Page 6 of The Real Mason
The next thing I knew, I’d fallen for her hook, line, and sinker.
She has an open honesty that hides nothing, a lack of artifice, and a wide, genuine smile. I found it impossible to stay away from her.
I fell in love.
With her intelligent, inquisitive mind, genuineness, and giving body. With that hint of a stubborn streak and sliver of defiance under all that shyness.
Only too late did I realize my mistake, so I made a vow to go straight for her, to be the kind of man she deserved—a nice guy in and out of the bedroom.
I did everything in my power to be a good boyfriend.
But my plan backfired, and the more I tried, the harder it became to hide my nature. Because Anna Smith calls to that evil, mean, demanding part of me like she’s my own brand of crack.
Now I have no idea how to tell her the man she thought she knew, is a lie.
I mean, not all of it, of course.
Iamnice. I’m upstanding. I own my own business, pay taxes, visit my parents on Sundays. I treat people with respect, am a hard-core feminist, and advocate for the unfortunate.
I am every single one of those things.
The only thing I hid from her is that in bed, I’m an unrelenting bastard.
Instead of getting easier like I thought it would as our relationship grew, it’s become harder and harder to ignore my impulses. And the longer I am with her, the more insistent the need grows.
Last night was the excruciating final straw.
She’d been so open, so sweetly vulnerable and enthusiastic. And the whole time all I could think about was pushing her. While she’d been moving above me, lost in the gentle rhythm I’d set, I’d been fighting the urge to wrap my fingers around her neck, drag her down, push her face into the mattress, and consume her.
After, as she lay flush and content in my arms, I knew I’d have to end things. I can’t let go with her, and it’s not fair to hide such a big part of myself—for either of us.
As sappy as it sounds, I love her too damn much to deceive her any longer.
That left one choice. So here I am, in the thick of it, and it’s as awful as I expected. I’ll have to live with the guilt over this mess forever.
She’s still staring at me as though I’ve grown a second head.
I gentle my hold, rubbing my thumb along the corner of her jaw. “Are you confused?”
She nods.
“Do you understand what I mean?” I already know the answer.
“No.” Her voice is so soft, so unsure.
“Shall I explain?” The next words lodge in my throat, but I force them out. “Or should I leave? The choice is yours, Anna.”
The delicate cords of her throat work as she swallows. Her pulse hammers against my thumb. Normally I’d take that as a sign of excitement mixed with the perfect amount of fear—the sweet spot where I like to keep a woman.
But with Anna, I worry it’s all fear, so I drop my hand and wait.
She wrings her hands before she finally answers. “Please explain.”
“Here, let’s sit on the couch.” Very carefully, I encircle her biceps and pull her to the antique sofa. She inherited this house and the relic furniture in it from her grandmother, and she’s told me that at some point she wants to give the place a modern makeover. I don’t have the heart to tell her the feminine, old-fashioned furniture suits her to a T.
I nestle her into the corner and smooth her skirt. She stiffens under my palms, and I silently curse. I’ve gone and caused another mess. What’s worse is my motivations are entirely selfish. Since I’m going to lose her, I wanted to kiss her the way I’ve been dying to since the day we met, just once—as a memory of what could have been.
I give her the space she needs and sit on the opposite side of the chaise, careful not to touch her. I’ll never touch that smooth, pale skin again, and I try not to think about the loss.
