Page 58 of Enemies with Benefits (Finding the Right Brother #1)

The hand on his shoulder now pushed his head against the wall, holding him in place.

That way, I could see his features as they twisted beautifully while I pounded away at him.

Which really was the best way to see it, because I was setting what should have been a punishing pace as I pistoned my hips.

Except there was no punishment to be found because despite my grip now on the back of his neck being tight enough that the tips of my fingers were digging into his throat, there was no way he was getting just pleasure from how hard I was fucking him, Mason was taking every bit of punishment that I was doling out and enjoying it.

"Oh fuck, Jace, I..." he began to gasp, and my eyes narrowed as I felt his body go taut.

It wasn't like it was the first time he'd sounded like that, but before he could reach down to take hold of himself, I grabbed his wrist and kept fucking him, now using his arm as leverage.

He had no choice but to use his other hand to keep himself upright on the wall as his desperate groans became cries of pleasure.

I was rewarded seconds later as he squeezed around me, and I knew he was painting the wall in front of him.

It could have just been the sensation of him bearing down around me with renewed intensity, but really, it was the knowledge that I'd once again fucked him so hard and so well that he was coming untouched that snapped the last bit of control I had.

With a snarl, I yanked him back by his neck so our bodies were flush and shoved myself as deep as I could.

His breaths came out in harsh pants as we both felt me twitch and jerk inside him, filling him up as deep as I could manage, staying there until every last drop was out and claiming him utterly.

"Fuck," he breathed, and I turned his face toward me, still savoring the feeling of him wrapped around me as I brought his mouth to mine.

The kiss was less intense, but there was still an edge to it as I nipped his bottom lip a little more roughly than I should have, especially considering his busted lip.

Yet he chuckled, some of his old self coming back as he stood there, letting me hold him against me.

No, perhaps it wasn't fair to say his 'old self'.

Because the same man who let me use and practically abuse him for sex was the same man who was completely and utterly in charge of his life at any other time.

The man who happily let me use his body for my pleasure was the same man who would refuse to let me cross a line or to allow anyone to control him.

They were both the same person, and while trying to blend them created a bizarre kaleidoscope that left me dizzy at times, they were essential parts of him.

Just like the gentle, almost vulnerable version of him that liked to come out after sex, particularly after a rough round, was also part of that whole that made up Mason.

A whole that...well, how many people actually got to see?

I was sure his family saw a lot more of the softer, laid-back side of him when he was around just them.

The whole world got to see just how in control and unflappable he was in the rest of his life.

The workers here and the patrons got to see when he was serious about his work, how he could be focused, and how he knew how to keep others under control.

But how many had seen the way he was in complete control during intimate moments, and yet could essentially roll over and let another take control if they were forceful enough?

I doubted many people had seen that submissive side, the side that threw away control and let another person have it, even if it was just for a moment.

And of those few, I would bet there were even fewer people who had seen all those parts of him, who had seen those mirror images of him that still looked different from one another and demanded to be put together despite no logic making them fit.

Then I was pulling out, and he gave a slight sigh that he always gave when that happened. The sound almost...wistful. I frowned. “Why do you do that?"

He adjusted his pants, turning to look at me with a stitched brow of confusion. “Do what?"

"You..." I trailed off, trying to figure out how to put it.

I'd spoken before thinking about how intimate the question felt.

Not that I could really nail down why. The idea, vague as it was, came from the same place as so many of my other ideas came from, some deep part of me that spoke in the quietest voice but only vaguely guiding me rather than leading.

"I don't know, make this weird sound whenever I. ..pull out, I guess."

He smirked, but even I could see it didn't have its normal sharp, sarcastic edge to it as he looked me over and then shrugged. "There's a certain unpleasant feeling that goes with it. A weird emptiness. Other than that, it's hard to explain. You'd have to go through it."

