Chapter Thirteen
Mara-Present
Twister-Delta Rae
Oh my god.
That’s my first thought when I wake up. I don’t have any other words to describe how I’m feeling about last night.
What does it mean? Is that going to be a regular encounter?
Does Jason want me? The spitfire in his eyes tells me he does but he doesn’t want to want me.
He hates me but he craves me. The way he touched me…
the way he made me come harder than even I can make myself come.
The way he demanded what he wanted from me without a single word after driving me to combustion.
I shouldn’t have liked being so degraded but…
I think I did. I’ve only been with beta males, weak men who hardly contribute to sexual interactions.
They never had the same passion Jason showed last night. He just took what he wanted.
I’ve come to realize passion is not only a romantic thing. There’s passion in romance, passion in anger, passion in achieving a goal.
Passion is a powerful motivator.
The clock beside the bed says it’s 6:30 am.
Which means Jason is already awake and working out in the garage.
I shouldn’t feel like I need to avoid him but I do.
How do I even interact with him now? He didn’t kiss me last night so I’m assuming it’s just casual.
Just sex. But we also only did oral stuff.
I don’t know. I guess I’ll just take his lead.
I fling the covers off me and walk to the closet to get dressed.
I pull on one of the leggings that were left here by some skank who slept with Jason, and one of his flannels.
No bra. Buttoned just high enough to cover my boobs.
I’ve noticed the way he eyes his clothes on me.
Before, I wasn’t sure if he was upset about it or turned on. Now, I’m starting to think it’s both.
After brushing my teeth and tying my hair into a single braid over my shoulder, I head downstairs. Just as I’m pouring myself a cup of coffee, Jason comes back inside from the garage glistening in a sheen of sweat that coats his bare chest, broad shoulders, and muscular arms.
God, why does he have to be so hot? It’s like the revenge body concept.
He was made fun of in high school so he got hotter after graduation to get back at everyone who ever teased him.
From what it sounds like, several women changed their opinions about him after seeing the weapon he was concealing in his pants.
He doesn’t even hesitate when he sees me, he lets his eyes roam over my clothed body as he passes me to pour himself another cup of coffee.
The only sign that anything happened between us is the way his eyes darkened for a second, like the shadow of the memory passed over him.
He’s equally insufferable and attractive.
I don’t know whether to shun him or beg for more.
“Not going to acknowledge it?” I ask nonchalantly, or at least trying to sound like I don’t care.
Jason doesn’t even look at me. He pulls the carton of eggs out of the fridge and slides them across the clean counter top to land in front of me.
Message received.
Prick.
The only reason I even bother to make eggs is because I’m hungry. Not because he told me to.
“You could be a little nicer,” I remind him. I don’t exactly know how he feels. Does he like me? Does he hate me? Was that a hate fuck or something?
Again, not an actual fuck. But he doesn’t have to be so curt with me.
Jason’s only response is his usual eye roll that feels more like a challenge than a snarky reply.
“I’m starting to think eye rolls are your main form of communication.” Although his coffee cup is in the way, I catch the way his cheeks dimple a bit as the corners of his mouth turn up. Finally, a smile. I knew he had a sense of humor somewhere beneath all that apathy and muscle.
Heavy footfalls on the stairs alert us to Dylan’s presence before he’s even visible. As soon as he lands on the main level, he rubs his eyes and groans.
“Ugh, I slept horrible.” He announces before pouring himself the last of the coffee and stirring in the milk. “I knew you guys would fuck eventually but do you think you could keep it down next time?”
Choking. I’m choking on my coffee and trying to cough it out of my burning lungs. Apparently I forget how to drink coffee and swallow properly when I’m startled. That’s the last thing I expected him to say and the last thing I want to talk about with him.
“What? We—I—you must have—nothing happened.” Real smooth, Mara.
“So someone else was shouting ‘Oh god, Jason. Don’t stop’?” His impersonation of me is a little offensive but I can’t deny it.
Jason just walks past us toward the stairs. As he crosses my path I glare and tell Dylan, “Don’t worry, I don’t think it’ll be a problem again.”
Jason’s eyes dart to me without turning his head then back to the stairs. What does that mean? Does he want it to happen again? Or is he just offended?
