Housebound with the Blackridge Heirs novel Chapter 31

**Change Begins With You — Jayden Collins**

**Chapter 31**

**Maya**

“I warned you, didn’t I? I told your stupid ass that you’d get sick.”

Caden flashed me that familiar half-smile, the kind that always seemed to convey a sense of nonchalance. It was his way of saying, “Don’t worry about it.” But I couldn’t help but worry. He had been coughing since yesterday, and deep down, I had anticipated this outcome. Yet, here he was, feigning surprise as if he hadn’t just spent hours outside in the pouring rain, claiming that he hadn’t been sick since he was a child.

As if.

His voice was gravelly, lower than usual, and it made me frown. “It’s nothing. It’ll go away soon,” he insisted, but I could see the way his eyes flickered with uncertainty.

“Uh-huh,” I replied, crossing my arms defiantly. “You’re lucky it isn’t worse. Out there in the rain, acting like you’re invincible.”

“I knew it wouldn’t be bad,” he murmured, though I could hear the slight crack in his voice that contradicted his claim.

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the basket of laundry that was a mix of his and mine. I had been sorting through the chaos in the mudroom when I stumbled upon the pile of clothes he’d left behind after training—sweat-drenched, grass-stained, and carrying the unmistakable scent of soap mingled with the storm.

“You’re doing mine too?” he asked, trailing after me like a lost puppy.

“Since you’re teetering on the edge of pneumonia, yeah,” I replied, setting the basket atop the washer with a thud.

He leaned against the doorway, his posture annoyingly relaxed despite the rasp in his breathing. “You don’t have to take care of me, you know.”

I turned the knob on the washer, glancing over my shoulder at him. “Maybe I want to.”

His smile widened, soft at first but then deepening, as if my words had struck a chord. Pushing off the wall, he stepped closer, each movement deliberate, as if he were savoring the moment.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I replied, my heart racing at the closeness.

The hum of the washing machine began beneath my hands, a gentle vibration that filled the quiet room. I felt him behind me before I even saw him—his warmth radiating, the faint scent of cedar and coffee enveloping me. He brushed his knuckles along my arm, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt of electricity coursing through my veins.

“Caden,” I warned, though I wasn’t entirely sure what I was warning him against.

“You worry too much,” he said, his voice low and intimate, brushing against my ear.

“Someone has to,” I breathed, feeling the tension in the air thicken.

He turned me gently to face him, the space between us shrinking until it felt charged with unspoken words. His gaze bore down on me, unreadable yet tender, a mix of emotions swirling in his eyes that made my heart twist painfully in my chest.

“I missed this,” he whispered, and I felt the weight of his words settle between us.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing. “You’ve been busy ignoring me.”

He winced slightly, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that revealed his discomfort. “I deserved that,” he admitted, his voice tinged with regret.

The steady pulse of the washing machine filled the silence that followed, creating a backdrop to our unspoken tension. He reached out, capturing my wrist and tugging me closer until my hips brushed against the vibrating edge of the washer. His hand slid up my arm, tracing the inside with a slowness that made my heart race in tandem.

Every fiber of my being felt drawn to him again—the heat radiating from his skin, the tension coiling beneath it like a spring ready to snap. I leaned forward instinctively, pressing my forehead against his chest, feeling the warmth seep through his shirt. I could hear the uneven rhythm of his heart, matching the frantic beat of my own.

“I could never get enough of you,” he murmured softly. “No matter how much I try.”

“Then stop trying and just take me,” I whispered back, the words slipping out before I could think better of them.

He tilted my chin up, and the kiss that followed was anything but gentle—rough, deep, and fast, a collision of all the apologies he hadn’t voiced and the desire he had held back. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and as he deepened the kiss, I lost all sense of where we were. The scent of detergent lingered in the air, but all I could taste was him, intoxicating and overwhelming.

I gasped as he lifted me by the waist, placing me on the trembling machine.

He parted my legs effortlessly, stepping between them, his hands finding their way to the places I craved him most.

“Already so wet for me,” he groaned against my lips, his voice dripping with desire. “I love the feel of you.”

A soft moan escaped my lips as his fingers brushed against my clit, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. He slid two fingers inside, and I gasped as he filled me, my head falling back as sensation overwhelmed my senses. I stole a glance at the door, slightly ajar in the laundry room, but Caden’s mouth found that sensitive spot on my neck, and all rational thought evaporated.

“Caden…” I moaned, my voice barely a whisper as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of me. “More… please.”

With his free hand, he fished the phone from his pocket, and I caught a glimpse of the word ‘Dad’ flashing on the screen.

That explained everything, and with a heavy heart, I reluctantly released him as he stepped back.

The conversation mirrored the last time I had overheard them speak—tense and filled with unspoken words, and I assumed it didn’t end in his favor.

He took a step back, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Of course,” he muttered under his breath, irritation lacing his tone.

“Caden.” I reached out, catching his arm before he could move away completely. He looked down at me, and for a fleeting moment, I saw the exhaustion etched on his features. It was a weariness that ran deeper than physical fatigue—an emotional toll that weighed heavily on him.

“Please,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t shut me out again.”

He sighed, the weight of my words sinking in, his shoulders slumping under the burden of it all.

“I won’t.” His voice cracked slightly, revealing the vulnerability beneath his bravado. “I promise. But I have to go.”

“Are you going to talk about it when you get back?” I asked, my heart pounding with hope and fear.

Something flickered behind his eyes—hesitation, fear, maybe a mix of both.

“When I get back,” he said finally, his tone resolute, “I’ll try my best.”

I searched his face, hoping for sincerity, and nodded. “Okay.”

*****

He brushed a stray strand of hair from my cheek, his hand lingering there as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words.

“I’ll come back to you,” he said quietly, his promise hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

And before I could respond, he was gone—stepping back out into the storm once more, leaving me alone in the low hum of the laundry room.

With a heavy heart, I started another cycle.