20. Jules
JULES
It’s not the anger toward him,
It’s not the dimming fire.
It’s not the love I feel for him,
Or how my heart bleeds with desire.
My soul is broken, torn and bent,
Never to repair.
To truly hate oneself,
The sin leaves me in despair.
S eventeen days have passed since I got the anonymous letter in the mail.
Each day, Mason looks at me differently. It’s like he knows I’m leaving. I’m not convinced leaving is the answer; I’m not convinced I should stay though either.
The bedroom door creaks open as I brush my hair, getting ready for bed.
There’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll be sleeping in bed with me tonight.
He walks into the room quietly, shutting the door behind him.
The left side of his face is bruised and cut, but somehow it only adds to his beauty.
A prince, wounded in battle saving his princess.
I almost laugh. A hint of it must have escaped at the thought, because he turns to look at me as the door clicks shut. The only light in the room is from the small lamp on the nightstand and the way the shadows sharpen his features does the worst things to me.
There’s an odd dynamic between the two of us. He wants to touch me, he keeps coming close to doing just that, circling me and waiting, but he doesn’t.
The part that’s truly insane is that it disappoints me, every single time. I’m crazy for feeling any attraction to him at all, but I’m drawn like a moth to a flame.
He picked me up when I fell.
He protected me when I was weak.
And even though I hate him for what he’s done, he’s the only reason I’m still alive.
“You can’t hide in here forever, Jules,” Mason comments half-heartedly with a small smile on his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes.
He closes the space between us easily, and I let him.
His lips brush against mine in what I presume will be a gentle kiss, but he deepens it and without my conscious consent, I lean into it.
I didn’t realize how much I missed his touch .
He moans into my mouth as he kisses me deeply, not holding back a damn thing.
I wish I could do the same, but all I find myself doing is forcing myself to stay away, to keep my guard up around him.
I can’t let myself fall again. I won’t. I utterly refuse to give him that chance or else I know he’ll keep me forever.
And I don’t know who exactly I’ll be if I let that happen.
I break the kiss before he’s finished with me, but he only pushes harder into me, wanting more and letting me know exactly what he needs.
I turn away from him, shame filling every piece of me. Ashamed to be kissing him. Ashamed that I want to kiss him.
“Is that how you want it, Jules?” he asks and his deep voice comes out rough as I look into his eyes. The passion is still there. The desire that ignites mine stares back at me.
“You want to hate me.” He brings his lips to my ear, making a burning ache flow down every inch of my skin.
“Try hating me while you cum on my dick, sweetheart,” he tells me and I know I’m done for.
My head falls back, hitting the wall as his hands trail over my sides, slowly making their way down my curves.
He rakes his teeth down my collarbone, the sensation directly linked to both my sensitive nipples and needy clit.
I’m desperate for more. Aching for him to take me and own my body like I know only he can.
His teeth sink into the crook of my neck as his hands pin my hips down, holding me in place as I cry out in sheer frustration.
His large body towers over me, the heat from his body suffocating me as his hard erection digs into my lower belly.
“Fight me, Jules,” he says, gripping the hair at the nape of my neck and twisting it around his wrist. “Fight me like you want to.”
I slap him, his rough stubble scraping against my hand.
A low growl rumbles up his chest; it’s just as filthy and perverted as I feel, keenly aware of how much he turns me on.
I press both of my hands against his chest, a weak and helpless attempt at pushing him away and he just chuckles at me, his gray eyes flickering to life with a heat I’ve missed.
Nothing but wanting moans escape my lips.
He grabs the nape of my neck, forcing my head to tilt and claiming a cry from me as he steals a kiss along my jaw. I shove my weight forward, attempting to push him away with more vigor, but he merely uses my attempt to push and twist me down onto the bed.
My belly presses against the mattress, my back arching as he stands behind me, leaning against me and pinning me down as his fingertips slide up my outer thighs.
My heart squeezes too tightly without being able to see him and feel him. I don’t know why, but I don’t want this, not like this.
“Mason,” I call out for him, and his name is nothing more than a plea with the frantic need I feel.
He instantly braces his forearms around me, no longer touching me and no longer pinning me to the bed. He breathes heavily, panting as I turn slowly, still caged under him. It’s an awkward way to lie, with my bottom barely on the edge of the bed.
His eyes are closed, shut tight and his plump lips parted as I lie beneath him. A caged animal, hurt and tortured and needing a way out is all I see. “Mason,” I whisper his name and he opens his eyes.
I gently press my lips to his, taking a sweet kiss before nipping his bottom lip. I brush the tip of my nose against his, and the spark ignites again. He attempts a soft kiss, but it quickly turns into something else. Something primal and filled with lust.
He kisses down my neck, over the small bite marks still red on my skin and aching for attention. He strips my underwear from me and kicks off his own as we slowly climb deeper into the bed. Slowly parting from our clothes and the worries that wait beyond the heavy sheets.
I don’t stop whispering his name, I don’t stop pushing and pulling against him until he slams into me, filling me and stretching my walls in one swift thrust. My back arches, and a silent scream rips up my throat.
The pleasure he gives me is unmatched, indescribable and something only for us. It’s sinful and wrong, but it feels like heaven.
A strangled moan is torn from me and he almost stops when I push against his cheek yet again.
I can see the hesitation, the worry in his eyes.
I arch my neck and rock my hips, letting him know that I’m his.
That I want this and him just the same. My head thrashes from side to side as my throbbing clit brushes against his rough pubic hair as he stills deep inside of me, buried to the hilt and hovering over me, watching my expression.
“More,” I whimper, desperate for whatever he will give me.
I’m deprived without his touch. He should know that; he’s done this to me.
Crashing his lips against mine, he moves his hand to my hip, positioning me how he wants me and tilting my ass up just slightly so he can thrust deeper into me. He slams himself harder and deeper into me, unrelenting and unmerciful. “Fuck,” I moan, and he’s quick to echo my pleasure.
From him, it’s a groan of awe filled with gratitude and devotion, fueling him to push me farther and farther as he races for his release. He whispers the word over and over in the crook of my neck, his hot breath sending chills over my body.
From me, it’s a strangled cry as my nails scratch down his back and my body pleads for more and also to run from the intensity. It’s a mix of pleasure and pain, a cocktail strong enough to kill me and I don’t know which one it will be that finally brings me to my death.