Chapter 25 Better Lies #2
Any second now, Oliver could look through the windows and see us, but all my worries dissolve when Mason’s tongue finds mine.
The water sloshes around us as he shifts his hand into my wet hair, giving it a tug.
Before I can tell what he’s doing, he’s nudging me toward the end of the pool, crowding me up against the concrete edge.
“Sit up.” He grabs my hips and lifts me out of the water to sit on the edge.
I cast a glance back at the windows. With my back turned and Mason in the pool between my legs, there’s a chance he wouldn’t even be visible, even if Oliver was to look outside.
Okay… what now? I gaze down at Mason, not understanding, but then he grins and thumbs the waistband of my shorts, looking up at me.
“Acting all shy now, puppy?” he says, tugging at my soaked T-shirt. “You’re not this shy when you’re in my room.”
Well, obviously I can’t parade around the house with your marks on me. I could tell him this, but I suspect it would just make his smirk widen even more, so I stay silent.
When he pulls my waistband down, my breath catches so hard in my throat it renders me speechless. Then my brain comes back online, and I try to close my legs, but it’s not easy with Mason lodged between them. I end up with my knees slung over his shoulders, and that’s hardly better.
“What are you doing?” I whisper-shout, and I cast a terrified glance backward, as if Oliver’s right behind me.
Thankfully, he’s not; we’re all alone out here, but still!
The fences on either side of the house provide us with our own little sanctuary, even if it’s tentative and can shatter at any moment. We’re practically in public.
“Just making you feel good, puppy,” Mason says and frees my dick. It’s already hard, the traitor. He licks his lips, watching how my flushed cock bobs as I squirm. “Will you let me?”
Those four words give me pause. During all this time that I’ve been messing around with Mason, it’s always felt as if I barely have any choice in what we do.
He rarely asks me, because I most often show my enthusiasm without the need for words.
Not now, though. Now I’m protesting, and Mason is acknowledging that by asking me for explicit consent.
“Fine,” I breathe out.
Smirking, he leans in to give the tip of my cock a lick.
He rarely does this to me. Maybe he doesn’t have a lot of experience in it, but he doesn’t show any hesitation—just a quiet focus as he frames my thighs with his hands, thumbs digging into my hipbones, keeping me in place as he swallows me down.
My dick is smaller than average, so it’s not like it’s a challenge to deepthroat. It’s not like his own, which takes a lot of effort and skill—not to mention courage.
Mason swallows mine completely, and before I can stop myself, I let out a surprised, whimpered noise, too loud. I throw a glance over my shoulder, terrified, and my feet splash unsteadily in the water.
Mason chuckles as he pulls off and looks up at me. “Don’t worry, puppy. Just keep still and let me make you feel good.”
I curl my hand into a fist and sink my teeth into it, trying to keep from making more sounds, but when Mason swallows me down again—no hands, just his hot, wet mouth around my shaft and his throat swallowing around the head—I can’t help but make quick, gasping little whines that start deep in my chest and come out in high-pitched bursts.
Mason pulls off, and he squeezes my hips tight, rolling my shorts up to get to my skin and press down on a bruise he left there yesterday. That just makes me whine louder.
“Mm, I like those sounds you’re making,” he says. “Whining like that. Does it feel good?” He licks at my tip, swirling his tongue around it and pressing at a sensitive spot that has my eyes rolling back.
He seems to wait for my reply before he continues, so I take my hand out of my mouth for a moment to speak.
“Yes. Feels… feels so good. Please make me come.”
“Patience, puppy. You know I don’t like to rush.”
I grit my teeth. Screw patience. Oliver might discover us at any moment, and Mason wants to draw this out? No way. I rock my hips upward, trying to force my dick deeper into his mouth, but he just chuckles and draws back, driving me insane.
I keep letting out my high-pitched, breathy whines as I feel the orgasm building alongside the rush of embarrassment and paranoia.
I’m desperate to come so this can be over with and the risk of discovery can go away.
When I jerk off, that mindset usually makes the orgasm take even longer to arrive than when I just try to focus on my pleasure, but whenever I’m with Mason, that rule doesn’t apply.
Mason sucks my cock with the same enthusiasm as I suck his, but with more power behind his movements, more determination to get me off, essentially forcing the orgasm out of me.
I’m coming before I know it, and my cock jumps as I shoot into his mouth. He keeps sucking me until it’s over, and when he looks up, his lips are wet and crooked in a smirk.
He strokes my hips for a bit, making slow circles with his thumbs. “You know what I think?”
“Know… know what?” I ask, my brain still in orgasm land.
“I think you like this, puppy.”
“This?” I ask, confused.
“The thrill of discovery. The danger.”
I stare at him, still catching my breath. “What?”
“It’s fun, isn’t it? You like how it makes you feel.”
I shake my head, eyes closed.
“How I make you feel,” Mason adds.
Of course I like the way he makes me feel; I want him, but if Oliver wasn’t part of the equation, I wouldn’t want him any less.
