by Nina Levine
“It’s looking like a good option lately.”
Hayden frowns. “Because of Chelsea?”
“Yeah.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What the hell happened there, brother? I thought you two were tight.”
“I did too.” I exhale a long breath. “Her father got in her ear, convinced her to break it off with me and marry some asshole he thinks is better for her. I should have known we wouldn’t last. It wasn’t the first time she dumped me because of her father.”
He continues frowning. “You guys dated before? How did I miss that?”
“No, we weren’t dating. That was back in high school after that party I was almost arrested at. You remember how we weren’t friends after that?” At his nod, I say, “That was because of her father. He decided he didn’t like me as her friend and forced her to end our friendship.”
Hayden leans back against the couch. “Wow, okay. How did he convince her to end it this time? She’s an adult now, not a teenager scared of her father.”
“He was gunning for the club because of me. Chelsea ended things so he’d give up on that. Not that it really fucking helped; the cops haven’t stopped watching us.”
“Fuck. So why’d she marry this other guy?”
I shrug. “I don’t fucking know and I don’t wanna fucking know. All I know is she keeps insisting it was arranged by their fathers, but whenever I see them together, she’s all fucking over him.” And telling her friends how fucking magical shit is with him.
“It sounds like you’re better off without her, Mace.”
“Yeah, I fucking am.”
The worst thing about lying to yourself is you buy that shit when you say it, but in the dead of night when you’re alone, you know those lies are a pile of shit because you’d do anything to get her back. The one thing I know for sure is that I would have rather stayed in jail knowing I had her to walk out to one day than being free and knowing she’ll never be mine again.
“Okay,” Alexa says, collapsing onto the couch in between us, “we’re going to watch some Big Bang Theory, and neither of you are going to argue with me over this.”
I groan. She loves that show and has subjected us to it for too many years to remember.
Hayden laughs at me. “You’re outnumbered, brother.”
“Fuck, you like it now?” He used to hate it like I do.
He nods. “Yeah, this chick I was dating for a while got me hooked.”
“Fucking women,” I mutter. How they get us to do shit we never fucking imagined doing I’ll never know.
It’s around 9:00 p.m. when I pull up outside Hearst’s place. He and Chelsea live in Hamilton on the river. Their house reminds me of my parents’ home, the house I grew up in. Fucking huge and opulent, designed for status.
I knock on the front door, agitated and pissed off about being here. About having to deal with Hearst. I’d fucking choose dealing with Chelsea’s father over this motherfucker.
A woman who I presume is their housekeeper lets me in and tells me to wait in the foyer while she lets Hearst know I’m here. She returns a few minutes later and motions for me to follow her, leading me down a long, wide hallway to his office. Advising me he’s in the middle of a meeting, she points at a chair against the wall of the hallway, indicating for me to sit and wait.
Jesus, I’d be just as happy to shove the USB at her and tell her to give it to him, but I know Scott wants me to personally hand it over, so I sit and wait.
Hearst takes his sweet time coming out, stepping into the hallway looking as angry to see me as I am to see him. “I take it you have the USB.”
I hand it over. “Yeah.”
He holds it up. “This is everything I asked for?”
“Fucked if I know. I’m just here to deliver it.”
He clenches his jaw. “I fucking knew relying on your club was a bad idea.”
I step closer to him, my fists ready to meet his face again. “I might not know the details of what’s on that USB, but my club always comes through with the goods, so if you fucking asked for something, it’ll fucking be on there.”
“Perhaps you should have said that.”
I ball my fists, trying like fuck to keep them by my side. “Fuck you.”
Something flashes through his eyes, something dark and fucked up. “You seem on edge, Mason. Not having much luck replacing Chelsea and that talented mouth of hers?”
I reel.
My mind stretches.
Snaps.
Fucking reaches breaking point.
“The fuck did you just fucking say to me?” I snarl.
He looks fucking satisfied at that question, but before he can throw more shit at me, the door to his office opens, and Chelsea’s father appears. Glancing between Hearst and me, he says, “Joe, you done here? We need you.”
I step back, keeping my eyes on Hearst. “Yeah, we’re fucking done here.”
Hearst jerks his chin down the hall. “The exit’s that way. Don’t fucking touch anything that’s not yours to touch on your way out.”
With that, he and Novak disappear back into his office, slamming the door in my face.
Motherfuckers.
I suck in a deep breath, steadying myself, but mostly steadying my fucking thoughts. I have an intense fucking desire to smash his place to shit, but I remind myself why I’m here: for my club. We do not need any more problems with these assholes or the law they can bring down on us.
Fuck.
Shoving my fingers through my hair, I stalk away from his office. I’m about ten steps down the hall when I hear Chelsea’s voice.
My feet stop working all by themselves and I turn in the direction of that voice.
She’s sitting in the room down the hall from her husband’s office. A library from what I can see. How fucking convenient; she sits here and fucking reads while her husband works in the next room. My brain conjures up a mess of images of her fucking him in here, in there, in the fucking hall.
She stares at me, her phone to her ear, and says to whoever’s on the other end of the call, “I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Dropping her phone to the couch, she stands, her black dress hitting her knees as she straightens. “Mason,” she breathes, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
I take in her long brunette hair that used to be mine to pull.
