by Claire Adams
“So,” I start when we reach a gap in the conversation, “tell me more about your family. How many siblings do you have?”
It’s best to be tactful in situations like this.
“Just Chris,” he says. “You?”
A car drives by, rattling loudly as the muffler dangles, barely held in place at the back.
“Why are you trying to keep me away from your house?” I blurt.
There goes the tactful approach.
“I told you,” he says. “My brother’s been staying there and things aren’t exactly stable with him.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Chris is one of the more complicated parts of my life,” I tell her. “I’ve found it best to keep people away from him as much as possible. He has a way of separating the kindhearted from their money.”
It’s starting to look like Mason’s not as single as he’s making himself out to be.
“I don’t like being the jealous type,” I start, but I don’t know how to finish the thought without flat out accusing him of something.
“You’re the only woman I’m interested in,” he says.
“But am I the only woman that you’re seeing?” I ask.
“Of course,” he says. “I’m really not the two-timing type.”
“I guess I’d just feel better if you weren’t so adamant about keeping me away from your home,” I tell him.
“Well,” he says, “if it’ll help, we can go there now.”
That was easier than I’d expected—maybe a little too easy.
“Why are you okay going there now when you weren’t before?” I ask.
“You know,” he says, “I’m really starting to get the feeling you don’t trust me.”
“It’s not that,” I tell him. “It’s just that I’m not sure I believe you.”
He laughs.
“All right,” he says. “I just want to warn you that Chris can be a little hard to deal with when he’s been drinking and he was working on a bottle when I left. Just remember that he’s my brother, okay?” he asks. “He’s not me.”
With that, we change directions and head for his place. We don’t talk much on the way. When we get to his house, though, I start to believe what he’s been telling me.
There’s a man sprawled over the porch swing in front of Mason’s house. The man’s wearing nothing but his boxers.
“Great,” Mason mutters. “Could you help me get him inside?”
“That’s him?” I ask, over the drunken man’s loud snoring.
“That’s Chris,” Mason says. He smacks Chris a few times moderately on the cheek, waking him, at least partially, from his slumber.
“Heey, buddy,” Chris mumbles. “I’m just catsching some winks. I’ll be outta your way in a minute.”
“Come on,” Mason says, grabbing one of his brothers arms and pulling the latter upright. “Let’s get you inside before my neighbors start complaining.”
“I’m goood,” Chris says and tries to lie back down, but Mason’s still got his arm. Chris pivots, what appears to be unintentionally, out of the porch swing and Mason has to grab him so he doesn’t fall to the ground.
“Come on, Chris,” Mason grunts, trying to lift his brother to a standing position. “You’re kind of making me look bad.”
“Naw,” Chris says. His eyes open a little wider when he spots me standing there. “Well heyya there,” he slurs. “Can I buy you a drink, pretty lady?”
“Does he always drink like this?” I ask.
“He’s more of a binge-drinker,” Mason explains. “I think it’s a stress thing.”
Chris is now trying to stand up and straighten the tie that he’s not wearing, apparently in an attempt to look more presentable for my benefit. I walk over and grab Chris’s free arm, helping Mason get him into the unlocked house.
“You’ve got to stop doing this,” Mason says. “I’ve got neighbors, you know. Not only that, I’d like to be able to have people over without having to make excuses for you.”
Chris’s head tilts toward his Mason, and the former belches loudly in response to the scolding.
“We’ve also got to start getting you to brush your teeth after you’ve been drinking,” Mason says, crinkling his nose.
We get Chris to the couch and sit him down while Mason cleans empty potato chip bags and half-eaten candy bars out of the way. Finally, we get Chris lied down and covered with a blanket.
Mason motions for me to come with him.
I follow.
We get to a bedroom and Mason shows me inside, closing the door once we’re both inside.
“I’m sorry about that,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s not really what I wanted you to think of when you think of my place.”
“Yeah,” I answer, looking around the room. “I think I can appreciate that now. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
The room is modest, its only major furnishings being a queen-sized bed against one wall and an old, worn-down desk in the corner. It’s nothing elaborate, but at least it’s clean, comfortable.
“This is your room?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’d give you the full tour, but I’d rather not disturb Chris. He has a tendency of waking up when you least want him to, and I’d rather we not have to deal with him right now.”
“Yeah,” I answer again, sitting on Mason’s bed.
Right now, I’m a mess of conflicting emotions. On the one hand, Mason has been telling the truth about his brother. On the other hand, this kind of dysfunction is almost always a sign there’s a lot more going on under the surface.
“So, the two of you went different directions, huh?” I ask. “Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know,” Mason answers. “I guess we just have different ways of processing things. Sometimes I wonder: if I didn’t take so much grief back in school, would I still be fighting or would I have ended up like… You know,” he says, “like Chris.”
“You don’t seem to like your brother very much,” I observe.
