Chapter 58
Micah
It was getting harder and harder to differentiate my feelings for Dakota and my feelings for Mason when it came to sex.
Having them both here hadn’t been a good idea; I needed more mental separation.
Being able to feel all their emotions tied me up in them, like a spiderweb I was losing the ability to navigate.
Ever since seeing the truck, Mason had been acting weird. I’d figured it would affect him, but not this much. Maybe it was easier for me since I’d been used to seeing it every day for the past however-many years.
Honestly, I was regretting letting him see it at all, because I was concerned he’d scratch up the paint on purpose, or do something else to ruin it.
Mason arrived with wet hair again, smelling like the ocean, but not like his kapnos.
“You’ve got a week,” I said over my shoulder.
He grunted. Clearly, he thought my threats were empty.
Without even looking at him, I took his sight and sense of touch, leaving him stuck in his head with only my voice to anchor him. He stood still in the middle of the kitchen, waiting, trying not to get angry.
“How’s that feel?” I asked.
“Great.”
I turned back, watching his face, his blank eyes.
His ribs expanded and contracted steadily with his breath, the rest of his body motionless—if he tried to take a step he’d probably fall, since he wouldn’t be able to feel the ground.
Watching him standing there like a pillar, controlling himself, made me feel like more of a sadist than usual, because there really wasn’t a reason for me to be doing this. Except reminding him that I could.
The more minutes that passed, the more irritated he got. All I had to do was wait, until the emotion ran deep enough for me to remind him how much control I could have if I wanted.
“Micah,” he snapped.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t keep me here. I’ll remind you that you were the one to end things with me.”
“Still bitter?”
That got him. I gave him back his senses and he instantly was coming towards me like he was going to attack me.
I braced my arms in front of me, shoving his shoulders back before he grabbed my arm and slammed me sideways into the fridge, tipping the whole thing into the wall.
A piece of the countertop cracked off when Mason’s hand smashed into the edge of it.
I kicked his ankle and he lost balance, both of us tumbling to the ground.
“Stop,” he gritted out, breathing hard through his nose. “You’re fucking with my head.”
He rolled on top of me, knocking my skull back against the wood as he straddled my midsection, his dark hair falling in his face.
His hands were on my shoulders, palms pressing so hard into my collarbones I knew he could break them easily if he wanted to right now.
He was so strong I couldn’t fucking move.
For an instant, I made both of us invisible, our bodies shimmering away into nothing, and it was just enough to throw him off. I flipped him on his back, grabbing his jaw roughly, drinking in the fury in his brown irises.
“All that rage just to end up right back against me,” I said. “You never walk away.”
“Neither do you.” He tipped his head back, stretching out his neck, his Adam’s apple moving when he swallowed.
Watching the strong column of his throat was tempting me, making me want to do shit I shouldn’t.
“You’d rather choke on your own pride than admit you miss being in my head.
But I don’t want that shit anymore. I want you out. ”
“If you want me out of your head, then stop thinking about how good it felt.”
“How good it felt?” he rasped. “You’re losing your subtlety.”
His chest was rising and falling fast against mine, his pupils expanding, palm sliding to the front of my throat, eyelids getting heavy.
He adjusted his hips, shifting on the hardwood, and I felt his erection.
My thighs flexed on either side of his hips, my own dick hardening in response to the feeling of his.
He was letting me be on top now. Both of us knew that. Both of us knew he was strong enough to get me off if he wanted.
“And you’ve never had any.” I hovered over him, my heart about to beat out of my chest, my cock throbbing, pushing at the fabric of my shorts.
“You like it.”
He dropped his mouth open, challenging me with his eyes.
Daring me. I had no idea what we were doing, why we were trying to provoke each other like this.
But I couldn’t stop myself. He made it so easy to give into my worst instincts.
And he was in one of his moods, pissing me off, acting like I wouldn’t do it.
Slowly, I let saliva collect in my mouth, nostrils flaring, gaze locked on his.
My hands were around his throat, thumbs jammed under his chin to push his head back.
And then I spit into his mouth.
He swallowed my saliva, something reckless glinting in his eyes.
Time slowed for an instant and I could hardly breathe for how violently my memories were wrecking my brain, destroying me, burning me alive.
Because we’d done this before. A lot of times.
Me spitting into Mason’s mouth, him spitting into mine, spitting on our cocks, fucking each other like we hated each other.
Constantly, recklessly, roughly. Fucking like we’d do it forever if the rest of the world didn’t exist. With him, my appetite for sex was never sated.
But I didn’t want that anymore. I didn’t want him. He was unfixable, a storm, a forest fire capable of destroying my entire life and I wasn’t doing that shit again. I’d done that once, but I wasn’t stupid anymore.
I had Dakota now. And she was a thousand times better than Mason ever could’ve been.
I shoved off him, getting to my feet, breathing too hard, my heart pumping too fast.
“Get out,” I choked. “Get out of my house.”
Dragging a hand through my hair, I stalked towards the stairs, every muscle tight and straining, aching.