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Mason fucks me through my high. He holds me in my folded position and drills his dick in deep, then out, and in deep again.
I watch the erotic sight, barely lucid, so satisfied and overstimulated it almost feels like I’m floating outside my body.
Mason’s delicious, thick dick pounding into me with its protruding veins and natural curve on full display. Our juices coat him, creamy and white, as finally he gives in.
His eyes close. His hips jerk. His fists clench tight on either side of me. He hovers above me, panting and sweating, a muscular, tattooed husk of man that couldn’t be sexier.
…who just fucked me so good, I’d be in love with him if I didn’t already hate him.
Our gazes connect when he comes down and opens his eyes. For a fleeting second, they’re not filled with hate or contempt.
They’re filled with… something else.
The backroom door flies open, and Mick wanders inside in the middle of a question.
“What’s all this racket I’ve been hearing—?”
“Shit, Mick!” Mason yells.
The older man stumbles and suddenly becomes blind, clapping a hand over his eyes, and spinning in a circle.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to… I heard breaking noises… I didn’t know—”
“Get the fuck out!”
He wanders out just as quickly as he came in. The door snaps shut and we’re alone again.
Mason doesn’t look at me. It’s as though a switch has been reactivated in his brain—his hate switch—and he’s come to his senses. He dresses in a rush, buckling his jeans and snatching his wifebeater off the floor.
I sit up on the table, confused. “Mason—”
“Do as you’re told,” he says crudely. “I fucking mean it, Sydney.”
He storms from the room without a look back.
I pinch my nose and sigh.
Great. As if I couldn’t make a bigger mistake.
12
MASON
“Mace, we need to talk.”
Velmaalmostsounds like my mother when she says it. I’m at the Chop Shop visiting Cash, to check out the new buckhorn handlebars he’s added to his ride.
Usually, Velma’s so busy as manager of the garage, barking orders at the mechanics, that she barely has time for chitchat.
Let alone what seems like club talk.
“What’s up?” I ask.
She checks around us to make sure nobody’s listening. Cash has gone back to tweaking the handlebars on his beloved FXDB Street Bob. The other mechanics seem more relieved than anything that Velma’s off their back for a couple seconds.
“You’re losing sight of things, Mace. You know I give it to you straight. Which is why I say this.”
I hold in a laugh, tilting my head to the side. “You gonna explain?”
