by J. L. White
“I just talked to him today. They’re starting on the painting Monday. It should be done by the end of the week.”
“Oh good. You’ll be able to inspect it when you come, then.”
“Well,” his voice doesn’t sound good. My foot stops its bobbing. “I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“Okay.” My skin is crawling. A few leaves flutter lightly, then stop.
“I think it’s too soon for me to go back out there.”
What’s that mean?
“I talked with my mom earlier and… I’m still hoping she just needs time, but I think if she knows I’m going out there, it will just make things worse right now.”
Is that the real reason? Is he breaking up with me? Because if he is, he should just do it.
“Okay,” I say quietly, too afraid to come right out and ask him if that’s what this is because I don’t want him to say yes.
“But I’ll make it up to you. I’ll go to the wedding with you. No matter what.”
I thought he wanted to visit with my cousins again first, but I don’t say anything about that. I’m not throwing that wrench in the works too. “I don’t… want you to feel obligated,” I say, which is true, even though I really want him to come. Even though I’m so not ready for this to be over yet.
There’s a pause, and my heartbeat echoes thickly in my ear.
“Do you not want me to come?”
“I do. I… actually really do. But this thing with your mom. I don’t know what’s happening.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just can’t leave quietly like I did before. If this is going to work, I can’t sneak around. But after talking to her last night, I know it’s too soon to tell her I’m leaving. I can’t use the house excuse again. She knows better now.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“But I’ll be in Cabo San Lucas with you.”
Why do I doubt him? I don’t want to, but I do. Connor’s wedding is still four weeks away. Four whole weeks. Look how much has happened in the two weeks since Mason left. During that time, our conversations have been amazing. Just like they’ve always been. They’ve only made me feel closer to him and that much more eager for the time when we could be together again. He’s told me, more than once, that he can’t wait to see me again. But now our six day wait has just turned into another month.
He’s saying he’ll be here. But will he? Does he even know, himself?
My throat tightens, as I realize what I have to tell him. “If you feel like you have to choose between us, choose her.”
There’s a thick pause.
“Okay?” I say again. Because he can’t choose me over his mother. He’d only regret it later. He may not know that, but I do. It’s only fair I let him know.
“I don’t think I have to choose,” he says at last, in a tone of voice that tells me he thinks he just might.
“Okay. But if you do. Your mother wins. Okay? Promise me.”
He doesn’t answer for a second. Then he says, “No one’s asking me to choose. Just give it time, all right?”
He didn’t promise me.
“But I will be in Cabo San Lucas with you. I won’t leave you hanging. I promise.”
It’s not the promise I asked for, but I take it. Because I want to believe his assurance that he won’t have to choose, and I need to be in his arms again. I crave his touch all the time.
“Four more weeks,” I say, restarting our countdown.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I understand. If you think this will help her…”
“I don’t want this either,” he says. “I miss you. I miss you like crazy.”
“I miss you, too.”
“I’ll make this up to you.”
“You don’t have to.”
Just come.
Two weeks later, I’m back in Swan Pointe because we have the cousin’s dinner this weekend. But that’s not until Sunday and this is Friday night. I’m at Lizzy’s talking in the living room while Brett keeps Little Max busy in the playroom so we can have some privacy.
It’s been twenty-five days since I saw Mason last, seven days since I would’ve seen him if he’d come to visit when he originally planned, and two more weeks until the wedding.
And he still hasn’t bought his tickets.
“But you guys still talk all the time, right?” Lizzy asks. She’s sitting sideways on the couch facing me, her feet pulled up under her and her arm resting on the back.
I nod. I’m slouched down, feet on the coffee table, untouched glass of wine on the top. “Yeah.”
“When’s the last time you talked?”
“I had him on speaker during the entire drive, and it still took fifteen minutes for us to hang up once I was in your driveway.”
“See?” Lizzy says reassuringly, nudging my shoulder with her hand. “He’s still into you. It’s okay.”
“Then why hasn’t he bought his ticket?”
Right before we hung up, I asked him if he booked his flight yet, and he said no. It’s amazing how quickly I spiraled downward after that.
“He said he would, right?”
“But he’s not.”
“He said he would and he talks to you practically non-stop. I think it’ll be okay.”
I have never understood why people say shit like that during situations when it’s clear things aren’t okay.
“You’re just getting in your head about it,” Lizzy continues. “He probably just has a lot on his mind because he’s trying to help his mom deal with the situation.”
I roll my head to look at her. “Am I being selfish?”
“About what?”
“I shouldn’t let him and his mom go through all that for me.”
“Corrine, you’re not telling him to. He’s doing this on his own. He didn’t have to come see you. He doesn’t have to keep talking to you. If he wanted to end it, he probably would have by now. You don’t need to feel guilty. He clearly wants this.”
“Does he?” I groan and put my hands over my face.
Why hasn’t he bought the ticket yet?
“Okay, you have to stop. You’re driving yourself crazy.”
“I know,” I mumble into my hands. I drop them and sigh. “It’s crazy how miserable this is making me. I mean, how long have we even known each other? We only had one weekend together. But I’m just getting more and more attached to him all the time. It’s nuts.”
