Page 19

19

ANYA

THE STEADY RHYTHM OF my feet hitting the pavement calms my mind, which feels as if it’s been spinning for the entire last month. There’s a slight breeze, which moves the two tendrils of hair that have fallen in front of my face. I run harder and faster until the burn spreads into a feeling of numbness that trickles through my body like icy-cold water.

I used to run all the time, and when Zayden told me about the perfect running track that goes from our house down to the beach, I decided to force myself out of bed this morning to see it for myself. Running used to clear my head, and that’s something I desperately need right now.

Stumbling to a stop, I lean over, pressing my hands against my knees as I heave, but nothing comes up, since I haven’t eaten for what I realise is an unhealthy amount of time. My heart gallops in my chest and my vision swims. After a few greedy gulps of the fresh morning air, my pulse finally starts to slow as I catch my breath. I’ve already run the track in full and have pushed myself to do it a second time, even though the length of one lap is certainly enough.

My head is so full. I can’t stop thinking about Dylan, and Phoebe, and the fact that they may have been together for most of the time I was with him. My best friend let me confide in her, only to betray me in the worst way, lying right to my face.

And then there’s Mason, who makes my heart hurt in a different way. Longing, lust and resentment, all bound tightly into one aching ball lodged in my chest. I can’t think straight when it comes to him. I spent years building walls around my heart to protect myself from him, and he’s doing everything in his power to rip them back down.

Tears burn my eyes, and I sag to the ground, drawing my knees to my chest and burying my face. It all hurts. No amount of running or distraction can stop my mind from going over everything, like a song stuck on replay.

‘Blush.’ Mason’s voice, deep and raspy, makes me jolt in alarm. I snap my head up to see him looking down at me in concern. He looks handsome – as always – in a sleeveless black shirt, and a backwards cap that pushes his dark hair away from his face. His sweat glistening across those bulging, tattooed biceps makes me question my strength. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes,’ I exhale, shakily getting to my feet. ‘Just went a little too hard.’ Surreptitiously wiping the tears from my eyes, I clear my throat, levelling him with a suspicious look. ‘Are you following me?’

‘I run this path every day,’ he says flatly. My eyes track the movement of his chest rising and falling; his shirt clings to his hard, muscled torso. I tear my eyes away.

‘Oh.’

‘Which means you’re the one following me, technically?’ He smirks.

‘I am not.’

‘Okay.’

‘What do you want, Mase?’ I sigh, planting my hands on my hips.

‘Just checking in on you.’

‘Well, I’m fine.’

‘Okay, then.’

His eyes stay trained on my face for a heartbeat too long before he turns and starts jogging away. I spend way too long watching him effortlessly run down the exact path I was planning to head down myself. My saliva feels thick as I swallow and turn to go back home, feeling too drained and lightheaded to continue the run.

Zayden is in the front yard when I arrive, and he throws the football he’s playing with at me. I catch it with a slight oomph as it collides with my chest. He holds out his hands, and I launch it back to him.

‘Morning.’

‘G’morning,’ I mumble.

Wordlessly, we throw the ball back and forth a few times before I make a time-out signal. Tucking the football under his arm, he strolls over to me.

‘I didn’t realise you were running again.’

I shrug. ‘Trying to get back to my old self.’

‘How are you doing with everything?’ Zayden asks, raking a hand through his mop of dirty-blond hair. He rests his foot on the bottom step of the porch and starts lightly tossing up the ball and catching it.

‘I don’t know,’ I answer honestly. ‘Some days I’m totally fine. Some days I’m really sad.’ Clearing my throat, I survey the yard and gaze out to the road. ‘And you?’

Zayden nods. ‘Much the same, I guess. Trying to keep myself busy and distracted. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.’

‘That’s the best thing to do.’

‘Mase is worried about you,’ he says.

I whip my head to face him, surprised. ‘He said that?’

