Stay: A Second Chance Badboy Romance

by Melinda Minx

  When I pull up to the building, I take out the keys and stop, looking over at her.

  “What?” she asks.

  “I want to brush my teeth while I’m in there. And floss. You sure you don’t want to come in?”

  “I’m fine waiting in the car,” she says. “Do you usually floss after each meal?”

  “No,” I say. “Only when I think I’m going to kiss someone after eating garlic bread. The person I’m planning to kiss didn’t eat any.”

  She stares daggers at me, but there’s something else behind the anger, something that gets me rock-hard. “Who do you think you’re going to kiss?”

  “You know,” I say, grinning. “You sure you don’t want to come in? Maybe you can help me pick out what to wea—”

  “Fine!” she says, hitting the button on her seatbelt. “I will come in, okay?”

  I smile and nod, and I rush around the car to open the door for her. I take her hand as she steps out. She doesn’t fight me on that.

  I let go of her hand after a few steps. I’ve got her where I want her already, so I want to make her hungry for more. This is not the time to come off as desperate.

  I open the door to my place and let her inside.

  She looks around my place—which is nearly empty—then back up at me. “Seriously, Mason? Where do you even sit?”

  I shrug. “I just moved in, haven’t bought much furniture yet. I got a bed, though.”

  I smirk at her. Let her interpret that how she wants.

  Her cheeks flush a bit.

  “Be right back,” I say.

  To be honest, I hadn’t even noticed how empty my place was. After sleeping on cave floors and in desert tents, things that most people consider necessities strike me as complete luxury. Things like couches, chairs...shit, I really should have gotten some furniture if I was planning on bringing Sophie over here. She probably thinks I look crazy.

  I brush my teeth and floss, taking my time. I want Sophie to stew for a little bit.

  I open my closet and see the single coat I have. It doesn’t really match my shoes, but I only have one pair of shoes anyway. I put it on, taking note that in addition to furniture, I need more clothes.

  I walk back into the empty living room. “How’s this look? Or should I try another one?”

  She looks me up and down, staying tight-lipped.

  “Well?”

  “You look good,” she says. “But that color scheme is a mess. You have burnt orange colored flannel, a brighter orange belt, and that blazer is grey. It’s kind of a mess.”

  “I thought you said I looked good?” I ask, leaning close into her, my hands pressed against the door frame.

  “You look good…” she stammers. “Despite the mismatch. Try another coat.”

  “I don’t have another one,” I say, smiling down at her.

  “Another shirt, then?” she asks.

  I start to undo the buttons. I get three down before she grabs my hand. “What are you doing?”

  “Changing my shirt,” I say.

  Her hand is still squeezing my wrist. I can feel my pulse slamming against her thumb. Her touch sets my body off.

  “In front of me?” she asks.

  “The tension…” I say. “It’s thick. You know when you go to a movie theater on a Friday night filled with high school kids on dates? You can just feel it in the air that they all can’t wait to fuck each other. As soon as the lights go off, you just know they’re going to be all over each other.”

  She digs a nail into my wrist. “Do you really want to bring up high school with me, Mason? Will that get you what you want?”

  “What do you think I want?” I ask, giving her a look that tells her exactly what I fucking want.

  She lets go of my wrist, sliding her hand across it, to my neck. Her hand slides down my chest, which is exposed from the partially opened shirt.

  “You want it, too,” I say. “We both want the same thing, so—”

  She presses a finger to my lips. “Shut up. And listen.”

  I smile against her finger. I like where this is going.

  “I’m going to leave Tuckett Bay. You’re going to stay here. I do not forgive you, Mason, but I need closure. I will give you what you want, but just one more time. Then I’m gone.”

  I bite my lip. I know I can get her to stay. She can talk now, but she will stay.