“It is not. Look how fast things happened with me and Brett. It didn’t take us that long to figure out we wanted to get married.”
An unpleasant chill crawls over my skin. “I’m not talking about marriage,” I say firmly.
“I know. I’m just saying, it’s okay that you like him and want to see him. And you will. He said he was coming.”
“He said that once before.”
Lizzy sighs and takes a sip of her wine.
I realize I’m probably getting out of control here. “I’m determined to be miserable,” I say, which is what we say when someone stubbornly refuses to be comforted.
“Yep.”
I sigh and sit up. “Okay. I’ll try not to worry. Whatever happens will happen anyway.”
“It’ll be okay,” Lizzy says again.
I grab my glass and take a sip of my wine. It’s clear and sweet and not what I was expecting. I thought she poured a dry white. “What is this?”
“That pear wine I bought.”
“Mmmm.” I take another sip.
She smiles and takes a sip of hers, too. “You haven’t told Mason how you feel about that ticket, have you?”
I shrug. “I don’t want to pressure him. Or whine about it.”
“What do you think he would do if you told him what this has been doing to you?”
I look at her, my mind sharpening on the answer as quick as she finished the question. “I think he would buy it.”
She smiles. “See? You’re scared, but deep down, you know how he feels about you. He wants to see you, too.�
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I start to grin. In that exact instant, I decide to stop thinking about it. Because I need to stay in the reassurance of this moment, whether it’s based on false hope or not. Because there’s one thing I do know. I want more moments with Mason. I need them.
Maybe we’ll have to let go of each other eventually, but not yet.
Chapter 20
Mason
As I get off the plane in California, I’m eager enough about seeing Corrine that I’ve managed to leave most of my dread back in Illinois. My mother and I have discussed Corrine very little, but each time, it’s gone badly. The last time was just a week ago. I was going to tell her where I’d be this weekend, but didn’t. It would only make things worse, and things are already almost as bad as they can get.
She’s made it clear from the beginning that she wants me to end things, and the last two months have done nothing to change her mind. She won’t let me tell her anything about Corrine and the kind of person she is. My mother doesn’t care. Corrine is just “some girl” who’s the niece of Grant Rivers. That’s all my mother needs to know.
I’m not sure that’s ever going to change.
I promised Corrine I would come though, and even though I really didn’t want to come out here behind my mother’s back, I don’t break promises. Beyond that, I wanted to come. I more than wanted it. I fucking need it. My draw to Corrine hasn’t lessened at all. If anything, it’s gotten stronger.
I’ve gotten myself into a mess, no question about that. But I’m here, and I’m going to enjoy every second of her. Corrine talks so much about life moments. That’s what I need this weekend. Moments. With her. As many as I can get.
As I come past the security checkpoint and see Corrine there waiting for me, she breaks into a huge grin and my heart flies up into my throat. I don’t know where this is going. I have no idea how long term this might get even without all the complications. But Corrine isn’t just some girl. That much I know for sure.
She runs and jumps into my arms, hanging on tight, and my entire body is flooded with relief and exhilaration. I kiss her again and again, and she wraps her legs around my waist as I lift her up. We curl into a hug. I tuck my face against her neck, inhaling her sweet scent. Her soft hair lightly brushes my nose.
There’s that word again.
Home.
Corrine
My worries about being the selfish one in this relationship disappear once I’m in Mason’s arms. Maybe my worries will come back to haunt me later, but for the moment, I know I’m not alone in this. He wants me, too.
He sets me down, but I keep my arms around his solid waist and smile up at him. “Are you hungry?”
“Yeah,” he says, lowering his voice. “But not for food.”
I grin and he gives me the most indecent kiss, right there outside of security with all these people going past. I don’t hold back either. I kiss him back eagerly, my fingers snaking into his hair, the thrill of our kiss flooding through me and going all the way down to my toes.
When we break, I breathe out slowly. “I missed you so much.”
“Me too,” he says, cupping my cheek with one hand and giving me another, shorter kiss. “Let’s get out of here.”
We retrieve his big checked suitcase and head for the parking garage. We make a bit of a spectacle of ourselves the whole way, too. Arm in arm, we can’t stop sneaking little kisses. And big kisses. Next to the rotating luggage returns. In the elevator. Walking toward Aisle F in the garage. Next to the car after putting his suitcase in the trunk.
By this point, I’m so turned on for him, all I want is for him to lift me up and do me right on the trunk. There’s no one around at this precise moment, but even if there were, I’m not sure I would care.
“Tell me the first stop is your place,” he says, his fingers in my hair and his mouth scandalizing my neck.
“Yes,” I whisper, my head back and my jaw slack. He’s making me go all dizzy. I don’t think I can drive.
He pulls back abruptly, his hot gaze telling me we’re in a hurry. I’m right there with him. I’m only vaguely aware of a group of people who are going down one of the other aisles, away from us, their low voices and the clicking of the wheels of their suitcases echoing through the garage.
