Mason pauses swiping across his phone. His eyes lift in a long, slow analysis. But he says nothing.
I keep my face neutral, take a slow sip of tea, and let the moment hang while buying time. “Well, I once felt an inexplicable connection to a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream after a particularly bad day. Does that count as transcendent, or just pathetically basic?”
Jules chuckles. “Oh man, I was waiting for this. You’re both too stubborn to back down. We needed someone, besides me, to keep Syd on her toes.”
I force a smile and play along, pretending his words mean nothing. I sink deeper into my chair, tugging the shawl tighter, grateful for the firelight. Because I can feel it. The mask I wear is slipping. And I need to fix it. Fast.
Mason leans in, whiskey on his breath. “Let’s go upstairs.”
His hand slides up my inner thigh, a touch that leaves no room for misinterpretation. Maybe I can lose myself in the one part of our relationship that works. Let the physical drown out everything else. Drownhimout.
“Sure.”
But as we leave, I can’t help myself.
I glance back one last time.
James watches with a stern furrow to his brows.
***
Masonclosesthedoorbehind us, the soft click echoing through the quiet. He steps closer, thumbs grazing over my cheekbones. “You’re so beautiful.”
When his lips meet mine, I savor the taste of whiskey on his tongue, the feel of his soft hands against my skin. His arms, warm and familiar, circle my waist, pulling me closer as he moves us toward the bed.
There’s no music in this, just rhythm. Motions I know well. I surrender to the feeling, the knowledge he’ll bring me pleasure as his lips move to my jaw, my neck, nip at my ear.
“What do you think of James?” he asks, watching me as I try to keep my breath even and face blank. The way he’s studying me makes it clear he’s trying to piece something together. Needing to distract him, I unzip his jeans and reach inside, wrapping my fingers around him. He hurriedly pulls down my leggings and slips his fingers between my legs. A moan escapes before I can swallow it.
“Shhh, or I’ll have to stop. And you still haven’t answered my question.”
“He’s fine. We’ve hung out some. Ivy’s infatuated,” I add, hoping it’s enough to satisfy whatever suspicion is brewing.
“I’ve noticed him checking you out. He can’t keep his eyes off you.” He pulls back, his free hand caressing my cheek. “I know I’m not good with deep conversations, and I don’t always say the right thing. But I do love you, Syd.”
How convenient. Suddenly, he’s self-aware.
His mouth returns to my throat, his hands strip away my shirt and bra. He murmurs, “How can I blame him for looking at you? You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Maybe I should feel guilty, but my mind slips sideways into forbidden territory. Mason’s hands may be on my body, yet my imagination overlays them with different ones. Rougher. Calloused from graphite pencils and blueprints.How would James touch me? Would he be assertive, taking what he wants with quiet confidence? Or slow? Would he tease me until I’m shaking, pleading for more?
I let myself linger in the fantasy a breath too long, until Mason pulls me back to reality. I flinch as pain flares on my chest where Mason’s teeth graze too hard.
“Mase, they’re feeling sensitive.”
“Oh,” he chuckles against my skin. “I guess it’s about time. It’s been a while since you mentioned your period.”
A cold wave crashes over me, but Mason doesn’t notice. He’s focused on chasing his own release, lost in the rhythm as he pushes inside me, oblivious to the way my body has gone still. The climax that had been building? Dismantled in an instant, like a match tossed in a snowbank.
Mason shudders between my legs, then presses a quick kiss to my lips before rolling to his side and falling asleep.
I stare at the ceiling, his arm heavy across my abdomen, wondering if there’s aGuinness World Recordfor “Most Inconvenient Time to Discover a Pregnancy.”
If there is, I’m surely in the running for gold.
Because in the morning, I’m taking a pregnancy test. And there won’t be room for fantasies. No space for reckless indulgence in the way James looks at me, or in the quiet connection simmering between us.
If only I were Kesha, and I could take what I wanted.
