Page 73 of Bruised

“I know,” he says, leaning close. “But you’re here. And I wanted to see how my puppy’s doing.”

My puppy.

Like I’m some kind of pet. Is that what I am to him?

“I’m not yours,” I want to tell him. “Just because I’m wearing your collar, it doesn’t mean you can call me yours. You don’t treat me like I’m yours. Just because you want to fuck me doesn’t mean you really care about me. It doesn’t mean you want all of me.”

And if he doesn’t want all of me… does he really deserve to have any of me?

He spins me around in the water, bumping our bodies together. I glare at him, but he just smirks and pushes my wet bangs out of my face.

Despite my conflicted feelings, there’s one thing that stays true: whenever his hands are on me, I get into the same headspace as when I’m in his bedroom, kneeling between his thighs. Everything feels floaty and uncomplicated, like I don’t have to do anything except obey him. I can’t get into that headspace here, though; it’s not safe. I fight all I can, both in my head and by squirming out of his grip, but when he grabs me by the back of my neck and pulls my body flush to his, all the fight goes out of me.

His mouth is soft as it slots over mine. Our kiss turns wet and hot in no time, his hands running up and down my lower back under the water.

Any second now, Oliver could look through the windows and see us, but all my worries dissolve when Mason’s tongue finds mine. The water sloshes around us as he shifts his hand into my wet hair, giving it a tug. Before I can tell what he’s doing, he’s nudging me toward the end of the pool, crowding me up against the concrete edge.

“Sit up.” He grabs my hips and lifts me out of the water to sit on the edge.

I cast a glance back at the windows. With my back turned and Mason in the pool between my legs, there’s a chance he wouldn’t even be visible, even if Oliver was to look outside.

Okay… what now? I gaze down at Mason, not understanding, but then he grins and thumbs the waistband of my shorts, looking up at me.

“Acting all shy now, puppy?” he says, tugging at my soaked T-shirt. “You’re not this shy when you’re in my room.”

Well, obviously I can’t parade around the house with your marks on me. I could tell him this, but I suspect it would just make his smirk widen even more, so I stay silent.

When he pulls my waistband down, my breath catches so hard in my throat it renders me speechless. Then my brain comes back online, and I try to close my legs, but it’s not easy with Mason lodged between them. I end up with my knees slung over his shoulders, and that’s hardly better.

“What are you doing?” I whisper-shout, and I cast a terrified glance backward, as if Oliver’s right behind me. Thankfully, he’s not; we’re all alone out here, but still! The fences on either side of the house provide us with our own little sanctuary, even if it’s tentative and can shatter at any moment. We’re practically in public.

“Just making you feel good, puppy,” Mason says and frees my dick. It’s already hard, the traitor. He licks his lips, watching how my flushed cock bobs as I squirm. “Will you let me?”

Those four words give me pause. During all this time that I’ve been messing around with Mason, it’s always felt as if I barely have any choice in what we do. He rarely asks me, because I most often show my enthusiasm without the need for words. Not now, though. Now I’m protesting, and Mason is acknowledging that by asking me for explicit consent.

“Fine,” I breathe out.

Smirking, he leans in to give the tip of my cock a lick. He rarely does this to me. Maybe he doesn’t have a lot of experience in it, but he doesn’t show any hesitation—just a quiet focus as he frames my thighs with his hands, thumbs digging into my hipbones, keeping me in place as he swallows me down.

My dick is smaller than average, so it’s not like it’s a challenge to deepthroat. It’s not like his own, which takes a lot of effort and skill—not to mention courage.

Mason swallows mine completely, and before I can stop myself, I let out a surprised, whimpered noise, too loud. I throw a glance over my shoulder, terrified, and my feet splash unsteadily in the water.

Mason chuckles as he pulls off and looks up at me. “Don’t worry, puppy. Just keep still and let me make you feel good.”

I curl my hand into a fist and sink my teeth into it, trying to keep from making more sounds, but when Mason swallows me down again—no hands, just his hot, wet mouth around my shaft and his throat swallowing around the head—I can’t help but make quick, gasping little whines that start deep in my chest and come out in high-pitched bursts.

Mason pulls off, and he squeezes my hips tight, rolling my shorts up to get to my skin and press down on a bruise he left there yesterday. That just makes me whine louder.

“Mm, I like those sounds you’re making,” he says. “Whining like that. Does it feel good?” He licks at my tip, swirling his tongue around it and pressing at a sensitive spot that has my eyes rolling back.

He seems to wait for my reply before he continues, so I take my hand out of my mouth for a moment to speak.

“Yes. Feels… feels so good. Please make me come.”

“Patience, puppy. You know I don’t like to rush.”

I grit my teeth. Screw patience. Oliver might discover us at any moment, and Mason wants to draw this out? No way. I rock my hips upward, trying to force my dick deeper into his mouth, but he just chuckles and draws back, driving me insane.