“Mason?” she asks, lying beside me, both of us just having caught our breath from what was, without a fucking doubt, the best sex I’ve had in a long time.

I actually felt it. Deeper than just a release. Deeper than just a one-night stand. I felt it. I fucking felt her. Not sure how I feel about that. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any sort of connection with a woman, and none quite like this. The situation is fucking messed up, and I know better than to get involved. She’s not even over her fuck head boyfriend.

But fucked if I don’t want to stay right here next to her and keep her safe.

Protection.

Fierce.

So fucking fierce.

“Yeah?” I murmur, and I can still smell the sex lingering in the room.

“What happened to your mom?”

I go stiff, as I always do when someone mentions her. I’ve not told anyone about my mom. Not fucking ever. Not even the people in the club. So why the fuck I choose to start telling the girl next to me, who I barely know, is beyond me.

But I do.

“She killed herself.”

She makes a little gasping sound, and for a moment, the room is dead fucking silent.

“Why?” she whispers.

“She was mentally unwell. Hallucinations. Night terrors. She got sick after my dad passed, and she had a scare one night. Somethin’ went wrong in her brain, ten different doctors, not one of them could tell me what it was. Some said it was her own doin’, others said it could be a condition. Got her help. Did fuck all. One day I went out, tryin’ to find work, and when I came home, she was dead. Took a whole bottle of pills while her nurse was downstairs makin’ dinner. Nurse thought she was asleep, so didn’t bother her.”

“Mason,” Saskia whispers, “I’m so sorry. That’s terrible. I can’t imagine how that must have felt for you.”

Like a hole was burned into my fucking heart, and I’ve never been able to fill it again.

That’s how it felt.

Like hell had opened its doors and sucked me in.

I’ll never forget finding my mother like that.

Fucking never. Not for as long as I live.

“She’s asleep,” Georgiana says, finishing up the last touches to the spaghetti she has made for dinner. Mom’s favorite.

“How long has she been out?” I ask, putting my keys down. I’ve been unsuccessful yet again at finding a job. Nothing. Nobody wants someone who can’t commit all their time to the job. I can’t promise I’ll always be there. I’ve tried explaining my situation, but nobody cares. They want workers who are a hundred percent commited, and that’s it.

“Over three hours. She had a nice shower, and I checked on her about two hours ago and she was asleep, I didn’t want to bother her. You know she’s been awake for three nights now. She’ll probably sleep all night; I figured it was best to leave her.”

I nod. “Good idea, she needs rest. When she gets tired, things get harder for her.”

“Have you had any luck with the new therapist she’s been talking to?”

I shake my head. “No, she’s convinced that she’s out to get her. The therapist recommended an institution, but I don’t think I can live with myself if I put her in one of those.”

She smiles, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Yes, but she may need it. It may be what’s best for her.”

I nod. “I’m going to go check on her.”

I turn and walk out. It may be what’s best for her, but my mother was perfectly healthy before my dad died. A strong and vibrant woman. Do I really throw the towel in and have her institutionalized over what? Something that might pass on its own? Something that isn’t even real? Am I being selfish keeping her here? Should I be considering the next best thing?

I sigh and run my hands through my hair, walking into her bedroom. She’s on her stomach, face down, which immediately rings a bell. I’m not sure what makes me do it, but I walk over and my hand immediately rests on her back. She’s not breathing. Panic unlike anything I’ve ever felt in my life grips me and I roll her over. There is vomit coming out of her mouth, staining the pillow, and her skin is a funny color.

My blood drains out of my face.

And I reach for her pulse.

It isn’t there.

I don’t realize I’m screaming until Georgiana comes running into the room. I start CPR, but I know, I already know, deep in my fucking chest, my mother is gone.

“No,” Georgiana cries. “No!”

“Call an ambulance!” I scream, pumping my mother’s chest. “Call it.”

Come on, Mom.

Please.

Fucking come on.

Don’t do this to me.

Please.

“Are you okay?” Saskia asks, and I’m jerked from the awful fucking memory of the day I lost my mother.

“Yeah, I just don’t like thinkin’ of it. She was sick for a long time, but I didn’t think it had gotten that bad.”

“It isn’t your fault, Mason.”

My eyes swing to hers and hold them. Nobody has ever said that to me. Not that it fucking matters; I’ll always blame myself for not being there, for not taking that extra step and getting the help she needed, for believing she was okay with me when she was far too gone for me to handle. But hearing it makes something ache inside me.

“Mason?” Saskia says, rolling to her side and staring at me.

“Not much you can say that’ll make me think it ain’t my fault, but thanks.”

She opens her mouth to say something and then shuts it. She’s a smart girl, knows when to push, knows when not to push. A lot of women don’t have that trait, they’ll argue and push until you lose your shit. Saskia is smart. She knows when to be quiet. She’s even fucking smarter when she changes the subject.

“I have to know ...”

I glance at her. “You’re goin’ to ask, so stop hesitatin’.”

“The girl ... you had tied up ...”

“Not my girlfriend.”

She snorts. “Calm down, that wasn’t what I was going to ask.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Get to the point, sweetheart.”

She smiles. “I like it when you’re nice.”

“Saskia,” I warn. “You’re takin’ the train on a whole different route right now.”

She giggles. And I fucking like how it sounds.

“Right,” she says, still smiling. “Is that like a kink of yours? Tying up women? All day?”

I shrug. “She does whatever she thinks will keep me hangin’ around. She’s a wild spark in bed, like’s all that kind of shit, so I go along with it.”

Saskia bites her lip and frowns a little.

“What?” I ask her.

“Nothing.”

I grin, and her eyes drop to my lips. “Wouldn’t be a little jealous, would you?”

She grunts, but her cheeks flush. “Hell no, I’d have to like you to be jealous.”

My grin gets bigger. “Both know you like me.”

“As if,” she huffs. “I like you about as much as I like getting dog poop on my shoe. It’s extremely inconvenient.”

I chuckle, and she can’t help it, she breaks out in a grin.

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay, what?”

“I like you. Just a little.”

I roll over, grabbing her and bringing her down on top of me. When her face is only inches from mine, I say, “Always knew you did.”

She snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

I flip her again, pinning her with my body, giving her a hungry look as my dick hardens between her legs.

“Guess what time it is?”

She blinks, and whimpers when I thrust against her. “What?”

“Time for round two.”

And round two fucking smashes round one outta the park.

Fuck yeah.

~*~*~*~