30. Hannah

Hannah

T he door to the garage slams shut and after a few moments, the rumble of engines sounds outside as the cartel packs up to leave. We stand in silence, listening to them until their engines are drowned out by the sound of the rain and I’m sure they’re gone.

This is all my fault.

I push away from Mason, storming toward the office.

“Hannah,” he bites, locking the door and following after me. The adrenaline coursing through my body is enough to make me sick to my stomach. All these lies. All these secrets I have to find out through weird texts and near-death experiences.

Mason had a gun pointed at his head.

A fucking gun.

“ Hannah. ”

His voice is laced with rage, but I’m angrier.

“You lied!” I bellow, whirling on him. I stop just inside his office.

I need to get the fuck out of here. Betrayal burns hot and disgusted in my chest, making me nauseous. Even then, it’s nothing compared to the sickness that comes from the image of Cortez pointing a gun to his head.

I’m so angry I could kill him.

I shove at his chest with all my might, but he doesn’t budge.

In fact, he just steps closer, eyes flashing with venom.

“I didn’t lie. You didn’t listen,” he growls, voice deeper than I’ve ever heard it before. My heart bottoms out in my chest at the rage in his voice and the darkness in his eyes.

“They could have killed you! And you’re a part of it? Trafficking Mason?”

“They forced me into a chop shop, Hannah. Not trafficking.” His gaze darkens. “Not until now. I’m as much a part of it as you are,” he bites. “And you can thank your mother for that.”

My mother . . . “All these years, you’ve been dealing with the cartel and now you’re trying to say it’s because of my mother? The governor of California? Why would she do that?” There’s no way.

You also thought there was no way she would open up a trafficking ring, either . . .

Mason doesn’t say anything, though his eyes burn with an intensity I’ve never seen before.

I fall back a step.

Everything makes sense now.

“Because of me.”

He chuckles, though it lacks any humor. “Imagine her surprise when you ran right back to me.”

I shake my head. There’s no way. The. Fucking. Cartel.

My mother sent the fucking cartel after Mason because I . . .

Mason’s eyes flash with a caustic black glint, his jaw tight and his muscles tense. Something violent radiates just beneath the surface of his icy exterior. It’s then I realize why Mason Carpenter has tried so damned hard—and failed—to keep me at arm’s length. Why he disappeared.

He cares. Way more than he or I will ever be willing to admit.

I thought I had problems. Now, I’m seeing he’s being haunted by ghosts, too. Only his are a lot bigger and a lot more dangerous than just my psycho sister.

. . . And now they know about me.

The ground shakes with the force of the thunder rumbling outside and then, like the sun got sucked away from the Earth, all the lights in the garage go out, plunging us into near-darkness. Shadows lurk in every corner, the only light a pale green glow that shines through the windows.

Mason looks like a mercenary in this light. A bioweapon sent to drag me back to hell with him. Dark. Huge. Devastating in this light.

My body hums in the heavy silence that follows, my heartbeat the only sound despite the rain and our heavy breathing. Only now, for the first time in God knows how long, my pulse is fluttering for an entirely different reason than what could be hiding in the shadows.

It’s him.

“You’re being harassed by the cartel because of me,” I breathe. “Because you won’t walk away from me.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his jaw ticks.

“Why . . . why would you do that?”

“Because you’re mine.”

My chest tightens with something harsh and ugly and sweet and beautiful.

Then it crashes to the floor at my feet.

My mother will kill him.

“We . . . we can’t do this anymore.” I’m not even sure if I’m speaking to him or myself at this point. Still, it tastes like I swallowed bleach the moment the words leave my mouth.

Mason’s nostrils flare, his eyes caustic. “What?”

I suck in a deep breath, willing my voice to find the words. “It’s not safe. You and me. This is a dangerous game.”

Tears well in my eyes, but I refuse to cry. Not here. Not right in front of him.

“You think this is a game?” My heart drops to my stomach when he steps forward, closing the distance between us until his front is barely touching mine. Then, he presses closer until my back hits the wall and I’m trapped. Distantly, I’m aware of his cock pressing against my stomach and it stokes a fire in my core, low and indomitable.

Slowly, like he’s calculating his next move, he places his hands on the wall on either side of my head until we’re at eye level.

“You think I didn’t try?” He dips his head until his lips are pressed against my ear. The stubble on his cheeks against the soft skin of my neck sends a shiver down my spine.

One that doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“You think I didn’t try to cut you out of me? That I didn’t try to walk away?”

