The fluorescent light was blazing, casting a bold white hue around the room. A steady draft of chilled air flowed from the vent in the ceiling, and not a single sound other than my breathing could be heard.

Where was Mason? Where did his father go?  How long had I been in here?

Maybe they left you in here to die.

No, no. That couldn’t be right. Why would they do that? I stood from the uncomfortable metal chair and began to pace. Perspiration gathered on my palms; I wiped them on my dress.

My sore feet were wrapped nice and snug in gauze, but they still protested with every step I took.

There was only one door, and no windows The only furnishings in the room were the table, chairs, and the twin-sized mattress I had originally woken up on. Everything was white: the walls, the tiled floor, the light, the mattress, and the table. I loathed it.

Where is Mason?

Almost as if I’d summoned him, the door swung open and he walked into the room. He pushed it shut and then turned towards me, making no attempt to approach. As always, a single look in his green eyes battered my senses and sent my emotions into a tailspin.

What was I supposed to do? I wish someone would have explained the fundamentals of relationships to me—if that’s what we had. Did I yell at him? Give the silent treatment? Remain level headed and try to discuss what had transpired rationally?

I was angry with him for what he’d hidden from me and what it ultimately meant, but I also wanted to hold him and never let go.

 It was messed up and wrong, but I had given up on trying to make sense out of what was between us. I felt as if I hadn’t seen him in ages, when in all actuality, it had only been…well, I wasn’t entirely sure. I didn’t know how long I’d been in this room.

He looked fantastic; I could smell the Irish Springs body wash he used from where I stood. His dark locks were perfectly styled—not a hair out of place. I, on the other hand, knew I looked like a swamp monster, standing there in my muddied dress with dirt beneath my nails and tangles in my hair.

I rolled my lips and thought about what I wanted to say. I’d been alone, giving me nothing to do but think. The piercing silence had broken apart the dam I was trying to keep my thoughts behind.

“Are you ready to come back home?” he asked, beating me to the punch.

I stared at him and scoffed. “Is that really all you have to say for yourself?”

He cocked his head and swept his eyes over me from head to toe before responding. “You look so beautiful, bruised.”

I gaped at him.

After everything that had happened and all I had discovered, all he could say was that? No apology? No explanation?

“Are you really going to stand there and pretend nothing happened?”

“What do you want me to say, Katie?” He began making his way towards me, sounding exceptionally calm.

“You could start with telling me about Annie, and how you know my parents.”

As he got closer, I was forced to tilt my head up so I could maintain eye contact. His hard stare was nothing less than intimidating. I gritted my teeth and balled my fists in an effort to stop from shaking.

“Annie…as in, your sister?” I narrowed my eyes at him and began inching around to the opposite side of the table, wanting some distance between us.

He tracked my movements without turning his head, a smile breaking out on his face.

“Are you trying to get away from me?” His hand shot out and wrapped around my wrist, adding just enough pressure to remind me how easily he could snap it. I glared down where he gripped me and then back up at his face.

“Why can’t you just answer me?” I shot back, attempting to pull away from him anyway.

“You haven’t even asked me anything.” He continued to grin, laughing at my poor attempt to break free. Giving a sharp tug, he bent my body at an awkward angle, pulling my upper torso over the table.

“Stop it!” I yelled, lurching down to bite where he gripped me.

“Katie,” he sighed, easily thwarting my assault.

He was quick to let me go, immediately winding a hand in my hair like he was grabbing a piece of rope, using it to drag me back around to where he stood.

A small squeak left my mouth.

His pretty green hues gave nothing away, his emotions shuttered.

I wrapped my hands around his wrists and dug my dirty nails in. I felt his skin tear off, but he showed no signs of physical distress or indication that I was hurting him.

“Calm the fuck down,” he gruffly commanded, violently jerking me left and right by the roots of my hair.

I cried out and dropped my hands, letting him place me where he wanted like I was a ragdoll.

He used his solid body to trap me between him and the table, pulling my head back until my back was forced to bow. My scalp was on fire, the tiny hairs stretched beyond their limit. I stared up at him through the pained tears that had gathered in the corners of my eyes.

“You picked one hell of a time to find your spine,” he commented, using his thumb to catch the first tear that fell.

“Let me go,” I pleaded, wriggling beneath him.

“I can’t.” He leaned down and skimmed his soft lips across my forehead. I could smell a hint of mint mouthwash on his breath.

“I missed you,” he confessed, so quietly I almost didn’t hear him.

I was sure I hadn’t been away from him that long, but then again, Mason would tie us together with a ball and chain if he had the option. If I wasn’t right beside him, I was too far away. Sometimes, I felt as if he wanted to merge us into one being, just to ensure I would always be with him.

