Page 95 of Shattered Promise

I swallow, letting my gaze drag all over him. “Alright.”

He looks at me—really looks—and the silence says more than either of us could. I see the lines around his mouth, the rawness in his eyes. Like sleep deprivation and truth-telling have stripped his armor down to base material.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs finally.

It’s hard to breathe for a second. “Okay.”

He smirks and offers a small tsk. “This is the part where you tell me you’ve missed me too.”

I breathe out a chuckle and roll my eyes for good measure. “Fine. I’ve missed you too. Happy?” I say, but my voice is softer than I want it to be.

Mason’s mouth twitches, like he’s holding back a real smile. “I am now.”

“You almost done packing?”

“Just about,” I murmur as I scan the room. I turn the phone so he can see the emptied out apartment and my suitcase gaping open with my last few outfits thrown on top. “The only thing left is my nightstand, but I’ll pack it in the morning.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, “What’s in your nightstand?”

I look up at the phone, his face filling the screen. A slow, knowing grin is spreading across his mouth.

“Nothing,” I say, too fast.

He arches a brow. “Liar.”

I huff, feigning offense, but my face is already hot. “It’s just random stuff. Eye masks, lotion, a book I was supposed to read.”

He laughs, low and skeptical. “Give me a tour, Trouble.”

My brows draw in tight. “Of my apartment?”

His smile is slow to grow, but then his dimples are winking at me, and I already know I’m going to do it.

“Of your nightstand.”

I hesitate, fingers hovering over the drawer handle but then I flip the camera around and pull it open. It’s a time capsule of my time here: a bottle of lavender lotion, an unopened box of sleep masks, a tangle of charger cords, and—buried beneath a half-read paperback and a silk scarf—a small black velvet pouch with a gold ribbon. I hesitate, thumb tracing the edge of the pouch. My cheeks prick with heat.

“What’s in the black bag, baby?” his voice is low, coaxing.

I laugh, but it comes out shaky as I flip the camera back to me. “You’re so nosy.”

“Open it,” he commands, a muscle in his jaw fluttering.

I close my eyes and drag in a breath. My thumb slides the ribbon loose and tips the contents into my palm. A slim, rosegold bullet vibrator, gleaming in the lamp light. I don’t say anything, but I know he sees it—knows exactly what it is.

There’s silence on the line, then a low, rough exhale. “So that’s what you use.”

I’m blushing furiously now, but the thrill of it zings through me sharp and bright. “Sometimes,” I admit. “Sometimes I use other things.”

His eyes flare, and the video jitters as he readjusts in bed. “Show me,” he says, voice hoarse.

I swallow, nerves tangling with something hotter. “You want a demonstration?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “Yeah, baby, I want a demonstration. Show me what you like.”

The bullet glints a little in my palm, dainty and wicked. My hand shakes, but I set the phone on the nightstand, angled just so, and sit cross-legged on the edge of the bed. The hem of my dress pools around my thighs. I stare down at the toy, slow-dragging my thumb along the smooth edge. There’s silence on the line at first, but then Mason’s voice cuts through, low and hungry,familiar.

“That’s it, Trouble. Take your time.”