Zayden nods. ‘Worried about you and Kai Adams.’

I’m surprised Mason raised this concern with Zayden, since the topic of me can be quite sensitive between them, especially when it comes to dating.

‘Is he now?’ I deadpan.

‘We hear and see shit that you don’t,’ Zayden points out. ‘He’s a total douche. But I said to Mason that it’s up to you to make your own choices.’

I straighten, widening my eyes at my brother. Since when is he reasonable?

‘Just be careful.’

Smiling, I reach out and touch his arm. ‘I will.’

After I’ve showered and dressed for the day, I set up in a spot in the backyard that’s sheltered by a giant chestnut tree. Sitting with my legs folded beneath me, I spread my paint supplies out across the rug and place a blank canvas in front of me. One of my upcoming assignments makes up a huge part of my grade, and the top three students get the chance to have their art featured in an exhibition. I’m working with a few ideas and have been trying to figure out exactly what I want to paint.

As I swipe my paintbrush over the canvas, I feel the knots in my back unwind. This is one of the only things that relaxes me. Especially since it’s still and quiet in the backyard, the air warm. Music hums softly from my phone, and I get lost in the painting. I don’t realise hours have passed until my alarm goes off, startling me.

Stepping back, I admire my work. It’s one of my more colourful paintings, since I’ve been making a lot of dark ones lately. I pack up my things and place the canvas on the back deck to dry.

I follow the sound of voices and peer out the kitchen window, where I see Zayden and Mason throwing the football back and forth in the front yard. I trot upstairs to get ready for my afternoon classes. By the time I’m good to go, Mason is leaning against the wall beside the front door, twirling his keys in his hand.

‘Ready?’ he asks. He looks handsome dressed in all black, his hair damp from the shower. He must have done that quickly, as I didn’t even hear him come up the stairs. When his mouth tilts into his familiar lopsided smile, it feels like a fist is tightening around my heart.

‘Ready?’ I repeat, confused.

‘You have Intro to Communication, right?’ His eyes travel down my body, and my breath hitches in my throat, as he doesn’t try to hide it one bit.

‘You’re such a stalker.’

‘You didn’t answer my question.’

‘It sounds like you already know the answer.’

His lips twitch. ‘Come on. I’m taking you.’

Deciding not to argue and instead be grateful I don’t have to drive myself, I follow him out the door. I always get stressed trying to find a park, so I appreciate it when someone else offers to take one for the team.

Climbing into Mason’s truck, I try not to stare at him, but it seems to be getting more and more difficult to keep my eyes off him. It’s like he’s a magnet, always drawing me in.

‘I’m glad you’re still painting,’ he says conversationally as he starts the engine.

‘It’s my form of therapy,’ I say quietly. After Mason left, I was convinced he took all my inspiration with him. It was like all the creative, fun ideas I once had flowing out of me dried up – nothing I painted seemed to compare to my older stuff. But now that Mason is back in my life, it seems my creative streak has returned. I’m trying to convince myself that the two aren’t connected, but obviously he impacts me in more ways than I care to admit.

‘Like mine being football.’ He nods. ‘We all have something.’

Turning my head, I gaze out the window. My fingers furiously pick at a loose thread in my skirt. For months, I gave myself countless mental pep talks in preparation for potentially seeing Mason again. I had it all planned out. I was meant to be cool, calm and unbothered. Like he always was. Instead, I’m a tightly coiled bundle of nerves who feels like more of a mess than anything whenever he’s near me. And since he’s made it his mission to insert himself into my everyday life, whether I try to avoid him or not, it doesn’t seem like he’ll be going away any time soon. A part of me is holding my breath, though, and waiting for him to run away again, like he did before.

Each inhale is filled with him. A pleasant, comforting mixture of his body scent, coffee and the mint body wash he’s used every day for as long as I remember. It reminds me of warmth and the sense of his arms around me. The feeling of having his attention and the forbidden nature of our touches and kisses. I don’t want to be reminded of all this. I spent so long squashing it deep down, but no matter how hard I try, it keeps trying to resurface.

