We could be kissing.
My world shatters at the thought. I have to remember.
Specifically, Mason’s Hall of Fame moments, the ones that I carry with me the most.
Freshman year, Mason introduced himself to me by tripping me in the cafeteria. Such a tried-and-tested move, I fell into my lunch tray, splattering spaghetti and meatballs all over my shirt and anyone within spraying distance. He then opened a can of coke and poured it on my head while I was on the ground.
Sophomore year, he snuck into the girls’ locker rooms during gym glass and stole all my clothes. That part didn’t affect me too much. It was when he stuck my underwear to my school locker, smeared with red sharpie marker and a sign proclaiming PERIOD PATSY above it.
Immature, illogical, and utterly hurtful.
Junior year was the worst. Mason was making out with Amy in front of an open classroom door I had to get through if I wanted to complete the mid-terms. As I tried to get by undetected, Mason cracked one eye open and tagged my movements.
He unglued his lips from Amy’s long enough to reach over, undo my top button and say, “Wanna join?”
“Ugh, don’t bother,” Amy said, her gaze clearly ranking me a zero from head to toe. “Virgins don’t do threesomes, Mase.”
Mason doesn’t glance over at Amy. He keeps his stare on me. “I love me some virgins. They taste the sweetest. So I ask again, wanna join, little girl?”
“N-no,” I mumble into the stack of books against my chest and scurry into the classroom.
“Listen up,” I heard Mason call behind me. The classroom instantly fell silent. “All hail the V-card I’m about to cash in on, because Big Mack over here just agreed to a menage et trois! Who knew she wanted it so dirty the first time? Pictures to follow!”
The room erupted with cheers, hoots, and hollers, and I knew my cheeks were going as red as the boiling blood underneath.
Then, senior year, he learned my actual name for the first time while on the city bus and toppled my coffee onto my shirt in misfired rage.
Mason is not nice. He’s not kind. He’s broken and mean.
“Hey, what’s this? You writing a book or something?”
Mason’s question snaps me out of the traumatic fugue, and I react by slamming my laptop shut, nearly trapping his fingers.
“Shit, Mack,” he says, withdrawing his hands. “You nearly gave me a manicure.”
“You need to leave.”
Mason cocks a brow.
“Leave,” I say through trembling lips. “Now.”
“Whoa. What’s happening right now?”
“This was such a mistake,” I say, standing and smoothing down my simple cotton skirt. “I won’t let you do this to me anymore.”
Mason stands with me, but remains a careful distance away. “Do what? Mack, what’s going on?”
“Leave!” I shout.
Mason glances up the stairs, likely fearful of drawing my father’s attention. “Not until you tell me what’s going on. What’d I do?”
“What did you do?” I repeat with broken syllables. “Let me count the ways, Mason. You’ve tormented, been my bully, been my nightmare, for years. Suddenly you need my help and turn into this vaguely nice guy who can turn against me as soon as he’s done with me, and I’m helping you! Why am I helping you? Why do I do this to myself?”
“Hey—I’m not here with other motives. I actually want to do better in school.”
“There’s one month left!” I scream. “You’re too late to do any better!”
“Thanks for that.”
“Go away, Mason. For good. Don’t ever come back.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Fine,” I say. “Then I’ll leave and you can explain to my dad why you’re still on the property.”
I tear up the stairs and out the front door, making sure to slam it extra hard so Dad will hear and maybe try to figure out what’s going on, but I don’t hold out much hope. When Dad’s in his office, or in any sort of work mode, I cease to exist. Sounds don’t reach him, not even ones of distress. All he cares about is work. His clients. Maybe a little bit of Debbie. But as far as I’m concerned, I disappeared along with my mother two years ago.
However, Mason doesn’t know that.
I streak down the side of the brownstone where we have a coveted driveway that’s mostly unheard of in this neighborhood of stuck-together brownstones. Dad’s car rests, inky black, cold and wet, in its usual spot.
Wet.
