Page 97 of Drown Like Heaven
“Whatever.”
He pulled me forward, closer to him, his palms sliding under my sweatshirt to grab my ass. “You are so fucking perfect,” he growled, something fiercely possessive in his tone. He massaged my flesh, fingers teasing the hem of my sleep shorts.
“Let’s just get in the car.” My cheeks were on fire.
I whined when he kissed me, embarrassed and hoping none of my neighbors were seeing this.He’s the crazy one, not me. I swear.
How was it possible for him to simultaneously be the weight pulling me down and the buoy bringing me back up? I felt lightand heavy all at once, lungs full of air and of water at the same time.
We eventually climbed into his car, my tote bag on the floor at my feet while Mason reversed, then drove out onto the main road.
The second we got up to speed, a bright flare of anxiety gripped me, and I had to consciously breathe through my panic. Why did I agree to this? I had no idea where he lived. This wasn’t safe at all. Nobody knew where I was. My lips rolled together in a tight, anxious line, my leg bouncing.
I’d gotten carried away, too drunk on the feeling of him saying he needed me to care about what I was agreeing to.
And now it was too late.
Mason was so relaxed, thumb tapping loosely on the steering wheel with the beat of the song, his other arm slung over the center console. There wasn’t an ounce of worry in his expression—then again, I wasn’t sure I’deverseen an ounce of worry on his gorgeous face. Maybe that was why he was so attractive—he was psychotic enough that all worries and anxieties eluded him; he simply coasted through life without a care in the world about all the bad things that could happen. No frown lines.
I set my elbow on the ledge of the door, resting my head on my arm.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you tired?”
Despite the fact that it was past midnight, I wasn’t tired at all. Adrenaline still lingered in my bloodstream from when Mason broke into my trailer and I tried to attack him. And then later…thinking about my most secret fantasy…
“I’m not tired.”
“What’s wrong, then?”
I couldn’t answer that. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
“Does it bother you?”
…No. No, it didn’t bother me. Mason’s body was ridiculous.
I just shrugged, looking away from him, out my own window. The darkness was peaceful, easier to look at than him. Dense forest swept up to the road on either side, the tangled evergreen trees blurring as we flew past them. Parts of me wanted to jump out of the car and run into that forest, disappear into it forever, but the other parts wanted to stay here with Mason.
The current of him was too strong to resist. He was a riptide sweeping me farther from land with every breath, and in a twisted way, that felt good. It felt good to be held like that, so viciously. It might feel nice to be held like that for a while.
We didn’t speak for the rest of the ride, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It felt deeper than normal silence, like our souls were communicating instead of our voices, pulling us closer together, and we just couldn’t hear it.
Maybe they were.
Chapter 25
Dakota
Mason’s apartment complex was a lot nicer than I’d expected it would be, especially since he’d described his job as being ‘random shit he did to make ends meet’ the first time I saw him, when we were sharing a plate of blueberry waffles and I was blissfully unaware of the damage he was about to inflict on me. As we pulled up to the building, I couldn’t help but stare a little. It wasn’tinsane, but it was a far cry from my own home.
He parked the car, then came around to the passenger side to open my door. Helping me out of the car, he grabbed my bag off the floor, carrying it for me as we went inside, then up the elevator.
My heart was pounding harder and harder with each floor we ascended.
Mason led me to a nondescript door, using a fob on his key to unlock it. He guided me inside in front of him, shutting and locking the door then flicking a light on.
His apartment was very dark. Yes, because it was the middle of the night, but also because everything was black. Like, everything. The walls, the floor, the furniture.
“Unique taste,” I commented, trying not to inhale too noticeably. His scent was very strong in here, like the ocean at night. Beside the color, almost none of the furniture looked usedat all; there was no remote on the coffee table, no crumpled blanket on the couch, no barstool askew, no half-used roll of paper towels on the counter by the sink.
