Chapter 8
The next morning, I can barely look Oliver in the eye.
What I did last night with his brother even though I promised not to… It makes me want to run as far away as I can, tail between my legs like the traitor I am. I promised him I wouldn’t do anything. I told him I didn’t even like Mason.
And I don’t. I just like the way he makes me feel.
“Something wrong?” Oliver asks as we sit in front of our gaming rigs after breakfast, gearing up to explore a high-level cave.
“I don’t know,” I say, avoiding his gaze. “Just didn’t sleep that well, I guess.”
Lie. Last night, I slept the best I have in ages. The reason why is the issue, and the guilt over it has etched itself onto my face this morning.
“Is it my snoring?” Oliver asks, rolling his eyes at himself. “I told you—just hit me with a pillow, like super hard, and tell me to shut the fuck up.”
I force a smile, eyes locked on my monitor. “It’s not that. I guess I just haven’t gotten used to sleeping in an unfamiliar place.”
“Well, just tell me if you need anything. Anything at all.” He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I’m so easily spooked these days, I jump at the slightest bit of contact. “We’re going to have fun this summer, right?”
I nod, unsure of what he’s getting at.
“So you need to get your beauty sleep,” he continues. “I can’t defeat these bosses without you.”
“Well, they’ll tear me to shreds without your healing,” I say, my smile genuine this time.
Oliver smiles back. “I’m glad you’re here, Lane.”
“Me too.”
Soon enough, the guilt returns, and I frown at the screen as I load into the game. He’s being so nice. He’s my best friend. And I betrayed him.
“Energy drink?” he suggests.
I jump eagerly from the chair. “Hell yeah.”
My enthusiasm fades when I realize getting an energy drink means going to the kitchen, and going to the kitchen means we might run into Mason.
How am I supposed to act around him now?
Even if he’s not there, I’m bound to cross paths with him sooner or later, and when I do, what the hell am I supposed to say?
Just keep ignoring him? Even though I saw his cock and sat in his lap and rubbed up against him like a dog in heat? Fuck, what have I done?
I fidget with the hem of my oversized shirt as we walk downstairs, hoping to God that he’s not in the kitchen. I’m not ready. Not now, not ever.
We enter the kitchen, aaand… he’s not there. Phew.
All I know is I can’t let Oliver find out what happened last night. I can’t let him know I betrayed his trust and did what I promised him and myself that I wouldn’t do.
I can’t let him know Mason won.
At least I didn’t let him touch me skin-to-skin. At least I didn’t let him fuck me, though he didn’t even try that, to be fair.
He didn’t even come, yet he looked so pleased before I turned around in a panic and escaped, my boxers a wet, sticky mess. At least I changed them before breakfast, but I should really take a shower.
Oliver and I each grab an energy drink from the fridge, and I gaze at the empty kitchen, the empty living room, and the hallway leading to the garage door. There are no thuds coming from there, so maybe he’s still asleep.
“What are you looking for?” Oliver asks.
“Nothing.” I try to appear unfazed as I pop open the can and take a sip, but my mind keeps replaying bits of last night.
Mason’s naked body, his low, rumbling voice, and his hands on my hips as he guided me back and forth over his cock. It was almost like… like fucking. But not quite. What would it be like to go that far? How good would it feel? How guilty would I feel afterward? Does he even want to?
I shake my head, a shudder of embarrassed arousal running through me. Of course he wants to.
Sooner or later, I’m going to have to face him.
Sooner or later, he’ll be out here, able to say whatever he wants and look at me in whatever way he wants.
It won’t be easy to ignore him when even now, all I can think about is how it felt to have his thick erection slotted in between my legs as he looked up at me and said, “Feels good, right?”
It did feel good. And I can’t stop thinking about the taste of his precum. As soon as it hit my tongue, I was a goner. Not good. Not good at all.
Right when we’re about to go back to Oliver’s room, a door slams on the top floor, and my heart pumps hard and fast as Mason comes strolling downstairs, shirtless of course.
At least he’s wearing his gray sweatpants, but that means the outline of his dick is showing through the fabric.
I flick my gaze away, startled by the flash of memories shooting through my mind.