I’m getting soaked. The rain’s coming down hard, and I’m only now noticing that the dampness on my face isn’t only tears. Clouds have cracked open, water is falling from the sky, and I pause beside the car, wondering what the hell I’m doing.
Hands grab me from behind, spinning me, then throwing me against the front hood. I scream, grappling for balance, but turn mute when I meet smoke-filled blue eyes, like plumes of ashes after a nasty fire.
“You don’t get to leave me like that,” Mason says, so close that water droplets hitting his face are ricocheting against mine. “Nobody leaves me like that.”
“Let go.” I won’t let him see me crumble. I won’t.
“No.”
He holds me tighter. The car’s cold metal burns ice against the backs of my thighs, the wet slickness causing my skin to squeal against it when I try to break free.
“My dad’s right up there,” I say.
“Then scream.”
I don’t. My stomach’s flipping upside-down at Mason’s proximity. It keeps happening, no matter how much I hate him, my body’s natural attraction. A growl bursts out of me, but Mason only smiles.
His lips are chapped, yet dewy, as he murmurs his threats.
“You’ve done nothing but make my life hell,” I say while struggling. “Every nasty rumor has come from you. You’re the reason I’m only known for that terrible nickname. The reason I have no friends. Why no one ever comes up to me other than to laugh in my face.”
“Ah. Hence your change of heart this evening.”
“These are my high school memories, Mason. They’re what you’ve given me for the rest of my life. Nothing but pain.”
He cocks his head. “Welcome to my world, Mack.”
I peel my lips back and say, “You don’t deserve anything nice from me. Ever.”
“I’m well aware.”
“Get off my property, then. Let me go—”
“That’s what you want, huh? Me to be nicer to you? Kind? Sweet?” Mason asks, his grip on me remaining strong. “I got you covered, sweetheart. But I have to warn you, that Mason isn’t much better.”
I murmur, “What—“
But his mouth devours mine before I can say any more.
I grip the collar of his jacket, so tight, first out of shock, then to pull him closer as he angles his head and kisses me deeper.
He’s not angry. Nor hungry. He kisses me in the rain like any romance hero I’d thought only existed in my books. I have no choice but to meet his suppleness with my own candor, our tongues twining, wet heat combining with the cold spray drenching us from above.
Both his hands slide up each of my thighs under my skirt, playing with the side straps of my underwear. The slick path he leaves on my skin might as well be fire, if it weren’t for the rain dissolving his journey as soon as he makes it. He cups my butt cheeks and I let out a squeak of surprise in his mouth, which he swallows whole.
I feel his lips stretch with a grin before he lifts me by the back of my thighs and settles me on the car’s hood, then nestles between the V of my legs.
His pants are soaked and they press up against my underwear … which, I’m now realizing, are damp for entirely different reasons.
Mason’s upper lip curls against mine before he grinds tight circles against me. His fingers tangle in my hair, tilting my head back, and he tongues me deeper.
A singular moan escapes, swirling up my throat and into his mouth. The sexual
friction is mind-blowing, revolutionary, and I wrap my legs around his waist, a silent invitation for him to be faster, harder, closer.
My eyes pop open when pain lances through my lower lip. A coppery tang follows. I pull away, but Mason lingers in my vision with a closed-mouthed smile.
“Did you just bite me?” I ask, holding my fingers to my lips.
“I can only be gentle with you for so long, Mack,” he says in a husky voice. Rain splatters against his face. “Restraint isn’t something I can master when I’m picturing how tight you’ll be.”
A heavy hank of hair falls against my forehead, and I push it away. It’s the only sign of normalcy during this insane fantasy I must be having, where I’m pulsing and swollen with need and splayed out on my dad’s car with Mason talking about having sex with me.
Oh my God.
My dad’s car.
Outside.
Where anyone could see us.
“Oh, hell no,” Mason says, nestling back between my legs. “I just got a taste of you. No way are we stopping now.”
To my horror, he gets down on his knees, he’s literally kneeling in puddles, and starts pulling down my underwear.
