Page 95 of Drown Like Heaven
At least he wasn’t letting me go.
I grabbed things with shaky hands, dumping everything in a big tote bag, not slowing enough to let myself think about the repercussions of this. My pajama shirt hit at my upper thighs, the cotton brushing my skin while I fumbled for my hairbrush, clothes for tomorrow, my phone charger, my medications. I pulled on a pair of thick knit socks, then stuffed my feet in my platform Doc Marten’s and threw on my oversized zip-up to cover my pajamas.
Running my fingers through my hair, I glanced around my room. My bed wasn’t made; I’d been laying in it when Mason started texting me about breaking into my place. I’d been laying in it when I heard him knocking, the comforter pulled up over my shoulders and my phone gripped in both hands in front of my face. And then when I heard him picking the lock, I snatched my knife and went to the living room—shit, my knife. Did he have it?
I didn’t really want to stab him—I wasn’t sure what I’d been planning to do…but I was scared. He did grab the blade out of my hand, so I assumed he got cut then, but I didn’t know how bad it was.
His hand on my neck, my knife on his throat, the windows fogged in the car…
I flung open the door to my bedroom, catching sight of Mason standing down the hall in the living room. He’d turned on the light in the kitchen, the ceiling bulb casting yellow light over his naked torso, over the dips and lines carving his abs. His brown hair was a little messy, his face as handsome as ever. He watched me go into the bathroom, not saying anything.
I grabbed my toothbrush and deodorant, then tossed them in the bag with everything else.
A presence behind me made me flinch, my eyes flicking up to the mirror to see Mason brushing my hair off my neck, lowering his mouth to my skin as his hands found my waist. I wanted to ask why he’d let me leave alone on the beach in the pouring rain, why he’d never messaged me after that, why he was here now, but I couldn’t form the words.
The heat of his lips seared the side of my throat, my body temperature warming and my insides going molten.
Mason pressed his hips forward, trapping me against the ceramic edge of the sink.
“I thought you were taking me to your apartment,” I mumbled, transfixed by the sight of him sucking on my neck in the mirror, his cock hard against my ass, his muscular shoulders framing my body.
“Maybe I should fuck you right here instead.” His hand slid around to cup my breast over my sweatshirt, then he tugged the zipper down and pushed his hand underneath, running his palm over my chest. The cotton of my t-shirt was so thin I could feelthe heat of him, feel the way his thumb coasted lightly over my nipple.This feels so much better than crying. Touch me more.
“Do you have my knife?” I asked.
“Yes, I do. And I’m keeping it until you promise not to try and stab me again.”
I held his wrist, inspecting his palm and fingers in the dingy bathroom light to see the injury I’d given him. The cut wasn’t nearly as bad or deep as I thought it’d be; it was more of a scratch. Maybe I needed to sharpen my knife.
Mason used his other hand to grip the front of my throat, forcing me to look at him in the mirror, the muscles in his forearm flexing. I shivered at the feeling of his fingers pressing into the sides of my neck.Do it harder.
His face was so handsome and he was sofocusedon me, his warm palm on my throat. I liked the familiarity of this, liked the memory of his head between my legs, or the one with my knees on the sand and his cock in my throat. Veins popped out on the back of his hand, snaking under his skin.
No one had ever pressed me about my darkest fantasies the way he had. No one had ever pushed as many lines and crossed as many boundaries as he had. He didn’t treat me like I was fragile; he broke meon purpose, because we both wanted that, in some twisted way.
He was terrible for me. Every vice, every ache, every secret I’d ever had, wrapped into a person.
My knees felt weak and my pulse was too fast and all I could think about was throwing myself off the deep end, submerging myself in this toxicity, going where I wouldn’t be able to touch the bottom.
I liked that he was still so much taller than me in my boots.
“Will you promise not to stab me again?”
“No.” I tried to shake my head but he tightened his hold on me. My hands stayed lightly wrapped around his other wrist, nottrying to stop him from squeezing harder. Letting him choke me, letting himownme. Own my breathing, my blood flow, my life.
“No?” He moved his hand up, like a collar just under my jaw.
“I like to be able to protect myself,” I managed to say as he pulled me against his bare chest. I tilted my head back, my eyes heavy, my lips parted.
“I thought you wanted me to hurt you.”
A whimper lodged in my throat, the words right at the tip of my tongue.Yes. Hurt me. Make me fight you. Kill me, or make me think you will.
My worst, most impossible fantasy.
Death at his hands.
Heat flushed through my body, reddening my cheeks, quickening my breath. I pressed up on my tiptoes, leaning into him, my mind running wild with all my darkest thoughts. I could picture it so well, staring into his eyes in the mirror like this.
