Page 8 of Johan. (Van Den Bosch #8)

“I'm really tired, Astrid. I need to get some sleep,” I reply, my tone gentle yet resolute as I carefully extract my hand from hers. There’s a firmness in my voice, an invisible barrier I'm trying to maintain.

Her expression shifts almost imperceptibly, the corners of her mouth drooping as her face tightens with a flicker of disappointment. She probes further, leaning back slightly, but her eyes narrow, a hint of suspicion sharpening her tone. “You broke up with Hannah, right? If I find out you?—”

“Yes, Astrid, I did,” I cut in quickly, my voice firm to stave off any further interrogation. “I just want to sleep, okay?”

“Alright.” She pauses, her posture relaxing as she assesses my response, then shifts tactics. “We should go somewhere this weekend, then, just the two of us.” Her voice’s softer now, trying a different angle.

I sigh inwardly, feeling trapped, my gaze fixed on the darkened dashboard as I search for an excuse. “We'll see, I have a lot of work lately.”

“But you can make time for your fiancée, can’t you?” she presses, clearly not ready to let the issue drop. As she reaches for the door handle, she adds cheerfully, “Don’t worry, I’ll plan something fun. It’ll be a surprise.”

A long sigh of frustration escapes me. “Astrid, I—” I start, my tone edged with weariness.

Before I can finish, she raises her hand, stopping me mid-sentence. “You took Hannah out to that weekend in Wales, so the least you can do is to go with me somewhere.” Her voice rises slightly, tinged with hurt and a demanding edge.

Caught off guard, I nod reluctantly. “We'll talk later, Astrid. Good night.” My response is terse, a verbal surrender for the moment.

With a mixture of determination and something akin to victory, Astrid steps out of the car, her silhouette framed briefly by the interior light before she closes the door.

The soft thud resonates like a gavel, sealing the conversation.

As she disappears into the building, I sit in the silence of my car.

The night suddenly feels heavier, and the prospect of a coerced weekend looms large as I start the engine and pull away.

I need an excuse, a way out. The drive back home is quiet, a time for me to gather my thoughts and prepare for the call I need to make to Hannah—a call that now feels more necessary than ever.

As I finally pull into my street, the night's weight seems to recede slightly with the familiar sight of home.

I park the car and sit for a moment, taking in the quiet.

Shaking off the evening's heaviness, I grab my phone and head inside, my steps quickening in anticipation of shedding both my suit and the evening's tensions.

Stepping into the foyer, the familiar surroundings do little to ease the tension that has built up over the evening.

I drop my keys on the table with a clatter and head straight to the bedroom, stripping off the layers of my formal attire as if shedding the night's events could be as simple. Left in my boxers, I feel a slight relief, a physical unburdening that preludes the emotional one I hope to achieve soon. As I settle onto my bed, I dial Hannah’s number, eager for her voice to cut through the lingering disquiet.

The line rings briefly before her bright and teasing voice fills it.

“Late, Professor? That doesn't seem like you.”

Her playful tone brings a reluctant smile to my face. “It's been one of those nights,” I admit, allowing a sigh to escape. I lean back against the headboard, sinking into the cushions.

“Sounds like you could use some distraction,” she suggests, her voice lowering in a hint of flirtation.

Taking the cue, I respond in kind, shifting the conversation to a lighter, more intimate territory. “True, I could ask you about your evening, but I’m more interested in knowing what you're wearing right now.”

A soft laugh comes through the line. “Just my pajamas. But they’re not nearly as interesting as where this conversation could go. And where, may I ask, are your hands right now, Professor?”

I chuckle, the sound more relaxed than I've felt all evening, the tension easing from my body. “Currently, they’re harmlessly on the phone. But your question makes me wish they were elsewhere. How about yours?”

Her voice dips into a playful whisper, a tone that immediately draws me in. “Well, they were just turning the page of my book, but now one might just wander…”

Curiosity piqued, I lean back against the pillows, letting her words sink in. “And where exactly is that wandering hand heading?” My voice lowers, matching her playful secrecy, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around us despite the physical distance.

“Below the hem of my pajamas,” she responds softly, mischief dancing in her words. The image she paints ignites something within me, a warmth spreading through my chest. “What about you, Johan? Where are your hands now?”