  “Going back to high school,” she says. “You know that feeling you get all the time when you’re eighteen years old? Some insignificant little thing happens to you, and it feels like the entire universe is bending for you? That warm burst you get in your chest, like things have changed forever, and you’ll never be the same again? I remember one time when I was sixteen or seventeen, fall had just arrived. I was walking outside with a coffee—it was the first year I’d started drinking coffee—and I sat down at a bench to drink it and watch the leaves. The wind blew a certain way, and beautiful orange and red leaves blew across the sidewalk like magic. I felt like the whole world was there just for me, and that everything would be okay forever and ever.”

  I nod, though memories like that for me are ancient history.

  Sophie continues. “The tradeoff was awful, gut wrenching feelings to things that—looking at them now—really weren’t such a big deal. Wearing headgear to school and having the entire school rip you apart. It felt that it would be better off if I was dead. I didn’t have the guts to actually kill myself, but I fantasized about a meteor crashing through the roof and taking me out. The worst time I ever felt something like that though, Mason, was the day I realized you were never going to write me back again. That you’d abandoned me.”

  “Sophie,” I say, squeezing her wrist.

  She interrupts me, locking her green eyes with me. “I felt stuff like that all the time when I was eighteen, Mason. But the point that I’m trying to make is this: By the time I was twenty-three, I only had those kinds of emotions a few times per year. And now? Now I never feel like that. Everything is calmed down. I realize that nothing was ever as good—or as bad—as I made it out to be. Even what you did to me.”

  Her hand is still on my chest, warm. My heart is pounding against it.

  I narrow my eyes at her. “I felt it sometimes in my car, or when I fished so long and hard that my bones ached. But I felt it strongest of all with you, Sophie.”

  She nods. “Memories. Going to a place that made you feel like that before...or being with a person who made you feel it—”

  “Takes you right back,” I say.

  13

  Sophie

  Mason’s heart is slamming against me, but mine is beating even harder. Jesus, how did I get into this position? How many dumb decisions did I make in a row to end up here? There’s no way I can come this far and not sleep with him again, I’ve already crossed that line.

  But I realize it will be good for me. I’ll fuck him, and it will be just like any other one-night stand. It won’t mean much of anything, and we’ll both realize that. I’ll leave Tuckett Bay, and I’ll put all those good and awful feelings about Mason behind me once and for all. And he’ll be able to move on, too.

  Neither of us is eighteen anymore, and after we sleep together, we’ll both realize that what we had was mostly a product of out of control hormones. I’ll be able to let it go.

  Closure. Finally.

  “And maybe,” I say, “maybe when it takes you right back, you realize it wasn’t as good as you thought—”

  And then, as if to crush my argument before it can even begin, he pulls me into him, and his lips touch mine.

  If my heart was pounding before, now it’s slamming like a jackhammer. His tongue slips into my mouth, and I open up for him instinctively, without a second thought. The warmth and tenderness of his tongue fills me up. His whole body is so fucking hard, but his tongue is still as soft as ever.

  We kiss, and his scent hits me hard. His big, strong body is pressed up against me, and his arms are wrapped around me. One hand is
gripping my lower back, and the other is just between my shoulder blades. My hand is still on his chest, but as we kiss, my hand feels more and more tempted to trail down. I want to explore his abs, and then go further down still.

  He pulls away. “Sophie…”

  I can still feel his taste and scent lingering in my mouth and nostrils. It’s begging me to take him right back, to kiss him again. Our bodies are still pressed together, and his hands are still holding me tightly against him.

  “Mason. Touch me—”

  His hands sink down, squeezing the thick flesh of my ass. I gasp, and my head falls back. My eyes close.

  Another hard hand moves up to my waist, lingers around my stomach, and then finally cups my breast. My nipples turn hard as diamonds in an instant.

  “Fuck,” I whisper.

  I’m speaking out of almost pure lust, but still a hint of “Oh, I fucked up,” is still there, nagging at me. This was not my plan for the evening. Not at all. This idea, to show us both that it’s not as good as we remembered it, all hinges on the sex not being that good.

