Page 32 of Mason
Even though it’s way too early, I brush my teeth, unhook and remove my bra, and slip out of my shorts. I slide between the sheets, hoping like hell that when I wake up tomorrow it will be a better day.
* * *
My heart slamsaround in my chest.Thud, thud, thud.I’m hot and sticky. There are voices but I don’t recognize any of them, and even if I did, they are nothing more than a faint whisper, so quiet that I doubt I’d understand what’s being said. I have a sick feeling in my gut that there’s something so inherently wicked about what Ican’thear them saying, it puts me into full panic mode. I’ve got to get away. But I can’t move.
I. Can’t. Move.
Something is holding me down. Someone? Shallow and harsh to my ears, each of my breaths scrape past my vocal cords like they’re abrading my throat, leaving it feeling raw. Terror streaks through me, stealing every logical thought in my head. I open my mouth to cry for help, but nothing comes out. Only silence.
I startle awake to the sound of my own scream and the sweat slicking my skin.
A dull thud on the balcony door has my head whipping in that direction. My chest squeezes, lungs seizing, and I can’t freaking draw a full breath.
Mason stares at me through the door, untamed fear in his eyes. He shoves it open, but it smacks into the stool I’d put in front of it earlier in a sad attempt at barricading myself into the room. He shoves on the door, and the stool shifts out of the way, skidding with a slight screech across the hardwood floor. He’s in the room a split second later, shutting the door behind him.
The moonlight coming in through the windows glances off him, highlighting every last bit of him. Oh fuck—he’s completely naked, all lean-muscle and smooth skin. He strides quickly toward me, and I force my gaze upward from the rather large appendage swinging between his legs. My breath catches at the urgency in his eyes. He’s in a desperate state, and it’s all because of me.
He hurries to the bed, kneeling down beside it and stares at me, with a look of uncertainty on his face. He gives himself a hard shake, his hand unsteady as he brings it to my cheek. “I— Is it you—?” He clears his throat, eyes crashing shut.
I let out a shuddering breath, blinking rapidly. It feels like my heart is threatening to leap out of my chest. I peek at him, my forehead pinching. Who does he think I am? His eyes reopen and are wild in the same way as the night on the balcony. My mind zips back, remembering the feel of his hands wrapped around my throat.
It’s unnerving to know that, in this moment, before I clue him in, he might not be sure who he’s looking at. I stutter out, “It’s… Lennon.” Then, turning my head toward the pillow, I bring my hand up to cover the rest of my face, mortified that I was screaming at least loudly enough for him to hear me through the connected wall of our room. I want to burrow into this mattress and never show myself again.
A moment later, the sheet that was covering me is pulled back and the bed shifts, dipping with Mason’s weight as he sits down on the edge. “Lennon.” He exhales hard, and nods, as if reassuring himself before slipping into the bed with me. My body gives a violent lurch when he tugs my hand from my face, but what I see in Mason’s eyes makes me sigh with relief, even if I hate it for him. Empathy. He understands what I’m going through right now—the racing heart that won’t calm, the sick feeling in the stomach, the all-consuming fear of something I don’t quite understand.
His eyes lock on mine, but his hand roams to my chest, pressing against the rapid beating at the top of my breast. “Breathe for me, Lennon. Nice and slow. In and out.”
I clutch at his hand on my chest, greedy for anything that will take me away from my nightmares and back to real life, no matter how fucked-up that world may be at the moment. Mason’s touch grounds me. I search his eyes, and without a clue as to what he’s thinking, I nod and inhale steadily. Then exhale, just like he said. Nice and slow. I can do this.
After several minutes of us breathing together, he murmurs, “That’s it. Now, let me free you from all the mad thoughts in your head.” In one ridiculously smooth move, he gathers me to him and rolls me to my back. He stretches over me, his eyebrow arched high on his forehead. “Last chance to say no.”