“We’re out in public,” I hiss.
He looks up, and for the first time, I’m truly meeting the devil. “Let them watch. Give your neighbors something to talk about other than lawn encroachments for once.”
“But my Dad. He could look out the window and see—oh, fuck.”
I don’t swear. Not even in my head. But the instant my underwear’s slipped off and two of Mason’s fingers plunge inside me, the only words that matter contain a curse.
One corner of Mason’s mouth twitches at my exclamation, but his sole focus is down below. The more I let him in, the farther my legs spread, the darker his expression becomes.
Arrows tipped with liquid aphrodisiac shoot toward my center at his look. I should be fighting him off. Rolling off this car and running back into the safety of my home, where Mason can’t get to me.
Can’t pleasure me.
Despite the storm, the pelting rain, the very real fact that my Dad could peek out his office window, I can’t run.
Seeing Mason between my legs is the sexiest vision I’ve ever had. I’m hot, burning from the inside out, turning raindrops into steam.
I’m the heroines inside my paperback novels, being ravished by a rebel king.
“See, I can’t be gentle with you, Mack. You like it dirty.” He fits another finger inside, thrusting hard, twisting almost violently. I shudder at the gorgeous feeling. “A secret part of you wants me to dominate, to take. To own this pussy of yours.”
He curls his fingers inside me and I fall back into a merciless arch against the hood. Rain goes up my nostrils, into my mouth, but it doesn’t stop the moans.
A wave builds, pooling near his fingers, and I writhe, anticipating the orgasm. I’ve only done it with my fingers before, never by someone else, but Mason has me.
He’s so bad, the worst, but I have to let him do this.
Because I like it dirty.
“Fuck, Mack, I gotta taste you again.”
His fingers leave my body, but my mewl of disappointment is cut short when his mouth replaces his magic hands.
Whimpering, I throw my arm across my mouth and bite down on the skin to stop the ecstatic scream.
His tongue does things his fingers couldn’t. And he won’t stop, I don’t want him to, because I’m so close. I’m almost there.
A sudden cool mist hits where his tongue should still be.
I crack my eyes open, lashes thick with wetness, and discover Mason standing above me, a dark blur in the spray.
Oh, no.
Another prank. My gut churns, twists, destroying itself over the fact that my brain is once again an idiot.
Something brutal takes its place, a hatching egg containing a McKenna that’s harder, scarier, a girl completely separate from the humiliation about to ensue.
I slide up on my elbows, searching for Amy, or anyone else with a camera phone.
Mason growls, “Let me fuck you on this Rolls, Mack.”
Blinking, and not because of the rain, I turn my attention back to him. “W-what did you say?”
His slick features contain sharper angles, his cheeks bright slashes in the storm. “Let me fuck you. You’re irresistible. Gorgeous. Splayed out and mine. I wanna claim you, Mack, right here and now, in front of everybody.”
The request should cause a gasp. A horrified expression. A hellbent no.
Yet, it only makes me hotter. The idea of Mason pounding into me, in public, on a luxury vehicle…
“This is a joke,” I say carefully.
Mason responds with a slow shake of his head. “Not even close. You’re wet for me. Drenched. And I want to take you.”
As if to prove his point, he rubs my clit with the tips of his fingers. I shudder instantly.
“Say yes, Mack.”
Gasping, throwing my head back, I try to speak. “I…”
“Say yes.”
“I—”
“Fucking say it before we both cream our pants.”
“YES!” I cry without thinking.
Mason unbuckles his belt. Unzips his pants. He releases his dick and my eyes bulge at the sight.
Holy. He’s big. And thick. And gorgeous.
He reaches in his back pocket and pulls out a condom.
This is the point I should be rationalizing, do I really want to lose my virginity to a bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks who carries spare condoms in his pocket? To a tutoring session?
But I can’t. I won’t. I’m kind of tired of good ‘ol McKenna, sweet McKenna, the McKenna who should lose her virginity in her own bed, with candles and love notes and probably at the age of thirty, at the rate she’s going.
