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“Why exactly?” I asked when I absolutely shouldn’t have.
Mason inhaled and exhaled slowly.
“Because it’s better that way,” he said, eyes locked on mine. “The sex, I mean.”
I just stared at him, not understanding. He grinned and explained, “When they know I’m used to a much hotter woman. Girls will do the craziest shite when they’re overcompensating.”
I rolled my eyes and this time I left. Slammed the door behind me. Stormed down the hall. Slammed my door.
But he’d gotten to me. Mason, that fucker. He’d gotten to me.
The bedsheets weren’t silk, but they felt like it as I squirmed to get comfortable. Nobody was there to see my nipples. Not some chick. Not Mason. But they were hard like they were. Like they’d slipped from a silk robe. Like the town of Dublin would hear all about them. And say, “Good lord almighty, Mason’s wife’s tits…”
Like this was all real.
Which it wasn’t.
It wasn’t…
