by Mia Watts
The little bit he knew about Mason from his research suggested it hadn’t been done on a whim or out of rebellion. This tattoo meant something. Mason didn’t have to brag about it, give a story about the reasoning behind having it, like a lot of guys did who had paid for elaborate art. No, this tattoo was a part of him—silent testimony against getting too close.
It was a shame to see the garish slash of red severing the drawn spine. Dill felt a sense of relief that the well-muscled back, which created the dip over Mason’s spine, was developed enough that the blade had skipped from one high ridge to the other. It left only a shallow flesh wound beneath which Mason’s nervous system continued to function.
“This is going to sting,” Dill murmured, picking up the bottle of alcohol.
The cotton wouldn’t work well enough. The cuts were too deep and he didn’t want cotton fibers getting trapped in the raw flesh. Picking up the next washcloth, Dill poured the disinfectant straight into the cuts, catching the spill off with the cloth, wringing it out, and doing it again.
Mason didn’t even flinch. Didn’t show any sign of pain. That’s when Dill noticed other things about the man he was meant to watch. He had faint scars in several places.
“What the hell happened?” Dill asked gruffly.
Mason glanced over his shoulder as though he could see what Dill was looking at. Dill liked the way his neck wrinkled and the tattooed claw on the back of his scalp seemed to control the turning of Mason’s head.
“What?”
Dill traced a couple of the scars, flicked the tip of a finger over some that looked like cigarette burns.
Mason shrugged, faced away. “Life happened. If you’re done…” he said, standing.
Dill put aside the alcohol and cloths. “For now.”
“Good.” He stepped around the stool, crowding Dill’s space in the small bathroom. “Let’s talk about what’s going on here.”
Between us, Dill wondered?
Mason wasn’t that much taller than he, but he certainly overwhelmed a room. Especially a guest bathroom. Looking at him, nearly nose to nose, he silently pleaded for either his mother or Willow to hurry up and get there. He wasn’t sure who needed a chaperone more—Dill or Mason. It could go either way considering that they’d been dancing around a flirtation for the last while and bone-jumping could easily be in order.
Dill held his silence. It was always wiser, he’d found, to let someone think you were more controlled than you actually were.
“You freeze shit. Your mom heals shit. How the fuck is that possible?” Mason asked.
“I wouldn’t call you shit.”
Mason snarled. It surprised Dill enough to take a step back where a towel rod crammed his back.
“Can we take this to the living room?” Dill asked. His phone chirped. Keeping a wary eye on Mason as he backed down and left the bathroom, Dill put the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”
“Did you call Jenson?” Sage asked.
“I left a message.”
“Try calling again.”
Dill snapped the phone closed.
Mason sat on the coffee table, fixing Dill with a patient stare. Dill took the couch across from him. Leaning back, he stretched his arm out, resting it on the back cushions and studied his mark with renewed interest. He couldn’t help but think that Mason was just as beautiful below the belt, as above. He’d like to find out, kiss any more boo boos he discovered.
“Tell me about Diego,” Dill said, hoping to get some details out of the secretive man.
Mason’s expression clouded. “There’s nothing to say.”
“Bullshit.”
“Tell me who hired you and what the fuck happened to my apartment. Then tell me why any of my goddamn personal business has anything to do with you. Or,” he said, leaning in dangerously. “You can take your pants off, and we can fuck. Unless there’s some other reason you brought me to the middle of nowhere?”
Dill’s heart tripped a little. He couldn’t help but smile even though he knew he had to be blushing judging from the heat in his neck. “Tempting.”
Mason straightened, reached for his belt and began loosening it. “Come on, then. Let’s kill the elephant in the room.”
“Blunt much?”
Yeah, it wasn’t exactly his style to charge in like a bull… Oh, wait, it was. He nearly smiled.
Dill would figure it out sooner or later. Mason was betting he would forget his nosy questions once there was some cock play. Even the most reserved motherfuckers succumbed to pillow talk. If Mason wore him out enough, chances were Dill would get romantic touchy-feely and spill some of his information. Those quiet boys were saps after sex. Mason counted on it.