  What if it is that good? What then?

  He pulls my dress down off my shoulders, exposing both of my breasts. The chilly air hitting them sends a shiver down my spine, but Mason’s warm, protective hands are on them in an instant, and I don’t feel cold after that.

  He squeezes and kneads me, tweaking my nipples between his fingers. I gasp and moan for more, and he’s happy to give me everything I want.

  “You said you have a bed,” I whisper between breathy moans.

  And then it feels like I’m flying. Mason scoops me up in both arms, lifts me effortlessly, and carries me through his apartment. I see us pass through a doorway, into darkness, and then I feel myself being gently lowered down. A soft bed greets my back, and I lay there in the pitch darkness, waiting…

  His tongue touches me, right between my breasts. His lips press against my skin, and his tongue slides up along my breast. I hold my breath in anticipation, and then he pulls my nipple between his lips. He presses his tongue against it, and sucks.

  I cry out, and my hand instinctively touches between my legs. I’m soaking wet already, and he’s only just getting started.

  He runs his hands up my sides, massaging and exploring my body as he kisses and sucks on my breasts. God, it feels good. When was the last time a man took his time with me like this? When was the last time I felt this good?

  “I can see you,” he whispers.

  I freeze. I start to move my hand slowly away from my wetness.

  “You’re moving now,” he says.

  “It’s pitch black,” I say. “You can’t see me. You just felt me move.”

  “Don’t touch yourself, Sophie,” he says. “I’ll touch you when the time is right.”

  I nod, though I still can’t believe he’s able to see me.

  “Good girl,” he whispers, then goes back to my breasts.

  Slowly, he works his way up toward my neck, and when he kisses and licks so softly the flesh of my throat, my legs start squirming.

  “Is it time yet?” I ask, desperation seeping into my voice.

  “No.”

  He moves up to my jaw, to my ear. He kisses and nibbles on my earlobe.

  He whispers in a voice that is just barely there, “You’ll know when it’s time.”

  I’m clutching my own thigh so that I’m not tempted to touch myself. I’m afraid that if I disobey him, he will make me wait longer as punishment.

  “Touch me,” he says. “Keep your hands busy.”

  I nearly laugh. I’ve been so preoccupied with what I want him to do to me that I’ve lost the moment. I move my hand off my thigh to his body. I grab hold of what feels like his lower torso. It’s hard and muscular through his shirt. I remember the buttons he undid, and I run my hand up along the flannel material, searching for the opening.

  I feel his warm skin, and I reach down for the next button. I pop it open. Now I feel the top of his muscular abs. I press my palm against him and run it down his body, below where his shirt is still buttoned. I stop when I reach his belt.

  I feel his body shift, and then his hand is tearing at the buttons on his shirt. Soon I feel a whip of wind as the shirt falls away and disappears into the pitch blackness.

  I hear two loud claps, and I nearly jump off the bed.

  A flash of light blinds me, and then I see Mason Steel towering above me, his hard body covered in tattoos and peppered with scars.

  “Clap on,” he says, grinning.

  I can’t help but laugh. “That’s so cheesy!” I say, gasping for air between laughs.

  “It came with the apartment,” he says. “The light switch doesn’t work.”

  I clap twice, and the lights shut off. “I thought only 80-year-old women had these things.”

  He claps again, and the lights reveal a wide smile. “See, I can still surprise you.”

  Then he looks down at my body. My breasts are spilling out, but my dress is still on.

  “God, Sophie,” he says. “It’s like you said...it takes me right back.”

  “You’d really want to be in high school again?” I ask.

  “No,” he says, shaking his head. “But this is the best of both worlds. I’m a stronger person and know exactly what I want, but this…this feels just as good as it did before.”

  I bite my lip. I agree with him...so far. But how can I trust my feelings when I’m this horny? When he’s touching me in all the right ways. How will I feel the next morning? When I have to go to work again, and when I can see myself in the light of day?

