Page 31 of Please Open Me
She kissed me with the same softness she always did but I never deserved it. Mason always loved me like I was aprinceand not aproblem.
And that broke me.
Because why the fuck hadn’t I been able to do that for her?
My composure shattered. I sobbed against her mouth.
I didn’t want to. I didn’t mean to.
But I couldn’t stop it.
Shame surged through me. I pulled away and ducked my head under the stream of hot water, letting it burn down my neck and over my face. I tried to pretend the tears weren’t real.
“I think you need to talk to Sophia,” she whispered.
Weak-kneed embarrassment washed over me.
“No, I’m okay,” I protested, but Mason wasn’t having it.
She shook her head, quiet determination marred her face. “Sex is supposed to feel safe—even degradation. And if it’s a hard line for you, youneedto tell her.”
But it wasn’t a hard line. At least, I didn’t think it was.
“Princess, I’m fine.”
“If you don’t do it, I will.” Mason crossed her arms, a stubborn wiggle dancing across her shoulders.
“It just—I don’t know. It would’ve been nice if she stayed to make sure I was okay after.”
Was that really what I was struggling with?
Mason didn’t get rough with me, but Cam did. And when things weren’t vanilla, he always helped clean me up—mentally and physically.
Did it make me spoiled to want that?
“You need to tell her that,” Mason whispered.
And deep down, I knew she was right.
I just didn’t know how to bring it up.
Chapter 9
Sophia
My brain pounded against my skull in time with my heartbeat, and a softball-sized knot settled in my stomach. Resting my elbows on the desk, I leaned forward, raking my fingers through my hair as I cradled my head, shielding my eyes from the glare of my monitor.
Pre-vomit saliva pooled in my mouth. I forced it down.
I was no stranger to wine. Normally, I limited myself to a glass or two a night—just enough to take the edge off. You know, normal things people who didn’t commit homicide for a living did.
But between Masie nearly passing out at the gym and the looming possibility that I might have to kill Sebby, I was stressed to say the least.
So two glasses turned into three. Three turned into a bottle. And one bottlemaybeturned into two.
But I could work with a hangover. That was a skill I believed every twenty-something should possess. What I couldn’t work with was Momma calling me into another early-morning meeting.
Seriously, I’d watched the sun rise and sobered up during this video call, and she was still talking.
