Page 162 of Drown Like Heaven
“I might have looked at it,” I teased.
“No special treatment?”
“Not with your grade, no. But I think you deserve some now. Yeah?”
A submissive flush blossomed on her cheeks.
?????
A wicked storm was barreling down outside, bolts of lightning tossing sharp white flashes across the house, illuminating the walls in flickering beats. Wind lashed on the windows, stinging droplets of rain smacking on the glass then pouring down in a watery sheet. I navigated silently through the first floor, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end every time lightning struck and revealed the room in a series of motionless images.
I slipped into the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cabinet then sticking it under the automatic spout on the fridge door. Water trickled into the glass, the sound of it lost to the pouring rain and rolling thunder.
A flare of lightning splashed across the room and I caught a silhouette in the corner of my eye, my heart rate spiking and my hand tightening on the glass.
Mason stood in the wide entrance, barely visible in the dark, wearing nothing but his boxers—same as me. He didn’t speak, but brushed past me to grab a cup of his own. I stepped back, allowing him access to the fridge, my fingers squeezing my cup so tightly now I thought it might break.
“Thirsty?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“And you thought you’d just help yourself.”
“Am I supposed to ask your permission every time I need water? The fuck are you talking about,” he muttered, raising theglass to his lips and taking several large gulps. I watched the strong column of his throat move with each swallow.
“Suspicious you’re down here at the exact same time as me,” I commented, irritation crawling over my skin. I didn’t like him staying here, infiltrating the space I’d specifically curated without him, but I wanted to deal with Aamon even less. Until he was dead, Mason owed me.
Mason finished his drink then slammed the cup in the sink. “Fuck off.”
“So polite.”
“I’m not a houseguest. I’m a prisoner. I don’t have to be nice to you.”
“Why haven’t you killed him yet?” I pushed, then took a gulp of my own water. The liquid was cool in my throat, soothing the dryness.
“Iwill,” Mason gritted, thunder echoing around his words.
“Yeah? When?”
“When I feel like it.”
“Sounds like a fucking excuse to me.”
“You always underestimate me,” he spat, flexing his hands. Sparks of electricity began dancing along his fingertips, the air crackling around him. A heated feeling stirred low in my gut. We were both quicker to fight now. I set my glass down, stepping closer to him, facing him fully.
“And you always let me in far enough to push you,” I countered, subtly tugging on a thread of rage in his mind, toying with it.
Another ominous flash of lightning grazed the wood floor, illuminating the tension in the room. The following thunder shook the whole house, splitting loudly across the sky. The glass rattled in the sink.
Mason’s chest heaved, anger and thrill blending into something dangerous, each surge of power between us feelinglike a hot brush of skin against skin. I delved further into his mind, craving the rush in my veins, the pure, uncontested control I had over him if I desired.
“Maybe that’s only because I want to push back. To hurt you worse,” he said. A hint of a challenge lined his tone, electricity skating over his clenched fists.
With another flick of my mind, I tugged on a streak of lust he was desperately trying to bury in his brain. Too bad he couldn’t hide anything from me. I would always be able to draw out every filthy little secret.
“Are you sure that’s all you want to do? Hurt me?” I taunted, the air shimmering on the edges of my vision, tempting me with possibilities.
More thunder rumbled overhead, violent and explosive, sinking into my bones.