I shifted uncomfortably at the thought, sure it hadn't been that bad with just a couple of fingers, but the idea of more...well, it didn't sit well in my head. "Oh. I guess I'll have to take your word for it."

Mason watched me for a moment, the corners of his mouth turning up further. “You know, you can just say you're not interested in bottoming. I'm not going to string you up by your nuts and hang you out for everyone to see."

I raised a brow. “Mason, you've been basically doing that since we first met."

"Yeah, because you've never been a ball buster."

"Not for anyone but you."

"Somehow, I don't think that's true. Look, I know I'm a jackass, but you're a hardass son of a bitch," he snorted, arching a brow. "You'll bust someone's balls if you think someone's fucking around too much or looks at you funny."

I tried to shoot him a filthy look, but even I could feel how weak it was from how little my muscles pulled. “Fuck off."

He laughed, surprising me by how fond it sounded, and downright shocking me by the warm feeling that tugged at my chest to pool down to my gut.

"You do realize that when you say shit like that to people, they automatically know that they're right and you have precisely zero argument to throw back at them. "

"Fuck. Off."

"As fucked up as it sounds, to me at least, it's kind of cute how you try to play things off. Okay, maybe 'play off' isn't the right wording, considering you just growl and scratch at everything like a wet cat."

"You really want me to deck you, don't you?"

"Maybe you should hold off on that," he said with the smirk I had always hated.

Though nowadays I hated it because it wasn't just irritating on its own, but irritating because it always sent a small thrill through me.

Arrogance and sarcasm had never been a turn-on for me, and yet somehow, Mason of all people managed to make it attractive.

If there was ever a question of whether there was something wrong with me, then that was a sure enough sign.

"Because I'm not quite recovered enough for another bout of foreplay. "

I groaned. “Don't call it that."

"What?"

"The fighting."

"Don't call it foreplay?"

"Yeah."

"Why? After this much time, that's basically what it is."

"That's honestly the most unhealthy thing I've ever heard."

"I've heard of worse."

"Really? You've heard of worse than two people beating each other up before fucking? I mean, I've heard of it, I grew up around it, and I've been called to homes for the same fucking problem."

"There are worse things."

"Yes, but still?—"

He shrugged, and again I had to wonder how the hell he managed to roll with everything so well. "So it's not great, who cares? We could just be beating each other's asses for the fun of beating each other up. At least now we have other ways of expressing ourselves."

"That's...not better."

"Then obsess about it, if it makes you feel better, even though I'm pretty sure it's doing the complete opposite.

Everyone has their own way of dealing with their issues, and we have ours.

Maybe it'll change, maybe it won't, I don't fucking know.

But I'm not going to sit around and worry that I'm not doing something in the exact way someone else says I should. "

I sighed. “Basic understanding of what relationships are like should tell you it's not good."

"Basic understanding of what relationships…" he began in a mocking voice, twirling his finger around in a circle to show how much he cared about that idea. "Chill."

"You're insufferable."

"Ah, but so are you. Yet here we are. Me not getting annoyed, and you just exasperated. One might think we managed to get our feelings out without a serious problem."

I could tell I wasn't going to get anywhere with the discussion, not with Mason anyway.

I couldn't in good conscience accuse him of not taking it seriously, because despite coming off as sort of dismissive and not caring, it was clear that was exactly how he felt about things.

I guess that just because I was taking things seriously in one way didn't mean he wasn't doing the same in his own way.

Not that it made it less irritating. He could take things as they were without being bothered, but that just screamed.

..not caring. Yet he was caring, but he didn't...ugh, it felt like my head was going around in circles.

How the fuck could someone care about something enough to stick by his attitude but still come off as though he couldn't give a fuck?

Too much complexity for my alcohol ridden brain.

He sighed heavily. “Can you go even five minutes without getting pissed at me?"

"Can you go five minutes without doing something to piss me off?"

"I'm not trying to piss you off."

"No," I said, sighing, knowing it sounded far more tired, "you just manage it naturally."