He leans back enough so I can see the sneer pull on his lips. His hand slips into the loose strands of my hair, sliding up to fist the roots in his fingers and drag my head back to look up at him. At this angle, all I can see is him, consuming me. His gaze rakes over me, from my eyes down to my lips like a caress. His jaw ticks when he tears his face back to mine and there’s no denying it.

He’s gotten attached, too.

“You and I will never be done, Hannah. You know why?” His fingers flex in my hair, pulling me closer until his lips hover over mine and I shiver. Like he’s trying to steal my dying breath. It’s just the lightest of touches, but I want more. I need more. I try to move closer, to kiss him, feel him, but he holds me in place, forcing me to face my demons head-on, rather than run from them as I always have.

His thumb runs over my lips, like he’s memorizing them. Like he’s ingraining them in his brain for later.

“Because as much as you’d prefer to tell me you hate me, little doe, you’re as obsessed with me as I am with you.”

Holy shit.

Warmth pools in my core and the dull ache that centered between my thighs turns to an incessant throb. His eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them. Like the stormy gray had turned to night. Like a man on the brink of losing control.

Suddenly, I want to see what it looks like when that control snaps.

“I would take a bullet to keep you safe, Hannah, but I can’t do anything if you don’t listen to me.”

“Mason . . .” I breathe, my voice shaky when he stoops down, nipping the line of my jaw.

I shouldn’t let myself get sucked in. It’s dangerous. For both of us. Mom will kill him when she finds out and the cartel may as well be bloodhounds out for my scent. Still . . . I tell myself all of this while I wrap my arms around his neck and arch my own to give him more access. I tell myself I don’t like him while I whimper at the feeling of his teeth grazing my skin. I tell myself this has gone too far, even as I beg for more.

Every nerve ending in my body goes live when he presses his face to my neck, inhaling and letting out a low sound of satisfaction.

“Tell me you hate me, little doe,” he rasps against my ear. “Tell me to let you leave.”

I should do as he tells me. I should go back home so we can both cool off. I should do a lot of things, none of them involving this man, but, even as he says it, I know it’s not true. I can’t hate Mason Carpenter any more than I can stop myself from falling for him.

I know I should. I should back away before this gets too far, save that heartache for later . . . but, when his hand on my back slips lower, cupping the bottom of my ass under the hem of my shorts, I lose track of that rational side of my brain.

“Fuck me,” I breathe, so quiet, I’m not even sure he heard it over the storm raging outside.

He pulls back to look at me, his gaze dark. “If I fuck you, Hannah, there’s no going back from this.”

I swallow over the lump in my throat at those words.

They should be enough to scare me off, but . . . for some disturbing reason, my stomach tightens at the thought.

So, I do what any sane woman would do— repeat myself.

“Fuck me, Mason.”

He leans forward, his thumb tracing the pulse point where I’m sure he can feel my heart racing. I stir under his heavy gaze. He’s looking at me in a way I’ve never been looked at before. With such soft, soul-consuming desire.

Like I’m his.

Abruptly, he leans down, nipping my bottom lip and making a low sound. Almost like he’s angry with himself for losing a hard-fought battle.

“You have no idea what you just asked for.”

His hand on my ass clenches and then he’s lifting me into his arms as if it’s easy. It’s fucking terrifying.

He carries me to the desk, depositing me on top and swiping papers and folders I know I’ll have to figure out come tomorrow morning, but I couldn’t care less. Not when he fists my hair, bringing his lips crashing against mine with a deep groan.

In a flash, he’s tugging my shirt over my head until I’m in nothing but the old bra I put on this morning. Of course, I would pick the most unsexy undergarment I own on a day like today, but he doesn’t seem to care, expertly unhooking it and tossing it to the old computer chair with the rest of my clothes.

My breasts sit heavy and tight, my nipples hardening under his gaze and even in the darkness of the office, with nothing but the pale glow from outside and the strike of lightning, my skin burns under those eyes.

“So fucking perfect,” he grumbles under his breath, like he hates it, right before he cups one of my breasts in his hand and seals his lips over the hardened peak.

The second his lips touch my nipple, I lose every last strand of my moral dignity.

And just like that, I’m willing to let this man do whatever he wants to me.

His groan reverberates against my skin, sending sharp tingles of pleasure straight between my thighs and I arch into his tongue. He switches sides, feasting on my other breast and rolling the first with his fingers until the pleasure radiating in my clit threatens to send me into orbit.