Does he think I get off on the fact that we’re keeping it a secret? If that’s what he thinks, he really doesn’t know me at all.
Back on dry land, I wrap myself in a towel and shake like a dog to get some of the water out of my hair. I can feel Mason watching me from the pool, but for once, he doesn’t make a comment.
Oliver calls me for dinner, and I slide the patio door open and step into the house. It’s surprisingly easy to act as if nothing has happened—even if I feel guilty and embarrassed that Mason just made me come in the pool. If nothing else, this summer has taught me to step up my poker-face game.
Oliver plates the food, and I tug on the end of my T-shirt, shaking it to speed up the drying process. The motion makes it sink low, exposing my collarbone, and Oliver’s eyes zero in on my neck.
“What’s that?” he asks, pointing.
“What?” I reflexively put my hand up to my neck.
“That.” He pushes my hand away.
“Oh, that. Uh… some kind of rash?” I can’t believe I haven’t prepared a lie for a situation like this. “I’m allergic to, um, chlorine.”
Oliver raises a brow. “Is that right?”
I nod enthusiastically. “Yep, that’s why. I get all itchy and red, and sometimes I get these splotchy blue things.” I wave dismissively to my neck.
Oliver looks at me with raised brows. Fuck, he’s not buying it. Who would buy a lie like that? Oh no, is he figuring it out? Is it over now? He’s going to blow up our friendship and throw me out. He’ll hate me, he’ll leave me…
“Okay,” he says with a shrug. “Anyway, let’s eat.”
My shoulders slump with relief. Is he buying my lie? Really? He’s so uptight about sex and intimacy, so maybe he doesn’t even know what a hickey is.
We take a seat at the kitchen table, and my eyes bulge at the oven-baked dish. Macaroni and cheese with a crispy breadcrumb topping. My favorite. Whenever we had it in the school cafeteria, I used to gobble up three plates all by myself while Oliver watched me and laughed in delight.
I get stuck staring at the dish for so long, Oliver frowns and asks, “Something wrong?”
“You made mac and cheese.”
“Yeah, isn’t it your favorite?”
“It is.” He remembered. Why does that make my throat thicken like I’m about to cry?
Oliver shrugs. “I saw a recipe online, and I thought of you.”
Tears prickle behind my eyes, and the guilt rises like bile in the back of my throat. I’m more invested in sleeping with his big brother than savoring this time with him. Only a few weeks remain, and then he’ll be gone.
I suppose Mason will be too. Once Oliver leaves for college, there won’t be any reason for me to visit his house, which means I won’t see Mason anymore.
I’ll lose them both.
I swallow thickly, and I shake my bangs into my face to hide my sorrowful eyes as I look down at the plate and eat. Oliver looks down as well, and his leg is shaking under the table.
“Sucks that I’m leaving,” he mutters.
I look up. “What?” He’s never expressed doubt about leaving. He’s always wanted to go to college, while I haven’t.
“I don’t…” He grits his teeth. “I don’t know if I’m ready, to be honest. Maybe I should just take a gap year. Hang out here. With you.”
What the hell? “But… you got into MIT!”
Oliver shrugs. “If I got in once, I can do it again, don’t you think?”
Not necessarily, but I don’t want to interrupt him, so I just nod for him to go on.
“Although…” Oliver begins with a wry smile. “If I stayed here, I’d have to deal with Mason for God knows how many more weeks, and I’m not sure how many I could stand without ripping his head off.”
“How long do you think he’ll stay?” I ask, sliding my fork back and forth. Usually I would’ve finished my plate by now and gone for seconds, but I’ve only managed a few bites.
“As long as Mom lets him, I guess. He has to get a job to move out, and from what I’ve heard, he’s not exactly putting in maximum effort in searching for one. All he does is lounge around here and be loud and gross. And look at you.”
I nearly choke on a mouthful of mac and cheese. “At me?”
“Yeah, you can’t say you haven’t noticed it,” Oliver says, voice tense as he points at the collar of my shirt. “Did he do that to you?”
I freeze, then shake my head slowly, wanting to sink into the ground. “I told you—it’s the allergies.”
Oliver frowns and glances away. He looks almost… disappointed? Why would he be disappointed by that? He should be relieved Mason didn’t cause those hickeys, unless… he doesn’t fully believe me.
Shit.
I don’t have any better lies to tell, and I have no one else to blame except for myself.
And yet, I still can’t tell him the truth.
Unless he asks me for it directly, I’ll keep my mouth shut and stick my head in the sand.
And that’s exactly why I don’t deserve to have Oliver as a friend.
He’s doing the right thing by leaving me.
He’s doing the right thing by making something of his life while leaving me behind.
Mason will leave me behind, too. Everyone will.
Each bite of mac and cheese takes several tries to get down my throat. It’s my favorite meal, and Oliver’s a great cook, but it still tastes like cardboard in my mouth. Time is running away from me, and I don’t know what to do about it. Soon, I’ll be rejected, discarded, and utterly alone.