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It only took one brush of his lips to feel the pent-up aggression attempting to claw its way free. Almost as if it was a living, breathing entity. Honestly, the same kinds of feelings had coursed through me. Especially when he’d placed his hand at the base of my throat. His hold never tightened, the pressure never increased, but it was there just the same.
A constant reminder of his dominating presence.
I can’t believe I’m even thinking this, but I liked it. I liked the way it made my heart thunder against my ribcage and my pulse quicken. There’d been something so commanding about his touch and the way he’d held my jaw captive in his grip.
I’d been so consumed by him that I hadn’t realized the tow truck had arrived until he stepped away and cut off contact. I’d almost cried out, wanting to yank him back to me. It makes me wonder what sex with him would be like.
Rough?
Masterful?
Explosive?
Certainly nothing like the mediocre experiences I’ve encountered thus far.
I have the feeling that sex with Mason would be just as cataclysmic as our kiss. That thought sends a shiver dancing down my spine.
I sneak another peek at him from beneath the thick fringe of my lashes as he stares at the road stretched out beyond the windshield. His granite-like jaw is tightly clenched, and his fingers are wrapped around the steering wheel in a death grip. Other than ordering me into the vehicle when the tow service arrived, he hasn’t spoken a word.
It’s like I’m not even here.
I dredge my mind for something to say, something that will open up a line of communication between us, but it remains frustratingly blank. Mason isn’t like any other guy I’ve met before, and I have no idea how to talk to him.
“What are you doing with Levi? Are you two going out?”
The barked-out question is like a gunshot in the silence of his pickup.
Go out with Levi?
It takes a couple of seconds for the words to penetrate the thick fog that clouds my brain.
Just as he flicks his steely gaze to me, I shake my head. “No.”
“Is he aware of that?”
“Of course. We’re friends.”
“Is that what you really think?” There’s a pause. “That you two are friends?”
“Yes, I do. We’ve known each other since freshman year.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he says dismissively. “The guy wants way more than your friendship.”
I swivel toward him. The thick haze that had fallen over me begins to dissipate, leaving me clearheaded. “How would you know?”
His jaw locks again. “Because I do.”
One of my brows inches upward in annoyance as I wait for further explanation. When he remains stubbornly silent, I mutter, “I’m not sure why you care. It’s none of your business.”
From the corner of my eye, I see the muscle in his jaw tic to life.
“You need to stay away from the football players,” he bites out before adding, “your father wouldn’t like it.”
Is this guy seriously trying to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with?
Exactly who does he think he is?
“Actually,” I snap, temper spiking, “my fatherallowsme to make my own decisions.”
