Chapter 19 – Mason
This was my fault.
I’d thought leaving Leslie alone was the right idea. She was supposed to miss me and come to me, of her own volition. I wanted to give her the choice, and I’d truly—stupidly—believed she would. I hadn’t taken into account how stubborn she was, how angry she’d been about my drugging her, and, mostly, how her shame would control her. And I had completely overlooked the possibility that she’d punish herself by not eating. I’d focused on hockey practice to keep myself from giving in and going to her. I wanted to rage at myself; stand in the middle of the rink without protective gear and let every player hit puck after puck at my head. Being mine meant she was my responsibility, and I’d fallen down on the job.
But I was fixing it now.
I carried her across campus to my building, climbing up the stairs with her still in my arms and unlocking the door to my suite. For once, no one else was home, so I took her into my bedroom and carefully placed her on my bed. She immediately curled on her side, her shiny black hair spreading out over the pillow. Satisfaction filled me, seeing her exactly where she belonged, on my bed, in my room, fully ensconced in my life. Sitting beside her, I brushed her hair off her forehead, leaning in to kiss her hair, smelling that flowers and sunshine scent that belonged to her and her alone. It had quickly become my favorite smell.
Reluctantly, I rose and went to the kitchen. I never cooked—I wasn’t great at it, and also, I’d never had to. But Emory’s private chef wasn’t going to be here for a few hours, and I wanted to make sure my butterfly had food she’d actually want to eat. Luckily, I’d watched Leslie closely enough to know what her favorite foods were: blackened chicken fettuccine alfredo, strawberry and goat cheese salad, and a certain brand of peach ice cream. We didn’t have the ingredients for most of it, so I put in an order on the grocery delivery app. I had to order from three different grocery stores—one didn’t have blackened seasoning, and neither of the first two had the right peach ice cream so I had to order from a specialty store—but nothing was too much for Leslie. I not only owed her, but I wanted her to be happy.
And I already knew the only thing more satisfying than seeing her asleep on my bed, would be seeing her eating the food I’d made for her.
I couldn’t wait.
Emory and Mattwere home by the time the groceries arrived, so they were there to heckle me through three botched attempts before I got the pasta right and moved onto the salad.
“Man, you must really like this girl,” Matt commented from the couch.
“Love her,” I corrected quietly, eyes on my bedroom.
I’d checked on Leslie a few times, but she was absolutely wiped, sleeping through the entire thing—even when I’d burned the chicken the second time and set off the smoke detector. She was still asleep, which was good—I wasn’t ready for her to know how I felt.
I’d loved her a long time. Maybe I’d loved her from the first moment I’d seen her, dancing at our parents’ wedding. The realization had snuck up on me before dropping like a bomb that night I’d finally fucked her, but saying it out loud felt right. It was more true than anything I’d ever acknowledged in my life, and unlike when we first met, it no longer scared me.
I threw the salad together as best I could, but the goat cheese was mushed together and stuck to the greens.
“What am I doing wrong?” I said, staring in consternation at the stupid salad.
Emory was laughing hysterically. “Dude, you got the wrong kind of goat cheese.”
I ran a hand through my hair—probably leaving bits of goat cheese residue in the strands. Fuck. “There’s more than one kind of goat cheese?”
“You need to get the crumbled kind, jackass,” Matt pointed out, unhelpfully.
“You’re the jackass, jackass,” I retorted half-heartedly.
Damn it.
“It’ll taste the same,” Emory pointed out.
Sighing, I poured some salad dressing on top, fixed the food on a plate, laid it all out on a tray, plucked a flower out of the bouquet I’d bought along with the groceries and put it in a glass, and carried it all into the bedroom.
“Good luck! Hope you don’t give her food poisoning,” Matt said.
“Shut up, you idiot, he’s finally doing the right thing for once,” Emory said, smacking him.
Ignoring them, I entered the now dark bedroom. I walked over to the bed, placing the tray on the nightstand, and leaned down to kiss Leslie. “Wake up, sleeping beauty,” I murmured.
She yawned, opening her eyes. “Mason? Where am I?”
“My place,” I told her.
