Page 39 of Mason
She’s not supposed to be up here. Breathing hard, I look around, trying to see my sanctum through her eyes—the most private of spaces where I come to let out every one of my horrors, where I allow myself to be me. This is the one place I don’t have to put on an act or pretend like everything is okay. It’s where I allow myself the freedom to feel my pain and not worry about hurting anyone else with my thoughts or my aggressive expression of them. With most everyone in my daily life, I have to maintain a guarded stance, keep all my shit under lock and key. People don’t get to know about the unfortunate circumstances of my formative years or the agony of life under the Mikaelson roof. They would run scared if they understood how fucked-up I am. Hell, if Bear and Duke’s fathers weren’t my old man’s buddies, and we hadn’t grown up knowing the ins and outs of each other’s lives, I may never have told them a damn thing—and still, they don’t know the entire story.
It’s better this way. They don’t know that I could have stopped what happened, that I’m responsible. When I let myself think about it, the darkness inside threatens to swallow me whole. And the terrible thing is, I don’t even have the strength to fight it. Not right now. Not with Lennon having thrown my world off its axis.
My breath hitches in response to the direction my thoughts have taken, so I force myself to look at Lennon’s delectable ass and pussy. She’s still in a flat-out daze, holding onto the seat of the chair before her as if her life depended on it. And maybe it does. She should run. Run so very far away from me.
My mind bends, taking me places I don’t want to go. I shake my head, freeing myself of awful thoughts and grip her by the hips, yanking her swiftly upright. She’s curvy in all the right places, but still very lightweight, considering her height. I press my front to her back, letting her feel my erection lined up with the crack of her ass. Ducking my head down next to hers, I whisper, “I’m not done making my point.”
I almost regret what I’m about to say and do to her. But I can’t have her up here again. I purposely don’t look at her as she turns her head to meet my gaze. “You don’t want me up here. I get it. I promise. But I know you’re upset about something. I thought we were taking your mind off it.”
I let out a wretched groan. “There are consequences to doing shit you’re not supposed to. I didn’t fuckin’ ask you to come up here to rescue me. Close your eyes for me. Keep them closed.” I deftly pull out my phone and circle my artwork, capturing photos of all the beautiful ugliness I’ve drawn all over her body.
Satisfied, I whisper, “Okay, come this way with me.” I walk with her over to the far side of the room, where I keep a full-length mirror. “So, go ahead. Get your fill of what I did. Tell me you still want to fuckin’ help me.” My words come out raw. Painful. The mirror is old and cracked, but it still does its job. The reflection makes Lennon jerk in my arms. “Fucking messed up, huh?” I whisper in her ear, letting her feel the hot fan of my breath over her cheek. I remain behind her and take each of her hands in one of mine, holding her arms out from her sides so she can get a really good look at my masterpiece.
In the mirror, her gaze sweeps down over every last chilling bit of the way I’ve marked her. Last night, she’d been vulnerable. It hadn’t been her choice, rather something her nightmare had brought out in her. At this fucked-up moment in time, though, she’s allowing this of me. She doesn’t have to. I’m hardly holding her hands. She could turn around and hit me, even though Bear hasn’t yet shown her how to throw a punch. She could scream or yell her defiance, but instead she just nods. She could go right now. Sheshouldget as far away from me as possible.
I study her reflection—especially the stormy look in her gorgeous eyes—and smile inwardly with approval of the fucking mess I’ve drawn on her. It’s a swirling pattern that reminds me a little of Van Gogh’sStarry Night, only there are words embedded within the design that came to mind as I thought about her and why she’s here and who she is. “Siren. Devil. Tease. Tormentor.” I take a deep breath and keep reading. “Bitch. Whore. Cunt.”
She clears her throat before she asks, “Is this how you see me, Mason?”
“This is how you seeyourself,because this is what people say about you.” My jaw clenches, popping with tension.
Turning in my arms, her hands grab onto my hips, just above the waistband of my jeans. She presses her forehead to my chest for a brief moment before she looks up into my eyes and completely ignores what I said. “Who hurt you so badly that you lash out like this? Why do you push everyone away?”
“Why does everyone want to be in my fuckin’ business?”Get the fuck out of my head. Get out.
Her brows draw together, and she gives me a troubled shake of her head, her hands drifting up to my pecs and stretching to reach around my neck. Her lush, fingerprint-covered tits brush my chest, and a moment later, I sweep her into my arms and her legs wrap around my waist. My hands slide over her round, toned ass, supporting her as I stalk over to the mattress I sleep on when I’m too bone-tired to make it back down the stairs.
I crash to my knees, hovering over her as I make quick work of the button and zipper on my jeans and shove them down, freeing my cock. It’s fucking weeping for her, wanting to be inside her tight pussy. I kneel between her legs, eyes skimming over every swirl of the charcoal, every ugly word.
My breathing is heavy and labored as I stare down into her expectant blue eyes.
I point to her arm where I swear I felt something under her skin earlier. “Implant?”
Her eyes widen. She nods, her breath stuttering out.
“Good. Because I have no intention of pulling out.” My jaw tightens, running my hand over all the awfulness. I want to rub it into her skin so she doesn’t forget. “Gonna make this pussy come again.”
Her hand tentatively touches the smears of charcoal on her stomach. “Are you happy with what I let you do to me?”
Agitation whips through me, and it’s on a very, very short leash that could snap at any moment.I fucking hate her for trying to understand the fucked-up mess in my head.
She shakes her head, reaching for me. “You shouldn’t be alone up here all the time.”
I nod, exhaling close to her ear, and fucking love the resulting shudder of need that runs through her. “That’s where you’re wrong, Lennon. Loneliness is a second skin to the soul that is forced to wear it. Damaged people damage people. The only time I’m truly at ease is when I’m alone.”
“You’re not alone right now and you seem just fucking fine.” Her brows raise ever so slightly, pushing me for an answer.
I tilt my head, studying her curiously. She’s like no other girl I’ve ever encountered. I ease into her dripping wet pussy inch by satisfying inch, watching her mouth go slack and her eyes roll back. She’s incredibly tight. I groan aloud, “Fuck, Lennon, what are you doing to me?”
“Oh, Fuck. Mason. Fuck.”
She feels like heaven.
I want to die.
TWENTY-TWO
DUKE