He stood, opened his pants and let his belt hang. Then holding his hands out to the sides, palms up, Mason looked down at Dill’s upturned face. The guy was handsome, Mason would give him that. The thought of those pouty lips going down on him sent more than a little electricity up the length of his cock. That and the image of him swallowing Mason’s load.
Mason’s cock filled eagerly. “Any time, boy-wonder. Unless you want to freeze this moment for posterity…”
Dill’s gaze traveled downward, and Mason felt it like a feather-light stroke. It came to rest on his pants and he thought he saw more than a little interest in the quiet man’s eyes.
“Straight to the point, aren’t you?” Dill stated more than asked.
“Like I want you to be. My cock is straight. How about you start sucking my point?”
Dill’s eyes flashed with annoyance when he shot a look upward. “Fuck you, asshole. I’m trying to save your hide, and you think gratitude is treating me like your whore?”
No, he didn’t, but he wanted Dill to think so. The less personal connection, the better to cut ties and run when he left the sexy stud in his wake. Unfortunately, if Mason didn’t play his cards more carefully, he not only wouldn’t get the information, but he wouldn’t get the guy either. He wanted the guy maybe as much as the information. It wasn’t often he found someone whose height so closely matched his own that he could look straight into his eyes. It also wasn’t often that a guy as well built as Dill wanted a piece of his ass.
“I’m not big on subtlety,” Mason said, feeling a little bad for his phrasing.
“I gathered.”
He usually got lustful looks from twinks. And he took them, but they weren’t his preferred meal of choice. No, that was reserved for stubborn, meaty, silent, brooding men that usually wrote him off the minute they saw tattoos. Those hadn’t seemed to scare Dill. Mason had every intention of pushing the envelope to see just how much of his freak-fest Dill could handle.
He didn’t like admitting it, but Mason pushed lovers away. It’s what he did so they didn’t get too close. He knew it, sometimes hated that about himself, but ultimately it was about survival. Wasn’t it always? Protect your own ass first. Keep the ones that could hurt you at arm’s length. If that meant loneliness, then so be it.
Yet if Dill was game, Mason wanted his mouth on his dick and clamoring to have his mouth fucked. He’d do it. Then he’d get his questions answered. Then he’d leave. To do that, he had to soothe the savage Dill.
Mason slid his fingers into Dill’s hair, sifting it, then running through the strands again to lightly capture Dill’s head. “You’re cute. I get tongue-tied with cute, but I’m pretty sure you want me.”
Dill’s brows rose in question.
“Your cock is trying to get out,” he said, answering the unspoken question.
God, what was Dill thinking about? Mason loved the silent sexy ones, but he never knew what they were thinking. Was Dill judging him? Did he think Mason was crazy, rude, stupid, egotistical? Fuck. He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t be worrying about what Dill thought. That wasn’t an issue here. What did it matter what Dill thought of him?
It mattered, damnit.
“Touché,” Dill acknowledged.
“I’m not a patient guy, and I’ve been thinking
about your mouth doing a lot of amazing things involving my dick.” Mason shrugged, hoping he didn’t sound as clumsy as he thought he did. “You gonna make me wait, or can we do this thing?”
“Fucking romantic,” Dill muttered.
Mason’s fingers fisted Dill’s hair, and he tugged him closer to the opening in his pants. “Please?”
There, that sounded good, Mason thought. Just a little head, hot stuff. That’s all I need, and then I won’t have to wonder any more. Won’t have to jack off without a mental picture of you taking my rod, tonight.
His balls tightened and Mason groaned, unable to stop himself from shuddering as the thought filled his mind.
Unexpectedly, Dill shot to his feet, so near their chests bumped, and Mason’s hand fell away. He started to take a step back, but stopped himself. He didn’t back down from anyone. Dill grabbed his hips and pulled him hard against his groin. Then closing the space, Dill kissed him, devoured his mouth with nipping teeth and soft lips. Chills of pleasure raced down Mason’s spine and alarm bells went off in his head.
