The postman

Nick swings the door open, still breathing heavily, his face flushed from the interrupted session. He's half-expecting Lena showing up early anyway, or maybe one of his buddies dropping by unannounced. But no—standing there on the wide front porch is just the mailman, a middle-aged guy in the standard blue-gray uniform, holding a medium-sized brown package and a handheld scanner.

"Morning," the mailman says casually, glancing up from the label. "Delivery for Julia Harrington. Needs a signature."

Nick blinks, caught off guard, his mind still racing from the adrenaline in the family room. He forces a quick smile, trying to play it cool even as he feels the sweat cooling on his back. "Uh, yeah, she's not home right now. I'm her son—Nick. I can sign for it."

The mailman checks the screen, nods. "That works if you're over 18." He hands over the scanner.

Nick scribbles his name with the stylus, grabs the package—it's heavier than it looks, addressed from some upscale boutique in Beverly Hills—and mutters a "thanks" as the guy turns and heads back to his truck.

He closes the door, leans against it for a second, and lets out a low chuckle. Close call. Too close. His heart's still pounding as he carries the box into the kitchen and sets it on the counter.

Michelle is already there, fully dressed again, scrubbing at the dishes with more **** than necessary, her face turned away from him. Her cheeks are still red, her hair a little disheveled, but she's pulled herself together fast. She doesn't look up when he enters.

Nick smirks, walking up behind her. He sets his phone on the counter—the video still saved, unuploaded for now—and gives her ass one last firm squeeze through her uniform skirt.

"You're driving me to school in ten," he says low, right by her ear. "And tonight, we're finishing what we started. No excuses about your husband or whatever bullshit. Got it?"

Michelle stiffens but nods quickly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, Mr. Nick."

"Good girl." He grabs his backpack from the hook by the door, slings it over his shoulder, and heads out to wait in the foyer, already plotting how he's going to make her pay for that interruption later.

The house feels quiet again, the morning sun streaming through the windows like nothing wild had just happened. Just another day in the Harrington household.