Mason curled his body around Abby. She lay on her side, her back to his chest, and he pulled her close. He secured her hands against her body by wrapping his arm around her waist, capturing her limbs so that she couldn’t inadvertently touch him. She sighed and relaxed against him and he buried his nose in her hair, breathing in her scent that was now entwined with the scent of his shower gel.

He knew he should get up, he still had work to do. Although he’d fixed the glitch in the vigilante game, he had put aside all his other work to do it and now he was playing catch up. The company had several new works in the pipelines and he wanted them to be ready for the Christmas rush. It was still six months away, but there was still a lot of work to be done and that’s what he should be doing now…

Mason took another breath, inhaling the essence of Abby. His Abby. His Sweet Abby. He didn’t want to get up yet, he wanted to stay curled around her body. She fit against him perfectly, her soft, round bottom cradled in his hips, her head fitting under his chin. His arm was over her waist, holding her arms in place, but his hand was between her breasts and he felt the soft rhythm of her heart and the expansion of her chest with each breath.

He would get up in a minute, he just wanted a little bit longer to enjoy having this woman, his sub, his Abby, in his arms. He’d never thought of himself as a ‘cuddler’ before. The girlfriends he’d had in high school and university had never got that close to him and after the experience he had with Monique, he’d turned to professionals to satisfy his needs. Paid professionals didn’t cuddle, although he supposed they would if that’s what the client wanted. He didn’t… hadn’t, not until now, not until Abby.

Thinking about it from a distance, he should’ve been panicking by the rise of feelings inside him towards the woman in his arms, but he wasn’t. Having Abby close to him had a calming effect on him. She seemed able to silence the noise in his head just by being near him and when he had his hands on her, the ugliness of his past faded away.

Just like his scars, he carried his past with him, never far from his thoughts. He never let himself forget because he never wanted to be in such a vulnerable position again. He had to remember the pain and the hurt because it reminded him that he wasn’t normal and never would be normal. But Abby called to him on a level that bypassed all his scars and he didn’t think he would ever get enough of her.

Mason felt her settle against him, her breathing lengthening as she slipped into a deep sleep. He risked letting her arms go so that he could trace her hairline, tucking a stray piece behind her ear. He looked down at her profile as he ran a finger down her cheek, her skin soft under the pad of his digit. Everything about Abby was soft and for a man who had so many hard edges, it was a revelation. He traced the length of her neck, down over her collarbone and lightly over the curve of her breast. Her nipples bunched tight at his light touch and she wiggled her bottom against his growing erection. He smiled, relishing having her body in his arms and at his disposal.

What was it about her that drew him? From the first moment they’d met, he’d been attracted to her and the attraction had only grown the more he got to know her. He knew she had secrets, but if anything that only endeared her to him more. He valued his privacy and had a few secrets of his own. It was probably why he felt safe around her, safe that she wouldn’t expose him for the deviant he was. He knew that what had happened to him in the past had shaped who he was today and not in good ways. He imagined that if he didn’t carry the scars, he would probably have a normal sex life and be able to have a normal relationship with a woman, but those were things that he would never have and it was all thanks to Francine.

He couldn’t think of her as his mother, although she had given birth to him. Mothers didn’t do what she had done and he refused to give her the respect of the title. Mothers were supposed to be nurturing and loving, not drunks who caused untold chaos at every turn. He felt his body tighten at the memories and his mood blackened. Why was he thinking about her now? Why was he allowing the horrors of his childhood intrude on this quiet moment with a woman who had the potential to make even him forget what had happened to him?

He forced the black thoughts away, nuzzling her neck, kissing the soft skin as he plucked at her nipple. He felt her shift, felt her squirm against him and he rolled her over onto her back. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled softly at him, causing his heart to squeeze. He ducked his head, sucking a nipple into his mouth. She arched her back in offering and he reached for her wrists, securing them above her head. He had the perfect solution for chasing the memories away and that was losing himself in Abby.

He left her momentarily to sheath himself in a prophylactic and then he was back, his body covering hers, his hands holding her wrists as he slid into her already wet channel. There were no games this time, no scene, just need. He needed her to chase away his demons, just for a little while, so he sank into her body, revelling in the way she clenched around him, drinking in her moans of pleasure, slaking his thirst on the softness of her skin. He thrust into her in long, even strokes, wanting to draw it out, wanting it to last. She gave him peace in his head at the same time as arousing him to distraction and he loved the dichotomy of it.

She lifted her legs to wrap around his waist and he stilled, waiting for the panic, but it didn’t come. He began to move again as she squeezed his hips with her thighs, as her feet dug into his buttocks and instead of distracting him, instead of reminding him of the past, it drove his arousal higher. His thrusts became hard and fast and she met him stroke for stroke, her soft cries driving him on. He held her wrists with one hand while the other gripped her hip and lifted her so that he could get deeper and she arched her back with answering desire.

