12. Reed

Reed

12

"You had an unfair advantage." I roll my eyes, walking past Mason after he opens the door to the apartment.

"Don't be a sore loser just because you were born bite-sized and I wasn't." Closing the door behind him, he follows me into the kitchen.

Mason stops beside me at the counter, and I fill up two glasses of water, handing one to him.

"Bite-sized? Really?" I take a sip, narrowing my gaze.

"I mean…" He plants his palm on the top of my head while he stands up taller, towering over me.

I set my glass down to face him. "I think it's necessary to point out that my height is only relative to you being a giant."

Stepping close, I lift onto my tiptoes and reach to plant my hand on the top of his head. I'm not thinking until I realize it's brought us almost chest to chest. He's stripped off his hoodie, and when I press against him, every carved inch of his hard chest can be felt through his thin white T-shirt.

"See." I drop to my heels and take a step back, needing the distance.

Mason must sense it too because he leans against the opposite counter. "Fair enough."

"I had fun today, thank you." I change the subject. "Even if you had an unfair advantage for your win."

"I might be tall, but you're quick, Sticks. I got lucky." He grins, taking a sip of his water.

He's being nice because even if I am quick, the only reason we were close is that I got the impression he didn't want to get too far ahead after I slipped. So he made it easy on me.

Either way, I don't call him out on it because I didn't mind.

"Was that your first time rock climbing?"

"No, there's this wall in one of my dad's casinos in Vegas. Sienna and I used to spend entire days going up and down that thing. She wasn't scared of heights either."

His gaze drops to the floor, and his words sink in.

I'd like to know so much more about his sister. It sounds like they were close. But every time he brings her up, he abruptly stops the conversation, so I know he's not ready to talk about her.

From everything I've read online, she seemed like a free spirit. The moment she turned eighteen, she started traveling, documenting her year circling the globe. She seemed to have it all. Until she fell off the map after that trip. I still don't understand what happened between her exploring the world and ending her life.

There are very few articles printed about her right before her death. The few I found, talked about her partying a bit more than she did in her teens. But she was in her early twenties, so it made sense. Nothing about what was printed seemed out of the ordinary.

Mason glances back up at me, and I'm desperate to ask. To get the information from the source and not the internet. But while his father's business dealings with Carter are part of the story I'm writing, Mason isn't. And neither is Sienna.

The things I want to learn aren't for research purposes, so I keep my mouth shut.

"Are you working tomorrow?" I change the subject.

Mason nods, his shoulders relaxing. "Yeah. Riggs is finally coming in for his chest piece."

"That's the one you've been working on?"

"Yep."

Every night this past week, he's been coming home and adding to it. The sketch has taken up residence at the kitchen table, and it's stunning.

I wish I could see the world like Mason does. In images and colors. I'd like to see the beauty without feeling the need to analyze it. I've always been a more fact-driven person, carefully sorting my life into pro and con columns. Research and evidence are where I find peace because it can be explained.

Everything has a reason and a place.

Or so I thought.

Mason's art makes me question that. There's no explaining the way he conveys emotion with pen and paper. It's heartbreaking. Beautiful. Unexplainable.

"Well, let me know if you need me to bring food down to the shop if you're too busy to take a break then."

"You don't have to do that." He shakes his head. "You've got your own work you're focusing on."

"I don't mind."

After getting out of the house today, I broke the fear of stepping outside of these walls. I remembered how much I miss the simple freedom of just being out. Mason did that for me.

"I'll be fine, but thanks."

"Whatever you say, big guy." I set my water glass in the sink.

"Big guy?" He grins.

"You're the one who called me bite-sized. It's only fair."

Mason grins. "I'm not complaining."

His voice drops, and it hits me in my core. What started playfully makes my mind wander to places I don't usually let it.

I can't remember the last time I wanted to have sex. A time when I thought I might actually enjoy it and that it wasn't part of an apology or an argument. But the thought of Mason in every tall inch of glory, standing in front of me, sparks something that's been long lost.

If being with Mason feels anything like the warmth of him wrapped around me when we were pinned to the rock wall earlier, then I might never recover. The thought of climbing his chest, of him pinning me down, of him devouring me... I swallow hard and hope he doesn't notice.

I'm sure Mason's used to experienced girls who know what they're doing.

Carter liked to remind me I was boring because I'd only ever been with him. It didn't matter that my virginity was one of the things that initially drew him to me. He refused to explore anything in bed because he said his future wife shouldn't "fuck like a whore."

Apparently, the only women he was allowed to have fun with were the women he slept with behind my back while I pretended not to notice. Women more interesting in bed than I am. Women Mason's probably used to as well—ones with confidence.

Ones that are the opposite of me.

"I'm going to head to bed." I step back. "It's been a long day."

"Yeah." He glances at the clock.

"I'll be fine here if you want to go out. Sage added more cameras, and I can set the alarm."

The last time I was in town, Mason was barely at the apartment. I know I'm cramping his routine.

He doesn't make me feel guilty, but I can't help it.

"It's fine. I'm tired so I'm just going to take a shower and then hit the sack."

