Page 8 of Drown Like Heaven
My muscles stiffened and I felt the overwhelming urge to jump out of the car.
“I wouldn’t have told you about it if I was going to use it on you,” he added, his stare piercing mine like a sharpened blade. “Maybe I’d make you lick it, but nothing else.”
For whatever reason, the second detail made me believe him—even as I flinched.
What would his gun look like in his hand? How would it feel against my skull?
I tried to force myself to relax, but it was really goddamn hard to do that when this stranger was making every inch of my skin feel like a live wire, primed to spark and jolt electricity through me. It was destabilizing. I gripped the hem of my sweater in my fists to try and keep from shaking.
“What’s your name?” Mason questioned again.
I wished I could determine what was different about him, what exactly was so unsettling about his presence. I’d been around obviously angry men, excessively cruel men, but this wasn’t that. This was…worse. Because there wasn’t a single visual clue for me to cling to, anything I could use to determine what this strange feeling of unease was coming from. It was like static, raising the hairs on my arms and sending jitters of curious fear through my nerves.
I twisted my lips to the side, unsure about giving him my name. Eventually, my own self-destructive nature won out. It always did.
“Dakota,” I answered tentatively.
“Alright,Dakota,” he started. His voice on my name stirred something heated, low in my core. “I won’t look. Please change into this stuff.” Mason handed me a bundle of dry clothes. I held his eye for a second, then he turned away, purposefully giving me privacy.
I hesitated, but the allure of dry cotton and warmth was too strong to resist. Getting in his car was already stupid in the first place, what was one more bad choice?
I stripped off my sweater, watching Mason the whole time to make sure he didn’t look back at me, then unhooked my bra and let it fall to my lap before pulling on his spare sweatshirt and zipping it up. I probably could’ve put on my own jacket—dry from where I left it on the beach—but I didn’t really want to be wearing a windbreaker with nothing underneath. Next, my pants and socks and underwear came off, then I awkwardly maneuvered my way into his sweatpants and socks. All the clothes were way too big on me, but very comfortable.
And—most importantly—dry.
“Do you have a hairbrush?” I asked, prompting Mason to turn back.
Mason got one out of the bag and handed it to me. I did my best to detangle my hair while he watched me struggle. Eventually I gave up and braided it into a long single plait down my back. My clothes were sitting in a soaked pile on his rubber floor mat.
“I’m going to change into shorts,” he informed me. “I don’t care if you watch but I’m just letting you know. If you do watch, don’t use this as your reference point for my dick size. I’m cold as fuck.”
“I—I wasn’t going to. Do either of those things.”
Face flushed, I turned towards the window. Behind me, I heard sounds of fabric and elastic and wet squeaks on the seat. After a minute, he was done changing, both of us sitting silently while rain pummeled the roof of his 4Runner.
“Why didn’t you come back up?” I asked, quiet. My eyes darted over to catch a quick glimpse of his side profile, then fixated back on my lap. Whatever was different about him wasn’t tangible, yet able to be sensed in every smooth movement.
“Because I was holding my breath.”
“Well, okay—obviously. But why?” I picked the side of my thumbnail.
“To see how long I could do it.” His stare was burning the side of my face now, his voice low and steady. I understood that. Understood wanting to push your own limits. Wanting to reach out and physically touch the danger, wanting to feed the blue flame of instability.
“And how long is that?”
“A long fucking time.”
I didn’t say anything to that.
“Can I help you get home?” he asked.
“I’ll just walk,” I mumbled. If there was one thing I could do to preserve some shred of safety, it would be not telling this man where I lived. Even if it was pouring now.
Mason sighed. “No you won’t. I’m keeping you with me now.”
Chapter 3
Dakota
