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Harsh parents had torn us both down, but while I’d risen slightly above the ashes of shit, Mason seemed stuck in his head.
Same as that deep, secret part of me I couldn’t give too much mental space to still did.
Living through emotional abuse caused people to morph into hollow versions of their real self, and my heart ached to help draw him out even though I couldn’t do the same for myself. I wanted to assist him in revealing the parts of his nature he probably hid from the world out of a need to protect himself.
I’d sensed Mason’s floundering as he’d lain curled in on himself because I’d becoming a nurturer at heart. Although he’d been banged up, he had also seemed lost, needing guidance and direction.
I wanted to give him both with a yearning so great my body hurt.
My dick also throbbed, but I ignored it, holding onto Mason while he rested.
Part of me felt as though we’d gone too far too fast, but hookups in my past had been in a lesser time period and without emotion. What Mason and I had shared was different on so many levels. The chemistry couldn’t be beat. The easy connection, the lack of self-consciousness when our gazes held while I’d brought him release was something I’d never experienced before. I’d always been a confident lover when allowed to take control, but pleasing Mason gave me more pleasure than a climax ever would.
A few curses rang in my head, all good ones.
This is the start of something beautiful. Real. Worth the effort.
I had zero doubts—and pushed against my hidden insecurities that wanted to rise up and protest my positive outlook.
It neared two in the afternoon, and while I didn’t mind my growling stomach, my head began to throb due to the lack of caffeine.
Once Mason’s arms slackened around me, I weaseled my way from his light hold and crept around the dim room. My loafers sat at the foot of the bed, and I picked them up, not sure if I wanted my socked feet walking around his apartment again after that first trek to his kitchen.
The bedroom door squeaked a bit, but Mason didn’t stir. I left it cracked open and slipped on my shoes since the hallway was in desperate need of a thorough vacuum.
Did Mason even have one?
I thought to look and had every intention of teaching Mason how to tidy his surroundings—but coffee called.
A quick stop in the bathroom and I took care of business, washed my hands, and attempted to tame the mess of brown locks hanging over my forehead. Mason had held on tight while I’d blown him, and the slight sting of his desperation to come down my throat twitched life back to my groin.
My nose wrinkled at the sight of Mason’s old pot and the inch of cold coffee leftover from who the fuck knew when, erasing my arousal. Stains higher inside the glass pot suggested Mason didn’t empty it too often—or scrub it either.
Rubbing a hand over my face, I considered the unwashed dishes and the slight smell of something nasty. Not mildew but not quite rotten food, either.
Coffee first. Then I would tackle the kitchen’s mess.
Grabbing my wallet and cell off the table where I’d set them the night before, I headed toward the door—then decided to write a quick note. The last thing I needed was for Mason to wake up and think I’d abandoned him when I’d promised to stay. I had a feeling that wouldn’t go over too well.
I found a pencil among the junk mail, flipped a torn envelope over, and jotted a quick explanation of where I’d gone. Creeping back into the hallway once more, I peeked in to see if he still slept.
He did.
The door didn’t squeak that time, so I left it open, placed the note on the pillow I’d used, then lingered a few moments to drink in how gorgeous Mason was. My sexy, silver fox. My man to cherish—or at least I dreamed of him being mine.
God knew he needed someone like me.
Smiling, I turned away, well aware of what taking care of Mason would entail. Initially, a shit ton of cleaning products and organizational skills in which I excelled at. Having worked as the head coordinator for Humanity House for five years and overseeing the nonprofit through its expansion, I’d proven I was useful and could be trusted to get shit done.
I made sure to keep the apartment unlocked behind me so I could get back in before heading down the dark staircase. We had taken an Uber from the hospital to the hotel’s parking garage after Mason’s release in the early morning hours. We’d left his vehicle there and had brought mine to his apartment since the doctor suggested he not drive for a few days.
I considered climbing into my car to make the two-block trek to the Dunks on the corner but decided I could use the fresh air after being holed up in Mason’s disaster.
Setting off, I wondered if his Accord was as filthy as his kitchen and bathroom.
“Ugh,” I muttered to myself, not ready to even imagine its state.
I looked like a man doing the walk of shame in my wrinkled shirt, but I smoothed out the material the best I could and kept my head held high, my shoulders back regardless of how self-conscious I felt.