"All right. Well, thanks for today. Goodnight, Mason."

He nods, watching me as I walk away. I disappear down the hallway and make my way into my room. My hand pauses on the door, and I consider shutting it. But I still can't bring myself to.

Mason makes me feel safe.

Grabbing a T-shirt and pajama shorts, I make my way into the bathroom to get ready for bed and change. By the time I'm out, the rest of the apartment is dark, and I hear the shower running.

I turn my head to the doorway, where I can't see anything in the dark hall except for the faint glow streaming out of Mason's room where his door is cracked. Like me, he's been sleeping with it open. And even if there's a wall between us, it's comforting.

The water runs, and I close my eyes, trying not to remember how Mason felt today. The drop in his tone when he was pressed up against me. The feel of his chest on my back. A brush of his hips that gave me the faintest hint at just how large my giant roommate is.

I focus on the running water from his shower and the hum of his movements through the walls. On the sound of something else I can't quite make out. A low rumble—a groan, maybe? And then I swear I hear my name.

Or I'm just imagining it.

It's probably the pathetic, repressed part of me that wishes I could be good enough for Mason to think about me while he's washing himself. While his soapy hands rove over his body.

Just the thought has me clenching my thighs. It has me painting inappropriate pictures in my mind.

His hard, tattooed muscles under the water. Rivers running down his back and chest. His hair darkened as it soaks through.

I can almost feel myself standing in there with him. Pressed close like we were in the kitchen. He'd lean in, and the soft scruff on his jaw would rub my cheek.

The ache is too much when I've spent years missing it.

My core burns, and I move my hand under the band of my shorts. My eyes are sealed shut as I run my fingers slowly over my underwear before slipping beneath them, finding myself soaked.

It's been longer than I can remember since I've touched myself. It was back when I was still capable of feeling something besides numbness. But as I listen through the thin walls to Mason showering, I roll my fingers over my clit, and my entire body sparks.

It might be in my head, but I swear I hear him with the falling water. Heavy breathing and my name sputtering from his lips while he's in there stroking himself. It might be wishful thinking, but I hold onto those sounds, even if they're only in my mind.

And when he's done, I imagine him stepping out of the water and wrapping a towel around his waist. Hearing me moan through the walls and not being able to help himself.

Mason would come to check on me and find me with my fingers buried between my legs.

But he wouldn't laugh at me or be jealous of me bringing myself pleasure. His blue eyes would sear me as he stood in the doorway. He'd spread my thighs and show me exactly how much he appreciates what I'm doing to myself.

Maybe he'd show me how to be dirty for him without judging me for it. He'd put me on my knees and let me be the one in control of his pleasure. He'd tell me how he likes it, and I'd torture him by holding back until he couldn't stand it anymore.

Until he'd throw me on the bed and bend me like a pretzel while he fucked me.

The things I want Mason to do to my body are unholy.

I'd let him wake my soul up like he did my heart today when we went climbing. I'd let him remind me my body's still capable of feeling things other than pain. That being numb isn't worth it when pleasure is so damn good.

I slide my fingers into myself and wish it was him. I'm sure he'd hurt but in a good way. He'd stretch me to my limits, and I'd want him to take me there.

I'd be fearless for him.

Pumping my fingers in again, I pull them out and move them to my clit. I circle around and around as the pressure starts to slowly build. My entire body is shaking, and I'm on the verge of something I haven't felt in so long. It's ripping me apart.

Sealing my eyes tighter, I imagine it's not my hand.

But it's Mason. His tongue working me over. His fingers thrusting in.

Behind my eyelids, I see his bright-blue eyes, watching me like I'm the art he spends so much of his time fawning over. I imagine I'm something worth looking at. And that's all it takes to pull the final thread.

My climax hits, and I'm flooded with pleasure. Waves roll from my chest to my toes. My hearing goes out, and it's all white noise muting the city. My shoulders shake as I jolt with my release, and I'm combusting.

The hardest wave rockets through me, over and over, even after my hand has paused. My heart races, and my mouth falls open with an uncontrollable moan. It's all-consuming.

Slowly, I start to come down and my eyes flutter open. Sound filters back to my ears at the same time as footsteps make their way around the corner, and I move my hand so fast that I jump as Mason comes into view in my doorway.

"Reed, are you okay?"

He's still wet from his shower, wrapped in a towel just like I imagined him. His body might as well be cut from solid stone. Every hard inch of his damp chest is on display. My imagination didn't do him justice.

"Reed?" His concern fills his eyes, and I realize I'm staring at him.

"I'm fine."

"Fuck, okay." He rakes his wet hair back. "Sorry, I thought I heard you scream for me."

Did I?

It's a good thing the room's dark because my cheeks rush with blood. "No, I'm fine. I just dropped my phone."

My phone is across the room, and he glances at it sitting on the dresser, like he's putting together the fact that it doesn't make sense, but he doesn't call me out.

"Okay." He glances back at me. "Sorry to burst in. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mason."

He disappears and part of me wishes he hadn't. I might have just come, but the sight of him already has me back on edge.

I'm wide awake in more ways than one. And for once in my life, I don't mind it.