by A. C. Bextor
“We’ve made mistakes,” I counter.
Mason’s life hasn’t moved on since we were us. He’s not standing in his home, living with a woman who loves him. He’s not married. There’s no wife, no children here to carry his name or be a witness to his life.
He’s alone, frozen in time. And by asking for my friendship back, he must hope this is his ticket to freedom. A chained freedom, yet still a freedom all the same. But I can’t be his friend. I can’t stand by and watch his life play out as it always should’ve. Not like he’s done with mine. I’m not strong enough.
“Yes, we’ve made mistakes,” he utters. “Is that why you’re here? To make another mistake?”
Shaking my head but unsure of my answer, I give, “There’s been enough of those.”
“I made you a promise, Katie,” he reminds. “And fuck me, I’m trying to keep it.”
An agonizing sob threatens to escape. An overwhelming amount of sorrow wants to be freed. And here with Mason is the only place it can be. Because he knows. He understands.
I want to go to him, step in close, rest my hand against his chest and kiss his cheek, his jaw, his lips. I want to tell him he’s still the only man who’s ever made me feel secure in a world that constantly spirals from my control.
Instead, I tell him, “I’m struggling to let you keep that promise.”
With both hands, Mason grabs my waist, pushing me until my back collides into the wall near the front door.
For balance, I flatten my hands against his bare chest. Of their own accord, my fingers roam, reveling in the brutal warmth and weighted contours of muscle tucked away beneath his fiery skin.
Mason cups my face. His lips descend, his mouth covering mine. When his tongue sweeps inside, tasting after so long, his determination becomes aggressive.
The gentle bites, desperate licks, and agitated sucks become vehement.
Once we’re breathless, Mason breaks from my mouth. Offering no time to protest, he trails kisses down my neck, pulling the neck of my dress shirt down until the camisole strap threatens to snap.
“Mason,” I call, but not to stop him.
I don’t want him to stop. But I need him to be the stronger one of us. I can’t hurt him again.
I won’t.
“Fuck,” he growls, resting his forehead to mine, his body trembling cruelly with restraint.
Then I lose him.
Mason stands tall, taking a very large step back. His eyes peruse my expression, no doubt finding me exasperated and on edge.
With feigned calmness, he laments, “Go home, Katie.”
“Mason,” I gasp, my chest piercing with regret. Not regret of touching him, feeling him, wanting to be closer. But that he’s sending me away and knowing it’s the right thing to do.
When I don’t do as ordered, he states, “I tell you to leave him, what do you do?”
“What?”
“If I told you to leave him, bring the Katie I once had back to me…what do you do?”
I don’t say anything. I search his eyes for the sweet, kind, and brave person he was for me all those years. But there’s nothing in their depth, but ice. Cold to the bone. Chilled to the core.
“I won’t touch you again. Not until I know you’re mine in a way that’ll never fucking change,” he sneers. “What’d you think comin’ here? That we’d fuck, and I’d agree to walk away again?”
I close my eyes. So much hurt pours from him. The same hurt I know too well, because I wear it too. All too often my heart batters. Every minute of the day my patience is tested.
“You’re not ready for this,” he notes, squaring his gaze with mine.
“Mason, I…”
“Swear to God,” he punishes, closing his eyes and holding them shut as he says, “Free pass, baby. Go home to your family. Your husband and your girls.”
My breathing evens. My senses return. I swallow hard to regain focus. But my feet won’t move.
“And don’t come back here without being clear on why you came. When the only reason you’re standing in my home is because you’re ready to make it ours.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to protest. But looking at him now, the resolve so rich in his heart and mind, I don’t.
“Go on,” he states softly, opening his front door.
As I look out, Connie’s car is still in the drive. The lights are on and the engine is running.
I chance one last look back, saying only, “Keep happy, Mason.”
Past…
“IT’S TOO LATE. YOU SHOULD’VE already gotten stitches,” Katie murmurs, tossing the damp, blood-soaked towel on her mirrored dresser, while I sit on her bed as the suffering but cooperative patient.
Turning back to me, she uses her index finger to prod and poke the area around the cut above my left eye.
I woke her coming here tonight. I shouldn’t have.
Four months have passed since we had our first official ‘date’ in the back of my truck, centered in an abandoned field. She let me kiss her, touch her, fuck her, and do things to her body that I’ve frequently done since.
Only now, when I do them, she’s much more relaxed. Oftentimes, she tries to take over. Which never works the way she hopes.
We’ve also never diverted from our Friday nights together. Only now, rather than sneaking her out, I’ve been inside her home. Many times. I’ve shaken hands with her father. I’ve filled the role of what others may call a ‘boyfriend,’ though I hate the term.
But now, after the last and most vicious fight with my father, I’ve come to say goodbye.
This will hurt her. This will kill me. But it’s time I find out who I’m meant to be. I can’t do this here, in this town. Not with my dad so close. Not after all the hell with him I’ve gone through. Not even Katie can serve as the balm to fix that.
I have to go.
“Um, hello?” She waves her hand in front of my face, as I stare at the hem of her tee shirt resting against her bare thighs.
