CHAPTER THIRTY
MASON
It was better to stay the night with a man I should avoid than go home to a man who’ll probably try to kill me.
The elevator dings as we enter the apartment together. I drop my backpack by the couch. He takes off his jacket and unbuttons his shirt.
Every nerve in me lights up in flames as my eyes study the flex of his muscles and the dark ink tattoos across his chest. I take him in. Plain of steel muscles he’d gotten from years of hard work at the gym. His eyes lift to me seductively.
Of course, he knows exactly what he’s doing, trying to rile me up.
“Are you hungry?” He asks as he tosses his clothes onto the couch. “I can make you something.”
“You? It’s probably going to be salty.” I shrug and settle down on the couch. He lets out a frustrated groan as he looks down at me.
“You’re always pushing my buttons, little devil.”
“I always will. I enjoy it.” I laugh even when I know I shouldn’t, when I’m aware that being here will get me into a lot of trouble. I gave away information that came really close to ruining his entire family.
“I think you should be thrilled. I’m finally flirting back.”
“Hmm.” He looks at me. “Dinner or not, little devil.”
“Stop calling me that.” I frown at him. “Or I leave?”
He raises his hands in meek surrender and takes a step back. “Fine, I won’t.”
“Why didn’t you come to work?” I ask him, genuinely hoping for a meaningful answer. He sprawls on the couch opposite me and looks at the floor-to-ceiling window of the city. He won’t give me an answer. Of course, he won’t. He’s Saint King.
“I had better things to do.”
His words punch me in the gut. “You did? Then why the fuck am I here? Maybe I should leave.”
“Don’t fucking threaten me, little devil.” He teases.
“Or what? What will you do? Kiss me? Fuck me?”
He growls under his breath and shifts against the couch. My fiery gaze drops to his pants. “You know, if you just wanted me to kiss you, all you should do is ask,” he squints at me with a wicked smirk. “Nicely.” His voice drops a few octaves.
“No. You’ll get on your knees and ask me for a kiss, and if I think you deserve it, I’ll give it to you.”
This game of cat and mouse we are playing has me hot and bothered.
It’s different. I’m not terrified of losing autonomy again.
Not just because in some destructive way I want the man, I’m supposed to destroy.
But because he’s creating a safe space for me.
From the moment he asked me to kiss him. Not take. But ask.
God fucking help me.
My eyes widen in pure shock.
Saint is on his knees. “Who are you and what have you done with Saint King?”
He chuckles. “You love telling me what to do.” The deep sound vibrates in his solid chest. “I like kissing you.” He mutters, but I see the conflict in his eyes. His mind is in a battle. Choosing this moment or reverting to who he has been his whole life.
“Please kiss me.” He pleads, eyes narrowed at me, hands perfectly still at his side as he watches and waits patiently.
“Come here.” I bite my lower lip, chest rising for a breath.
He tries to get on his feet, but my words stop him.
“On your knees.” He smirks and sinks to his knees.
My breath goes completely still. His intense, dark brown eyes latch onto me.
He moves to me, one knee in front of the other, until he kneels between my thighs and places his hand on me.
My heart thuds in my chest. My eyes focus on the liquor shelf behind us. I try to slow my breath and remember that this is an entirely different scenario. But my body tenses, and my breathing spikes the moment he lays his hands on my lap.
“Stop. Stop.” I shut my eyes, squeezing hard as I wrench myself away from him.
Before I can explain, his deep voice breaks through the thin walls of fear and frustration.
“Mason, I’m sorry.” He inhales sharply. “I know the first time we were together wasn’t exactly under normal circumstances, but this is different. ”
This isn’t about his promises.
This is about me.
How do I explain to him that my autonomy was taken from me the moment those kidnappers threw me into that van?
How do I explain to him that even though I signed his contract, I never genuinely wanted to be there?
That when he asked me whether I was okay and comfortable, I had to lie.
It was one of the most terrifying moments of my life.
Yet I smiled through all of it because, of course, that’s what I have to do.
I risk my life for Vincent, or I die. Knowing full well that even trying to buy my freedom from Vincent could also lead to my death because I’m a pawn playing against a dangerous, powerful family.
“I’m okay.” I turn around and lie through my teeth. My lips stretch into a forced smile. “I’d really appreciate it if we took things slow.”
“Of course, anything you want.” He smiles at me.
“Um, I mean, we could cuddle.” I shrug with a hoarse laugh.
“I have never cuddled before.” He admits, biting his lip in regret. “But I’d love to try with you.”
“Hmm.” I nod and close the gap between us. I wrap my hand around him, and he presses a kiss on my forehead.
“Do you want to stay here or go upstairs to the bedroom?” He asks and looks at me.
“Here’s so much better.”
“Alright.”
I gasp when he lifts me into his arms, muscles flexing as he settles down on the couch. I wrap my hand around his shoulder and lean against his chest, breathing through the thoughts in my mind until my heartbeat settles down.
After a while, we lay on the couch even though it barely fits us both. His hand falls around my waist possessively, and he buries his face in the crook of my neck. My left hand holds his other hand, and we stay through the quiet night, the honking of vehicles distant in the night air.
This is not safe for me.
This is not right.
I’m forgetting why I’m here. I’m getting too comfortable.
But why do I feel this iota of warmth wrapping around me with velvet restraint?
Why can’t I rip myself off his body and go home?
Because I know better. Being here and facing this is better than returning to that apartment.
It’s better than wondering whether my uncle would break into my room and smother me with a pillow.
A suffocating feeling pins me to the chest, yet I fight through it. Maybe I deserve this. This drop of warmth in the chaos I call life. Even though it’s from a man I should be a thousand miles away from.
My eyelids grow heavy as hours pass, and I melt into the heat of his arms, losing myself in a deep sleep.
By the time I open my eyes, the morning sun rises on the horizon, splashing its golden rays across the city.
Behind me, Saint dozes off with a tiny snore.
I pick up his hand and lift it off my waist. I slip off him and get to my feet.
I take one last look at him before I pick up my backpack and leave.