Page 37 of Bruised

I press down on my marks, one by one, and a dull pain throbs at the surface of my skin. My lips part as I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. I press even harder, evoking a pulse from my crotch…

Startled, I withdraw my hand and finish brushing my teeth, and Mason’s words from last night ring loud and clear in my head.

“Think this can tide you over until tomorrow night?”

Apparently not. I need more. More marks, more of his voice in my ear, more of his cock nudging the back of my throat, more of his fingers in my ass…

Cheeks flaming, I spit out the toothpaste and wash my face with more aggression than necessary. I need to clear my head and get myself ready for a day of acting like nothing is wrong. To cover up my hickeys and put on a facade in front of Oliver that I can’t let crack. I can’t let him know what I let his big brother do to my ass at night. I can’t let him know the things I long for—the thoughts that cross my mind when I’m supposed to be focused on beating the next boss.

On the surface, I pretend nothing is out of the ordinary, but on the inside, I feel skittish and worried. Paranoid that every look Oliver sends me is a look of disappointment and betrayal. As if he already knows.

I make sure to spend as little time alone downstairs as I can, avoiding any confrontation with Mason. I succeed all day, but in the evening, when dinnertime comes around, Oliver pops off to the bathroom while I’m left in the kitchen, waiting for our frozen pizzas in the oven.

Of course, Mason chooses that time to emerge from the garage, all sweaty and shirtless, wiping his neck with a towel.

“Hey, puppy.” His hair is wet, and it’s not from the shower; it’s from sweat. He must’ve gone hard this gym session.

I try to ignore him, to look away, but it proves impossible when he stands by the kitchen counter, back turned to me, making a protein shake.

The smell of his fresh sweat fills my nostrils. He smells masculine. Sharp. Tangy. It makes me think of… of the times we’ve been close together. The times I’ve had my mouth on him. The way he tastes. How his thighs tense up when he’s about to come. How good he smells whenever I suck him off. Not unclean, necessarily, but a musky, powerful smell that fills me up and makes me moan when I…

Before I know it, I’m growing hard under the table, and I groan and lean forward. Why does this always happen whenever he’s close?

“You okay there, puppy?” Mason asks, throwing a glance at me over his shoulder.

No, I’m not okay. There’s something wrong with me; simply smelling your sweat makes me hard. Simply watching you prepare that shake makes me want to get on my knees and crawl to you on all fours.

“It’s okay.” Protein shake in hand, he pushes off the counter and saunters up to me. “Only a few hours left.” He ruffles my hair and scratches me behind the ear, and when he leans in, he hooks his finger in the band of my choker, pulling me close. “Then you’re all mine, puppy.”

Fuck. A hot rush of embarrassed arousal shoots through me, and if I weren’t hard before, I sure would be now. Squeezing my eyes shut, I attempt to suppress my arousal to less acute levels.

It’s a little easier once Mason leaves, and I get busy flattening my bird’s nest of hair before Oliver returns from the bathroom. I like it messy, but not that messy. I suppose it’s a nice metaphor for the mess my life has become.

I was just supposed to enjoy my last summer with my best friend, but now I’m sleeping with his brother behind his back, and the words said brother whispered in my ear are all too true.

Only a few hours remain until I’m in his room again. Until I get his fingers again. Two this time. He promised.

Oliver and I enjoy our pizza in his room while we watch gaming streams on his PC, and through it all, I have to fight like hell not to let my thoughts linger and risk getting hard.

This is ridiculous. I really need to get off. I always get off when I’m with Mason, but unfortunately, it doesn’t help my predicament—it makes it worse. I can’t get enough, and daytime is torture, but maybe that’s just because he’s teasing me so damn much.

If he fucked me for real, maybe then my libido would calm down? I can only hope.

I also hope he won’t look at me with that softness in his eyes again. It did weird things to my insides last night.

Yeah, I hope he’ll just get me off, with two fingers this time, maybe let me suck his cock again—God, I hope he does—and then I can leave, unaffected by it all, with no strange warmth in my chest and no tingling feeling that makes me want to smile when I think of him.

A few hours later, I turn the handle of Mason’s door and step inside, careful as always not to make any noise. When I close the door and turn around, Mason is sitting on the bed, naked, scrolling on his phone. I stop awkwardly by the door, unsure what to do.

Mason puts his phone aside and gestures at me. “Come here, puppy.”

Grateful for the guidance, I approach as if I’m about to kneel, but Mason shakes his head and motions to his lap.

“Here. Clothes off.”

I strip down, unsure what he’s getting at. Once naked, I lift a leg as if to straddle him, but he shakes his head again.

“Legs on the bed, on your stomach, spread over my lap like this.”