I take in her full red lips that used to be mine to kiss.
I take in her beautiful blue eyes that used to only look at me.
And then my gaze shifts to the Monopoly board sitting on the coffee table, open, in the middle of a game, and I lose my fucking mind.
Entering the library in a gush of wild, angry energy, I jab my finger at the Monopoly game. “You’re playing our fucking game with him?”
Her lips part and she glances at the game before bringing her eyes back to mine. She looks thrown, like she can’t think straight, so I say, “I know you’ve moved the fuck on, but I thought I meant something to you. That was ours. Not yours and his. Ours, Mayfair. From when we were fucking kids, it was our thing.”
“Mason—” she starts, but I don’t want to hear it.
“No,” I snarl, bending and smashing the game off the table, scattering Monopoly money, cards, and game pieces all over the floor. “Don’t fucking say it. I don’t want to hear it.”
She comes to me, so close I can smell her, touch her, fucking taste her. Grasping my shirt, she begs, “Please don’t do this. You need to go.”
Anger unfurls through me. She’s telling me to go when I was supposed to be the one person she never told to go.
If I thought my mind snapped earlier, I was wrong. It snaps now.
Grabbing a handful of her hair, I yank her head back and bring my nose to her neck so I can inhale her scent. Fuck, that vanilla perfume she loves shoots need through my veins. My dick wakes the fuck up, and the mess in my mind tangles to the point I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.
&
nbsp; I let go of her hair so I can lift her into my arms and back her up against the wall. The wall that joins this room to her husband’s office.
Pressing her against it, I find her eyes for a moment. I can’t read her thoughts anymore, and that pisses me off.
“Mason,” she says shakily, her legs around me and her hands gripping my shirt, “what are you doing?”
Taking hold of her hips, I place her down and reach for her belt. Undoing it, I throw it on the floor as I rake my gaze over her. Over the body I’ve loved too many times to count. Over the body I haven’t had enough of. Then, without warning, I rip her dress down the middle, wide fucking open so I can see that body that should be mine.
She gasps and her eyes go wide as she tries to push me away. “Fucking hell, Mason, you need to fucking leave,” she hisses.
“I’m not leaving, Mayfair.” I nudge a leg between hers and press myself closer to her. “I’m staying right the fuck here and I’m going to fuck you.” I slide my hand into her panties and my fingers through her wet cunt. “Fuck, you’re so fucking ready for me.”
Her eyes cut to the library door, filled with worry, while her hands try desperately to push me away. “Joe’s right next door.”
I grip her wrists and pin them both to the wall above her head while fingering her. Bringing my mouth to her neck, I growl, “Yeah, and it’s getting me hard knowing that I’m going to fuck you against this wall while he’s sitting right fucking there.”
“Oh my God, you’ve lost your ever-loving mind.”
I lift my head and look at her. “No, baby, I lost that three months ago.” I reach my fingers deeper inside her. “Tell me that doesn’t feel good. Tell me you don’t still love my fingers inside you.”
She writhes against the wall, fighting me. “I don’t. It doesn’t feel good.”
I work my jaw, squeezing her wrists harder. “Bull-fucking-shit. You can’t just switch that shit off, Chelsea.”
“Please don’t do this, Mason. Please leave before he finds us. God, the door’s wide open and you’re not being quiet. He’s going to come in here any minute.”
I keep working her pussy. She’s soaking my fingers while trying to tell me she’s not feeling any of this. She’s so full of shit.
“Do you think I give a fuck if he comes in here?” I dip my face and bite her neck, sinking my teeth in so it marks the fuck out of her. I’ve never felt such a primal need to mark her like this. “I fucking don’t. I’d fucking love him to watch me take your cunt.”
“Oh my God,” she moans, her eyes fluttering open and shut, her body arching, her pussy pulsing as her orgasm shatters through her. After she comes, she opens her eyes, panting, and crashes her mouth to mine.
Fuck.
I let her hands go and tear her bra off while she works my belt and jeans to undo them.
Her tongue forces its way into my mouth and she kisses me like she’s never fucking kissed me.
We’re frantic.
Violent.
Reckless.
“Holy fuck,” she gasps, taking my cock in her hand. “I need you inside me right now.”
I fucking need that too. In ways I don’t even care to understand.
Pulling her dress off, I spin her to face the wall and grip her hips. “Tell me you’re on birth control,” I demand. I might have lost my fucking mind, but there’s no way I’m getting her pregnant.
She nods furiously. “Yes, just fuck me already.”
I slam inside her and the entire world shuts down.
It’s just me and her.
Together.
Chasing bliss.
I fucking hate her, but I fucking love being inside her.
I fuck her harder than I’ve ever fucked her.
I bite her and mark her.
I’m brutal and give no fucks about any of it.
She took my fucking heart; I’m taking this.
“Oh, God, Mason,” she cries out, instantly biting down on her arm to silence herself.
I grip her harder, slamming harder into her, trying to end her silence.
I fucking want her husband to hear all of this.
“Fuck,” I growl as I empty myself into her. “Fucking hell.”
