CHAPTER FIVE
MASON
He hands me the glass of wine and watches closely as my fingers wrap around the glass stem. He retreats and slumps down on the lounge chair, my gaze studying his body carefully. “Have you ever done this before?” He sips his wine. “A contract play dynamic?”
I’m only here because I don’t have a choice.
I’m only complying because Vincent isn’t giving me any other options.
It’s either going on my knees to please a man who probably paid thousands to have me or returning to Godfather empty-handed.
“No, sir.” I shake my head.
“Interesting.” He laughs.
My gaze scans the room, shallow breaths spilling through my lungs. The glow of the amber light spills over the perfectly painted gray walls. From the floor-to-ceiling window, my eyes take in the city before me. My mind wonders what it would be like if it were just another tiring day at the office.
But that life is gone, and I’m left with this.
Left in a room with a man who can get whatever he wants because of how much power he has. Because I have no choice.
“Is anyone aware of your sex-capades?” I have to at least try to show him that I’m dedicated to this, so he doesn’t get suspicious or ask unnecessary questions.
“I believe I’m to ask the questions, Rose.”
“I’m just curious because of all the paperwork.”
His voice roughens at the edges. “You are testing me.” He finishes his drink and sets the empty glass on the side table.
“I’m not afraid to push back when the situation calls for it,” I clear my throat. “Sir.”
His brows narrow into a V line as he observes me. “Prep yourself.” He commands and gestures toward the bathroom at the corner.
“I already did before I joined you, sir.” I don’t speak, but he asks, “I want to know your name. Mere curiosity.”
My gaze lingers and lifts to his lips, then the mask. “Names are not important, Rose.” He frowns. Will he get sick of me and my questions? That’s not part of my plan. “Get on the bed. On all fours.” He commands.
His feet carry him to the bed where I’m sitting, and he takes the unfinished glass of wine from me, setting it down on the round table. As he walks back to the bed, I climb in, hands and knees pressing against the white bedsheet.
A trembling sigh escapes my lips as a nervous chill settle in the pit of my stomach.
Ten or fifteen minutes, and it’ll be over.
I have to breathe through it.
He takes both of my hands and snaps them behind me. The softness of the fabric of his tie brushes around my wrists as he ties my hands in a knot.
I don’t move.
I let him.
His knuckles brush against my ass, resting there a second too long. His voice is steady and absolute. “What are your safe words?”
“Um… rose.” I cock my head and meet his gaze.
“I think rose is your favorite word. You have a rose tattoo on your ass.” He says as his hand parts my thighs and pulls me closer to the edge. He rests his hand on the slope of my back until my stomach presses flat against the mattress, tilting my ass up for exposure.
“Better.” He remarks.
The click of the bottle sends a jolt through me. Then a generous amount of lubricant lands warm on my flesh and slides down my hole. He gathers the lube in his fingers and slides it over my ass, then gives me a soft spank.
My body tenses when he presses his dick against my hole. Then he stops suddenly. “Is everything okay?” He asks.
I inhale shakily, eyes searching for something that isn’t there. For something to distract me. I should say no. I should tell him I don’t want to do any of this. But saying no in a world like this isn’t a choice.
“I’m fine, sir. I’m just nervous.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I give a firm response that my body believes it, even though my mind doesn’t. That word tastes foreign in my mouth, even though I’ve been saying it all night.
A grunt tears out of my throat, and I grip the sheet. He pushes deeper until he’s buried deep inside me, then he relaxes until the pain dissolves into something pleasurable.
He presses into me, moving in a slow, measured rhythm, rocking my hips as his skin bites into mine in a slap. My eyes move from the headboard to the amber light on the nightstand. My fingers grip the sheets so hard that my knuckles turn white.
“Fuck.” The word slips from my lips as I fall back against the bed. He pulls me up and puts me back in the same position.
“Stay.” He grunts.
One word, and my body complies.
I have to give him my obedience. I have to make him happy.
Saint’s grip softens around my ass, then tightens as he increases his pace and rhythm, easing in and out of me.
His hand snakes around my neck and lifts me up.
His fingers tread along my carotid artery and clench my throat, but not hard enough to choke.
He leans into my ear and whispers. “It’s Saint. My name.”
But I already knew that.
I already knew everything about him.
Because I’m here to ruin everything he stands for. Even though he’s so blinded by lust that he can’t tell.
