Warm hands slip under my shirt releasing a loud moan from me. Somehow she gets my shirt off with minimal separation. Her knees shift to either side of my hips. I fall into place between her legs and she makes a sound in her throat.

As she glides her hand between our bodies and unbuttons my jeans, it occurs to me that I’m letting her guide. I’ve never done this before, letting someone else set the pace. I’ve just done whatever felt good and the girls seemed to enjoy it. I’ve never been led. And I really like it.

I move my hands everywhere, desperate for the sensation of her body against my palms. Hope pushes my pants down as far as she can and I scramble out of them. It’s obvious how much I want her, the sudden restriction of my boxers evident. She squirms out of her shorts and I sink into her. There’s not enough fabric between us. I can’t handle this much longer. It’s becoming too great a need to join our bodies. I want her. I want her right now. I pull back and rest my head at her neck. She smells like raspberries and I think I die a little inside.

“You feel so good,” I groan. It’s difficult to breathe and I really don’t want to say what I know I need to say. “We should probably stop.”

“No,” she pants. “I don’t want to stop. I want you. I need you.” Her voice is breathless, cracking over several words. Pleading almost desperately.

Shit. I have no willpower. Not when I know exactly what she means. “We don’t have to do this,” I protest, but it sounds weak even to my own ears. I want to. So badly.

“I know.”

“It’ll hurt,” I explain. I don’t want to hurt her. Didn’t I just promise her I wouldn’t?

“I know,” she repeats. Her hand cups my jaw, thumb caressing my cheek. “But in a good way and our next time will feel better.”

Our next time. I’ve never had a next time with somebody. And now my mind is filled with all our next times. I desperately need to know what her face looks like in the height of physical pleasure.

This is real.

“I need to say it. I know I said I wouldn’t say it anymore, but I need to know you understand before we go further.”

She blinks slowly and fixes her eyes on me. I can feel her heart slamming against my chest. I press my palm to her skin, mesmerized by the power. Hope trails her tongue along my throat before pressing a kiss there. “I love you, Mason,” she whispers. “I don’t know how this happened to me, but I’m trying not to fight it anymore.” Her eyes shine as they find mine again. “Make love to me.”

I try to say something, but I have no voice. Too fast. This happened too fast. She’s going to regret it tomorrow and then she’ll disappear from my life. But she said she loved me. She said it. Not candy. Not Skittles. Me. She said Mason.

I grin at her, unable to pry my eyes away. “I love you too.”

And this all seems wrong. I love her. I want better for her. Should her first time be here at midnight in my messy room? No. It should be—I don’t know… In a nice hotel. With candles and roses. I glance around. Not here in this shitty house.

Hope ushers my attention back to her and I sigh. “It’s not supposed to be like this. Your first time needs to be special.”

“This is special.”

I shake my head emphatically. “No it’s not. You deserve a nice place. Nice things.”

She laughs, her lips turning up in a way that makes me want to kiss them again and again. “The place doesn’t matter. It’s the person. It’s you and it’s me. That’s the important part. I happen to love where I am. In your bed that smells like you, surrounded by the things that make you you.”

This is why I love her.

This is real.

I reach under the bed where I hide the box of condoms from Kellin. This is happening. My hands are shaking, my heart pounding, matching hers.

“Tell me again,” I say just above a whisper. I need to hear it. I want to hear it over and over.

“Lost for you. I’m so lost for you,” she sings quietly and then presses a kiss to my cheek letting her lips brush down my chin. “I love you.”

“I love you, Hope.”

Chapter 28

Hope

The contrast between my creamy arm resting on Mason’s dark golden chest is the most compelling thing I’ve ever seen. There’s a strange beauty that I cannot tear my eyes away from. Another difference between us that somehow compliments the other.

Mason’s soft breathing, the slow rise and fall of his chest, his familiar scent, it all lolls me into a peaceful bliss I’m unaccustomed to. The low ache in my body is a far away thought. I’m happy. The realization is startling. Over and over, he makes me feel. He makes me enjoy feeling.

I rest my chin on my hand and smile at him. His fingers stroke the hair away from my face and he smiles back. He looks content. Happy, like me. That realization is even more startling. I make him feel good too. In some distant part of my brain I know this shouldn’t be so shocking. Most people feel good all the time. Most people aren’t like me. Am I becoming part of the average? My normal has always been abnormal. I like it there. I’m pretty much the only affiliate.

Eh. I don’t care. I’ll give up my membership to the lonely hearts club for Mason. I’d much rather be here with him then go back to empty. Empty or overloaded. Same difference. Here is nice. Here is good.

“What are you thinking about?” Mason asks brushing the tips of his fingers over my shoulder and leaving a trail of goose bumps.

“That I like this. You. Being with you.”

He grins widely and I feel so warm, in a good way. Have I been walking around cold inside this whole time?

“I like it too.” His expression clouds for a moment, his eyes seeming to look through me for a just a second. Blinking several times, he focuses on me and his next smile is off. As his eyes dart over my face, he squeezes my waist. He looks…anxious. His heart thundering under my palm verifies it.

“What?” I ask slowly, suddenly scared.

“Are you all right? I mean, this,” he lifts his arms, indicating us in the bed. “It didn’t…bring up memories or… You aren’t going to…” He rubs one hand over his face and closes his eyes tightly.

