Mason rammed into me, and I tried to imagine his hands as Mr. Bryne’s—though I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t, it still happened. I wanted to imagine his lips running up my back, his fingers dipping between my legs, his cock swelling inside of me.
But Mason felt nothing like Mr. Bryne. Mason felt like a wannabe frat boy in high school who didn’t know the clit from the G-spot, that kid who told everyone that he had slept with a bazillion girls before but had barely even touched a breast. It was sloppy and too rough and, honestly, pretty damn terrible.
“Please come for me,” I said into the mattress, my voice monotone.
Mason grunted above me and came. When he pulled himself out, he rolled onto the bed next to me. I crawled onto the bed, wanting so desperately to give him another chance, wanting him to make me come. Hell, Ineededhim to at least try.
After my little run-in with Mr. Bryne … I was getting so desperate for Mason to please me.
So, I turned onto my side and said, “Do you want to help me come?” I curled my fingers around his. “Please.”
He took a deep breath, glancing at me. “You didn’t come?”
“No.”
He sighed through his nose. “Fine.”
He pushed a hand between my legs, but I grabbed it, sucking his fingers into my mouth before they touched my dry pussy. He pushed them around in circles around my clit. And I closed my eyes and sank into the bedsheets, thinking about how good I was feeling.
My back arched lightly, and I moaned to myself. “Oh God …” I clutched the bedsheets, my body on the verge of coming when he suddenly started to move his fingers around slower, ruining the rhythm. And then his fingers stopped moving altogether.
I looked over at him to see his eyes closed and drool falling from his lower lip. I closed my eyes, pushed his hand off of me, and pulled the blankets over my body, turning away from him. Even when I gave him a chance … he had to ruin it.
“Do you want to go out?”Mason asked me on Thursday night.
I stared up at him from the bed and watched him walk into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, beads of water dripping down his taut chest.
Out? Mason wants to go … out?Between school and work and seeing Mom, we hadn’t been out on a date in weeks.
He dropped his towel in the middle of the room, not caring that he was getting everything wet. “Huh?” he asked me, giving me thatare you going to answer or just stare at melook in the mirror.
My eyes widened, and I sat up. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Mason finally wanted to go out on a date, and I wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity. Tonight would be a good time to chill out and relax, to spend some quality time with him, and tonotthink about … Mr. Bryne. Because I hadn’t been thinking about anyone else but Mr. Bryne for the past few days. Every day was getting worse and worse.
“Well, don’t just sit there.” Mason tugged a dress shirt over his head. “Get ready.”
I pursed my lips together and ignored his remark, walking toward my closet and finding my favorite navy-colored wraparound dress.
“Don’t you want to wear that red dress I got you?” Mason asked. “You wear that dress every time we go out.”
Bite your tongue. Don’t let him get to your head. You owe him so damn much.
“I like this dress,” I said, smoothing out the material and taking a deep breath. I slung my purse over my shoulder and smiled at him. “I’m ready.”
Mason broughtme to this upscale bar down in the city. I had never been there, but it seemed like he had—many times. The waitresses and bartenders greeted him as they would an old friend. I glanced at all the women who were looking him up and down, pushing out their breasts, unbuttoning a couple buttons of their shirts, and nearly rolled my eyes. God, some of these people were beyond desperate.
“Mason,” I said, grabbing his hand and inching close to him. “Are you sure this is okay?”
I didn’t care that we had come here, but part of me felt bad. This place looked way, way, way out of my budget, and … I was feeling beyond guilty for letting Mason pay for everything with his parents’ money—from Mom’s living arrangements to all the bills to taking me out to dinner. All I paid for was Mom’s therapy and some of my college. Nothing for him.
“It’s fine.” He slid onto a seat at the far end of the bar and held two fingers up toward the bartender. “Two menus.”
She sauntered over to us, placed the menus on the bar, and smiled sweetly at Mason, flicking a strand of her awfully dyed red hair out of her face. “It’s nice to see you again, Mason.”
I grabbed the menu from her and buried my face into it, deciding not to listen to Mason say anything to her. It wasn’t any of my damn business what he was saying to her, especially after whatIhad done with Mr. Bryne.
A few moments later, she placed two drinks on the bar in front of us. I grabbed my sangria and drank it down faster than I ever had. Maybe it’d give me the buzz I needed to ask Mason for another favor—to move Mom to a better assisted living home.