This McKenna, however, Mason’s Mack, is spread-eagle on her dad’s car waiting for a huge cock to fill her with rain falling in all directions. The bastard wants to dirty me up, and I want him to.
His arm circles my waist and pulls me into a seated position, my skin squeaking loudly against the black metal. I grip his shoulders as he positions himself between my legs, my body so filled with anticipation, I’m shivering.
“Kiss me,” he says, our wet noses touching. “Focus on my tongue and it won’t hurt as much.”
I dart for his mouth, sucking on his lips, searching for his tongue and he meets me halfway while maneuvering my body closer.
The tip of him spreads my lips down below at the same time his tongue parts my mouth. He starts off slow, and my thighs shake. My fingers ache from clenching his shoulders so hard. But I’m nervous. Terrified.
In a sudden thrust, he spears in, and I shout, though he muffles it with his lips.
“It’s okay,” he says against my mouth. “Worst is over. God, you’re as tight as I imagined. As hot and wet as I needed. Mack … ah, fuck, Mack … I’ve been thinking about this for too long.”
I grip him harder and pull back long enough to search his face, suspicious and waiting for the punchline, the Pavlovian response he’s planted in me. Yet, all I see is a crack of vulnerability, a surprised fugue crossing his features as he realizes this isn’t a quick fuck like all his others.
I say, with a straight face, “Then do something about it.”
The openness falls away and his usual mask takes its place. The devil grins. “As you wish.”
He tightens his grip on my waist. Thrusts out, then in, before he pounds faster, our squeals of skin against car becoming nothing but background noise as my moans and his breaths take front stage.
Mason buries his face in my neck as my inner walls tighten and build up to … aching greatness. I’ve never felt anything like this before. Pleasure, pain, power, need, and want, all bonded into one.
He lowers his hand and starts flicking my clit, and now I don’t need the haze of a storm to be blinded. The dull pain stops and darts of pleasure takes its place.
“Don�
�t stop,” I whisper against his hair. “Not this time. I’m almost there. Oh, my God, I’m almost … almost … Mason!”
I cry out through the stars in my eyes and his thumb on my clit and his dick inside me, my mouth opening and closing against the sudden thrill jolting above my bones.
Mason’s broad back shudders. He lifts from my neck, his cheeks flushed and his eyes dilated and bright.
Without another word, Mason slides out of me as quickly as he speared in. I slump against the vehicle, disoriented but supple, yet so rubbery I’m unable to slide off the car and stand on my own two feet.
Completely out of character, Mason lands a sweet peck on my forehead.
He says, before he leaves me in the rain, slumped over and satiated, “I think I’m gonna grow to like this deviant McKenna.”
26
McKenna
I’ve never done a Walk of Shame before.
The epitome of shame in my life would’ve been during my first time with Mason, when I was left on the hood of my dad’s car in our driveway, in the rain, soaked and shaking. Other people in that position might’ve scurried inside their home, shot upstairs and jumped straight into the shower to warm up what was fast becoming a cold, cold soul.
I did none of that.
Mason left through the gates, and I watched the V of his back and I smiled.
He was just as soaked as I was, and just as shaken. I knew it.
Though there was a dull pulsing between my legs, any blood had long since been washed away. I scraped my hair back with both hands, likely resembling a wet seal as I slid off the car, and on jellied legs I went back inside.
No longer a virgin, and dirtied up in the very best way.
I had sex in public where we could’ve been caught at any moment, with one of the hottest, most unattainable guys in school. Mason was brutal, nasty, and amazing with his hands. A controversy of traits my brain had trouble untangling but my body sure didn’t.
It was my first experience with the forbidden, and as it turned out, sweet, bookish McKenna liked it, regardless of the consequences.
This time, when Mason left my hotel room and I slumped into a shower of tears, I still refused to feel shame. It’s a useless, weighed-down emotion that does nothing to help my head remain high or my heart to stay strong.
Strum Me Page 19
