Page 49 of Black Roses

“I told you, Mason. I don’t like to talk about myself. Can we just watch the movie please?”

He turns back towards the television. “Sure. We can watch the movie. But maybe one day . . .”

I close my eyes and sigh. “I told you, there won’t—”

“I know, I know.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “There won’tbea one day. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try like hell to change your mind about it.”

Halfway through the movie, it occurs to me that my head has fallen and rested against Mason’s shoulder and that we are holding hands. And now that I’m aware of it, I can’t concentrate on anything else. His thumb rubs slow circles across my palm, putting me in a trance. The heat surging between our bodies is increasing by the minute.

He can’t see that I’m not even watching the movie anymore. My eyes are closed. They are closed as I try to imagine a ‘one day.’ I try to imagine Hailey playing next to us on the floor. I try to imagine family birthdays and holidays, Sunday brunches and vacations. I dream of the what-ifs and the possibilities.

Then I remember dreams aren’t always good. Sometimes they are just twisted versions of the truth that your mind tries to accept. And no matter how much I want to accept that I could have a normal future, my dreams remind me of how that could never be possible.

“Piper,” I hear him whisper. “Are you tired? Would you like to turn off the movie?”

I look up at him and I can tell by the look of worry on his face that he now realizes I wasn’t asleep, but rather in another world. Suddenly, his hands cup my face. “You look sad. What’s wrong?” he asks, his thumb slowly tracing my bottom lip. It’s a gesture I’ve come to crave.

My eyes shift focus between his lips and his mesmerizing blue irises. When our eyes meet, the intensity of his dark gaze takes my breath away. I try to answer him, but I’m speechless.

“God, Piper. I . . . ” His words fade away as his mouth starts to move towards mine.

My body responds to his movement immediately, my pulse racing and my breathing becoming ragged. His lips haven’t even touched mine yet, but I already feel the air under my feet, raising me back up to the cloud.

Cloud nine—that is where I want to live. It’s my happy place. The place where nothing bad can happen and nobody evil can hurt me. Pain doesn’t exist. Hearts don’t get ripped to shreds. Girls don’t get raped.

His lips crash into mine. Soft kisses quickly turn hard and demanding as my tongue meets his, stroke for stroke. He tastes like rum and Coke, with a hint of spearmint. He tastes amazing. He tastes of everything I want my life to be. He tastes of heaven.

Once again, he trails soft kisses over my neck and jaw. He takes extra time when his lips meet the skin behind my ear that is branded with ink. Part of me feels the urge to pull away. That piece of me is private. But he sucks on it lightly and I find I can’t move. I’m putty under his lips, his mouth, his skillful tongue. Almost as if my tattoo is a direct portal to my pain, he draws some of it out of me, extracting pieces of it with every gentle touch.

My fall from the cloud is instantaneous when I feel his hand trail up my ribs and gingerly cup my breast. I can’t breathe. Fear grips my spine like a vise, squeezing the air from my lungs as my body stiffens and trembles. Panic builds quickly, not wasting time giving me much warning. I cry out as anguish consumes me.

His hand retreats abruptly. “Piper, sweetheart. Look at me.”

I’m shaking, the tremors in my hands clearly visible.

Mason holds my hands tightly in his. “Look at me,” he implores. “Look into my eyes.”

I take a deep breath and raise my eyes to meet his.

“It’s me, sweetheart. It’s Mason. Don’t take your eyes off me.” He smiles. He smiles my favorite smile. The one that raises only half of his mouth. The smile that tells me he’s a good man.

Mason is a good man, I repeat over and over in my head.

“Listen to me, Piper. And listen good. When I touch you, it’s not to use you or hurt you. When I touch you, it’s so I can worship you. And every time you allow me to see you—feel you, is a gift I intend to treasure.”

He squeezes my hands and then releases them, moving one of his hands up my rib cage again. My eyes try to close in fear.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart. It’s only me. We both have shit in our past. But this—this here is so much different than anything I’ve ever felt. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to cherish you with every touch. Let yourself feel me. Let go of everything else.”

Our eyes lock together as his hand meets my breast. He cups it gently, letting his hand take the weight of it slowly. His eyes beg me to relax under his touch. My heart begs me to comply.

I breathe through my emotions. Slowly inhaling through my nose and out through my mouth. If my eyes start to stray, he urges them back.

Slowly, methodically, he traces the fleshiness of my breast over my top. When his knuckles lightly brush over my nipple, I struggle to keep my eyes open because the sensation flowing between us is overwhelming.

Our eyes burn into each other. Mine telling stories that shouldn’t be told. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

I nod.

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