Is it possible to come from just nipple play? Is that even a thing?

Somehow, I know Mason is the one that could do it, even if it’s not.

“Is this what you wanted?” he rasps against my neck where he bites the pulse point over my fluttering heartbeat. “You wanted my hands on you again? My cock?”

“Yes,” I breathe. What I actually want is for him to fuck me until the racing thoughts in my head drift away. Until all I can feel is him and the anxiety swirling in my stomach is snuffed out and I can just be free for once. Free of the worry. Free of the guilt.

Dropping to his haunches, his hands slip up my thighs to the button of my shorts. He pops them open, tugging the denim and my panties down my legs.

When I’m completely naked, his heavy gaze centers on the apex of my thighs, his nostrils flaring.

His eyes drop almost unwillingly over the length of my body. Raking from the polish on my toes, up my legs and over my clit, then my breasts, before finally, his eyes meet mine.

Something about the unhinged look in his eyes has me swallowing in fear.

“There’s no going back from this, Hannah.”

“Are you telling me to back out?”

He chuckles dryly, dropping to his knees and nudging my legs apart with his shoulders. “If you want to watch Los Angeles burn to the ground tonight, go ahead.”

What’s wrong with me? I should be running for the hills, but instead, I’m reveling in the fact that I can get this man as unhinged as he makes me feel. Like I’ve tamed a grizzly bear and now it’s prepared to lay its life on the line for me.

His palm on my leg is a warning. It’s him saying: You’re mine. Every fucking inch of you.

Right now, I don’t think I could argue if I tried.

He nips the skin of my knee with a rough growl, then his tongue darts out to lick a path up to my inner thigh.

“Mason . . .” I warn, but he just turns that dark look on me, stopping my heart in its tracks. “Just fuck me.”

I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth.

“Not yet,” he rasps, his teeth grazing the flesh of my mound. “You’re not ready yet.”

“I can’t get any readier,” I protest, tugging at the short strands of his hair and desperately trying to urge him back up my body.

“Do you want me to stop?”

No. Please, God, no, but also yes because everything in me is screaming that I need to be perfect for him.

In a rush, he grabs my hips, spreading my legs wide and completely exposing me to him. Instant shame fills me, my legs trying to snap shut on their own volition.

“No,” I breathe. “But—”

“You have the tightest fucking cunt, little doe. I’ll bruise you if I don’t work you up to take me.”

I swallow over the lump in my throat.

“I need a shower for that,” I protest, though it sounds meek, even to my ears.

“Stop.”

I never knew how much credence that little word could have until now.

His dark gaze on mine, he dips his head, holding my eyes as he runs his tongue from my opening to my clit.

I gasp at the sensation of his velvety tongue slipping along my folds. He groans as if he’s been dreaming of this moment all his life.

“ Fuck ,” he rasps, slipping his tongue in and out of me.

A moan escapes me when his fingers find me, sliding through my slick folds. “Mason,” I whimper, arching my back when he seals his lips around my clit.

He flutters his tongue and when he growls in satisfaction, all the shame and humility vanish from my body. This man wants me.

My hand goes to his hair and he eyes me while his tongue circles my clit. His finger pumps in and out of me, matching the rhythm of his tongue as he feasts on me. I’ve never felt so completely open to a man before and after everything I’ve just found out, it should stop me in my tracks.

But . . . it only makes me want him more.

“Mason, please,” I whimper when the first waves of my orgasm start to roll in, full force. His eyes glint in the darkness and a strike of lightning outside paints his face in shades of blue and white.

“So fucking sweet,” he grunts, reaching under me and gripping the backs of my thighs until my knees are by my breasts.

I stammer, clambering for something to grab onto, but all I find is him. I don’t have time to catch a single breath before he slips his tongue back between my folds. A moan claws its way up my throat, and I fist his hair until I’m sure strands break free.

“Fuck, I’ve been craving that sound,” he grits against my skin, swirling his tongue higher until he’s circling my clit.

My back arches off the desk, my hips seeking his mouth while he works me like I’ve never been worked before. Moisture clings to every inch of my skin as the pleasure shoots through me. But . . . because Mason gets off on my pain, he pulls back just before I come.

“Asshole,” I growl, my hand smacking the desk as I’m denied a third time.

My fingers claw at his hair, desperately trying to drag him back to where I need him, but a sharp sting shoots through me that has me bucking under his hold, a strangled moan escaping.