He took a nipple into his mouth and bit down, her body answered and he felt the beginnings of her orgasm as her muscles fluttered around him, tightening until he felt her come, the muscles rippling, milking his cock. He thrust into her again, harder, deeper and felt his own orgasm take him, the bubbling of his seed as it shot through his cock and into the condom that protected them both. He had a moment of regret that he wasn’t filling her with his cum before he pushed the thought away and just revelled in the way her body felt wrapped around him. No, he didn’t think he’d ever get enough of Abby and the way she made him feel.

Abby opened her eyes slowly. The room was bathed in pale light and she knew it must be early. She was exhausted, but in a good way. Her body felt used and her muscles were sore but she didn’t regret it, couldn’t. She’d thought the first time with Mason had been incredible, but last night had left that first time behind in the dust. He knew her body in a way that no one else ever had. He seemed to be able to wring out reactions in her that she hadn’t thought possible. Her sexual experiences before had never ended in orgasms, apart from the ones she gave herself, but Mason was able to give her an orgasm and more. She didn’t think it was even possible for her to climax as many times as she had last night and somehow she knew it was only the beginning.

She smiled as she looked over at the man who had given her so much pleasure. He lay on his back, one forearm over his eyes, the other trapping her wrists between them. She was lying on her side, her head on his shoulder and their legs were entwined. She shifted slightly, wanting her hands free, and he stiffened. She stilled and when his body relaxed once again, she slid from his grasp, but she didn’t go far. She didn’t want to get away from him, she just wanted the chance to explore his body while he slept and maybe touch him in a way that she knew she never could while he was awake.

Propping herself up on her elbow and resting her head on her hand, she let her gaze roam over his skin. The tattoo of the phoenix was amazing, the bird on his chest a riot of oranges and reds and darkening through the wings until the tips were black like ash. She got the symbolism, the phoenix who rose from the ashes of it’s own life to be more beautiful than before. Although she didn’t know what had happened in his past, the scars he carried on his body told the story for him. Someone had abused Mason and she could only imagine that it had happened a long time ago.

She looked beyond the ink to the scars it hid. There were long, striped scars that looked like the result of a switch or whip and then there were the round ones, the ones that looked like cigarette burns. There were also jagged ones where his skin had been ripped cruelly open with what she could only imagine was a belt buckle or something similar. Looking at his body, she could imagine what the open wounds would have looked like. She’d done enough research, had seen enough cruelty perpetuated on other humans to know that Mason had suffered horribly and her heart broke for him.

Her hand hovered over his skin, not touching, but close enough that she could feel the heat of his body on her palm. Would he ever trust her enough to let her soothe him? She wanted to cup his jaw, feel the scratchiness of his whiskers on her palm. She wanted to smooth her hands over his shoulders and feel the muscles bunch under her touch, but would he ever allow such an intimacy?

She let her finger drop and it shook as she lightly traced one of his scars. The soft, silky texture belied the violence that had caused it and she felt a tear slip down her cheek and splash on her naked breast. How could someone do this to a child, for surely he had been a child when it happened. She would never understand human nature, even though she wrote about such awful atrocities, it still boggled her mind that people actually did things like this to one another. And it wasn’t just the physical abuse that left scars behind. She should know, her scars were internal and were the legacy of her aunt who had used emotional and mental abuse to control her.

She lifted her finger from his skin before lowering it again on another scar. His body stiffened and she stilled, willing him to stay asleep, and with a sigh he relaxed and rolled over, away from her and exposing his back to her. She caught the sob that threatened to escape from her throat. His back was so much more damaged that she didn’t know how he had survived. The tattoo on his back was also a phoenix, or the same phoenix but seen from behind. It gave the illusion that the phoenix was not just ink on his skin, but part of him, that the mythical bird was inside him, below his skin. The back of the bird was just as beautiful as the front and she coasted her hand over the design, imagining the feathers beneath her fingertips. She tried to ignore the scars, to see beyond them, but still her heart wept for the little boy who had endured the abuse. Where were his parents while this was happening? Or was it his parents who had done it to him?

Her first reaction was to recoil, but her heart wouldn’t let her. These scars had made Mason the man he was and although she understood that he still carried baggage, she also recognised that he could have turned out a lot different. Mason may like to be in control and he may like to have his partners bound so they couldn’t touch him, but there were worse quirks that could have come as a result of growing up in an abusive household. In many ways Mason was well-adjusted, despite what he might think. Everyone had scars, most were not visible like his, but you could still see them in the way people behaved and the terrible things they did to one another. She admired Mason, even more now, because she knew how hard it was to overcome your past. She knew how hard it was to rise up from the ashes of a destroyed childhood and to make a successful life.

She lay back down, snuggled into his back and closed her eyes. She refused to acknowledge the stirring in her heart. She could admire him and care for him, but she would not allow herself to fall in love with him. That was the scar she carried and it may not be physical, but it was just as real as the silvery scars that crisscrossed his back. She wouldn’t risk her heart, not again.