Fuck. Why does he have to be so confusing and annoying and…and…sexy?
December passes with the most snow I’ve ever seen in my life.
Piled on every surface and obscuring the rest of the world behind a curtain of falling snow storming around us.
It’s like living in a snowglobe that’s being shaken vigorously by a child.
I can hardly see the barn through the haze from my place on the couch where I’m drinking my morning coffee.
It’s Christmas morning. Similarly to Thanksgiving, we decided to shirk our responsibilities for a day of relaxation and Christmas traditions.
A week ago, all three of us traipsed through the woods to find a Douglas fir to cut down for a Christmas tree.
After shaking the snow off the tree on the front porch, we brought it inside where it fit perfectly in the corner of the living room with just enough room to top with an angel.
Dylan told me the decorations are from their childhood. Their mom loved Christmas.
Dylan doesn’t talk about their dad much. And I don’t ask. But their mom sounds like she was a lovely woman.
Jason is already awake and in the garage working out.
Dylan is still asleep. I used to sleep until the afternoon but over a month of getting up early has changed my internal clock.
Most mornings I hate being awake this early.
But this morning, it’s peaceful, serene, and fitting for the holiday season.
I even seasoned my makeshift latte with cinnamon and nutmeg to add a little extra Christmas spirit to the morning.
For the sake of the holiday, I also grabbed A Christmas Carol from the shelf when I found it this morning while looking for a new book.
There’s something so picturesque and timeless about sitting on the couch snuggled under a blanket while reading and sipping coffee.
Like something the female main character of a Hallmark movie would do on Christmas Eve right before the love of her life knocks on her door for a passionate kiss that solidifies their relationship.
Not that I’m into any of that cheesy stuff.
Classic Christmas tales are way more my speed.
To my surprise, Dylan jaunts down the stairs not long after I’ve settled into the couch where I intend to spend my morning in such a chipper mood.
He’s acting like a kid on Christmas morning, which kind of suits his golden retriever personality.
I didn’t expect him to be up until one in the afternoon since we don’t have any work to do today.
“Gooooood morning,” his chipper voice gnaws at my pessimistic disposition.
“Merry Christmas,” I reply. “You’re in an awfully good mood.”
“Of course!” His exuberance is infectious. “It’s freaking Christmas! Best day of the year.”
I can’t help myself, I laugh at the joyful man before me in on-theme pajamas sporting candy canes of every size in red and green variations.
After Dylan pours his coffee and stirs it with a candy cane (very on brand for Dylan) he announces it’s time to break out his moms Christmas vinyl records.
The first one he plays is none other than a Bing Crosby Christmas album.
His deep voice and lyrical music fills the space in no time with a full orchestra and tinkling bells.
“Was Christmas big in your house growing up?” I ask just as the door to the garage opens and Jason steps in.
No matter how many times I see this sequence of events, I can never get over the sight of him shirtless, sweaty, and radiating testosterone as he wipes himself down and pours his second cup of coffee for the day.
“Oh yeah,” Dylan continues on as if the most delicious man I’ve ever seen didn’t just walk into the room.
A man who made me come so hard a couple weeks ago and hasn’t touched me since.
“Our mom decorated every square inch of our house just like this with homemade garlands and dried orange slices and ribbon. Anything she could make or already had. She’d cook all day but loved it cause we’d help her.
And play these exact records the whole time.
When we were little she’d get us to dance with her. ”
“You didn’t dance with your mother as teenagers?” I ask as though it’s a personal offense with a hand clutching my nonexistent pearls.
“Of course we would,” Dylan said matter-of-factly. “She’s our mom. She just had to convince us with pumpkin pie.”
Dylan talks about their mom with such affection it’s adorable. Someone else in my position might feel envious of all the love he and Jason got from their mother, but I’m just in awe. I’m more jealous I never got to meet her.
“I one-hundred percent believe you dance, Dylan, but there’s no way you can convince me the grinch over there dances willingly. Let alone dances well.”
“Only for our mom,” Dylan answers for his brother with a wink toward Jason, the playfulness the two brothers share on occasion takes me so off guard. If it weren’t for the similar resemblance, you’d think they were only roommates sharing bills and a business.