She struggled to sit up. I helped her, propping pillows behind her. She swatted my hands away.
“I can do it. I’m not helpless, you know. I was just tired, and hungry.” Then she sniffed the air. “Is that blackened chicken alfredo?”
“It is, and goat cheese strawberry salad. And there’s peach ice cream in the freezer for dessert.”
“Those are my favorite foods. How did you know?”
I smiled at her. “The same way I knew how you like your coffee. I know everything about you. I’ve majored in Leslie Berger, don’t you know?” The truth was, I’d asked her mother a number of questions about Leslie before I left for Tabb, but I wasn’t about to bring Anna up in conversation; the reminder that we were related by marriage wouldn’t get me very far.
Before she could respond, I picked up the glass of water. “Thirsty?”
She nodded. I held the glass to her lips, and after some hesitation, she drank from it. I tried not to get distracted by the way her throat worked, remembering how it felt when she’d swallowed around my cock. It wasn’t the right time; that could come later.
When she was finished, she tapped my arm and I lowered the glass to the tray. “Did you…make it yourself?”
I nodded. “I did.”
“I didn’t know you cooked.”
“I don’t.”
She processed this. Feeling unfamiliarly awkward, I said, “I kind of fucked up the salad, though. Apparently I used the wrong kind of goat cheese.”
This, of all things, made her smile. “Thank you, Mace,” she said, and even though I’d hated being called Mace in the past, the sweet way she said it made my chest squeeze. “But I’m not hungry.”
Oh no, that wasn’t going to fly. “Butterfly, you need to eat.”
“I can’t, I’m too anxious,” she admitted, looking away.
I stroked a hand through her hair, turning her face back to mine. “Why?”
Her eyes went wet with tears. “Because of you,” she whispered.
Ah, fuck.
“Because I drugged you?”
She nodded.
“And took your virginity?”
She nodded again.
“And was cruel to you for so long?”
“Yes. I don’t know what’s real, and what isn’t. I’m so angry at you for what you did, but I…”
“Want me at the same time,” I said, knowingly.
“...Yes.”
I ran a finger down her cheek. “It’s okay, butterfly. Remember what I told you—what happened that night isn’t your fault, it’s mine. I’m not going to apologize for it, because it was the best night of my life, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But I am sorry for making you so anxious you couldn’t eat. It won’t happen again. But you need to eat. Can you eat, for Daddy?”
“It was the best night of your life?” She was still stuck on that.
“Yes, butterfly. Nothing compares. Nothing.” My voice was fierce.
“Okay.” She reached for the fork, but I grabbed it from her.
“No, Daddy’s going to feed you,” I told her, spinning pasta around the fork and holding it up to her lips.
After a moment, she opened her mouth and let me feed her. Each time she put her lips around the tines and accepted the food from me, my cock got harder. It wasn’t hard to picture doing this another time, with her in my lap, my cock deep inside her as she took food from me.
Along with my hard cock, my heart felt full. Deeply satisfied, just like I’d known it would. She was eating the food I’d bought for her, made for her, and now was feeding her directly. It settled something in me I hadn’t realized had felt off until now. This was my purpose. This was what I was supposed to be doing with my life—taking care of her. It was all I wanted, and it was almost within reach.
After chewing, she said, “Mace, I have a question for you.”
“Go for it.”
“This summer…was taking naked pictures of me your idea?”
I’d been waiting for this. “No. But it was my fault. I hadn’t realized how jealous Tiffanie was. I should’ve. None of those pictures made it online, by the way. I made everyone delete all of them off their phones. And I never spoke to her again.”
She nodded. “I knew the photos didn’t make it online. But why didn’t you tell me at the time?”
I sighed, taking her hand in mine. It was so small, so delicate. Everything about her was delicate. “I couldn’t let on that it pissed me off, or those assholes would have done worse. And I was so angry at you, I didn’t want to tell you. Tried to tell myself that you leaving was the right thing.”
“Why were you so angry?”
I stabbed some salad with the fork and brought it to her lips. She took it easily, chewing and swallowing. Color had returned to her cheeks, and she seemed more like herself. Relief swamped me.
“Mason.”