“Take what you need from me.” I whisper. “Take me like you own me.” I grunt out the words even though I don’t mean any of them.
“Take off your mask.”
Fear grips every nerve ending of my body, and my shoulders stiffen. “I can’t.” I’m not sure if he should know who I am. Not when I’m walking into his company next Monday.
He pulls out of me, and I fall onto the bed, twisting around to face him. When our gazes lock, I see a man fighting a battle, even though he’ll never admit it. He doesn’t even give me the chance to pick apart the emotions on his face because his features go neutral in an instant.
I expect him to ask more questions, but he doesn’t push for an answer.
I pull back, leaning against the headboard, taking control subtly.
He kneels on the bed and moves toward me, stretching out his hand to take the pillows and place them together.
He lifts me onto it and groans, “Hold your legs back.” He unties me, and I rub my wrist before I snake my hand around my thighs.
I obey him, knees lifting backward. He picks up the bottle of lube and spills some more on my ass and his engorged length. He leans closer and his dick slides into me in one glide.
The pale ring of his irises has been swallowed whole, but a haze of pleasure lingers, lips still parted as he exhales sharply, thrusting into me relentlessly.
His lips part even more, a gasp slipping free.
When he can no longer bear the intensity between us, he flips me over so that I’m lying beneath him.
His hand parts my legs as he buries himself into me.
I endure thrust after thrust. Broken moans slip through my lips. I squeeze my eyes shut only to hear him whimper.
“Fuck.”
He pulls out of me and spills his release against my ass. My body stiffens and sags, relief washing over me. It’s over. I remain pressed against the sheets even as he gets off the bed and heads to the bathroom.
I can’t bring myself to move.
My skin crawls with disgust that hits me from every direction. A soft whimper leaves my lips as tears gather in my eyes. I breathe through it. He can’t see me like this.
From the bedroom, the steady rush of water carries through the door as I lie still against the sheets.
After a while, it cuts off, leaving the suite too quiet.
The bathroom door opens, and he steps out, a towel slung low around his waist, droplets still tracing down his skin.
He dries himself off, puts on his clothes, and leaves the suite.
My heart sinks. The reverberation of the door lingers at the back of my mind like a ghost.
I let out a trembling breath and slide off the bed, bare feet hitting the floor as I head for the bathroom.
The water washes everything down the drain, but it doesn’t take the emotions I feel with it.
My body drags. My thoughts lag a step behind.
A dull fog settles over me, thick and hard to shake, yet I push myself through those doors and return to the dressing room.
I change into my clothes and leave the building to wait for my driver.
Maybe when I’m home, I’d feel better. I’d forget about what just happened to me tonight.
The drive back to my apartment seems to be endless until the driver stops in front of the building. I pay him and get off, heading upstairs to my unfamiliar home.
Inside, it’s awfully quiet, like I’m walking through a graveyard in the middle of the night.
I turn on the light in the living room and toss my phone onto the couch.
I walk around the kitchen island and switch on the stove to boil water for some tea.
While waiting on the stool, my thoughts zoom in and out of everything that has happened tonight, and a new feeling of dread lodges freshly in my chest, stealing breath from my lungs.
My jaw tightens even as my mind tries to circle back to Saint.
I don’t let it.
I don’t want to relive that moment ever again.
SAINT
This is the part I have always hated.
The part where desire taints my soul.
The part I’ve always kept in chains. But tonight, this young stranger has somehow sunk his claws into me and ripped those chains apart.
I’m sitting in the aftermath of the moment.
The heavy discomfort.
The memory of our eyes meeting in that one moment.
This never happens because I don’t let it.
It has never felt like this before. The only time it did was when I had my first kiss, but even something so blissful cost me my sanity.
As I drive back to my penthouse, I’m left in the aching stillness.
Pleasure still creeps on my skin even though it’s ended, even though I have decided it’s wrong.
I don’t let these thoughts make a home in my skin.
I shut them down.
I don’t know who that man is, and I don’t intend to. He solely exists for my pleasure, and he’s free to leave anytime if he doesn’t like our arrangement.
I should not feel this hollowness because of his absence.
I’m not allowed to be anything other than the life set up for me.
I’m not allowed to love because the world I come from is dangerous.
It’s loyalty to my family.
I will not compromise blood and values just because my heart wants what it shouldn’t.
When people like me love, our enemies exploit that love to their advantage. And if I’m compromised, how do I become the successor to my father’s kingship?