I have no words, perhaps because I don’t want to say no, but also because I don’t know how to deal with the repercussions if I say yes. Do I willingly allow this guy who has done nothing but taunt me to help me? The beguiling twist of his lips is what finally makes me crack. I give him the barest of nods, and it’s only a moment later when his lips connect with my neck. They graze over my skin, trailing soft kisses and teasing nips. His tongue darts out for a taste, and he groans out my name. “Lennon. I know what you need.”
My body heats at his words, unsure of what we’re doing or of how far he’ll take this. But if there’s one thing that’s certain, it’s that I don’t want to stop. He’s right, he does know what I need. I’m desperate to get out of my head, otherwise that nightmare will linger with me until morning. With every brush of his lips over my skin, he’s drawing me back from the ledge, away from the awful things I’m forced to encounter when I’m asleep.
With my head thrown back on the pillow, granting him better access to my neck, I strain toward him, an ache building inside me. Need makes me wanton. I whisper, “Make me forget, Mason.” Our eyes connect in the dark, and my lip trembles, unsure if I’m making the right move.
“I’ll do more than that. I’m gonna make you come so hard you won’t remember your fuckin’ name.”
Desire surges through my body, and a deep throb vibrates in my core. He shifts so he can pull my sleep shirt up, exposing my breasts, and before I can even peel it over my head, his mouth is hot and wet on me, sucking my nipple deep.
I feel the rush of arousal, the tingling spark of anticipation as his fingertips blaze a path downward. They skim from my navel to the hem of my panties, and my breath hitches as he slips them under the fabric. He wastes no time, fingers diving between my legs to explore. My pelvis rocks upward, seeking his touch. Seeking salvation.
His mouth pops off my nipple, and he groans out,“Fuck,you’re wet.” I almost cry in protest of the loss of his mouth on my sensitive skin, but the first brush of his rough fingers over my clit nearly has me coming undone and forgetting everything else. My back bows on the bed, and a throaty gasp of pleasure fills the room that can only have come from my lips. It should embarrass the hell out of me, but all Mason does is shoot me one of his signature smirking grins. “That’s it. Take what you need, like a good fuckin’ girl.”
My pelvis chases his hand, and I do exactly that. I grind my clit on those wet fingers, losing more and more control as I surrender this part of myself to Mason. The orgasm rips through me, and I’m helpless to do anything but let it consume me. His eyes devour the sight of my body undulating, responding so easily to what he’s coaxing from me. I shatter, thoughts of what came before this moment, just a dark, dark memory.
When my breathing finally regulates, I turn my head to look at him, my eyes drifting over his nakedness. He’s… beautiful.
Before I can say anything, he sits up, then kneels beside me, his hands going to either side of my underwear. His brow arches and his chin tips up a fraction. And somehow, my body responds involuntarily, my pelvis lifting from the bed so that he can slip the panties off my ass and down my legs. While I lie there with my mouth open in surprise and my pussy exposed to his view, he climbs from the bed, my panties in hand. With a dastardly wink, he strides back to the balcony door, tossing a “You’re welcome” at me as he leaves.
EIGHTEEN
MASON
My eyes crackopen Wednesday evening, bleary as hell. It could be that between my own demons and Lennon’s, I really hadn’t slept more than two hours last night. But it’s also just as likely that it’s this long-ass nap I’m waking up from that’s fucking with me. These late afternoon ones always leave me feeling groggy and out of it—even more so than usual. I can’t make myself move yet, so I lie spread eagle on the bed and think about how I’d handled things with Lennon last night.
For a split second as I’d burst into her room, my mind played tricks on me. It’d been terrifying. I’d been up for hours drawing in the attic and had finally decided to try to sleep. I swear my eyes hadn’t been shut for more than five minutes when I heard her screaming. With my damaged heart lodged in my throat, I’d leaped from my bed and made a snap decision to try her balcony door first, figuring it was more likely to be unlocked than her bedroom door.
