Page 63 of Relapse
The corner of my mouth lifted at the flush crawling down her neck.
Yeah she did.
Almost immediately my muscles relaxed, letting go of all my tension and allowing me to settle back in the mattress and enjoy Harper’s shuddered breaths. Each little moan, gasp and groan filled my chest with satisfaction.
I yawned and rolled over. “That’s right, Freckles.”
Harper
Games were a part of childhood. We’d all gather together and play things like Red Rover, Tag and Hide-n-Seek, but my favorite was Red Light, Green Light. It wasn’t the race across the room that I found addictive. It was having to instantly freeze when the person that was ‘it’ called out ‘red light’ and spun around.
Sometimes I’d get caught with my foot off the ground, or in another awkward position that was troublesome to hold. But I did it. I played statue better than the boys who were faster and stronger than me. That ability was one I never thought I’d use beyond the game. Yet here I was, laying in bed, perpetually stuck in red light mode.
Because Mason Kessler was laying beside me.
Having him around was normal. When he was in rehab I didn’t know what to do with myself. It was weird not seeing him in school or around town. I missed those green eyes so much that I actually considered sneaking away to see him. But this…
This was too close.
Mason had his head thrown back on the pillow next to mine. I could feel the steady breaths that floated out of his open mouth. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like the faint hint of scotch tickling my nose. It made my heart stop every time he muttered or moved in the slightest.
At one point I even clamped my hand over my lips to quiet my own breathing. Scotch was Daddy’s favorite. When I was little I’d sit on his lap and watch him sip on the amber liquid while wondering what it tasted like.
Back then that smell was comforting because it meant I was safe. Now that malted, smoky scent meant something else. Something that had me frozen in place beyond the fear of waking up the boy asleep beside me. Dealing with a monster was one thing. When he’d been ingesting the devil’s nectar, bad things happened. The evidence of those bad things was what the sheriff asked to see.
I kept telling myself to get up and leave. Mason wasn’t Daddy. He might be cruel, but he’d never hit me. Then he’d exhale and that scent would smack me back into stillness. There was a point when I thought Daddy wouldn’t hit me either.
Accepting my fate, I let out a defeated huff and settled into the mattress. Maybe this wasn’t so bad? At least I didn’t have to worry about Mason waking up and accosting me. He might say something mean, but he certainly wouldn’t touch me.
Like he didn’t touch you in the bathroom?
My eyes slid along his right arm to the hand splayed out on his chest. Was that the one he used? Mason was left handed, not that anyone would be able to see that. The bulging muscle on his right bicep was just as hard and firm as the one on his dominant side.Hewas hard and firm.
The chiselled dips and grooves in his torso were testament to that. I always knew he was big, but I never imagined he was this big. It felt like I was laying next to a giant whose arms were thicker than my thighs.
I shouldn’t be looking at him. It was wrong.
He’s the one that climbed into your bed wearing next to nothing.
That was true. The only thing he had on was a pair of black boxer briefs. Not that I’d looked. He had… stuff in there. Stuff I didn’t want to know about.
You sure about that?
Yes I was sure.Wasn’t I?
Other than accidently walking in on Sean when he was changing, or seeing the swim team around school, I’d never really seen a guy’s body. Would it really be so bad to take a peek? What kind of person laid down next to someone practically naked? Maybe he wanted me to look?
Next thing I knew, my gaze was drifting over the black rose inked into the side of his waist. His tanned skin was so smooth I couldn’t help but wonder if it would feel soft. Would he feel warm pressed up against me? Would he wake up if I moved just a little…
No. Stop it!
I snapped my attention back to the flower on his side. That was much better to look at. There was nothing creepy about admiring the artistic beauty of a tattoo. And Mason had four that I could see.
A raven on the inside of his wrist, the rose, a white rabbit with broken ears and a gouged out eye socket, and under that, my name dripping blood. That didn’t exactly bode well. Was the rabbit how Mason saw me? Or was that what he wanted to do to me?
Maybe that’s what I did to him?
Apparently breaking him wasn’t enough, I had to go and add gawking like a pervert to the list.
