Page 53 of Bruised

Fuck. Part of me could keep going all night, but he’s already been gone so long. I worry Oliver will stir awake and wonder why Lane’s bed is empty. We can’t risk it.

I help him get dressed, and before I let him go, I make sure to kiss him again, long and deep. And fuck, watching him walk through my door knowing I won’t get to taste his mouth for another twenty-four hours is a whole new kind of pain—one I never in my life expected to feel.

20. KISS IT BETTER

I kissed him.

I kissed him, and he kissed me back.

The memory plays over and over again in my mind for the rest of the night and well into the morning. How he growled hungrily against my mouth as his tongue met mine. How something snapped when he started kissing me back, starving, desperate.

How, after he wrapped his arms around me, I felt so safe in his embrace.

Fuck, I don’t even know what got into me when I surged up and took his lips. I’m the one who insisted this is just about sex. I always do as he tells me. He always guides me into the position he wants me in with that low, dangerous voice of his. I never thought I’d even want to kiss him, let alone be the one to take the first step.

I never thought I’d feel safe in his arms, or that I’d want to stay the night, but maybe something has changed. I don’t know when or how it happened, but maybe I’ve started to want more than sex. This whole thing was supposed to be about getting off, but it’s become much more than that. The realization should disturb me, but instead I feel weirdly giddy as I wait for Oliver to cook us lunch.

Mason is in the pool doing laps. I sneak little glances at him, cheeks flushing as I remember the way my lips parted to guide his soft tongue inside.

He didn’t just kiss me back.

He said my name.

My real name—not “puppy.”

I doubt it’ll last, though. I doubt he’ll want to kiss me again, either. I can’t expect otherwise. Expectations create disappointments, and maybe I can go back to having sex with him like normal, without the kissing.

I fiddle with my choker, frowning as I wander back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, feeling anxious and on edge.

What if he never wants to kiss me again? What if that was it? And why do I feel like I’ll die if I never get to feel his mouth on mine again? He doesn’t seem like the type who’s looking for anything serious, and until recently, I wasn’t either. But now, I don’t know…

I turn my gaze toward the pool, where Mason was swimming. Now, he’s heaving himself out of the water, chest naked and dripping. Towel in hand, he slips in through the glass patio door, gaze locked with mine. He’s coming my way. Oh fuck.

Oliver has his back turned, busy with the cooking, listening to music on his phone.

Mason prowls toward me, and I take a step back, but I’m too slow.

He’s on me. Dripping with water, he grabs me by the back of the neck and pulls me close, slotting his mouth over mine.

The kiss is violent, demanding. My heart drums in my chest, legs shaking, both terrified that Oliver will turn around and see what’s happening, and elated that Mason wants to kiss me again, this time of his own initiative.

He pushes his tongue into my mouth, hand sliding to my waist, wetting my clothes with the pool water dripping off his frame. Right when I’m starting to panic over Oliver, Mason breaks the kiss and slides a hand down the collar of my shirt, exposing the hickeys he left there last night.

“Sore from last time, puppy?” He strokes a hand over my nipples, then cups my ass.

I nod quickly, desperate not to let Oliver notice our exchange.

“Don’t worry,” Mason says. “I’ll kiss it better tonight.”

He lets me go and disappears up the stairs, out of my sight, just as Oliver calls from the kitchen, “All done!”

I go to him on shaky knees, trying not to think about the heat between my legs making my skinny jeans uncomfortably tight.

“Why are you all wet?” Oliver asks, frowning.

“Um…” How am I supposed to explain this? Fucking Mason dripped all over me. This is just what he planned. “The sink,” I blurt. The sink in the downstairs bathroom is a spraying hazard if you’re not careful when turning on the faucet.

Oliver turns back around. “Oh, right. Be more careful next time.”