“I don’t,” Mason says. “He’s my brother, so I’m forced to love him, but no. I wouldn’t say I like him very much. Everything with him is about taking the easy way, but the easy way always ends up more complicated and sooner or later, it always blows up in his face. I just wish I knew how to get him to see what he’s doing to himself and to the people around him.”
“Yeah,” I say a third time since I’ve been in the room.
I just don’t know what to think. The more time I spend with Mason, the more I find that Jana was right about him; he is sweet, gentle.
At the same time, this is not an easy situation. Mason and I already had a bit of trouble getting off the ground and since Chris arrived, things have only gotten more difficult.
“Do you think we’re too—” I start, but I’m interrupted as Mason leans in and kisses me on the lips. It happens so fast, I’m not even sure that it really happened, except now Mason’s red in the face and turning away from me. “What was that for?” I ask.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a while now,” he says. “I guess it just felt like the right moment.”
My heart is pounding so hard, I’m actually a little worried. That doesn’t stop me from kissing Mason back, though.
His lips are smooth, welcoming. When I pull away, Mason’s smiling. “What was that for?” he asks.
“The first one was so quick I barely even processed it,” I tell him. “I figured if you’re going to kiss me, we may as well let it last long enough to do something.”
There’s still that tension in my muscles, but the reasons it’s there have stopped coming to mind. It’s been so long and I’ve been so closed off I’d forgotten that relationships are about this kind of intimacy. The awkward first kiss, the eager follow-up, that moment where the only real decision is whether to stop or keep going.
I decide, at least for now, to keep going.
With the initial shock and timidity now a
footnote, Mason and I just sink into each other. His arms around me, my arms around him—this isn’t what I was expecting, and I can hardly say I’m prepared for it even now. More than anything, though, I’m taken away, both in spirit and sensation, into a world I haven’t known for what feels like so long.
His hands come together at the small of my back and a couple of his fingers curl under the bottom of my shirt.
“Tell me if I’m moving too fast,” he whispers, his lips to my ear for a brief, goose-bump-inspiring moment and now he’s kissing my cheek, my mouth.
“Okay,” I answer back, too overcome with the rush of endorphins to remember why I was so nervous in the first place.
He starts lifting my shirt, and even though I’m expecting it, I still gasp a little at the actual feeling.
“You okay?” he asks calmly.
“Yeah,” I tell him, and I lift my arms, allowing him to pull my shirt the rest of the way off.
We’ve spent time with each other since I decided to give him a shot, but we’ve never been together like this. It’s always been flirting and subtle glances.
Now, as I pull Mason’s shirt over his head and drop it to the floor, I think it’s safe to say we’ve taken things to the next level.
At first, I’m not sure how far I’m willing to take this, but the more I feel his touch, the more I’m pulled in by the sensuality of the moment, the more I’m ready to go as far as he’ll take me.
This isn’t an intellectual process. Maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see because I’m feeling what I’m feeling, but the longer we kiss and hold one another, the more this just feels right.
Mason hesitates, so I take over for a minute, reaching behind my back and unclasping my bra. I let it dangle from my shoulders, loose but still mostly in place as I wait for Mason’s reaction.
Before I know it, he’s on top of me, my bra is off and the heat of his mouth brings my skin to life as he slides his lips over my collar bone down to the space between my breasts.
“Mmm,” I hum, savoring the attention of his lips as his fingers close in over the fabric at the top of my pants.
Mason stops a moment and looks up at me, as if he’s waiting for permission.
My heart is in my throat, and I’m having a hard time swallowing it back down as the mixture of excitement and tenderness emanates from his eyes.
I nod and Mason unbuttons and unzips my pants. He pulls them down eagerly, slipping them all the way down and off my legs.
Mason takes this opportunity to kiss my knees, my thighs. Every patch of skin those lips greet seems almost to ignite in a new flood of pleasure.
He comes up to my red, cotton panties, and he teases my sensitive skin just outside where I’m covered. I’m arching my back, half of me hoping he takes his time while the other half just wants him to tear off my underwear and put himself inside, the back and forth only adding to my desire.
“You sure you don’t want to—” he starts, looking up at me again.
“We’ll figure it out later,” I tell him. “Just don’t stop what you’re doing.”
There’s no easy way to tell whether this feeling is so mesmerizing because it’s been a while for me or because he’s just that accomplished at foreplay, and right now, I’m all about finding out.
With the index finger of his right hand, he brushes the fabric a little to one side, exposing my meticulously-trimmed center. He doesn’t waste any time.
His tongue sends jolts of liquid electricity through every part of me, and I’m already trying to catch my breath.
This is all happening so fast.
I’m grabbing my breasts, rocking my hips. My body goes on its own, growing ever more receptive to Mason’s magnetic touch.
His mouth settles over my clit and he gently tongues, sucks and teases me while the world moves beneath me.
Mason’s lips brush over my lower lips, and he slides a finger inside before returning his mouth to my sensitive bud.
“Do you have a condom?” I ask through a thick wall of breath.
“Yeah,” he whispers and he gets up, walks over to his dresser and opens the top drawer.
