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Maybe asking him to take me to a sex club was a bad idea.
“Hopefully this won’t take long.”
He peeks at me as he drives. It’s then I notice the thick veins in his hands. How have I never noticed how hot Mason’s hands are?
No. Stop it. We aren’t that desperate, Hannah. They’re just hands.
Big, rough, calloused, working man hands with sexy veins, but hands, all the same.
“Worried?”
“No. Why?”
“You look it.”
“I think I look fine.”
He peeks at me, his gaze traveling over the black lace at my midriff, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Thank you, by the way. For taking me. And for bringing me flowers. And for not saying anything to your sister. At least in front of me.”
That last part sucks because I know, without a doubt what was going through Mila’s mind when she saw me. Everything Missy had done was my fault because I was the one present. I’m an extension of her and it sure doesn’t help that we’re twins.
He chuckles darkly, but he doesn’t respond. The tension in the cab hangs thick in the air between us. So thick you could smear it on toast.
The buzz that’s always there when he’s around is suddenly tenfold. Maybe because of our kiss, but maybe because we’re going to a sex club. Either way . . . my heart hammers against my chest at the way he looks at me.
Like he might swallow me whole.
“So what’s the deal with this place? You act like you’ve been before.”
“Once,” he grits, fingers tightening on the wheel.
Uh-oh.
“And?”
“And, what?”
I roll my eyes, breathe out a sigh and lean back in the seat. Mason’s eyes stay locked on the road, but I can tell he’s tuned into my every move, just as I am his.
Interesting.
“How was it?”
He takes the highway, toward downtown, his tongue running over his teeth.
“You’ll see.”
“I’m serious, Mason. Is there anything I need to know before we enter the lion’s den?”
He cocks a brow. “Nothing is off-limits here. Piss, the illusion of rape, blood,” he says roughly. “Don’t touch anyone, you don’twant to get hurt. Don’t let anyone touch you, you don’t want to get hurt. Don’t drink the water. Good enough for you?”
“Why would it matter if anyone touches me? You said it yourself. This isn’t a date.”
He chuckles darkly, running a thumb across the stubble over his lips. I briefly, like a creep, wonder what it would feel like against my skin, again.
“Try it.”
