dark chocolate brown, and his eyes are indeed a golden hazel. His mouth is both sensual and cruel, as if he’s seen things in life he’s loved and hated at the same time.
And his body. God, I don’t even bother to hide my interest in his body.
Lean but muscular in a way only a seasoned athlete can achieve, there’s a tensile strength in him, a latent energy pulsing through him that reeks of danger and the not so civilized.
My scrutiny reaches his very masculine feet, and I try not to smirk at the size of them. But my gaze travels back up and lingers at his groin. The thickness outlined against the black cotton is impressive, but I wish I have x-ray vision right then. I want to see the real thing. I want—
“If you’re looking for the bathroom, it’s this way,” he interrupts my porny thoughts, and a flush crawls up my face as I lift my gaze from his crotch.
“I...thanks.” I avoid his probing stare as I slide past him and enter the large living room. As with the main house, the pool house has been designed with luxurious comfort in mind. Heated floors warm my feet as I walk through the cream and black decorated room. Expensive landscapes adorn the walls, and a couple of sculptures on pedestals complement the thick sofas and entertainment center arranged in front of a large, already lit stone fireplace.
I go past the two master bedrooms to the bathroom at the end of the hallway. I shut the door on the eyes I feel boring into my back and breathe a sigh of relief.
I avoid my reflection in the mirror, quickly disrobe and shrug on the smaller of the two guest bathrobes hanging at the back of the door. Opening a drawer in the vanity, I find a new hairbrush, and run it through my shoulder length hair, all without meeting my eyes in the mirror. I know what I’ll see. Weariness. Bitterness. Guilt. But I’m too exhausted to deal with it tonight.
So I put away the hairbrush, tighten the robe belt and open the door.
Mason is leaning against the wall right outside the bathroom. He’s dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, but he’s barefoot.
And his gaze is locked on mine.
The dark and dangerous hunger lurking in his eyes is unmistakable.
My breath catches.
“So...what now?” I ask.
“You come and have a drink with me. You can tell me what’s wrong with you or we discuss how quickly we dance around each other before you let me fuck you.”
Chapter 3
mason
I watch the battle on her face with a removed fascination. She’s debating whether to come at me all guns blazing, or pretend I don’t exist.
I don’t really mind which option she chooses. She can walk out of here, and all I’ll feel is a modicum of disappointment. Maybe more than a modicum. There’s something...compelling about her. Something I should probably walk away from. Maybe I’m drawn to her turmoil because I have the same storm raging inside me. The need to smash, destroy, roar is a never-ending buzz beneath my skin.
I’ve learned the mechanics of letting it out. The Amazon jungle has heard it a few times in the last six months. It was in the rage-soaked sweat from my skin that mixed with the straw and mud as I built the school and shelters in Roraima. I let it bleed out through the asphalt of the Pacific Coast Highway at two a.m. when the demons got too loud and I slid behind the wheel of my Koenigsegg. Or in the converted basement of my LA house.
When all else fails...I fuck.
Normally, it takes about a year for the guilt and rage to come to a head. This time, I’ve barely lasted six months. I can feel the tempest gathering ever closer. Hani, my facilitator at the exclusive service I use has been put on standby earlier this evening. All it’ll take is a single phone call, and I can calm the storm. But I choose not to. Not just yet.
I watch the woman in front of me in silence. She has a brash strength about her that almost camouflages the gaping vortex of pain flowing from her. Her goddess-like beauty perfects that disguise, until
And his body. God, I don’t even bother to hide my interest in his body.
Lean but muscular in a way only a seasoned athlete can achieve, there’s a tensile strength in him, a latent energy pulsing through him that reeks of danger and the not so civilized.
My scrutiny reaches his very masculine feet, and I try not to smirk at the size of them. But my gaze travels back up and lingers at his groin. The thickness outlined against the black cotton is impressive, but I wish I have x-ray vision right then. I want to see the real thing. I want—
“If you’re looking for the bathroom, it’s this way,” he interrupts my porny thoughts, and a flush crawls up my face as I lift my gaze from his crotch.
“I...thanks.” I avoid his probing stare as I slide past him and enter the large living room. As with the main house, the pool house has been designed with luxurious comfort in mind. Heated floors warm my feet as I walk through the cream and black decorated room. Expensive landscapes adorn the walls, and a couple of sculptures on pedestals complement the thick sofas and entertainment center arranged in front of a large, already lit stone fireplace.
I go past the two master bedrooms to the bathroom at the end of the hallway. I shut the door on the eyes I feel boring into my back and breathe a sigh of relief.
I avoid my reflection in the mirror, quickly disrobe and shrug on the smaller of the two guest bathrobes hanging at the back of the door. Opening a drawer in the vanity, I find a new hairbrush, and run it through my shoulder length hair, all without meeting my eyes in the mirror. I know what I’ll see. Weariness. Bitterness. Guilt. But I’m too exhausted to deal with it tonight.
So I put away the hairbrush, tighten the robe belt and open the door.
Mason is leaning against the wall right outside the bathroom. He’s dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, but he’s barefoot.
And his gaze is locked on mine.
The dark and dangerous hunger lurking in his eyes is unmistakable.
My breath catches.
“So...what now?” I ask.
“You come and have a drink with me. You can tell me what’s wrong with you or we discuss how quickly we dance around each other before you let me fuck you.”
Chapter 3
mason
I watch the battle on her face with a removed fascination. She’s debating whether to come at me all guns blazing, or pretend I don’t exist.
I don’t really mind which option she chooses. She can walk out of here, and all I’ll feel is a modicum of disappointment. Maybe more than a modicum. There’s something...compelling about her. Something I should probably walk away from. Maybe I’m drawn to her turmoil because I have the same storm raging inside me. The need to smash, destroy, roar is a never-ending buzz beneath my skin.
I’ve learned the mechanics of letting it out. The Amazon jungle has heard it a few times in the last six months. It was in the rage-soaked sweat from my skin that mixed with the straw and mud as I built the school and shelters in Roraima. I let it bleed out through the asphalt of the Pacific Coast Highway at two a.m. when the demons got too loud and I slid behind the wheel of my Koenigsegg. Or in the converted basement of my LA house.
When all else fails...I fuck.
Normally, it takes about a year for the guilt and rage to come to a head. This time, I’ve barely lasted six months. I can feel the tempest gathering ever closer. Hani, my facilitator at the exclusive service I use has been put on standby earlier this evening. All it’ll take is a single phone call, and I can calm the storm. But I choose not to. Not just yet.
I watch the woman in front of me in silence. She has a brash strength about her that almost camouflages the gaping vortex of pain flowing from her. Her goddess-like beauty perfects that disguise, until
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