouth of the Adonis as he grips his own long girthy member, working it from base to tip.
Oh shit! He’s so engrossed in sucking Mr. Bowie’s cock he doesn’t even notice me standing here…Ivan the Adonis, the man who made fun of me and my friends for being gay is working another man’s penis like a pornstar. My mouth instinctively opens as if every flick of Ivan’s tongue is mine and like snapping a tether, I break free. Darkness sweeps over me, a chance for revenge and to pay off my father’s growing medical bills. Two birds with just one stone…if I’m brave enough to go for it.
