Chapter 14 Serena #3
But eventually, his breathing evens and slows.
Sucking him clean, I release his dick from my mouth and sit back, resting my hands on the rug beneath me as pride blossoms in my chest all over again, warming me to the core in a whole new way.
He stares down at me, one hand still glued to the doorframe as he studies me and pulls his sweats up with the other. I feel like a cute little bug under a microscope beneath his gaze.
“Do you like those pants?” he asks casually, his wardrobe question completely taking me by surprise.
Glancing down at the black leggings I’m wearing, I shrug. “I mean, I don’t know. I have, like, twenty pairs.”
He drops to the floor, crawling over to me on his knees—an intimidating sight, given his massive size and mask.
Wrapping his big hands around my thighs, he pushes them open, and I giggle, biting down on my bottom lip.
“Good. Because I’ve always wanted to do this.” He grasps the fabric on either side of my crotch, and in one swift movement, he rips my leggings apart at the seams like they’re nothing.
The motion jerks my body, but my jaw falls to the floor of its own accord. “I will buy a thousand more pairs for you to do that again.”
He huffs. “Deal.”
I lift my hips as he removes the shredded fabric from me. He sits up taller and leans forward, wrapping the material around my head and tying it over my eyes so I can’t see.
“Now be a good girl, close your eyes, and come all over my face when I tell you to.”
For once, I decide not to be a brat.
“Yes, sir,” I say eagerly as I lean back, a happiness I never knew possible spreading through my entire body.
Moments later, I do exactly as he said, crying out and coming hard from his tongue and mouth alone.
He helps me clean up afterward, fetches me pajamas, and tracks Freddie down somewhere in the house. I can hear him coming back upstairs, Freddie’s pitter-patter beside him as I finish slipping into my pajamas.
My back is to the door when they come in, and my masked man walks straight up to me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, pulling me snugly into him.
An ache sinks in my chest, something that feels like agony. I don’t think I’m blinking or breathing as he holds me tightly, each second melting me more into his embrace.
Gradually, my eyes flutter shut, and I feel overwhelmed and vulnerable in the rawest way.
I wait … wait for him to strike, to caress, or to make his move—do something other than this. Because the tenderness and gentle comforting is foreign, new, and scary. But what he does instead makes my chest swell, and my heart jumps into his hands completely.
Cradling my body against his, he gradually rocks us side to side, swaying in place.
There’s something so gentle, so intimate, about the way he’s wrapped around me, holding me like I’m the most important thing in his world.
Our sexual chemistry is one thing, but this makes it all feel so much more.
But deep down, I know that we’re more than meets the eye, more than the surface connection we have been chasing.
I’ve never felt this way about anyone in my entire life. It’s intense and all-consuming, just how I like it with him.
But what’s next? How do we move forward from here?
“Can I …” I pause, reaching up and wrapping my hand gently around the swell of his bicep, over his sweatshirt. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he murmurs. “I’ll try to answer as best I can.”
Swallowing the frog in my throat, I force the question out, the question that’s been haunting every interaction between us. My voice is barely audible. “Can you take the mask off?”
His body tenses behind me, and my name leaves his lips breathlessly. “Serena.”
“Or at least tell me your name?” I counter.
“I can’t. Not yet. But soon, okay? I promise.” His voice is sadder than I’ve ever heard it. His shoulders slump around me, and he squeezes me tighter, like he’s scared I’m going to run away.
I bite the inside of my cheek, continuing, “I like the mask—I do. But I think …” I trail off, swallowing my fear. “I want more too. I want to see your eyes. Kiss you—really kiss you.”
“I’m sorry … I’m sorry. Soon, okay? Really soon.” Genuine, raw pain vibrates in his soft voice.
I’m nodding before I even mean it, but I just don’t want to ruin what we already have. “Okay.”
“Okay?” he murmurs like he doesn’t believe me.
“Okay,” I state matter-of-factly.