Francine threw the cane she was using across the room. Mason had managed to keep from crying out or reacting to her in any way and he thought he’d won, that she was giving up, that he might actually have found a way to get her to stop. And then he heard the rattle of her belt buckle.

She wasn’t a big woman, her frail frame the result of years of alcoholism and her penchant for forgetting to eat, but then he wasn’t big either. Her forgetfulness also included him and his needs and his pale skin stretched over ribs and hip bones. He usually waited until she was passed out before he would try and find food. The neighbours often left him plates of food by their garbage bins, wrapped up in plastic wrap to ward off the rodents and insects. It was an open secret that his mother neglected him and yet no one did anything about it.

The first strike of the belt across his already abused back made him jolt, but he managed to keep from crying out. She loved it when he cried and yelled and she especially loved his tears. He was determined not to give them to her, not tonight. Today was his birthday, he was nine and he was going to prove to her that being nine meant she could no longer hurt him.

The belt struck again, more forcefully this time, and the buckle bit into his skin. Fire raced over his body as the pain lanced through him. He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut willing himself to another place, a place where he had a normal mother and where his father didn’t always have to go away and a place where he might even have brothers and sisters. It was his fantasy, that pretend family; the mother kind and thoughtful, the father strict but reasonable, not unlike Mike and Carol Brady from The Brady Bunch, a show he sometimes watched when his mother was passed out on the couch.

With a cry of frustration, Francine flipped him over and grabbed him by the throat, backing him up against the wall. He smelled her rancid breath, felt her fingers with their nails bitten to the quick dig into his neck and squeeze. He looked her in the eye, hers red-rimmed and unfocussed, his determined. He was nine now, no longer a baby who cried and whined and she was just going to have to deal with it. She slapped him across the face, hard, hard enough to make his eyes water, but they weren’t tears and he ground his teeth together and refused to give her the reaction she was after.

“Worthless piece of shit,” she sneered at him, her teeth blackened and decaying, her spittle spraying over his face.

She removed her hand from his throat and he slid down the wall, gasping for breath. He didn’t move quick enough and her pointy-toed stiletto dug into his side as she kicked him viciously time and again until a whimper escaped his lips. She laughed and kicked him again for good measure.

Mason’s eyes popped open, his breathing ragged, his body trembling. The sun shone into his bedroom and it took him a second to realise it was just a dream. He stared up at the ceiling, chasing the wisps of his dream away, regaining his equilibrium. It took him a moment to realise he wasn’t alone in his bed and he turned his head to see Abby curled up beside him, her head on his shoulder and her hand over his heart. He traced her features with his gaze; the soft curve of her cheek, the dark splash of her eyelashes against the paleness of her skin, the rosy pink of her lips, lips he had kissed repeatedly last night because he just couldn’t get enough of them.

It took a moment for him to register that her hand was flat against him, palm down. He waited for the panic, but it didn’t come and he breathed out a long breath, marvelling at the wonder of it. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him and it hadn’t made him crazy. He rested his own hand over the top of hers, pressing her palm against his chest and closed his eyes. He liked the feel of her against him, he liked waking up with her beside him. He hadn’t spent the entire night in the same bed with a woman since Monique and that had ended badly.

He frowned. He hadn’t planned on falling asleep, there were too many variables in actually ‘sleeping’ with a woman. The dreams were a concern and had been what had spooked Monique and had been the catalyst for their very messy breakup. Would he hurt Abby in one of his night terrors? It had taken Declan and Brooks to drag him off Monique when he’d held her down, thinking she was Francine. He’d tried to explain it to her, but she had been scared of him and refused to listen. She’d gone to the police and he’d been required to see a psychologist under court order. Surprisingly, the psychologist had helped and the night terrors had stopped after a few months of sessions with her, but the damage to his relationship with Monique had been irreparable. He couldn’t risk that happening with Abby.

He tried to shift away from her, but she snuggled into him, not letting him move away. He smiled and gently stroked her hair, he couldn’t deny that he liked the way she felt against his skin. He stroked her soft hair again, this time trailing over the ends and down her naked back and over her hip. Her skin felt good under his hand, soft and silky, and he loved her lush curves, a counterpoint to all his hard angles. He relaxed back into the bed and brushed a kiss on the top of her head. He closed his eyes, relishing the normalcy of the moment. He didn’t have much ‘normal’ in his life, but he imagined that this was what it felt like to be in an actual relationship, he imagined this was what Brooks and Hunter felt like waking up next to their women.

A strange yearning filled him, a yearning for this. He’d never really wanted a partner, not after the debacle with Monique and definitely not if it meant being with a woman like Francine. But there was something about Abby that made him think that it just might be possible to have something normal with her. He exhaled and kissed the top of her head again, breathing in her scent. If he couldn’t have it forever, he could have it for a little while longer and he let himself drift back to sleep with her in his arms.