He just bit my clit, again.

“You’ll come when I say you can. Not a second sooner.”

I collapse back with a groan, my eyes rolling so hard I fear they may fall out when his tongue soothes the sting, drawing out a new, unspeakable part of me that I never knew existed until he came along. Heat floods my body and the pain mixes with the pleasure, leaving me a moaning puddle of need underneath him.

“Please, Mason.” I’m beyond caring about begging, at this point. I’d pray at his feet if he let me come right now.

“Fuck, Hannah,” he grits against my skin, sucking in a sharp breath. “This cunt’s so fucking greedy for me.”

I try to focus on anything else other than the orgasm threatening to ruin me as he continues his torture. The price of gasoline. Unwanted religious visitors. Taxes.

None of it helps, though and my legs shake with anticipation as pleasure races through me.

“Come for me, little doe.” Burying his face in my sex like a man starved, he seals his lips around my clit, fluttering his tongue back and forth until I’m writhing underneath him.

That’s all it takes for the orgasm to rip through me, sending me hurtling toward another dimension where I don’t even know my own name. My vision goes blurry, a guttural moan falling from my lips I’m sure sounds more like an exorcism than an orgasm.

“That’s it,” Mason grits, but he doesn’t stop his assault on my body. Not when I’m pushing him back and not when my legs clamp down on his head. He eats me straight into another orgasm, this one leaving my heart racing until I’m sure the Grim Reaper will show up at any moment to set me free.

What a way to go.

I float back to earth, my body shaking with little aftershocks as Mason kisses his way up my stomach, nipping the flesh above my navel and then circling my nipple with his tongue.

Abruptly he stands, tugging his shirt over his head. He lowers the zipper of his jeans and I finally get a chance to ogle him. His tattoos shift over his muscles in the darkness, each one intricately carved out in his skin. I’ve never cared much about tattoos, but now that he’s standing in front of me in all his glory . . . I get it.

He fists his cock, unceremoniously gripping my hips to tug me to the very edge of the desk.

The second he enters me my body erupts in tremors. He, however, lets out a growl that can only be described as feral.

“Fucking hell, Hannah,” he grits, the moment he pushes inside me. His head falls back, his eyes clenched and he groans, a deep, animalistic sound that settles right between my legs, even if it feels like he’s splitting me in half. “So fucking tight, baby.”

I’ve never been called baby before. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t escape the way my heart flutters at the way he grounds it out. Like he has no choice. Like he needs to say it.

“It’s too big,” I gasp, the pain of taking him too much and I shake my head, my nails digging into his shoulders as my body struggles to adjust to him. I think it would be more comfortable fucking a tree at this point. Or a light post.

“You can take it.” He moves slow, only pushing in an inch before pulling back to surge forward again. Tremors move through him, his teeth clenched so hard I worry they’ll crack. Little by little, he fills me until I feel like, surely, he’ll break me. “You feel how wet you are, soaking my cock?”

Wetness drips down my leg and I want to be embarrassed, but with the way he fills me, I can’t think of anything but him.

“You pussy begs for me, Hannah.”

Fucking traitorous bitch.

Despite his size, my body blossoms at the rough sound of his voice and the way his hands shake on my hips. He’s trembling . . . a man on the brink of his control, but he’s holding back so he doesn’t hurt me.

It’s oddly touching, even as he does the dirtiest things to me.

Reaching under me, he lifts me, my breasts pressing against his chest as he carries me to the old armchair in the corner of the room. He deposits me on his lap and I straddle him. I reach between us, taking him in my fist and aligning him with my entrance. I allow myself to slip down slowly, filling myself with him with a whimper and a prayer.

“Fuck, I should have known you’d be fucking perfect,” he grinds out, his fingers tightening on my hips until I know I’ll have bruises tomorrow.

“Careful,” I muse, my voice breathier than usual as his groin grinds against my clit. “You keep saying such sweet things to me, I might get the wrong idea.”

The slap to my ass is not something I was prepared for.

“What’s the matter?” he purrs when I yelp from the sudden bite of pain. Still . . . the sting morphs completely, liquefying into something else. Something I never thought I would enjoy.

“You are such an asshole,” I grit, though it doesn’t stop me from moaning when the next one hits.

“And it turns you on. Ride my cock.”

He does it again and heat floods my body, my arousal slipping down my inner thigh. He curses under his breath, gripping my hips and pulling me down the rest of the way on his length.