Cupping my warm cheek, she calls again. “Mason? I said you should’ve gotten stitches.”
Jesus Christ, I have to just tell her.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Let’s take you to the hospital,” she pushes. “I’ll go with you.”
“No doctors. I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay,” she clips. “You’re still bleeding.”
“People bleed, Katie. It’s a scratch.”
Attitude coming, she sets hand to hip and questions, “You don’t want to tell me what happened?”
No, I really don’t. I’m happy to be sitting in front of her. In her house. Around her things. The quiet of her bedroom offers a reprieve from the chaos my life has become.
I like it here.
I’m comfortable.
She makes this as close to home as I’ve ever had.
“Baby, do you see my face?” I point between my blackened eye, bruised cheek, and split lip.
Katie bites her bottom lip to avoid its quiver. Too late, I already saw the pity in her eyes.
Tonight’s fight with my dad was the end-all to our already fucked-up relationship. He’s taken his hands to me for the last time.
For all I know, my father is still laying out on the kitchen floor, staring up at the ceiling, bleeding as much as I am, and wishing to fuck he hadn’t raised a man as tough as him.
Fuck him, though. Let him bleed. I’m over it. He’s on his own.
“You’re leaving,” she guesses. “You’re leaving Silvervale.”
“I am.”
“So you’re leaving me,” she deduces next.
My chest weighs heavy. Her expression proves the betrayal.
Calmly, she urges, “But you can still live here. You don’t have to live in his house. You don’t—”
My hand touches her cheek and she leans into it with care. Her eyes close, her hand drops from my face, and her tears begin to fall.
As if this could’ve been any fuckin’ harder.
&nbs
p; “Katie,” I call.
“This is your home,” she voices. “You’ve lived here forever. This stupid place is all you’ve ever known.”
“My mom needs help with my sister. She’s knocked up and still usin’. Her ex has been feedin’ her that shit, even knowin’ that’s his kid in her belly. They need me.”
“I do too,” she whispers.
“Katie,” I call.
“I get it,” she concedes. “I hate this, but I get it.”
Reaching out, I place both hands on her hips. Her body stiffens. My forehead rests against her stomach and she runs her hands through my hair.
Careful.
Comfortable.
Easy.
Katie’s body, once small and awkward to fit her age, has changed so much since we met all those years ago. She has a runner’s form. Other than the curve of her hips and the swell of her chest, Katie’s form is made up of muscle and bone.
My fingers find one another at the small of her back. Lifting the back of her shirt, my fingertips glide back and forth over the hem of her boxer pj’s. She inhales, grasping my wrists tighter.
“Tell me you’ll stay in touch,” she asks, her voice desperate. “And promise me I’ll see you again.”
I stand and her dark eyes follow mine until her neck can’t pull back any further. She hasn’t moved from her spot and it’s left us standing close.
I can’t give her what she’s asking. Who knows where I’ll be in a year, two, or more. For now this is all I can offer.
A truthful goodbye.
Her eyes drop, leaving her gaze to my chest. My breaths come with pain the longer we’re alone in the quiet sanctuary of ourselves.
Using her finger, Katie rubs the now dried blood that’s fallen from my face to my chest.
“He beats on you a lot, doesn’t he?” she quietly questions.
I’ve never said the words out loud, never given her any specific instance. I never wanted the part of a life I hate with my dad to taint the part of my life with her I love. But Katie’s smart. On some level, she’s always known.
“Depends on how drunk he gets. But he’ll never be doing it again.”
“Why have you stayed with him so long?”
Running my hand over my tender jaw for distraction, I explain, “Because without me, my dad has nothing. No steady job, no family, or friends…nothing.”
I can’t tell her I’ve stayed so long for her. That the only reason I’ve lived with a man I hate so long was because she was here. And all I’ve ever wanted to be is near her. The light in the dark. The one person in this world I was able to care for in a way that made sense.
“So you watch out for him?” she assumes correctly, dropping her hand but holding her eyes to my chest.
“I tried.”
“And your mom?”
“Lives in San Diego.”
“That’s where you’re going? To San Diego?”
“Yeah.”
“When do you leave?”
“Truck and bike are both packed. I’ll be on the road as soon as I leave here.”
“Take me with you,” she pleads, desperately fisting my blood-stained shirt. “I can help with your sister. We can go and—”
“School? Friends? Your dad?” I clip. “You gonna pack up and leave ‘em all?”
“Yes,” she hesitantly answers.
“I’d never let you walk away from a father who loves you as much as yours does.”
“My heart hurts,” she utters.
Reaching out, I grab her arms and pull her into mine. My lips crash against hers in a fever of panic, uncertainty, and fear.
Panic of the moment will pass; my opportunity to be with her one more time not seized.
Uncertain if she’ll forget about me completely, and move on with her life, with someone who can give her the one she deserves.
Fear she’ll look back at our time together with regret. That she’ll remember our friendship as a passing moment, years from now as she sits with her kids in a yard framed with a picket fence.
Pulling away and looking down, I hold her face tightly.
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, scanning my expression, as though determining if my words are truth. That I’m leaving.