  I touch a long, puffy scar on the side of his torso. It feels coarse against my fingers. “Did this hurt?”

  “These…” he says, touching his scars one after another, “these stopped hurting after a while.”

  “What is that?” I say, pointing to another twisted scar. “A burn wound? You’re telling me that didn’t hurt at all?”

  “Physical pain,” he says. “The body never really adapts to it. A piece of burning shrapnel is always going to burn your skin. It’s always going to sting, but the mind can steel itself against that. The wound heals—scars over—but there’s no lasting pain. Not like…”

  He trails off.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Some things hurt worse, and never quite heal.”

  He looks at me, and without speaking any words, we both know what he means.

  I shift off the bed to stand up, and I pull my dress all the way off. His eyes widen as he takes me in.

  “It’s time,” I say.

  He springs off the bed, and slams me against the wall. The force of it is hard enough to shock me, but not hard enough to hurt me. Before I can even react, I feel his hand press against my soaked panties, and I moan.

  I start to tug at the panties to get them off, but his hand is there already.

  “Mason,” I say, my voice desperate.

  He lets off for just a moment, long enough to pull the panties down. They fall to my ankles, and his hand touches against my bare pussy.

  An electric shock jolts up my body as his fingers run up and down my outer lips. He slides a finger into my wet hole, and I gasp.

  “Mason—”

  He presses his thumb against my swollen clit, and that shuts me up straight away. He slides his finger in and out of me, and his thumb continues to graze my clit.

  He works me so good that I dig my heels into the floor and press my back hard against the wall. I feel drool dripping down out of the corner of my mouth as he slides another finger inside me, the pressure against my clit intensifying.

  I keep getting more and more wet, until I feel the wetness on my inner thigh.

  Mason drops down, and his fingers pull out of me with a wet pop.

  The next thing I know, his head is between my legs, and his tongue is licking up my juices.

  I gasp in anticipation, and just when I can’t wait another second, his tongue presses against my clit.

 
I explode. There’s been too much build-up, and when he feels how hard I convulse against him, his hands grab hold of my ass and squeeze. He holds me still as he sucks my clit to full climax.

  I shake and wail and moan, and a fire builds up within me. I grab his head and dig my nails into his scalp, while with my other hand I grab my breast and pinch my nipple between both fingers.

  The orgasm rocks through me in electric waves. Cold shocks blast through me, but an intense warmth fills me up again before I can feel any discomfort from the cold.

  Everything inside me rises and builds up with an intense pressure, and then Mason’s tongue hits me just right, and everything releases in a rush. The rush surges up from between my legs, out through all my limbs, and I moan as it blasts through me. It finally hits my head, which cuts off all sound from my throat. My eyes roll back in my head, and my toes curl. I feel my body sliding down against the wall, but Mason holds me up with his strong arms, and when the head rush dissipates, I scream until I’m out of breath.

  As the orgasm fades down into a warm afterglow, I laugh giddily. The relief feels so fucking intense, and we’re not even done. I’ll want him again soon—I’ll feel his big cock inside me, and I’ll fuck him until I’m physically exhausted and can’t move another inch.

  Mason lifts me up and lowers me onto the bed. I convulse again—an aftershock of orgasm—and look up at him with warm eyes.

  He looks so good now, but his pants are still on. “Take them off,” I say, though I’m surprised how slurred my voice sounds. As if I’m drunk.

  “Nah,” he says. “Never give a woman everything she wants.”

  He grabs his shirt and pulls it onto his muscular frame.

  What almost feels like panic overtakes me. But the afterglow is so good that it insulates me, as if I’m on a morphine drip.

  “Mason…” I say. “You’re getting dressed.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “I told your father I’d take you home.”

  “But…”

  But I’m not seventeen years old. And Dad knows what was going to happen anyway and—

  “Fuck me,” I say.

  “You’ll have to stick around if you want that,” he says, grinning down at me.