I focus on inhaling and exhaling, the knot in my chest tightening with each passing moment. Does he feel this? The crackling tension between us? The air thickening to the point it hurts to breathe? Is this all in my head?

‘If you pull any more on that thread, you’re going to rip a hole in your skirt.’

I blink back to reality. My eyes dart to his, then down to my denim skirt, where the thread has unravelled way more than I realised. ‘Oh,’ I say.

‘You seem nervous.’ The truck smoothly comes to a stop as we idle at the traffic lights.

My throat is dry when I try to swallow. I feel the heat of his gaze on the side of my face. ‘Being around you makes me anxious,’ I blurt out before I have the chance to stop it. I mentally cringe at the statement, wishing I could take it back.

My words hang heavily between us, and even when the light changes, Mason is still staring at me.

‘The light is green,’ I croak out, gesturing in front of me.

After a beat, the truck moves forward.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says quietly. ‘I don’t mean to make you anxious.’

I chew my lip and reach for the thread, internally cursing when I realise I can’t pull on it anymore.

‘If it’s any consolation, you make me anxious too.’

‘I do?’ I whisper.

‘Extremely. My head is all over the place when it comes to you.’

I inhale sharply, facing the front again.

We’re just friends. That’s all we can be.

My cheeks are hot to the point they’re burning. I drum my fingers rapidly on my thighs. Why does this fifteen-minute trip to the university feel like it’s taking an eternity?

My shoulders sag in relief when the car park comes into view. We manage to snag one relatively close to the walkway, which means I don’t have to climb a series of stairs, like I would have if I were driving. I always play it safe, parking way back in ‘no-man’s-land’, as Mason and Zayden call it.

By the time I get around to the boot of the car, Mason has my bag slung over his shoulder and my extra textbooks lazily held between his chest and forearm.

‘Thanks, Mase, but I can carry them,’ I say, reaching for my items, but he steps back. Frowning, I swipe at them, but he holds them above my head. I’m tall, taller than the average girl, but at six foot two, he towers over me, and easily holds the books out of reach. Grumbling, I step back, shaking my head. I’m not annoyed in the slightest, but I act like it regardless.

‘Not on my watch,’ he says dismissively. He walks off in the direction of our building, and I have to jog to keep up with his long strides.

I push the sleeves of my top up to my elbows as the warm air, combined with the excessive walk to class, has me feeling hot. I regret thinking a long-sleeve shirt was a good idea.

‘I’m going to take a trip back home next weekend, to catch up with some people,’ Mason says. ‘If you want to come, you’re welcome to. Zay probably will.’

‘Oh, sure,’ I reply, reaching back to tighten my bun, since my hands refuse to sit still. ‘Would be good to see everyone. Well, not everyone ...’ I trail off, realising that going back would mean facing the problems I ran away from. Growing up in a small town, it’s hard to avoid people. The last thing I want to do is run into Dylan or Phoebe, but I would like to see Mum and the few friends I do keep in touch with. ‘Maybe I won’t go.’

‘Forget about them.’

‘Easier said than done,’ I say, exhaling. ‘Will you go see your dad?’

Mason visibly tenses at the mention of his father. His jaw locks, and he turns his head away so I can’t see the expression on his face.

‘Maybe,’ he eventually replies.

‘Would you like me to go with you?’ I question, tucking a loose piece of hair behind my ear, which the wind keeps blowing it into my eyes. ‘To see him?’

Immediately, Mason shakes his head. ‘It’s not safe for you to visit him. The fewer people, the better.’