“Call me Mace again,” I urged.
“Mace.”
“I was angry at you, butterfly. You’d made me want things I’d never wanted before, and it felt like those things were out of reach. I didn’t know who to blame, so I blamed you. It made it easier to keep you at a distance.”
She swallowed. “What changed?”
“It wasn’t easier when you left. It was worse. I swore to myself I’d never let you leave again. I mean that. You’re mine now. You’ve been mine since before I slid deep inside that perfect pussy and took your virginity. Before the first time I kissed you. Before that night in the pool. Before we even met for the first time. You’ve been mine since before you were born. You were made for me, and if you don’t see that now, you will. I promise.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment, then finally: “How do you know?
This time, I was the one who had to swallow. My whole mouth felt like sawdust; I never talked about this out loud.
“You know my mom died, right?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry, Mason.” She squeezed my hand, and the unexpected gesture of support made that sawdust taste disappear.
“She had Marfan syndrome. It’s this rare degenerative disease, it affects your connective tissues so your body fails, and then your eyes.” I swallowed again, shutting my own eyes. “I had to sit there and watch as my mom lost mobility, then her eyesight, getting sicker and sicker and weaker and weaker, until her heart finally gave out.”
“Oh, Mason.” She squeezed my hand again, her eyes filling with tears. “That’s horrible, I’m sorry.”
“You know the worst thing? Besides losing the person who loved you most in the world. My dad kind of died, too. All I had left was hockey. It never let me down, it was always there for me, so I devoted myself to it and stayed cold to everything and everyone else. When your mom came around, I was so fucking pissed that anyone could replace her, but it wasn’t your mom’s fault. She makes my dad happy. That’s a good thing.” And she’d brought me Leslie, which was the best thing.
Leslie sighed, running her thumb in circles over my palm. “Feeling like you’ve been replaced sucks.”
I stilled, waiting for her to tell me about her own wounds.
“My dad…you know how soap operas always have these men who have a second family?” She bit her lip, and I silently urged her to continue, to trust me. “Well, my dad is one of those men, except we were the second family. My mom was never married to him, but she didn’t realize that she was his side piece.”
“Oh, butterfly.”
She shrugged. “He was always out of town for work, never around. I thought he did something so important. I was proud of him. Until we found out. And it wasn’t like he loved us more; when Mom confronted him, he went back to his wife and kids. And I’ve always wondered why we weren’t enough for him. Why we weren’t worthy of him.”
She shook her head, and anger at her pain filled me.
I spoke. “Two things. First: I hate that you’ve been hurt, but no one will ever hurt you again.” Except maybe me, but I’d make sure I’d only hurt her in ways now that set up her happiness later. “Second: I’ll kill him.”
She laughed. “Cute. I appreciate the?—”
“No, butterfly,” I interrupted. “I mean it. Anyone who hurts you doesn’t deserve to breathe.”
She stilled, her thumb pausing in its circles. “Mason, I don’t want that. I don’t like violence, and I don’t want you hurting anyone—not even for me.”
I knew she’d feel that way, but I didn’t give a fuck.
“It’s not up for discussion, Leslie.”
“Mason, I mean it.” She lifted her hand, placing it on my cheek. “I don’t know what this is between us, if it can be anything?—”
“It’s everything,” I interrupted her.
She gasped, her eyes going wide. “It can’t be.”
“I’m not arguing about this, butterfly. You’re mine.”
Her voice was quiet when she said, “If you hurt someone—even for me—then I’m gone.”
I digested this. I wouldn’t kill her father then, as much as it pained me. As for anyone else? Well, what Leslie didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
As for any man who threatened her…
“Okay,” I said, then changed the subject. “There’s peach ice cream for you.”
“Peach ice cream?” She shook her head, cracking a smile. “I’m too full to eat it, which sucks.”
“Alright, you can have it later. It’s time for your punishment.”
“My…what?”
“You heard me. You’re feeling better now, you got rest. Now you’re going to learn that you have to take care of yourself, or you’ll have Daddy to answer to.”
“But…”
I shook my head. “No buts. Time to stand up, strip and bend over the bed like a good girl.”