Page 18 of Bruised

Maybe I’ve misread the whole situation. Maybe he’s not interested at all and thinks I’m a total creep. Or maybe he’s just scared. Repressed. Inexperienced. I can deal with that. I can teach him, as long as he wants to be taught.

I grunt quietly as I keep palming my crotch. Where the fuck is he?

I glance at my phone. 4 AM already.

Groaning, I turn to my side. Fine. If he’s not going to show up, I might as well go to sleep. If he doesn’t want to admit to himself that he’s just as horny as I am, fine. His loss.

I consider watching some porn and jerking off to get rid of the ache in my balls, but instead I set my phone aside, sighing into the darkness, feeling sullen and defeated.

I didn’t think it would affect me this much.

He’s just some brat I want to bend over; it’s not like I care if I’ve misread his lingering looks or those please-hurt-me vibes that are written all over him. It’s a little awkward, sure, but I’ve been through worse.

I stare up at the ceiling, and I’ve just about accepted my defeat when I hear something in the hallway.

Soft footsteps, and then… knocking. Two hesitant taps on my door.

My heart beats hard and fast, and a delicious thrill of anticipation runs through me.

He’s here.

7. A TASTE

Ignoring him doesn’t work. Talking back doesn’t work. So it’s time to set some boundaries—for real this time. I can’t let him keep up his relentless flirting any longer, let alone all summer.

I’ve spent all day thinking about it, rehearsing in my head what I’m going to say, but now that I’m here, outside his door, my plan feels as shaky as my knees.

I feel oddly embarrassed. Guilty, when I shouldn’t be. Mason is the one who should feel guilty, damn it. He’s older. He should know not to flirt with his little brother’s best friend. He doesn’t understand boundaries, obviously, so I’ll have to teach him.

Yeah. Easy. I’ll just go into his room in the middle of the night and talk. Nothing else. Just talk.

He needs to learn that he can’t keep flirting with people when they’re not even responsive. Because I haven’t been responsive… right? I haven’t let my true feelings show outwardly. At the very least, I haven’t given him any reason to say what he said in the kitchen.

“I’ll give you something else to suck on.”

Is he fucking kidding me? He can’t just… say things like that. Even as a joke, which I’m fairly sure it wasn’t.

I shudder and try to shake the thought out of my mind. I should be angry—furious even—but the thing is, my dick doesn’t seem a hundred percent on board with my mind’s conviction. More like zero percent.

I tap my knuckles on Mason’s door, knocking softly, warily. As I wait, the seconds stretch into what feels like minutes, but there’s no reply. No “come in,” and no one opens the door. I can’t knock harder for fear of Oliver waking up, so I guess I’ll just have to go inside.

I crack the door open, heart pounding.

Back in the danger zone. A place where Oliver won’t come and interrupt us—especially not now, when he’s sleeping soundly at the other end of the house.

It’s dark inside. No lamps, no screens to guide my way. When my eyes are used to the darkness, I see the silhouette of Mason in the bed. Is he sleeping? I go to his bedside to get a better look. He’s shirtless under the covers, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he was naked, too.

The bedside lamp flicks on.

I give a little yelp and jump back.

“What are you doing here, puppy?” Mason looks the way he always does: self-assured and smug, with a little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. His hair looks ruffled, though, and his eyes are glassy.

I kept him up all night. He’s been waiting for me.

“I-I just want to talk.” I should leave, but I also need to get my message across.

“About what?” he asks, his calm voice a stark contrast to my shaky one.