My heart squeezes. I can’t even imagine how it would feel to be in Mason’s situation. It must be awful. As much as my stepfather is stubborn and set in his ways, I don’t believe I’ve ever felt unsafe around him. Sure, he’s odd, and makes strange comments here and there, but he doesn’t seem malicious. He’s fourteen years older than my mum. It didn’t seem obvious when we were younger, but now with his grey hair and wrinkled face, the age gap between them is clear as day. It was extremely embarrassing when one of my friends assumed he was my grandfather.

We reach class, and I expect us to go separate ways, but he trails behind me and collapses into the vacant seat beside mine.

‘I’m starting to think you’re attached to my hip,’ I joke.

‘In my dreams I am.’ He winks, and I realise he took my comment completely out of context.

‘Did the dream only last five seconds?’ I ask sweetly.

His jaw drops. ‘Excuse you?’

‘Sorry,’ I concede, my voice dripping in sarcasm. ‘It was more like three seconds.’

He lets out a dark laugh, running his tongue against the inside of his cheek. ‘Trust me, Blush, the next time I fuck you, you’ll be screaming my name and seeing stars.’ He leans forward, and the heat of his skin seeps into mine. ‘And believe me, it will be longer than three fucking seconds.’

My ears are ringing and my face is on fire as his dark eyes bore into mine. I gulp, facing the front of the room, unable to form a response to that. The lecturer strides in at that moment, saving me from having to scramble for something to say. I sink low into my seat, hating that I can sense the smirk on Mason’s face, even though I’m not looking at him.

I can’t focus for the entire the lesson. I feel extremely unsettled and flustered because of what Mason said, and the fact that our arms keep brushing as we take notes. I was supposed to become immune to his charms and the unwavering effect he has on me. How the hell has it gotten even worse ?

By the time class ends, my notes are in shambles, as well as my mind. Slowly, I begin to pack up my things as the room starts to empty.

‘Coming?’ Mason smirks, and I hate the ripple of desire that inches down my spine when he says it, the double meaning like a prickle on my skin.

‘I need a minute,’ I mutter. ‘You go ahead.’

‘Our next class isn’t for another hour.’

‘Exactly. I’m good here. Run along.’

‘Is that what a good friend would do?’ Mason asks, pushing to his feet and turning to lean against the desk.

I gulp when I realise the last person just left, the door swinging shut behind them with a deafening bang.

‘Mason,’ I breathe. ‘I’m trying very hard to keep a hold of my self-control right now, and you’re not helping.’

‘Helping you hang on to that control is not exactly my intention, Blush.’

I scramble to my feet and begin shoving my things into my bag, wincing as my notebook bends when I press down on it aggressively.

He steps closer, his warm breath fanning across my neck as his hard chest rubs against my shoulder. ‘Let me relieve the pressure,’ he murmurs, his voice smooth, melting my insides into a pool of hot liquid. His mouth is millimetres from my ear, sending shivers racing through my body.

I exhale, closing my eyes and clenching my thighs. I love his dirty mouth. ‘I don’t want to fall for you again,’ I whisper. ‘I don’t want you to hurt me.’

‘I won’t hurt you, Blush,’ Mason says, his voice firm. ‘I promise.’

‘Promises don’t mean shit when it comes to you.’

‘Blush,’ he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. ‘I know you want me as badly as I want you. I want to make you feel good. To make up for ...’ He pauses. ‘For our first time.’ Pushing my hair back over my shoulder, he leaves a soft, lingering kiss on the delicate flesh of my throat. ‘Only if you want it, of course.’

I’m panting at this point, gripping the desk like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. We are doing this. We are acknowledging what happened, and he wants to make up for it. Is this really happening right now?

‘Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop,’ he whispers.

My lips remain shut.

‘You want me to touch you, Blush?’ Mason asks, sending a rush of tingles through my veins. ‘You want me to taste you?’

‘Oh, God,’ I whimper.

‘That’s not an answer.’

‘Y-yes,’ I stammer, legs buckling.

Wrapping an arm around me, Mason spins me around, hoisting me onto the desk. He pushes my thighs apart as he steps closer, towering over me, his broad chest in line with my eyes.

