He called me Pixie.Until now, I’ve presumed Elliot made it up as a joke, but the way Mason says it, as if still testing the word on his tongue. It leaves me assuming it’s for another reason.
Are they making fun of me?
My hands flatten on his shoulders as he gently lowers my leg to the ground. Tremors still rack through my body, causing me to stagger on my feet as I try to gain control of my limbs. When he told me to stop drinking, I felt collared. The thought of doing something for him because he told me to only made me want to do the opposite. Now I’m unsteady on my feet and wishing I’d listened.
The light tap of his finger on my ankle has me snapping out of my postorgasmic daze. I lift each foot so he can slide my underwear back into place, then smooth the material of my dress down over my hips myself. I lean back lazily against the door, watching him, wondering if he is even real.
His hair is a mess from my fingers—just like I wanted it. But what’s better than his just fucked hair is the satisfied smile that’s plastered across his face and that smile; it makes me feel fucking powerful.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.
He steps into me again, pulling my chin between his thumb and finger. “I’m thinking I should’ve done that on our first night together. I didn’t realise how easy it is to tame you.”
My jaw drops in shock. “You cheeky prick! You make me... untamed!” I push on his chest playfully, and he captures my wrist in his hand.
“Well then, it’s a good job your cunt is my new favourite pastime, isn’t it? Makes for a good team.” He leans in, kissing me tenderly.
His phone starts to ring, and he pulls away, digging in his pocket to retrieve it.
“Fuck,” he groans, his hand running through his hair as he brings it to his ear “Scar,” he mutters. He sounds dejected, and my stomach knots at the tone of his voice.
He turns away from me, walking to the desk in the far corner of the room, and it gives me a chance to take in my surroundings for the first time since entering the room. We are in an office. Minimal furniture decorates the space, and the lack of windows makes it dark and a little depressing.
Mason sits on the edge of the desk, his chin dropped down to his chest as he listens on the phone. Unsure about what I should do, I push off from the door, walking toward the sofa.
His dark eyes lift immediately, burning through me as he reaches out an arm, gesturing for me to go to him.
“It’s not your problem, Scar. It’s neither of our problems,” he says as I step up next to him. He brings his arm around my waist, pulling me to his side and places a chaste kiss on my temple.
I wonder who Scar is. It sounds like a woman’s name. The voice is slightly whiny—definitely a woman.
“Alright, calm down,” he huffs in annoyance. “I will leave now, give me an hour, okay?” He hangs up, angling his body to face mine.
I force a smile. “You aren’t taking me home, are you?”
His warm palm encases the side of my face as his thumb brushes my lower lip. “Not tonight, angel. We still have our date tomorrow?” he questions.
“Are you going to tell me where you are going?” I answer his question with one of my own.
His face morphs into one of displeasure, his jaw clenching tight. “No. We have our date tomorrow,” he tells me.
‘You need to trust him’Vinny’s words resonate in me.
Should I trust this man? He’s going to see a woman right now that much I’m sure of. But I don’t feel the jealousy I did out in the club before. His frustration with having to go tells me enough, and it only makes me worry for him.
“You want me to come with you?” I ask, running my hand up his chest.
“No, I don’t. Sorry,” he says before stepping away from me.
Long strides put distance between us, and the more steps he takes the farther away I feel him drift from me. The strong set of his shoulders, his fists that are now curled at his sides, all tell me that soft, tender Mason is gone.
Mr Lowell back in his place.
I hurry to catch up with him, not wanting to be left behind in the poorly lit room. He pulls open the door in a rush but instantly comes to an abrupt halt, making me stumble and face-plant into his back.
“Jesus Christ,” he groans.
I lean back, looking up into Lucy’s eyes.