Pressing my body to hers, I stay inside her for a minute more before pulling out and zipping myself back up.
Chelsea turns to face me, her skin marked to shit by my hands and teeth. Her clothes lay strewn at her feet, her dress in tatters. She’s fucking beautiful like this, her lips swollen and her face alive with desire.
Fuck, it all crashes down around me.
She’s not mine anymore.
And when she looks frantically at the door again, that fact is thrown in my face.
Without another word, I turn and stalk out of the library, out of the house, out of her fucking life.
I might love being inside her, but I need to remember that’s not my privilege anymore. She has a fucking husband for that now.
8
Chelsea
Flicking off the shower, I reach for my towel and step out to dry myself off. I’m grateful I woke earlier than usual this morning because my mind isn’t with it, and everything is taking me longer. The reason for that is the six-foot asshole who crashed into my life again last night. I can’t stop thinking about him. I haven’t been able to since he strode out of the library looking more pissed off than he ever has, and that’s saying something because I’ve seen Mason display extreme anger on more than one occasion.
Goosebumps scatter across my skin as I think about the fury he arrived with last night. He was furious when he saw the Monopoly game, instantly assuming I’d been playing with Joe. That is so far from the truth it isn’t funny. I haven’t been playing it with anyone; I play it by myself, imagining I’m with Mason. It’s the time I spend allowing myself to remember being with him, to remember how good he made me feel. Joe would never play fucking Monopoly with me, and I wouldn’t want him to.
I glance at the mirror as I finish drying off, catching sight of the marks Mason left on my body. Bite marks on my neck and bruises on my hips. The bruises can be covered with my clothes. I’m not worried about them so much. It’s the damn bite marks that are going to be a problem. If Joe sees them, all hell will break loose. It’s a good thing my husband likes to rise early. He’s already downstairs in his office, which gives me the space and time to figure out how I’m going to cover these marks up. It would be a lot easier if it were winter and I could wrap a scarf around my neck, but since it’s October, that’s not an option. Spring practically bypasses Brisbane; it’s far too hot for a scarf.
Half an hour later, I’m dressed in a midi dress I’ve chosen intentionally to draw Joe’s attention to my body rather than my neck. It’s not really appropriate for work, but that’s the least of my concerns today. The sleeveless black dress features a super high neckline and a figure-hugging fit. I’ve teamed it with strappy heels that I know always catch his attention, and I’ve applied layers of concealer to cover the bite marks still peeking out from my dress.
Joe frowns as I enter the kitchen. He’s sitting at the kitchen island sipping coffee while our housekeeper, Maria, serves his breakfast.
“Good morning, Maria.” I glide in, all smiles and sweetness while preparing myself for my husband.
Maria smiles. “Good morning, Mrs Hearst. Would you like some breakfast?”
Maria always calls me by that name even though I didn’t take Joe’s surname when I married him. That pissed him off, but I refused to budge. I gave him my life and my body; I wasn’t giving him that.
“No thank you, Maria. I’m just going to have a coffee this morning.”
“You need to eat,” Joe says, still running his gaze over my dress, still looking perplexed.
“I’m not hungry.”
Maria finishes serving his breakfast and exits the kitchen. She knows our conversations can get heated and is always quick to leave us alone.
“What have you got on at work today?” he
asks, thankfully leaving my appetite alone. It’s a point of contention between us. I’ve lost my appetite since marrying him, and he’s always trying to force me to eat. The last time he pushed the point, our fight ended with me refusing to talk to him for a day.
“The usual.” I stand across from him, willing him not to take this further. I’m careful not to change the subject, though. Joe’s a smart man whose mind works in ways most don’t; he’ll know I’m hiding something if I do that.
“You’re a little overdressed for the office, don’t you think?”
I look down at my dress and then back at him. “Maybe, but I remembered we have dinner with Nicholas and Pam tonight, and since I have a late appointment with a client, I decided to wear this in case I have to go straight from work to the restaurant.”
His lips press together. “You could take the dress with you rather than wear it.”
I sigh. “Are we really going to begin our day with an argument over my clothes?”
“I wouldn’t tolerate my staff wearing a dress like that, Chelsea. You need to change.”
“It’s a good thing you’re not my boss then. I’m not changing.”
“I am your husband, though.” His eyes say everything he doesn’t, but I choose to ignore his unspoken warning. The risk associated with him seeing Mason’s marks is greater than the risk of ignoring that warning.
I sip my coffee, keeping my eyes on him, not showing an ounce of the anxiety I’m feeling down to my bones. Fuck you, Mason, for putting me in this position. But oh God, it was worth every second of worry and fear over Joe discovering what I did. To have Mason one last time, and to have him so recklessly and passionately, was everything I didn’t know I wanted. He might have marked me, ruined a favourite dress of mine, and caused me this argument with Joe, but I wouldn’t take any of it back.
“I don’t want to argue with you today, Joe,” I say. “Please just let me wear this dress. If you must know, it makes me feel pretty and I need to feel pretty today.”
That slows him down. Confuses him. I see it in his eyes, and I silently high five myself. I must remember to say stuff like that to him in times of need like this.