‘Tell me what you want.’

‘I want you,’ I breathe.

‘You want me to what?’

‘Mason,’ I groan, throwing my head back as his warm fingers trail up my thighs.

‘Yes?’

‘I want you to touch me,’ I whisper.

‘And what else?’

‘Fuck you,’ I hiss, but my breathlessness gives away my true feelings. I’m loving the touch of his hands on me.

‘Come on, Blush. Tell me.’

‘I want you to taste me.’

‘Okay,’ he murmurs. I inhale long and hard, relishing in his scent, and let myself finally enjoy his closeness. Goosebumps erupt across my skin as his lips caress mine, so tender and soft that I end up gripping the back of his neck and pulling him to me, roughly kissing him with all the pent-up emotions I’ve kept locked away. He groans into my mouth, kissing me back just as hard.

I don’t know why all rational thought has evaporated from our brains, but at this moment, I really don’t care. I don’t care if I’m weak, or stupid, or downright fucking insane. I just want him, and that’s all that matters.

We kiss long and hard, and I’m breathless when we break apart. He leaves a trail of kisses along my mouth, across my jaw and down my throat. He bites into my neck and I hiss in delight, arching my back, pressing my body into his, even though there’s no space to close between us. My hands roam wildly over his muscled back, his shoulders, across his chest, the hard outline of his abs.

‘What if someone walks in?’ I whisper, not daring to open my eyes and ruin this moment.

‘They can enjoy the show.’

His body slides down mine, and he leaves hot, open-mouthed kisses up my inner thigh. My chest is heaving at this point, and I sink my fingers into his hair, wrapping the unruly dark strands around my fingers.

‘Look at me, Blush,’ he murmurs.

Swallowing, I force my eyes open, and stare down at him. He’s wedged between my bare thighs, on his knees, those dark eyes fixed on mine.

‘I’ve wanted to taste you for a very long time. Do you know that?’ he asks.

I shake my head, words escaping me.

Moving his hands underneath my thighs, he hoists them over his shoulders, simultaneously dragging me forward to the very edge of the desk. Eyes darting back up to mine, he licks his lips.

‘You want this?’ he murmurs.

‘Yes,’ I whisper.

‘How much?’

‘So fucking much,’ I whisper, tears springing to my eyes as the aching need intensifies.

His cheek spasms. ‘Okay, okay. You don’t have to beg me.’

‘You’re such an asshole.’

Grinning, he slides his hand down my leg, hooking the lace fabric of my underwear. He yanks them down my legs, tossing them over his shoulder. He glances up one last time before he dives between my thighs. A sound I don’t recognise leaves my mouth as his tongue runs straight down the slit of my entrance. His tongue circles over my most sensitive area, making my legs tremble on his shoulders.

‘Eyes on me,’ he murmurs. My eyes shift back to meet his, and I feel the heat of a blush race up my neck and jump onto my cheeks.

As his tongue circles and teases my clit, I jerk under his hold, barely able to withstand the intensity of it. He spends a generous amount of time down there before he leans back for a breather and to sink a finger inside me. When a second finger enters, curling at just the right angle, I know I’m about to come undone. A desperate part-moan, part-yelp tears from me, and my fingers slide down his neck, sinking into his flesh as I buck and writhe my hips, grinding against his tongue and fingers.

The sensation is building, coming on fast and hard, making me tense. When I feel my orgasm explode, I let out a shriek, his name leaving my lips. An intense throbbing sensation courses through me in waves before I slowly come back down from the high, feeling like my soul is detached from my body and I’m floating overhead, watching this all take place.

Leaning back onto his calves, he runs his tongue around his glistening mouth. His cheeks are deliciously flushed, his hair a total mess, and my wetness coats the complete lower half of his face.

‘I knew it,’ he murmurs, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. ‘I knew you’d be the best damn thing I’ve ever tasted.’