Page 3 of Bear
He looks down at the dark-gray joggers and smirks. “Afraid to have me naked in your room again, Duke?”
I press my lips together as I cross my arms over my chest. A protective stance. I can’t allow him to mess with my head. Because that’s what Mason does. He mixes me up. Confuses everything I thought I knew about myself. Studying him for a moment, I finally huff out a breath before giving him an unamused smile. I shake my head. “Fuck off. Leave me out of your crazy.” His brow arches, and I let out an exasperated breath, steering the conversation away from me. “And no matter what happened between you and Lennon—because I’m sure there’s plenty that you didn’t mention—it’s obvious it wasn’t good. Once you’ve calmed the fuck down, you should think about apologizing.”
He snorts out a little laugh, his full lips stretching into a grin. “Leave the dad stuff to Bear and stick with being the dick. We all know you’re good at it.” He bends to slip into my joggers and hikes them up.
I feel an immediate sense of relief… and if I search way down deep, a flicker of disappointment.
“I don’t know why you dragged me in here with you.” He blows out a hard breath. “You could have just as easily opened my door and shoved me into my own fucking room.” He lets another smirk cross his face. “But I think you like me here.” His brow hitches up on his forehead in challenge.
“Just sit the fuck down,” I groan out in frustration as I gesture to the couch on the far side of my bed. I shove his shoulder as I walk past him to claim a seat. I find when I get over there, I need to keep myself in a position of power and right now that means perching high on one of the arms of the couch with a foot up on the cushion. If I put myself on his level, it’s all over. I wait, drawing in one ragged breath after another, watching him approach out of the corner of my eye. Somebody needs to calm down, but it’s not necessarily Mason at this point, and that pisses me right off.
He shakes his head as he circles around the side of the couch. For a moment, he stands there, sizing me up. I worry a lot that Mason can see right inside my head. My eyes slam shut for a moment, not wanting to consider all that that means. When I open them again, he’s seated himself sideways on the couch, leaning back against the cushioned arm and stretching his legs across the couch. Lazy. Easy. He gives me a good glare.
I glare right back, scrubbing my hand over my stubbled jaw. “Talk to me.”
An annoyed smile twitches at his lips. He shifts his gaze to the side for a moment before bringing it back to mine, his dark, sinful eyes locking on me. “I don’t have a single fucking thing else to talk toyouabout.”
This shift in attitude doesn’t surprise me. It’s classic Mason. And he might be able to flip his switch fucking fast, but so can I. My expression goes hard as I grasp the back of my neck with one hand, fingers digging in and massaging the tight muscles. Every time I deal with Mason, it makes me tense. Well, time to make him feel a little of that as well. “Mason, how long’s it been since you’ve seen your therapist?” My brows lift on my forehead as I wait for my words to sink in.
As I thought I might, I’ve caught him off guard with my question, and his true feelings are written all over his face. As far as I know, I’m the only one who knows that he’s ever seen anyone for his issues. He laces his fingers, resting them overtop his head, putting on a false front. “Couldn’t fucking tell you.” His response is flippant, but his eyes flick to mine, and his teeth positively grind.
I throw out a hand in his direction. “Look. I know we haven’t been particularly friendly in a long time—”
“Not my fucking fault,” he spits, not even allowing me to finish my thought.
“I’m trying to fucking help you.”
“None of this is helping.” He rolls his eyes as he throws up finger quotes aroundhelping.
I draw in a breath, eyeing him carefully. Two can play this game. “I’ll tell you what. Either you fucking talk about what the hell triggered you tonight or…” My lips press together. I really didn’t want to have to play this card, but he’s leaving me no choice.
“Or what? You fucking threatening me now?”
I grimace. “Look. I have a responsibility toward Lennon. And if you’re going to continue with your psycho tendencies—which, that’s my guess, something got you freaked out—I suppose I’ll have to talk to my father about it. And you know that means he’ll put in a call to yours. I mean, who knows how the fuck he’ll handle it.” I let that bomb drop, knowing he won’t like the idea of Murdock Mikaelson being apprised of the situation over here.
He freezes, staring daggers at me, probably wishing I don’t know how to push his buttons so fucking easily. But I do.
I chuckle low and dirty. “He’d send Hunter.” My head bobs, knowing I have him. “That’d suck for you, wouldn’t it? You hate him.”
Knowing Mason like I do, he won’t allow me to have the last word. He slicks his tongue ever so slowly over his lower lip as his gaze wanders over me. “You want to know more about what happened in the attic? I fucked Lennon. Your stepsister’s pussy is the stuff fucking dreams are made of.”
I don’t doubt he railed her, but that can’t be what caused whatever set him off. I narrow my eyes on him, suddenly very worried about the glint in his eye.
He huffs out a laugh and unleashes on me. “Too bad you won’t ever know because you can’t get over yourself and admit you want her.” My forehead pulls into a deep scowl, and just when I think Mason’s done, he goes in for the kill. “Tell me, Duke— since you want to talk tonight—what was it like, standing there between the stepsister you can’t admit you want to fuck and the guy who’s already fuckedyou?”
THREE
BEAR
“Lennon? Are you okay in there?”I stand at the door of her bathroom, fingers hooked on the top of the doorframe, my forehead pressed against the door. After Duke hauled Mason out of here, I’d simply held Lennon for several long minutes before she’d said she felt like she needed to clean up, but she’d made me promise not to go anywhere, so here I’ve stayed. Because, yeah. Like I would go anywhere if she asked me to stick around.
The shower stopped a while ago, but I haven’t heard much movement beyond that door since. She’s making me nervous, hence my position right at the door. I don’t know how much longer I can stand it. I rap my knuckles lightly against the door before returning my hand to the doorframe. “Can I come in?”
I let out a sigh of relief when soft footfalls approach the door. A moment later the door cracks open. My Little Gazelle stares out at me, her eyes glossy. I can’t quite tell if she’s been crying in here by herself or whether this is leftover frustrated tears. Without her telling me, I don’t want to automatically assume anything about her current state of mind. She’s not a weak girl. She’s dealt with quite a lot where Mason’s concerned in the last week. And despite what Lennon told Duke that one morning in the kitchen—we won’t break her—everyonehas a breaking point. So… yeah. I don’t know what to think.
She pushes the door open a fraction wider and grimaces at me. “I was surveying the damage.” Her fingers clutch the towel between her breasts, holding it closed.
My brows shoot up, and my jaw locks in displeasure. I put my hand on the door and nudge it until she has to back up, at which point I push it all the way open. “Show me what you’re talking about before I flip my fucking lid.”