“Am I going to cut myself? Am I thinking about—him?” I sit up quickly and grope the floor for my clothes awkwardly. Who does that? Why? Why would he go there? Why would he summon the memories knowing how awful they are? My stomach churns.

Mason grabs my hand, but I jerk away from his touch. “Whoa. Hey. Hope, calm down. I’m sorry.” He goes for my hand again and I slap his wrist away. I can’t be touched right now. His brows merge and his teeth grind out a sound that makes me cringe. “It’s a legitimate question. I want to know you’re okay. If you freak out and regret this,” he shakes his head, jaw working, “regret us, it’ll crush me. Just tell me how you feel right now.” He stands and shoves his legs into his pants, not bothering to button them.

I get my shirt adjusted before I respond, needing the layer of protection. My hands shake as I push them through my hair, yanking until I can breathe easier. “I was fine. I was happy. Then you go and ruin it. Why would you bring him up right after we have sex? What the hell is wrong with you? Do you want me to think of him every time we’re together?”

Mason glares at me and I flinch away from his anger. “Of course I don’t want you to think of that piece of shit when you’re making love to me. Jesus. I was worried it might have brought up the memories because—because…similar—because we had sex.”

“Nothing about this is similar to Andy you dumb asshole. He is a pedophile. I didn’t care about him. I didn’t want what he did to me. I wanted you, Mason. There is a huge difference. I never—he didn’t… You are the only one that I’ve done this with. My mind was so far away from that shit until you went and brought it up.” I slam my fist down on my thigh as hard as I can, trying desperately to erase Andy’s face from my mind. I should never have talked about him. It’s too fresh. Too raw. I just want it to go away. I want a razor so badly. I need it. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I get my shorts on and spin, looking for my shoes. I find one, slip my foot in, and drop to the floor on my hands and knees. I need to get out of here. Where the hell is my other shoe? Flipping the blanket away, I search under the bed.

“Hope? Calm down,” Mason murmurs. His hand brushes my arm and I jump back, smacking my back against his dresser. One of the knobs digs into my spine, setting off a shooting pain. I take a deep breath, sighing. Papers flutter around me. Something rolls off the dresser, thudding loudly on the floor. I do it again, this time on purpose. The sensation so satisfying, I do it again.

Mason wrenches me away from the dresser, his hands forming vice grips around my wrists. He shakes me once. I look up into his daunted eyes. “Don’t,” he growls. “Don’t.” Strong arms enclose me in a hug. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”

Something hot slides down my cheeks. Am I crying? I didn’t realize. My back is so sore. “It wasn’t just once,” I mumble into his collar bone. “He did it for months. I tried to stop him after that first night. I tried to fight him. Tried. And tried. And tried. Until I quit trying. I hated him. I hate him. You are nothing like him. Don’t ever bring him up again. Don’t ever do that to me again. Don’t ask about him again. Don’t ever.”

He shakes his head. “I won’t. I swear. Never again.”

“I can’t find my shoe,” I say gravelly.

He leans around me and comes back with it in hand. “Let me see your back.”

I gently pry my shoe from his hand and turn around. He lifts the back of my shirt and inhales through his teeth. “Jesus Christ.” I stand up quickly, pulling my shirt into place. “FUCK!” I jump at his outburst, my eyes refusing to meet his. Mason punches the dresser, rocking it back and sending more papers and other miscellaneous items flying. I jump again and take a step away from him.

His gaze is burning into me and I finally meet it reluctantly. Immediately wishing I hadn’t because there it is. The horror. The repulsion. The regret. My feet move of their own volition, backing me up until I can’t go any further. Mason moves to stand in front of me, blocking me with his body.

“I won’t let you do this to yourself anymore. I said I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again and I was serious. That means you too.” The determination on his face makes me swallow my retort. “I know this is my fault. I shouldn’t have said that. I hate myself right now and I can’t explain how sorry I am.” There are those magic words yet again. He closes his eyes and brings his mouth to mine, hovering just a breath away. “I want to make it go away. I want to make you forget. I want to make you feel better.” I want that too. His tongue traces my bottom lip and I open my mouth for him, letting my eyes shutter. I need this. I need to feel Mason. To know it’s him and me. As the kiss deepens, he twists his fingers into my hair, tugging it in a way that makes my knees go weak. Working through my hair, he grazes his palms down agonizingly slowly, applying a perfect amount of pressure. He’s just on the edge of hurting me. Drifting along the line between pleasure and pain. Something I’m overly familiar with. His touch is rough, but sensual.

I gasp as he drives his fingers into my hips, nails digging into my flesh. His teeth nip my lip, my tongue, and I moan loudly as I grab onto him. He turns us around quickly, walking me backwards and bending me onto his bed. I watch in dazed captivation as he peels my clothes away and moves his lips over my body, his teeth biting gently at all the right places.

I expect him to remove his own clothes, to make love to me again, but he doesn’t. He captures me with his ravenous gaze as his fingers work me into a frenzy. I bite my lip to keep from screaming and Mason presses his mouth firmly to mine as his fingers press against me, releasing an explosion of ecstasy throughout my body. It’s over quickly, but little pulses tingle throughout me and I loosen my grip on him, suddenly very tired. Sated.