When he passes us on the stairs, he just nods and says, “Morning, boys.” He doesn’t even send me one of those looks like he always does.
Wait… what?
I was so sure he would at least make some vague innuendo—not just pass me while barely acknowledging my presence.
It strikes me that I should be grateful, that maybe he’s gotten whatever he wanted from me out of his system now. Maybe it was just a one-time thing, a quick rub-off, and that’s it.
Maybe he’s lost his interest in me entirely. I was selfish, after all—only focused on my own pleasure and not at all on his.
Maybe I pissed him off. Wasted his time by not helping him come, by using his body for my own depraved pleasure. Maybe he’s done with me already. Maybe he wants us to pretend nothing happened between us.
Maybe it’s over.
If so, I should be grateful—it means I’m safe.
So why do I feel so disappointed?
That afternoon, Oliver and I take a break from gaming and relocate to the patio with our last set of popsicles, intending to lounge in the shade and chat about unrelated stuff. Just relaxing. Just being friends.
My mind has been so preoccupied with other things—with Mason—the last few days that I’ve almost forgotten about the reason I’m staying at Oliver’s to begin with.
It’s our last summer together. It’s all we have before he leaves for college.
I should be focused on that rather than agonizing over Mason’s lack of attention.
Oliver and I eat our popsicles and look out over the glittering pool and the pristine lawn that a gardener comes and tends to every week.
Growing up, I never could’ve imagined living in a place like this. My dad barely had enough money to put food on the table, let alone have a whole-ass pool and a gardener on the regular.
I try to stay focused on what Oliver’s saying—something about our strategy on the next raid—but my mind keeps wandering off.
The sound of the patio door opening makes me jump, and I turn my head to the source of the sound.
Mason is dressed in loose swim trunks, and he’s got a towel slung over his shoulder. He barely acknowledges us with a glance as his bare feet pad toward the pool edge, and his substantial back muscles ripple with a stretch before he jumps in.
Oliver rolls his eyes. “Does he really have to do that now?”
“It’s hot,” I say. “Uh, I mean… it’s hot outside.” My cheeks heat up. As if I needed to clarify that.
The popsicles melt quickly in the heat, so I have to hurry not to let mine melt all over my hand. I hope Mason won’t make another comment about sucking on something. At least not in front of Oliver.
Oliver can’t know.
He agreed, so I hope he’ll keep his word. Although, to be fair, Mason doesn’t seem like the type to keep promises—at least not if he can benefit from breaking them.
He is a criminal, after all.
I still don’t know what he did, and I’m not so sure I want to know. It’ll either intensify the regret for what I did, or, in the worst case, it’ll make me even more attracted to him. My body works in strange ways.
I fidget with the choker around my neck as I watch Mason swim lap after lap in the pool. He keeps ignoring me, and for some reason, it makes me a little peeved. It makes me feel like I did something wrong—not just to Oliver, but to Mason, too.
“I’m going inside,” Oliver mutters. “Come on.”
“It’s nice out here,” I say, leaning back on the lounge chair.
“You can stay if you want; I’m starting dinner.”
When Oliver leaves, I watch Mason with more intent. Has he gotten sick of me already? Is he about to take someone else into his room tonight—someone who’ll hump his lap while he calls them “puppy,” and maybe this time he’ll actually get to come?
Jaw clenching, I lean back in the comfy chair and close my eyes against the evening sun. A nice breeze cools me down; I could fall asleep right here if I wasn’t so on edge about Mason ignoring me.
The sun dims. Either that, or a shadow is looming over me. Then a drop of water lands on my chin.
“Sleep well last night, puppy?”
I snap my eyes open. Mason is standing there, drying his hair with a towel. I try to keep cool and nonchalant, but I always fail when it comes to him. Before I have time to open my mouth, he speaks again.
“See you tonight.”
I stare as he saunters back inside the house with the towel over his shoulder, and instantly, my mind is back in his room, with his body pressed up against mine and his voice whispering, “That’s it. Take what you need.”
An anxious breath rushes out of me, and a swirl of relief and excitement takes its place.
He hasn’t gotten sick of me. I didn’t do anything wrong. He still wants me. And fuck, I still want him.