This is bad. This is very bad. Make him stop. Walk away. Back the fuck off—damn, he tastes good.
All protests sputtered to a halt as Mason sank into the welling sensations started by Dill’s expert mouth and followed by his inquisitive fingers wrapping firmly around Mason’s cock. The groan that escaped him was more telling than he’d have allowed, but Dill rewarded him with another hand and grabbing fingers tucking into the back of his pants for a handful of Mason’s bare ass.
Demanding, insistent, intrusive, stubborn, selfish, tender, rough, Mason was lost to Dill’s conquest. It was a mistake. A big one. It was the most incredible feeling of possession he’d ever experienced, and he fucking wanted more.
Dill broke away. “This is what you wanted, right?” His words scraped past his lips angrily.
Mason shoved him, knocking Dill to his ass on the couch. Mason rubbed his arm across his burning lips. Kissing Dill would make him do stupid things. Considering the ransacking of his pad, stupid wasn’t Mason’s best defense. Escape felt more promising.
He turned, closing up his pants and grabbing a windbreaker off the coat tree at the front door. “I’ll find my own way back to town.”
“It’s long walk.”
“Nothing I haven’t done before.” Mason reached for the door, pausing to enjoy the way Dill’s tousled hair fell over his forehead and his breath rushed over his swollen lips. This sight would keep him warm on many lonely nights to come.
“Stay,” Dill murmured. His expression hadn’t changed. It was as unreadable as ever.
What did family guys like Dill think about when they saw him? Foster families had seen Mason as a lost cause. The rotating round of friends he had seemed to think of him as expendable. It was fair. He thought of them the same way.
Dill’s kind, with stable families, probably saw him as a broken man in need of fixing. Kind of like a religious order trying to convert the lost. Just do this, just think that and you’ll be one of us. You’ll never be alone again. But that was a pipedream and he knew it for the lie it was. You could only depend on yourself. Eventually, everyone else let you down. Like he’d let down Diego.
Diego had thought of him as a hero. Some hero he’d turned out to be.
Mason’s eyes felt hot, tight. Pressure built up in his forehead and behind his cheekbones, even his throat seemed to constrict. He’d do anything to bring that kid back.
Dropping his head, Mason stared at the worn wooden planks of the floor. Yeah, he’d do anything. Did that include sticking around Dill to get some answers? He sighed heavily, let go of the door, and swallowed his pride.
“I want answers,” he told Dill after several moments.
“I have some.”
As if he was breaking out of cement shoes, Mason reluctantly left his spot by the door to stand adjacent to the Dill’s couch. “These cuts burn like fire.”
It was the only admission of weakness he was willing to make, this indirect request for help. The words were bitter grit in his mouth. Mason didn’t ask for help. He supposed every man had his limits and Diego’s death had been his. Who’d have known the little brat would inspire such loyalty?
Dill got up, hesitantly. The front door to the cabin swung open with a tsunami of motion, chaos, and florals.
“Mom,” Dill said in greeting.
“Mom?” he asked.
Mason turned, ready to face the next threat. Goddamn it, where was his knife when he needed it? A tiny blonde woman with a beaming face and long, slender arms waved toward the front of the house at someone outside. She erupted into the walk-in living room.
She saw him, squealed, and threw herself into Mason’s arms. “Sweetheart! I’m so glad to finally meet you. Dill didn’t mean to hurt you. Promise me you won’t hold it against him. It’s really not his fault.”
Panic assailed him. “Oh shit. Get it off. Get it off!” he yelped, flailing backward with the pixie-sized ball of sunshine firmly clinging to him.
His back hit Dill’s chest, stung like wildfire where the contact pressed his wounds. Steadying arms wrapped around his waist.
“It’s okay, Mason. It’s just Mom,” he soothed warmly against his ear.
Chapter Five
Mason’s eyes were huge with horror, shock, fear, and alarm. He felt stiff in Dill’s arms and Dill tried very hard not to laugh, knowing exactly how overwhelming his mother could be. Mason would get used to it.
