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Rachel
Sweat prickled my back as I sighed against the pillow.
Mason lifted a damp curl to kiss the curve of my neck. I shivered when the lock fell back against my exposed skin. My eyes fluttered closed as Mason kissed along my shoulder blades. He set a wet trail along my arm all the way down to my bent elbow, all the way along my forearm tucked beneath my cheek, all the way down my fingers resting on the humid pillow. I giggled when he kissed the tip of my nose.
His cum was drying on my ass. I could feel where it dripped down on either side like I was a Bundt cake he’d frosted too soon. The sheets were wet beneath me. But neither of us seemed interested in cleaning up. I was sinking deeper and deeper into the mattress. And Mason seemed intent on covering every inch of me with the tenderness of his lips.
I inhaled deeply and felt such a deep sense of calm as I exhaled slowly. Mason was walking his fingers along the backs of my thighs. Swirling his pointer finger in his cum. Drawing dreamy spirals that threatened to send me right off to sleep.
This was something I had longed for. Yes, the passion and intensity of fucking was amazing. But sex wasn’t rare. You could get it any time you wanted. On practically any corner. For almost any price. Sex was happening all over the world. On beds just the like one Mason and I languished on. Up against walls. Atop washing machines. On kitchen tables. There were animalistic grunts and the grabbing, grappling of skin in hotels and prisons, schools and conference rooms, graveyards and maternity wards. Sex was anything but rare.
But this, this quiet moment. This soft attention to my body, this wordless devotion to my form. This calmness and ease, this tenderness and slowness. This feeling that nothing ever had to be done ever again in life. This was rare.
I’d never had it with my past boyfriends who fucked me while drunk and immediately after passed out. Who fucked me while high and immediately after rambled at the ceiling about the butterfly effect. Who fucked me while nothing at all but horny and immediately after pulled out, ran out, peeled out the drive. Never to be seen again.
I’d never even really had it with Tim. There was always an important meeting in the morning that meant sleep. Or a couple more emails to send out which meant his hands were on a laptop, not me. Or a promotion he missed out on that meant huffing irritably, rolling over, and a half-hearted apology in the morning as he tapped the top of my head like I was a dog he spoke to a little too harshly.
I’d had it before, though. This rare time where your body drifted toward the clouds and your lover’s touch dragged you toward hell and you wanted both. You wanted it all. You had it all.
It had always been with Mason. It had been in Vegas. After we fucked like animals. And it had been right then and there. After we fucked like husband and wife.
Mason was on his side beside me. His eyes were drawing the outline of my body as he trailed his finger up and down my spine. I watched him watch me for a moment and then closed my eyes. I never wanted this moment to end. Not ever. Not—
“Hey, what was our wedding like?”
Mason’s question startled me and my silent reverie. Fear jolted through my previously jelly limbs. I squeezed my eyes shut so they wouldn’t jump open. I knew Mason would see the terror as clear as day. The “oh shit”-ness I was feeling. I was about to get caught in a lie. A small lie, but a lie that could unravel everything.
“Um…” I mumbled, trying to buy time, “what do you mean?”
Mason’s hand splayed flat against the small of my back. I wondered if he could feel the difference. How I’d gone from putty in his hands to set concrete. How I’d been floating and was now scrambling to catch myself before I hit the ground. How I’d been sinking into the mattress just moments before and now resisting the impulse to leap up and run. Escape.
“Well, I don’t remember a goddamn thing,” Mason said, his words just as soft as before. “And you said you remembered. So…I don’t know. I’m just kind of curious, I guess.”
From what I could tell there was no malice in Mason’s voice. No suspicion. As he tucked my hair back behind my ear it wasn’t to see more clearly the lies on my face. I wasn’t stepping into a trap. Or at least, I didn’t think I was.
I should have known it was a bad sign that there was still such mistrust between us. Still such lies. But I was so preoccupied with weaving more lies, to think it through. Because that was the way to keep Mason’s hands on my body. That was the way to keep his heart beating beside mine.
I thought for sure, with a pang of sadness, that it was the only way.
“Like it’s kind of silly, I know,” Mason added when I remained silent for a little too long. His fingers moved a little more roughly across my back. “Like it was so long ago and who the fuck cares about all that like manufactured shite anyway and—”
“I want to tell you,” I interrupted.
I could feel Mason’s eyes on me, but I kept mine closed. Why had I said that? Idiot, Rachel. He was giving me an out all on his own and I went and blurted that out. I just asked the executioner who was staying my death to continue with the noose. Please and thank you. Why? Fucking why? I squeezed my nails into my palms.
“Um,” I began awkwardly, just like any terrible liar does, “um, I mean we were pretty drunk.”
Mason laughed. His mouth was at the back of my neck. His teeth scraped against the knots of my spine.
“Maybe that goes without saying,” he said, nipping gently at my skin.
“Right,” I said, hoping my own laughter didn’t sound so obviously nervous. “Right, well, let’s see. Um, I don’t know. I…I wore a white dress.”
Mason pressed a kiss to one hip and then, dragging his tongue from point to point, kissed the other hip.
“It’s like I’m there right now, Rach,” he joked.
“Okay, okay,” I said as he smoothed his hands over the swell of my ass. “It was one of the costumes from my show. We, um, we broke in and stole it before we went to the chapel. It was, um, it was all white feathers. The skirt was one of those like high-low things. So it had this crazy train, but was almost like indecently short in the front.”