Me, I’m just taking these next few moments to try and catch my breath.
My muscles are gelatin, and I feel like I’m slowly sinking through the bed toward the center of the Earth.
Mason produces a condom from within the dresser drawer and he walks back over to the side of the bed, removing every last bit of clothing in the process.
He’s rigid and throbbing in front of me, and I reach out, wrapping my fingers around him, feeling the warmth of his hardness which, soon enough, will be inside of me.
I glance up at Mason to gauge his reaction and his head is tilted back to where I can’t see his eyes. He’s breathing hard, his skin on fire.
I can’t remember ever feeling this eager, and I take his first few inches into my mouth, slowly working my tongue over the underside of his shaft.
My free hand finds its way between my legs, and I slip it under my panties to the hot wetness underneath.
I hum contentedly as I hungrily suck him. I keep sucking him until I can’t take it anymore and I pull back. Lying back down, I pull my panties down below my knees, which I bend, letting go of the fabric and allowing it to fall off of me.
“Now,” I tell him.
His mouth is open and he’s smiling through heavy breath.
Mason takes the condom out of the wrapper and puts it on his sizeable member. I prop myself up on my elbows and watch him move between my legs.
I can hardly bear the anticipation as he leans forward, putting his hands on the bed, one to each side of my shoulders, and I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close for a kiss.
The instant I feel him against my opening, I can feel my body give a quiver and then he’s inside me.
He’s moving slowly at first, though with as dripping wet as I am, he probably doesn’t have to, and I’m trying to remember any time I’ve been this aroused. I’m not successful.
My legs are open, but relaxed, and Mason slowly works himself all the way in before hooking my knees with his arms and guiding them up and out until my knees are almost at my shoulders, allowing him to go even deeper than before.
Our eyes are open and fixed on each other, his weight adding powerful presence to the sensuality in every slippery motion.
He goes to stand, and at first, I let my arms slack a little to let him move, but he just smiles and puts them back around his neck, saying, “Hold on.”
With that, he goes to stand again, this time pulling me upright. He lifts me, one arm under each knee, hands clasped behind my back, until he’s fully upright and I’m suspended in his arms.
He’s so powerful, but his kisses are tender, sweet.
My arms hang almost limply around his neck and he’s entering me so deep now, and my legs begin to twitch; infrequently at first and then in a constant, jagged rhythm as I give my body over to him completely.
My sensitive nub is in near-constant contact with Mason’s warm skin and I let my head fall back, just drinking it all in.
He turns and sits on the bed, letting his arms lax so I can move my legs and ride him.
My hands are on his sternum, and I’m rocking my hips greedily, bringing back the initial rise.
I pitch forward, my hair falling around my face, and I look down at Mason, whose gentle hands cup my heaving breasts.
I come down on him hard and swivel my hips, feeling his erection greet every part of the inside of me.
My eyes move over Mason’s firm, cut upper body, the fading impression of scars that will never quite form, and I rise slowly up his shaft and work ever closer to that blind explosion calling to me from the horizon.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, running his fingers through my hair, and I smile a little at the innocent tone of his voice.
I don’t respond with words, but my body reacts, gleaning that last torn piece of stimulation that sets me over the edge.
Every heartbeat is hot, charged passion, and I can feel the sweat beading on my forehead as I kiss Mason deeply.
He gives a pleasured moan and kisses me back, holding me close as I work to catch my breath, and I can tell that he’s almost there.
He’s pulling me tighter against his body now, and I’m kissing his mouth, his chin, his neck.
His mouth opens with a sharp inhale, and I’m putting every last bit of energy I’ve got into bringing him the rest of the way, the way he did for me.
Mason’s hands tense and I can feel him inside me and against me, his muscles contracting as he comes.
We lie here without word or motion for a minute until I slowly come off of him, lying down next to him and he puts his arms around me, holding me close. We fall asleep in each other’s arms.
Chapter Seven
Confidence
Mason
I wake to the sound of the neighbor’s leaf blower at about eight o’clock.
It’s been a few days since Ash and I took our relationship physical, and it’s been hard to keep my hands off of her since. Waking up without her next to me already feels like the kind of thing I want to avoid.
She went home last night, though.
Apparently, Starbright was cleansing the house of evil spirits and accidentally set the carpet on fire. I asked Ash if she wanted me to go with her, but she felt she was better off with fewer witnesses.
I’m almost certain she was joking.
I get out of bed and throw on some clothes before steeling myself for what’s about to happen.
Finding Chris passed out in the front yard helped Ash get past her distrust, but I’m getting sick of his crap.
I open the door to find Chris sitting on the couch in the living room, watching a DVD he made of his favorite cartoons. Sometimes, I come out of that bedroom, and I honestly feel like I’m five years old again, walking into my parents living room.
Through countless conversations with Chris, both before and after he formally became a con man, I’ve found it best to keep in mind what Chris really means when he says certain words. It’s easy enough if you keep on top of it, but let that guard down for a minute and he’s already gotten what he wants.