We hustle into the car, with me behind the wheel. Before I can turn the keys in the ignition, Mason leans over, cups my face in his hands, and kisses me. I sink back against the seat and we eagerly taste each other, demanding more.
Our hands are making their own demands, much more freely now that we’re in the relative privacy of my car. It feels so good to touch each other like this again. I greedily run my hands across his broad chest, over his hard shoulders, and down to his thick biceps. They flex under my touch as he claims my body too. He squeezes first one breast, then the other, rolls my hard nipple between his fingers, dives between my legs. I spread instantly, grateful for the thin fabric of my leggings.
I know my car is too small for us to go at it here, especially for a guy Mason’s size, and we’re in a public place anyway, but the idea of waiting the thirty minutes it’ll take to get to my place feels like fucking torture. I’m throbbing, and pretty sure I’ve managed to make both my panties and the crotch of my leggings damp.
As he rubs my mound, I want him to put his fingers on me raw. I angle against his hand and reach for his cock. Damn, this guy is so hard I’m surprised he hasn’t busted out of his jeans.
He does a quick glance around to take in our surroundings. I do the same thing, following his lead, but only get as far as checking half the garage for people—empty—before I pinch my eyes shut and drop my head back. He’s slipped his hand inside my panties, and is already slick with me. His fingers slide over my clit and I grip his bicep, begging him not to stop. I need to come. I can’t wait.
My other hand is alternating between groping his cock and tugging at the button on his jeans. I can’t seem to get it undone, either, both because of the awkward angle and because I can hardly think with him working my clit like that. He cups me, sliding two fingers inside me.
“Fuck,” I spit out, then glance around again. There’s a man with a suitcase turning into our aisle but going in the opposite direction. My eyes fly to Mason, who’s so close to me his hot breath is warming my cheek. His eyes are fire, and in spite of the restrictive space inside my pants, he’s working me hard. His fingers are wagging slightly inside me, pumping the sides of my channel.
“God, yes,” I whisper, my eyes on his full lips.
“Off with these,” he commands, removing his hand from my panties.
I give his hard cock a quick squeeze, then obey, not even bothering to look around as I shimmy my leggings down, exposing my bare ass. “I want to touch you, too,” I say, glancing down.
The sound of his zipper punctuates our hard breaths as he works to free himself. I pull my pants down, stopping mid-thigh.
“All the way,” he says.
God, if we get caught. But I pull them off all the way, bringing up first one leg, then the other, until I’m sitting behind the wheel completely nude from the waist down.
He pulls out his cock and I whimper, grabbing the hard, thick flesh eagerly. He hooks his hand under my knee and pulls it up to expose me better. I feel a surge of wetness. He leans in and kisses me so expertly I feel like a fucking porn star. At the same time, he’s rubbing my folds and strumming my clit and making me shudder inward again and again.
We hear laughter, people coming down the aisle, and break apart, glancing back together. It’s a group of four middle-aged women, pulling their suitcases behind them and talking animatedly. His hand is still on me, the flat of his finger slowly circling over my hard clit.
“Mason,” I whisper, releasing him and sitting up in the seat, trying to look normal. He removes his hand, starting to sit back too, but when I begin to lower my knee, he grabs it, keeping it in place. He’s only switching hands, intending to use his left instead of his right so he can sit up and still
reach me.
The group is coming closer, only six or seven cars away.
“They’ll see,” I whisper, even though they might not. In spite of my protest, as his hand slides between my legs, I throb harder against him. I need to come so badly.
I glance over my shoulder. Five cars away. They don’t seem to see us yet. Their laughter swells as someone says something funny. Mason grabs my right hand, puts it on his dick, and slips two fingers deep inside my cunt.
“Holy fuck,” I whisper, trying to keep my upper body in a normal position as my bare ass rotates rhythmically with his fingers. My hand is on his exposed cock, pumping it, but not able to squeeze too hard as my hand is dry.
Three cars.
I deposit a generous amount of saliva on my fingers, then go back to his cock. I run over the head more smoothly, and he groans quietly, his breathing picking up the pace.
Two cars. I face forward, watching the rear view mirror. Their talking gets louder. His fingers slip out of me, a trail of moisture running down my seam. He circles my clit in bold, firm motions. Little pre-climactic swells of pleasure are rising in my pussy. I’m so fucking close. His cock throbs in my hand. I pump it faster, responding to the increasing strain in his shaft.
They pass in the rearview mirror: two figures, three, then the last.
We’re stiff up top, not moving an inch, but below his fingers fly over my clit, curl inside me, then strum me again. I’m pumping him rapidly. He’s straining against me, a bit of precum on the tip. I want to taste it. I want to cry out. But I’m restraining even my breathing. Only hard, nearly silent pants escaping me.
They pass by until they’re one car away. Two.
His fingers increase their rhythm, and I drop my head back, my knees spreading wider. The ladies eventually stop, several cars down, I think. But there’s no stopping what’s happening in this car. He quickly switches hands again, leaning over me and gently biting my nipple right through my shirt, his hand working me harder.
I curl my chin down, my mouth against his hair. My hand is pinned between his cock and his stomach, but I’m too in the grips of pleasure to be able to move anyway.