“Willow,” his mom yelled into Mason’s face. “Hurry up with the cooler. This boy needs a steak.”
“Got it mom.” Dill’s petite sister, lean and long like her namesake, clumsily dragged in a cooler. “Dill, there are three more out in the minivan.”
“I’ll get them,” he offered. She smiled gratefully, and Dill carefully extracted himself from Mason to help bring in the rest of the supplies.
“Take your coat off so I can touch you,” his mom was saying to the horrified Mason.
“What is it with you Harpers trying to get me naked? Back off, lady.”
“Mason,” Dill said, sharply. “You need my help. That means you need hers. She’ll heal you and you’ll treat her with respect.”
Mason nodded mutely.
Dill smiled and rushed to bring in two more coolers. He came back to find Mason gripping the side of the couch as his mother knelt behind him, her hands glowing as she murmured soothing sounds.
Dill was so distracted that he nearly bumped into a sapling in the middle of the kitchen bar entry. “Willow, now?”
The sapling shivered apologetically.
“He already thinks we’re freaks,” Dill complained.
“Oh, honey, relax. You know he has to see all this in order to marry you,” his mother called.
“What the fuck?” Mason barked.
Mom swatted the back of his head.
“Sorry, Ms. Harper.”
“You’re forgiven,” she said, dropping a kiss on the spot she slapped.
Mason’s cheeks burned and he kept his eyes fixed on Willow’s trunk.
“She doesn’t like it when you stare,” Dill said.
Mason’s gaze climbed over to his. Dill recognized the signs of overwhelming confusion.
“Don’t try to make sense of it. We’ll explain later.” Dill tipped his head toward his sister, who already began her reversion.
His mom got up from the couch. “All better. You’ll be sore for a few days, honey. I’ll make you some chamomile tea to calm your nerves.”
“Thanks,” Mason said in a gravelly whisper.
“I called a family gathering, Dilly-bear.”
“What? Why? I’m trying to hide him,” Dill protested.
“Dilly-bear?” Mason asked.
“Shut up.” Dill gave his full attention to the packet of energy called Mom.
“Don’t you want them to meet your husband?” she asked.
“He’s not my—”
Willow snickered. “Why are you arguing wit
h her?”
Mom folded her arms over her chest. “You will marry him. You should trust me. I always know these things, sometimes.”
Great. More paradoxical logic.
“Now,” his mom continued. “After you finish the tea, you should go have sex together.”
“Mom.”
“It’s a great relaxant,” she defended. A pout touched her bottom lip. Then she shrugged. “If he does it right, it will be relaxing after, you know, he’s done.”
Horrified laughter erupted from Mason.
“Oh, God, Mom,” Dill said, shaking his head in disbelief. And really, he thought, he shouldn’t be disbelieving because it was exactly the kind of thing his mother would say. Random and to the point all at once. Only a pureblooded faery could pull off that kind of crazy.
“You can use some of my toys,” she offered brightly. “The cabin sex toys are in the trunk at the end of the master bed.”
“Gross, Mom,” Willow protested on his behalf.
“Ew.” Fauna’s voice came out of nowhere near Mason.
Mason scrambled indelicately to the opposite armrest. Dill decided he liked it when Mason wasn’t so self-possessed. It was good for a man to get shaken up every once in a while. It gave him a new perspective on where he stood in the universe. Plus, it made Dill feel appropriately smug after the set-down Mason had given him.
“I disinfect them.” His mother sighed. “Really, you kids are such prudes.” She flicked her wrist toward the master bedroom. “There are some unopened ones in there, too. Batteries are in the cool storage by the bed.”
Judging from Mason’s bafflement, not every household kept an entire mini-fridge stocked with batteries by the bed. He’d suspected as much. Another quirk of his parents.
“I have this vibrating butt plug that—”
“Mom!” all three kids yelled.
Fauna returned to visibility. She glanced at Mason. Her eyes widened and poof, she disappeared.