He slightly pulled away to look back down at me, staring so intensely you would think he was reading my mind. 

“You have no idea how lovely you are,” he murmured, stroking my cheek with his fingertips.

Oh, no. I knew where this would go, and it was the last thing we needed to be doing.

“Mason, we need to talk.” My voice came out smooth and steady, at complete odds with the rising sense of urgency I felt to get him off me. When he was inside me, I fell to pieces. Nothing else mattered but him.

 “I know what you’re doing.” He let go of my hair, granting my scalp instant relief, and braced himself over me with his palms flat on the table. I was in an awkward position; not tall enough to reach the ground, my bandaged feet limply dangled on either side of his waist.

I could feel the tension in his powerful body. He had a dark look in his eyes, and I knew just what it meant. He leaned back down and I brought my hands up to brace against his chest.

“I’m filthy.”

“I like you filthy,” he whispered roughly, sliding his hands up my legs. Heat danced down my spine as he curled two fingers in the waistband of my thong and dragged it down to my ankles, not bothering to completely remove it.

“Mason,” I objected, but there was no longer any ire behind my words. He made me weak, and I hated it. He was a lethal amphetamine, an addiction I feared I wouldn’t be free of until I crashed and burned, unable to sustain any more of him.

There was this dark craving inside me that barred my path back to sobriety.

The permanent mental effects from consuming too much of him had already set in. He pressed his lips to mine in an unusual tender kiss. His tongue invaded my mouth and I found my hands on the back of his neck, my anxiety slowly fading as need built in my core.

His hands slowly trailed back across my thighs, finding their way between my legs.

“You’re already wet.” He chuckled low and dark, pushing two large fingers inside me.

I moaned in the back of my throat as he rotated them, curving them up into my sweet spot, making me gasp. He chuckled again and pulled away. I heard his zipper go down, and then the smooth tip of his cock was slowly sliding up and down my slit.

“Are you ready?”

Before I could answer, he had my legs hooked over his forearms and was burying himself balls deep inside me. A cry tore from my throat, followed by another as he set a brutal pace, rocking into me, thrusting in and out. Our clothing added an extra layer of friction between us, but I needed more.

“Mason,” I moaned, clamping my inner muscles around his thick cock, urging him to move faster, fuck me harder.

He dropped one of my legs and slightly lifted me by the other one, pushing himself deeper.

“Is this what you want?” He picked up his pace, thrusting harder, his balls smacking against the groove of my ass.

The table protested beneath me, sounding like it was seconds away from collapsing altogether.

I couldn’t form a response to his question; the need to come clouded my mind, and all I could was do was repeat his name in a barrage of moans that increased in volume as he pounded into me.

I clutched the lapels of his suit, using them as my anchor as the tension building inside me ruptured into a million pieces. He caught my scream in his mouth, continuing to fuck me through the shockwaves rolling inside my body.

He made a sound in his throat, digging his fingers into my flesh. I felt his cock stiffen as he bottomed out, finding his own release.

We stayed wrapped around each other, our chests rising and falling in matching succession. He withdrew and took a step back, tucking his flaccid cock back into his slacks, not bothering to wipe off my juices.

I glanced between my thighs, and saw his semen leaking out of me. Feeling exposed and embarrassed, I shoved my dirty dress down and closed my shaking legs.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. I felt cold, the needy heat inside me now dissipated. Shame quickly set in. How could I be so aroused at a time like this? What had he done to me?

The answer didn’t matter right then. Sex wasn’t going to fix anything; it was just a temporary salve that washed away as soon as it was over. When I risked peering back up at Mason, I saw his eyes were glued to my face, shuttered once again, a blank mask.

“Is she okay?” I mustered up enough courage to ask.

“She’s around.”

That was the same answer his father had given when I’d asked about him. There was no vocal inflection in his tone to let me know if that meant she was safe or not.

“Can I…I want to see her,” I stated firmly.

“It’s cute you think you have the right to make choices,” he smirked, and slid off his suit jacket. “Your sister hasn’t bothered to call, write a letter, or visit you in seven years, Katie, when she had every opportunity.”

“Maybe she didn’t, though. How do I know you’re telling the truth when––.”

“I don’t lie,” he harshly interjected, his green eyes narrowing into slits.

Remembering what happened the first time I accused of him of being a liar, I swallowed my words.

“I just want to know if she’s okay,” I softly told him. I didn’t really expect him to understand.

Mason was a hard soul to sway; his lack of morality was what made him so ruthless. Danger and desire went hand in hand when it came to him.

“She’s perfect,” he responded with zero emotion, stepping forward to drape his suit jacket over my shoulders. “You’re cold,” he pointed out when I gave him a puzzled look.

“Come on.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me off the table, leading me towards the door.