Page 43 of The Masks We Burn

“Wherever your dirty ass mind is, reel it in. This is important.”

Both hands raised, I plead the fifth in fake surrender. After having my head between her thighs, my thoughts pertaining to her will be nothing less than gutter filthy—even when it all comes to an end.

Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I let my eyes drop to her little silk pajama set and back up. “I can’t promise that, sugar, but I will focus.”

A light shade of pink crosses over her cheeks, but she huffs and flops into the big chair. “My parents want to have lunch with you on the tenth. Meet you and all that jazz.”

I perk up to this. It’s the first time I’ve actually had to do something in terms of our fake engagement. “Alright, sounds good. Is there anything I need to talk about? Or maybe not talk about?”

Amora swallows harshly and blinks too many times while scratching idly at her hand. She’s nervous, and instead of our closed-mouthed discussion when we made the deal, I’m interested in finding out why.

She begins chewing on her lip again, and this time I don’t hesitate, moving to the edge of the couch and leaning over to tug it out from between her teeth. “Talk to me.”

Her light blues flash to mine before slipping to my mouth. Her eyebrows tic together and she looks back up, no sarcasm in her words. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Talk. Just so openly and freely. It’s like you don’t care what people think of you.”

I smirk, tucking a loose hair back into one of her buns. She doesn’t flinch or move back, but just watches me, her eyes searching mine for something. “Honesty is the best policy.”

“I know honest guys,” she says, her voice curious. “Blaze is honest. Brutal and—”

“First, don’t you ever compare me to another man.” Her brows shoot up and her mouth pops open to say something, but I continue. “Secondly, honesty comes in different forms. When Blaze is asked a question, he tells people truthfully how he feels. I was taught to communicate my wants and needs as well as listen to others. If I’m telling someone what I want, why would I lie? Also, in reference to your first question, how people perceive me doesn’t matter like it used to.”

I try to keep the sad softness from my words, but she hears them. “What changed?”

My heart squeezes in my chest, the memory of karma fresh from everything I did with the kids today. “That’s a story for another time, bunny.”

She huffs but doesn’t lean away even though we’re about six inches apart. “What’s with the names—bunny and sugar and all that?”

Happy she’s switched the conversation so quickly, I grin. “Does it bother you?”

“No.” She didn’t hesitate.

I shrug. “Bunnies are soft, social, and are always chewing on something. Plus, there’s the lucky foot of a rabbit. You were my lucky charm that got me into your dad’s fight club.”

“And sugar?”

“It was a guess.”

“A guess?”

“Of what your pussy tasted like.”

Her mouth drops open, and I have to fight the urge to kiss her by laughing and finally breaking away from her.

“Now tell me what I need to know for the lunch.”

Amora studies me for a second, her head tilted to the side as though she’s not sure what she wants to put out there right now. But she’s already let a little piece of her mask chip away. Now it’s only a matter of time before the whole thing breaks and shatters.

“My mom doesn’t know who the fuck she is. One second, she’s a humble woman who only wants her daughter to not have to live what she went through. The next, it’s like she’s forgotten that altogether and is kind of snobby, like she’s been rich all her fucking life.”

Interesting. She only spoke about her mother’s past but not hers. Amora must have been born into money. “So your mom wants you to marry someone with money.”

She nods, rolling her eyes. “Yes, she thinks women need men to provide for them.”

Ouch. That explains why Amora’s on the more hostile side. She wants to prove they only exist in her universe for her pleasure. A temporary want but never a need. Why is that so fucking sexy and hurtful at the same time?

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