Page 30 of Bruised

“Tomorrow.”

That word makes something in my brain snap, and my sanity comes back online.

What did I just do? Was I just about to beg him to finger my ass? And why didn’t he just do it? He’s already done so much to me. Crossed so many lines. Might as well cross another.

Head swirling with a shameful mixture of relief and disappointment, I make a move to get off him, but just then, he grabs my shoulders and nudges me downward, pulling our faces close.

“One more thing before you go.”

For an exhilarating moment, I think he’ll kiss me, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. But then his head tilts to the side. His mouth meets the side of my shoulder and latches on, licking and biting, sucking a slow, indulgent hickey into my neck.

It’s like an on switch for my dick, and it stands up happily even though I came just a few minutes ago.

I squirm in discomfort, whispering, “Oliver will see.” At the same time, it feels too good to pull away.

Satisfied, Mason licks at the burgeoning hickey and lets me go. “He won’t.”

When I climb off him, I can barely stand; my legs are shaking, my glutes and inner thighs spasming. I came so hard. It felt so good. And still, a part of me is left unsatisfied.

Somehow I manage to get my clothes on, and when I turn to leave, Mason says, “Leave your collar on next time, okay?”

My collar. He means my choker, but just like he insists on calling me “puppy,” he seems determined to keep calling my choker whatever he wants, regardless of whether it’s appropriate or not.

I refuse to acknowledge his suggestion, or more like his demand. I don’t even turn around. In a slight panic that Oliver will notice the hickey tomorrow, I sneak into the hallway and back into Oliver’s room, feeling like I’ve set something in motion that can’t be stopped.

I should want to stop it. The sane part of my mind says I should tell Mason to fuck off, that I should never set foot in his room again. At the same time, every nerve ending in my body is screaming at me to continue, and I’m filled once again with a mix of apprehension and excitement at the promise of tomorrow.

12. HARDLY A FUCK

The next day, Tess comes over and drops face-first into my bed without a word.

“Rough night?” I ask, amused.

She used to do this all the time back when I lived in my apartment downtown. We lived a few blocks from each other, and sometimes if we’d been drinking, we’d keep the party going at my place after work. More often than not, she’d end up crashing in my bed. It was bigger than the one I have now: unlike my current full-sized bed, it could fit four people in a pinch. I had to get rid of it when I lost my apartment.

It’s not like I need a huge bed like that right now, and besides, living here is just temporary. Six months, tops—given I manage to get a job, that is.

Tess sighs. “Work’s kicking my ass.”

“More than usual?”

“I had to cover some extra shifts.”

“How about that girl?”

“She quit,” Tess grumbles. “Besides that, I think she’s straight.”

“I thought you’ve always said you could turn straights,” I say with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

Tess groans and sits up, strawberry-colored hair a mess. “When I’m not overworked and cranky, I can.”

I sit by my desk, looking down at my lap. “I’ve applied to a couple. Jobs, that is.”

“Any luck?”

I shake my head with a joyless smile. “What do you think? I’ve been to a couple of interviews, but when they take a look at my record, it’s game over.”

“I’m sorry.”