Encouraged by her teasing, I let one hand slip beneath the waistband of my boxers, the cool touch of my skin a sharp contrast to the growing heat inside me.

“Following your lead,” I murmur, my voice thick with desire as I begin stroking myself slowly.

“Seems only fair that if yours is exploring, mine should too.”

A soft chuckle escapes her, the sound intimate despite the distance between us. “Are you touching yourself now?”

I shut my eyes, surrendering to the sensations her words evoke.

“I am…” The confession leaves my lips in a breath, heavy with longing.

“I miss you, Hannah.” The warmth of my room, once a simple comfort, now feels like a sanctuary as her voice softens through the phone.

“I miss your lips, your body, your laughter… I so wish you could be here with me.”

Her voice, too, takes on a tender tone, the distance between us suddenly feeling insurmountable.

“I miss you, too,” she says, the emotion in her words palpable.

A brief silence follows, thick with unspoken thoughts.

“I have to tell you something.” The slight hesitance in her voice immediately captures my full attention, and my heart tightens in response.

“I’m listening. Go ahead.” I shift to sit more comfortably against the headboard, the phone pressed closer to my ear, every word from her suddenly feeling vital.

“I never realized so many students were so smitten over you until today during class. When that thot raised her hand and answered your question, I felt so…” She trails off, clearly searching for the right word.

A small smile tugs at my lips despite the seriousness of our conversation. “Jealous?”

“Yes…” The frustration and embarrassment in her voice are unmistakable. “And I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I want you only to myself.”

Her earnest confession warms me in a way that nothing else could. “I like the sound of that.”

A shift in the conversation brings her news to the forefront. “By the way, I spoke to Oma today; she’s coming over this weekend to help us. She got a property in the Cotswolds and invited us over.”

Excitement flares within me at the thought of the invitation, but it’s quickly tempered by the memory of Astrid’s threats and her controlling nature. “Hannah, I don’t know…”

“You can’t continue trapped in an engagement you’ve never wanted in the first place.” Her resolve is evident, her words carrying a weight that resonates deeply even over the phone.

A mixture of hope and anxiety churns within me. “I hope we manage to find a way out.” The thought of needing help from others, especially to avoid Astrid, feels both necessary and daunting. “I’m gonna need Conrad’s help to avoid spending the weekend with her, then.”

Her tone rises with concern, cutting through the intimacy we had built. “What? She wants to be with you again?”

“Well, yeah, but don’t worry, I’ll deny her going forward. I promise,” I assure her quickly, wanting to ease her worries.

“Have you seen her lately?” Curiosity and a touch of concern lace her voice.

“I had dinner with my family and hers, but we didn’t even kiss,” I clarify, hoping the truth offers her some comfort.

She muses aloud, confusion evident. “I can’t understand why she’s forcing you into this.”

“I don’t, either. Her own dad suggested I get an affair on the side,” I reveal, the absurdity of the situation not lost on me, though it still feels surreal to say it out loud.

“Really?” Her surprise is palpable, disbelief echoing through her words. “That man is insane.”

“Yep, he’s also coming to my office on Friday to talk to me about that expedition to Oman,” I add, my voice dropping slightly as I share the complexity of my current predicament.

“He isn’t wasting time.”

“True. I’ll keep you updated.” Wanting to bring back the intimate chat to the forefront, I gently shift the conversation. “Now, baby, tell me about your wandering hand; where is it now?”

“On my clit,” she responds, her voice soft and filled with the same desire that grips me. “I haven’t stopped thinking about what we did yesterday in that room.” A shiver runs through me at her words, the memory vivid and electrifying. “Gosh, how much I loved it.”

The intensity of our recent encounter still lingers, a shared secret that only deepens our connection.

“It was the wildest thing I have ever done,” I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath as I continue to stroke myself, the darkness of my bedroom cocooning me in this intimate moment.

The memory sends a shiver down my spine, my heart racing with the thrill of it.

“Did you like feeling me again inside you?”

“Oh, yes, especially when you came inside me.” Her voice is soft, almost dreamy, and I can hear the smile in her words, the satisfaction clear and resonant. The way she says it, with such ease and contentment, makes my pulse quicken even more. “I wish I could feel you right now.”