I gasp from the intrusion, but I can feel my body bending to him, even as he damns my soul with each thrust of his cock inside me.

“Fuck, Mason . . . “ He uses my hips to move me over him, thrusting into me until the sounds of our bodies moving together fill the room. It’s both the most erotic and most disturbing sound I’ve ever heard.

“I’m going to ruin you, little doe. This tight little cunt was made for my cock and after I’m done, you won’t be able to come without me.”

With what he’s doing to me, I actually believe him.

Impossibly, my body relaxes, greedily sucking him in until I’m rocking my hips to meet his thrusts. His groin grinds against my clit, drawing a whimper from my lips. It’s too much. It’s all too much, but if he stopped, I’m afraid they would have to commit me.

He shudders, rolling his neck as he moves me over him. I bury my face in his shoulder, my nails gripping his shoulders so hard, I fear I might leave marks.

Good. Maybe he can think about those the next time he’s pissed off at me.

“Harder,” I dare, knowing I’m playing with fire.

“Hannah,” he warns, his fingers flexing on my hips.

“I want more,” I breathe, leaning forward to press my lips to his. He nips my bottom lip between his teeth with a groan and his hand snaps to my throat, his fingers tensing and robbing me of air.

He runs his tongue over his teeth, sweat dotting his brow. “Are you adjusted?”

“Yes,” I breathe, my pussy clenching around him as the onslaught of pleasure threatens to send me into a third orgasm.

In a rush, he tugs me against his chest and locks his arms around my waist. He bounces me on his cock, hard and fast until I couldn’t stop myself from coming if my life depended on it.

A cry leaves my lips and I come so hard I see stars, clinging to him like a life raft at sea as he doesn’t slow his pace.

“Fuck, that’s it, Hannah,” he grits, powering into me with a punishing rhythm. “Fucking come for me.”

With a final thrust, he spills inside me with a shuddering groan. I collapse into him, my body spent and shaking.

I’m not even sure I can walk, now, let alone move.

Our heavy breaths fill the silence as we both float back to earth. I sigh in contentment, riding the high of post-coital bliss as he brushes the ends of my hair from my damp face.

“Fuck,” he breathes, relaxing back in the chair.

Fuck is right.

That was the most intense sexual experience I’ve ever had. Not that I’ve had a lot of them, but I have a feeling that one will be at the top of the list.

Somewhere in all of that, the storm outside subsided and a ray of sunshine beams through the window above us, entirely too bright for after-sex clarity, so I bury my face in his neck and shut my eyes. If I can just stay like this with him for a few minutes longer, I can forget all the thoughts racing in my head.

“I’m hungry,” I breathe.

Mason pauses for a moment, then he laughs.

I pull back to stare at him. He’s lost his mind.

“Did you just laugh?” I reach out with the palm of my hand, placing it on his damp forehead. “Are you alright?”

He catches my hand, bringing it to his lips to nip the flesh over my pulse point. Despite everything, my body still reacts.

“Rest up, little doe. I’ve been waiting years for this.”

My heart swells, but before I can say anything, something warm and wet slips down my leg.

Oh no.

Oh, this is bad.

Scrambling, I climb off his lap, wincing at the loss of him. He stills for a moment, watching me confused until I reach for my clothes.

“Hannah.”

“Condom, Mason,” I grit, tears welling in my eyes.

God, I’m so stupid. I can’t bring a baby into this. Savannah’s words echo through my mind, warning me that I’ll only destroy Mason.

Seems like she was more right than even she knew.

He stares at me for a moment, calculating in his mind.

“You’re not on the pill.”

It’s not a question.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, scrubbing a hand through his hair, and for some reason, though his reaction is valid, something in my chest stings.

“That’s all you can say?” Tears burn in my eyes and I hate them. I hate him. Most importantly, I hate myself for getting into this dumb situation.

He reaches for me, but I step back out of his grasp. His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t push me.

“We’ll get a pill,” he murmurs, carefully lifting his hand to brush away a tear on my cheek. Though he’s trying to comfort me, there’s a distance that wasn’t there before. An icy coldness that fills my veins from the way he looks at me.

Like it was a mistake.

Whore.

Mortification coils through me and I stumble to the bathroom, refusing to look at him again.

Once the door is shut, I lean back against it, letting the tears quietly fall.

I’m an idiot. A liar. A girl with baggage. I can’t blame him for regretting what happened any more than I blame myself.

I always knew something would send this whole thing crashing to the ground.

I just didn’t think I’d care this much.