When he spins me in his arms, a giggle slips free from my lips. He cups the back of my head and pulls me against him, his scent invading my nose, and I breathe him in deeply.
“I wish I could stay here forever.” His words fill my heart to the brim with emotion.
“Me too.”
Eventually, he peels himself from my body. A few minutes later, he’s gone, and I’m alone with Freddie, feeling his absence like a physical hole in my chest while I crawl into bed, burying myself under the blankets.
Freddie whines, and I know he probably needs to go out. I could procrastinate for a few minutes, but I know by then, I would want to get up even less.
When I throw the blanket off of my legs, he lights up and rushes down his ramp. My phone falls off my lap and plummets to the floor, somehow bouncing across the room and landing in front of my closet.
Walking over to it, I bend down to pick it up, but something glints from the slit between the slightly opened closet door, reflecting the light from my ceiling. I wouldn’t second-guess it, except the only thing on the floor right there is my other laundry basket.
What is that?
Reaching into the closet, I close my fingers around the metal, plucking it from the depths. It’s a broken piece of a key chain.
I flip it over in my hand, and my blood runs cold.
Time stands still, and the world slams to a stop as I take in exactly what I’m looking at.
No. No. No.
This has to be a prank or something, some messed-up kind of joke. It doesn’t make any sense.
I’m hallucinating. That’s it. I must be because there’s absolutely no way what I’m seeing is real.
Deep down, in the parts of my mind I’m not ready to accept, I know the truth is staring me in the face.
Clenching the jagged metal key chain in my palm, I push myself up and tuck it into my pocket. Hopefully, the cameras didn’t pick it up. I don’t know how I’m going to handle this tidbit of information just yet, but I don’t want to count out any reactions before I decide.
I wander downstairs, trying to seem casual, and let Freddie out.
I want to look at the key chain again, to be sure of what I saw, but I don’t need to. The image is burned into my mind so vividly that I’ll never forget it.
Two small, crossing hockey sticks, broken apart at the middle. I may not be able to see the top of both sticks, but with the partial name and number engraved onto one of them, I know enough.
–s Finnegan #14.
My mind runs rampant as Freddie frolics in the snow. I feel like every cell in my body is vibrating, pulsing with anger, confusion, and loathing—mostly for myself.
How am I this much of an idiot? It’s like the wool has been pulled back from my eyes, and everything finally makes sense, in more ways than I ever anticipated.
The run-ins at the arena … oh my God … and Bound-to-Be.
Did he go there just to get a laugh? To poke fun when I didn’t even know about the joke?
Is this all some kind of game to him?
Glimpses and flashes of the last month or so, since the first letter showed up, flicker in my mind. I freeze when I remember the night of the masked Valentine’s Day party, where we first met.
He had two friends with him, probably two of his teammates, given their size and build.
Are they secretly in on it?
Has this all just been entertainment to them?
Oh God, have they seen the cameras?
A chill runs through me.
No.
Somehow, someway, Bates’s key chain ended up in my closet—in the exact same place my masked man hid to scare me—and there’s totally a reasonable explanation that doesn’t involve Bates being my guy.
Right?
Right?
I let Freddie in and follow him upstairs after locking the door. But I can’t ignore the obvious signs.
I might have been the dumb main character who didn’t see what was right in front of her the whole time, but that doesn’t mean that I have to keep being that way. I can take the reins of our relationship from here.
An idea forms in my mind as I crawl beneath the sheets and blanket, cozying up with my little Frederick.
There’s one way to find out if Bates is really him, and I have the perfect place to enact my idea … tomorrow’s gala.
He may think he’s the one in control, the one with all the power, but he couldn’t be more wrong. The thought weighs on my chest because what if … what if this wasn’t a game, but a way to get close to me?
If that’s the case, it feels a little bit more like betrayal and less like I’m the butt end of a joke. He knew my boundaries—he’s known them for months, since I first turned down his affection.
Does he think he gets to manipulate me and get away with it? He’s acting like a brat, and like he taught me, brats have consequences.