I started to sit up when Mason’s arms wound reflexively around me, his hands tentatively resting on my back. I’d expected them to let go as I started to move but they tightened instead of loosened, holding me in place.
“…Mason?” I asked, my voice rising in question, my heart beginning to thud erratically. There was no way he was thinking what I was thinking… was there?
“Lee…” he answered, his voice breathy, my name almost a sigh on his lips. My pulse pounded in my ears, beating a staccato rhythm in my head as we lay there on the bed, bodies entwined.
“Oh god,” he said, when I tried again to move away from him, his eyes closed, perhaps in delight, at the movement, his hips grinding against mine almost of their own volition.
“That… that feels…” he bit back a groan.
I understood. I was at a loss for words, too. I was fighting my own body, trying desperately not to grind back against him. He felt so damn good beneath me – his body firm and tight, his right hand sliding down to my waist, the left making slow circles on my back, his eyes still closed. I didn’t think he even realized what he was doing.
“Mason,” I whispered his name this time and his eyes flew open again. I looked into that stunning face, those beautiful lips, that all I wanted to do was taste. I could feel his breath on my skin as I leaned closer, and his hands tightening on my back.
The entire day, I’d been fighting my attraction to this man, trying to give him space. The last thing I wanted to be was like one of those crazy fans who were all over their famous crush. He wasn’t my date. Hell, he wasn’t even myfriend. Yet here I was, almost literally throwing myself on top of him. Okay,noton purpose, but still… My heart was beating so loudly it seemed he had to be able to hear it. His eyes opened a little wider as I drew closer, and I watched as he swallowed nervously, apprehension skittering across his face.
Realization washed over me and doused my heated lust as surely as a cold bucket of water. Shit, I was an asshole. What was I thinking? This guy had endured a shitty life of people taking away all his choices, and here I was doing the exact same thing to him. In Mack’s bed, no less. The last thought sent a spasm of pain and guilt through my chest.
“I’m—Fuck!”I sat up abruptly, this time easily breaking his hold on me and rolling away from him.
“T-that was so out of line,” I said angrily, guiltily avoiding his gaze. Shame made me unable to say anything more, so I grabbed my things and fled, slamming the bedroom door shut behind me.
12
Mason
What thefuckjust happened?
The day had been amazing. The night had been fun. But, oh my fucking gods. Lee Devereaux had literally fallen on top of me… and the memory of the steel rod in his pants made it pretty clear that he was as attracted to me as I was to him.
Or, was he? Fuck. The utter condemnation in his tone. And he was right. I'd been out of line. I’d had no right to take advantage of him like that, to grind myself against him, to wrap my arms around him and basically molest him when he’d fallen. Yet when the feeling of his body laid across mine presented itself, it was like my own body knew what it wanted, even if my mind didn’t understand how to go about getting it.
I lay there for a few more moments trying desperately to regain control of myself. The erection I’d been so eager to grind against Lee was starting to fade, and none too soon. Humiliation rolled through me. He must have thought I was some kind of—of pervert. Like Dreyven. Like Ricky. Just like all those other men who’d used me in the past – as soon as the opportunity presented itself, I’d tried to take what I wanted without caring about consent.Shit!I was just like them. Likehim.
I crushed my forearm over my eyes. Tears of shame, hate and self-loathing pooled at the corners of my eyes and escaped to slide down my temples into my hair. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even think. Fuck. All those years of therapy and trying to overcome my past and at the first opportunity I’d turned into the fucking mini-me version of Dreyven.
Suddenly, I was no longer in the tastefully decorated bedroom in the woods in Ohio. I was back in the tiny, filthy apartment in Milwaukee, Ricky’s words and voice battering my already-bruised psyche.
“You like being fucked, don’t you, Mason? Just like your mom. You’re just a slut, always asking for it. You love it when a big, strong man fucks you over good, throws you around a little bit, teaches you your place,” he’d said, holding me to the bed by my throat with bruising force. Occasionally his hand would lazily flash out and slap my face, my ass, or twist a nipple painfully. I remembered squeezing my eyes shut, feeling the spray of his spittle on my face and lips, the smell of his greasy, oniony breath as he and Dreyven took turns thrusting inside of me until the final, hated feel of his release in my ass.
The roil of my stomach gave me little warning, and I barely made it to the bathroom in time to unload the contents of my stomach into the toilet.
When I woke, many hours later, I was on the cold tile floor in the bathroom of Lee’s house. I remembered vomiting over and over until nothing came out but bile.
My head pounded, my joints were stiff and cold, and I had a major kink in my neck from the way I’d been lying. I could see sunlight pouring through the windows in the bedroom: I must have been unconscious for hours.
Groaning, I forced myself to my feet. My mouth tasted of vomit and fear, and I realized I’d never changed my clothes when we gothome. Willing my body to move, I slowly got to my feet and leaned against the vanity, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I looked like shit. My face was pale and drawn. Dark puffy circles popped up under both eyes, and my hair was matted against my head with tears and sweat, and I was badly in need of a shave. A big bruise stood out on my forehead along the hairline above my right eye where our skulls had connected.
The pallor and bruises were like sirens, trying to drag me back to Milwaukee, and in the back of my mind, I could hear Dreyven’s voice softly calling my name. “Mason…”
I slammed my hand down on the cold counter-top and opened my eyes wide as my panic threatened to overwhelm me. Desperate, I tried using one of the grounding exercises my therapist had been teaching me.
“Focus, god dammit. You can do this, Mason,” I said to my reflection. “Focus.”
“Name five things you can see…” I muttered, looking around. “Reflection, mirror, towel, shower, toilet…” I paused, taking a deep breath in through my nose, then out through my mouth. “Name four things you can hear… fucking birds, wind, bugs, um… my voice,” I shrugged and didn’t care if I was cheating a little, repeating the deep-breathing exercise.
“Name three things you can feel… my feet on the ground, the hard, cold porcelain of the sink, the softness of the towel.” Again, deep breath.
