Page 147 of Shamed
I spin around, huffing an incredulous laugh. “Did you just spank me?”
Mase flashes that boyish smile at me, the one he somehow manages to make look seductive, his lower lip caught between his teeth, expression light and unguarded. “I couldn’t resist.”
I’ve always enjoyed Mase’s playful side. This version of him is so beautiful, soright,especially standing naked in my kitchen.
I’m drawn to him. That thread that tethers me to him tugging at me until I’m stepping into his space. I wrap my arms around his body, skin to skin. Soul to soul.
His response is instant, pulling me tight against him.
With my face pressed into his chest, I mumble the words dying to escape, just to get them out, even if he can’t hear me.
Gripping my shoulders, he pushes me back just enough to see my face. “What did you say?”
I stare at him, inhaling a deep breath, then decide I should be brave. He should know how I feel.
My chin tilts up. “I said I love you.”
Mase’s grip tightens. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
A beautiful smile crests his face as he looks down at me with those soft eyes. “I love you, too.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Jennifer
Mase shifts his head closer on my pink-and-black-checkered pillow, tangling his legs with mine under the blanket before he lifts a hand to push some strands of hair behind my ear, running his fingers through to the ends. “I’m so proudof you.”
After we collapsed onto my bed, I recounted what happened tonight with Mark. We’ve been a mess of tangled limbs, barely keeping an inch of space between our bodies.
My smile is sleepy as I gaze back at him. “It was all because of you, you know? If you hadn’t convinced me to take your classes . . .”
Mase’s expression turns stoney, his legs tightening on instinct while he continues playing with my hair, his eyes chasing the motion of his fingers. “I don’t want to think about what could have happened. He’s lucky I wasn’t here to stop him. I wouldn’t have been as kind as I was the last time I saw him.”
Those words remind me of my father, and what he had said when I told him about Dylan. Which then brings to mind something else he said, about someone having a vendetta against Dylan.
Could it have been Mase?
Would I really care if itwerehim?
My eyes trace the cut of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the shape of his brows.
“I went and saw my father last week.”
Dark eyes flicker to me. “You did?”
My cheek rubs against the pillow as I nod. “It went much better than expected. I told him almost everything.”
“Almost everything?”
I trail a finger over the scarred skin of my opposite forearm laying between us while Mase tracks the movement. I wonder if he noticed there aren’t any fresh cuts.
“I didn’t tell him every part of how I spent the two years punishing myself, and I didn’t tell him what happened the night I told you.”
Mase’s lips turn down, and I regret bringing it up right now.
Sometimes at night, his panicked and distraught face will flash in my mind to haunt me. Each time I see his glossy eyes in front of me is like a punch to the gut.
