Chapter Twenty-One
Olivia
M y heart pumps furiously. My lungs burn in a way that I haven’t felt in a long time.
Hurtling my thighs forward, I press on, desperate to make him work for it.
The hunt. I can feel him closing in. In the end, his stride is almost double mine, and my capture is inevitable.
The thrill of being hunted by him is delicious.
I run my tongue along my lips, pressing forward, the thud of his footsteps behind me.
I turn to glance around and see his masked face, and giggle.
His head tilts just like in a horror movie.
I dart to the left and start to zig-zag toward the camera. His cape flaps in the wind, and as I faux scream, hands flat on my cheeks in a mock surprise, he reaches out one gloved hand, gripping my shoulder.
I dip, duck, bend my knees, and crouch down.
My right hand reaches over my shoulder and grips his upper arm as my left arm reaches across my chest to flip him over my shoulder.
His body surges over my shoulder as I use his weight against him.
Flipping him over onto his back, I press my foot onto his chest as I gaze into the camera with a thumbs-up.
A few seconds pass, and as I try to catch my breath, he grabs my ankle, pulling me on top of him.
“You weren’t supposed to make it so hard to catch you, Killer,” he murmurs, the plastic mask scraping along my jawline.
I tilt the mask slightly, revealing the scruff along his jaw and his soft lips reaching up to mine. My lips graze against his, our labored breath mingling together. I pull back just as he reaches up to close the space.
“Olivia . . .” he growls as I smirk.
Before I can respond, he rolls me on my back, one knee between my legs, and he pulls the mask all the way off, flinging it somewhere into the field. He presses his lips into mine with a harshness I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s not desperate, but it’s in need of reassurance.
I reach to cup his face and smile at him.
And with that gesture, he softens, dropping smaller pecks across my lips, my chin, my cheeks, my eyes.
..my whole face, really. Until I’m laughing, and his kisses are all teeth with how far his smile has stretched his lips.
He rolls onto his side and pulls my leg over his, keeping our connection.
“What’s next?” he asks as I nuzzle into him.
“Well...that should be a good intro. We’ll need to actually show some self-defense moves. Which means you’ll need to put your mask back on. Unless you want to become influencer famous and really lose all chance of working for your father?”
After Austin's confession last week, we've talked about the changes he's made and the work he's been doing to build a life that is his own.
He's also told me about a conversation he had with his father about taking over the business.
The answer was a resounding no, of course.
But as I watch him talk about it, he looks almost fearful.
“Tempting. Not wearing a mask would certainly help my case against taking over. I can’t say my father or his associates would want someone being thrown around by a woman taking over the helm.”
“Hey!”
“Killer, I think you’re a fucking powerhouse, and the fact that you can take me down does nothing to shatter my ego—clearly.” He adjusts himself through his sweats, and I can’t help but roll my eyes .
“Nothing could shatter your ego,” I tease, cupping his dick through the soft fabric. “But you were saying?”
“Fuck, Olivia.” His eyes roll back as his chin tips upward.
“You were saying?” I repeat.
“I was saying that although the patriarchy is alive and well for those gremlins, the fact that you can tackle me to the ground bears no problem for me, given that you make me rock hard while doing it.”
My lips tip upward as I take him in. He’s been insatiable, but then again, so have I. I can’t keep my hands off him. Which might explain why this intro scene has taken half a day instead of half an hour.
“So, is that a yes or a no to the mask?”
“I’ll keep it. I don’t want to put you in danger, my love.”
My love. Be still my beating heart.
“Besides”—he hesitates for a second—“I have a feeling my father is well aware of what I’m up to. If he knows about the mask, he’ll really think I’m not suitable for the role.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’re giving me some boogeyman vibes. He might go for it,” I tease.
He lightly pinches my nose, making a honk noise while he’s at it.
Rolling over so he’s on his back and staring at the sky, he takes a few breaths, and I run my hand over his chest until he clasps it in his hand, bringing my knuckles up to his lips.
We’re still for a few minutes until Austin stands, pulling me up by my wrist so easily that I brace myself against his chest.
“Where did that mask fly off to?” he mutters as if he didn’t launch it away himself.
I shield my eyes from the sun, as Austin heads over a small grassy mound.