“Can you stay tonight?” she voices on a plea. “All night.”
When I lift the hem of her shirt, Katie lifts her arms above her head. Her chest rises and falls with each desperate breath.
My eyes travel the expanse of her body. I stand in awe. Her chest is heavy, her nipples tight. Her stomach firm and taut.
“Fuck, the way you look at me…”
The way she’s always looked at me. With admiration, security, and love. No one else has ever cared this much.
She’s making me second-guess. I can’t do that. I’ve got to go.
“Get my clothes off,” I guide, watching her cheeks redden even more at my order. “We’ll go slow.”
Ever eager, Katie doesn’t wait. When her fingertips pass over the skin of my waist, I suck in a breath.
My cock throbs beneath my jeans, aching to be free.
Katie works quickly, unbuttoning with ease and drawing down the zipper with care. Her small, pink tongue rolls over her bottom lip as she bends to remove them all together. With no wasted effort of my own, I grab my tee shirt from my shoulders, pulling it off before she’s finished.
When her finger barely touches my bottom lip, she winces. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispers.
Grabbing her hand and bringing my mouth to kiss her wrist, I return, “You won’t hurt me.”
Katie makes her way to remove the pillows and covers, tossing a few to the floor. I move in to stand behind her.
“Stay still,” I order, flattening my hand against her stomach, traveling it down until the tips of my fingers reach the hem of her panties. “Lean into me.”
Katie’s head falls back against my chest. She rolls it to the side, offering access to the soft skin of her neck. Kissing slowly at first, but adding pressure as she struggles in my hold, I lower my hand until I’ve reach the soft, wet, and warm flesh between her thighs.
“You’re ready for me,” I inform, as if she didn’t know.
My finger rolls over her swollen clit, circling it again and again before adding pressure. When she moans, I stop, releasing her with impatience.
“Your shorts, Katie. Lose ‘em,” I direct, grabbing my wallet and making way to sheath myself.
She doesn’t turn around but does as I’ve asked. The second her bare ass comes to view, I catch a glimpse of something else.
Ink.
Katie has a tattoo marring the small area of her back. A muted, black and white butterfly spreading its small, frail wings. The mark itself is about an inch long with not a lot of detail.
“What the fuck?”
Turning her head over her shoulder, her eyebrows furrow. “What?”
“What the fuck is that?”
“What is what?”
“Your tat,” I point and remind.
She looks down her back, no way being able to see before she remembers. “I got my first one last year.”
Fury takes hold. Someone marked her and obviously had no idea how. There’s no rhyme or reason.
“Who touched you?”
“What?” she snaps.
“Who did it?”
“A friend,” she answers calmly, stepping out of her panties. “Mason, you’ve seen me without clothes.”
Yes, I have. But in the dark. And Katie’s young. We haven’t been together like this for long. I’ve always gone easy, unsure what she would accept.
There are no textbook instructions on how to handle a woman of her inexperience. My understanding with sex is vast, where hers is lacking.
I’m aware she’s had a man before, possibly one that knew what he was doing. But odds are, she’s never had a man like me. So I’ve taken sex with Katie as slowly as I could for good reason.
But seeing what’s on her back, etched
over her delicate and creamy skin, I want to give her all of me.
I toss the trash from the condom on her small table and stalk toward her. Allowing me to guide the way, she turns in place and lies on her back.
“Knees up, eyes to mine,” I direct. “And don’t move. Not even if you think you need to.”
Nodding, she complies, lifting her legs and exposing herself to me. She gives a devious smile, dropping her gaze to my hands as both travel the length of her inner thighs. My thumbs meet and I stroke her center, touching every inch until I find what glistens.
Jesus fuck.
If I were more of a gentleman, I’d take her under the covers giving her a night of lasting memory. I’d kiss her, worshipping every inch of her body, seeking out each place I could find and triggering a response. I’d give her what she deserves.
But right now, there’s only one thing that matters.
She and I together.
For one night.
Giving her every piece of me, while I’m taking every bit of her.
Sliding my finger up and down her center, I brush over her clit again.
“I know you’ve been holding back,” she accuses on a sigh.
“That so?” I return in play.
“You have fire in your eyes, Mason Cole. You can’t hide that from me.”
“Not hidin’ anything,” I return, running my thumb up to her clit and adding pressure.
Katie’s neck arches and she whispers on a gasp, “You think I can’t handle you.”
Spearing her with a cocked brow, I question sarcastically, “That’s what you know?”
Katie spreads her thighs as far as she can. My cock pulses, wanting inside.
“Yes,” she answers. “And you don’t have to. You never did.”
In one painfully slow and careful thrust, I slide inside. Once I’m seated as far as her body will allow, she closes her eyes and her legs start to tremble.
“Mason,” she calls when I don’t move.
Mason. An audible snapshot taken—the sound of her voice forever etched in my memory.
Still not moving, my finger rolls over her clit and her insides clench.
“Give me all of you,” she bids.
Pulling out, I grasp her hips tightly. Her hands cover my wrists and her legs tighten their hold around my waist. I slam back inside, closing my eyes and reveling in her gasps.
