Page 54 of Not Another Dark Romance

“Did you like that, Mason?” Zane asks through huffs of breath behind me.

“So much. So fucking much.”

“Good, me too. You did so good for me. I had no idea I’d even be into that, but I loved it.”

His praise fills me, knowing that he’s exploring new parts of himself in this process too. “That makes me happy.”

He smiles. “Now let’s get you cleaned up and change these sheets, huh?”

Zane rolls off me, pulls me with him, and wipes me up. He changes the sheets, and when we’re finally back in bed, Zane pulls me close and whispers in my ear. “Time to sleep, Little Psycho.” Then he kisses the back of my head in a way that feels intimate beyond anything we’ve ever done before.

I’ve never been so happy.

24

Ping. My phone goes off again with another bid on Mason’s latest pieces as I unlock the back door of my house. Just as I expected, people are feral for it, and the bids haven’t stopped coming in all day. He really is incredibly talented. I made the mistake of turning my notifications back on after my closing shift at the restaurant, and it basically hasn’t stopped the entire drive home.

I head upstairs to let Pete out, and when I unlock the door, I’m surprised to find Mason already asleep in bed. It looks like he started another painting that wasn’t there this morning, so it must have taken a lot out of him. There’s an empty plate next to the door, so at least he ate the dinner I left for him.

Ping. My phone goes off again, and I scramble to turn it to silent so it won’t wake Mason as Pete trots past me and down the stairs. I try to shut the door as softly as I can before following him down and find him impatiently staring at his leash where it’s hung up next to the back door.

“Who’s more dramatic, you or Mason?” I mutter as I attach the leash to his collar. “I wasn’t even gone that long.”

My phone continues to buzz sporadically in my pocket as we head out into the backyard. When I take it out, I see we’ve officially passed his previous record for the most he’s earned on a single painting. A surge of pride hits me in my chest at his accomplishment and the small part I played in him achieving it. I can’t wait to show him. It sort of feels like we’re partners in his business now that I’m handling the admin and marketing side.

Not for the first time, I wish things were different between us. That we were actual partners, and I could support him because I care about him and not out of necessity of hiding my prisoner.

The sex and the dynamics we’ve established when he’s just my “Pet” and I’m his “Master” are incredible; I love it, but the more time I spend with Mason, the more I like the casual version of him too. He’s funny and playful and makes me happy to just be in his presence.

It might be wishful thinking, but I think I’m good for him too. His body responds so well to me, and I visibly see the way he relaxes in response to my reassuring touches and lights up from my attention and preens under my praise. Even at something as simple as me complimenting his art or when I told him I loved his hair after he dyed it again, it all makes me feel like I’m having a positive influence on him despite our captor–prisoner situation.

It might be strange to admit, but for the first time in my life, I have real feelings for someone, and the most mind-fucky part about it is I don’t even know if any of what exists between us is real. If things were different, it’s easy to imagine Mason as my boyfriend.

A loud bang distracts me from my seemingly ever-present thoughts of the pink-haired man locked in my bedroom.

What the fuck was that? It didn’t sound far away. It actually sounded really close, almost like a door slamming shut, but that wouldn’t make sense at this time of night. All of my neighbors have been in bed for hours.

My gut sinks as a horrifying realization sets in. I didn’t actually lock Mason in my room. I sometimes forget when I’m only letting Pete out, and I was definitely distracted by my phone when I was up there.

But he was sleeping.

There’s no way it was actually him, right?

“Fuck!” I yell into the dark night as I run to scoop up Pete and put him back inside because it’s not a chance I can take. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I round the corner to peer up the stairs where there’s a clear view of my bedroom door. Please be closed, please be closed, please⁠—

It’s wide open.

“Fuck!” I shout again as I turn to run out the front door after him; the echoing bang as I throw it closed confirms it was definitely the same sound, and he isn’t hiding somewhere in my house. I run to the sidewalk, frantically glancing down my street to see if there’s any sign of him. It’s dark, but the streetlights make the sidewalks visible enough.

A burst of bright pink catches my attention near the end of my block in the direction of the public park. I sprint after him, praying that my height works to my advantage to catch up to him before anyone else sees.

I run faster than I ever have, as though my life depends on it because it literally does. If he finds someone else who’s still awake at this hour before I’m able to stop him, my life as I know it is over. He’ll tell them that I’ve been keeping him as my prisoner for nearly a month now, that I’ve had him locked up and chained in my basement, that I took away his phone.

That I’ve been forcing him to have sex with me whenever I feel like it.

Bile rises in my throat. I fight to swallow it down as I continue chasing him, closing the distance between us as images of Mason on a witness stand flash through my mind. Us wearing stuffy suits in a courtroom while he tells everyone about the things I’ve forced him to do.

Because I did, didn’t I? I’ve been the aggressor in all the sexual situations between us. It doesn’t matter that he’s the one who taught me about half of the shit we’ve done; consent while being held prisoner wouldn’t hold up in any court.