Once he’s located it, he pulls it back over his face and gives me a thumbs-up.
How this man was ever an enforcer I have no idea; he’s such a goof.
The next few weeks pass in the same way.
Austin is disarmingly charming on camera.
His contribution to my work is sincere and never mocking.
He favors the Ghostface mask, but others make appearances too: Leatherface, Bane, Darth Vader.
..always the villain. I wonder if these masks are truly how he sees himself.
The videos I’ve edited and posted are received well, incredibly well.
The comments are craving more and more of the “Masked Man” as he’s been dubbed.
Comments are curious; some speculate as to whether he’s my boyfriend or just a camera-shy self-defense instructor I’ve hired.
The buzz surrounding our videos has filled me with a sense of pride, and Austin is asking me daily for updates on views and comments.
We go through them together. He jots down notes when he thinks I’m not looking.
He seems...invested. Like this is as much his as it is mine.
I offer to give him a share of the money our videos bring in, but he laughs and says no. He is just a participant; I am the brains behind the operation.
On days we aren’t creating videos, he works.
He discusses upcoming experiments and the plants that are growing well.
Before the basement, I thought he was a two-brain-celled thug, no better than a monkey with a handgun.
But in reality, he’s so smart. He tells me all about pH levels and soil acidity.
That using certain soil for one plant won’t work for another.
It’s fascinating work, and you can tell he’s this encyclopedia of knowledge.
The fact that it’s legal and Danny won’t be in danger has removed any uncertainty I once had about him.
He’ll look after Danny. It’s a promise he’s made and one I trust him to keep.
The days vary, but the nights are routine.
We cook together, play games, stream something, and when we’ve teased each other enough with gentle caresses, one of us drags the other to bed.
He hasn’t been down to the basement in weeks; it’s almost like a crazy, long-forgotten dream.
Like an old movie in black and white, the memories of it are soft and dreamlike.
We’re lounging on the couch in my living room. I’m watching him unapologetically as his brows scrunch and relax, scrunch and relax.
“Austin?”
“Yeah, baby,” he mumbles, eyes scanning the pages of the latest novel he’s reading. I haven’t read this one; he’s bought it himself. His brow furrows as he turns a page.
“We’ve been, umm, spending time together for a few weeks now.”
“More like a month, Killer. I count the basement.” He winks, turning his book over and focusing on me.
I smile, looking down at my lap. He makes this so easy, but a small part of me doubts he’d want to be official. In our public life, he hides his face, and when we do go out, it’s mostly to smaller, local restaurants, not anywhere he would be recognized.
“So...I guess what I want to ask is...You know, what are we? Together, you know, like, what are we doing?” I hesitate, swallowing the lump that’s formed in my throat. This man has seen me naked and had me in every position imaginable. Why is it so hard to ask what we are?
“Olivia?”
“Yeah?” I look up again, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?” He smirks.
Oh god. I’m fifteen again, asking Scott Smith to the Sadie Hawkins dance. Spoiler alert: he said no because he was going with Penny Simmons.
I must pause for too long because he takes my face in his hands and whispers against my lips, “Took you long enough, Killer. I’ve been telling everyone you’re my girlfriend for weeks.”
“Who’s everyone?”
“You know, Luca, my therapist, Jenny at Squeeze the Day. She asked for an invitation to the wedding, by the way.”
“The wedding?”
“Oh yes, did I say I was calling you my girlfriend? I meant fiancée. ”
“Austin!” I push away teasingly, but my heart is beating against my chest, screaming, “YES! YES! YES!” Calm down he hasn’t actually asked you.
“I’m kidding...kind of. I told you, I’m just waiting for you to catch up.” He drops a kiss on my nose.
I laugh, pushing my hands into his solid chest until he gives way and slumps back onto the couch.
We sit quietly for a minute, and I fail to hide my smile. “So, do you still see this therapist?”
He coughs and looks down; the tops of his ears redden.
“I didn’t mean to pry. I was just surprised when you told me about him...or her?”
“No, it’s not that.” He sighs, rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers.
“It’s just that I think you might know him. He’s quite famous, actually.”
I don’t know any famous psychologists. Except Freud.
“What’s his name?”
“Dr. Alfie Adams.”
“Oh my god . . . Dr. Angel Adams?”