Aftermath Book Two Crash Series

Chapter Three

Aria

            “Where is he?” I mumble to myself as I check my phone for the tenth time in as many minutes. A wave of anxiety mixed with anger rolls through me, making me clutch my stomach as if it’ll help when I know it won’t. I just don’t understand why he isn’t home yet. It’s ten and he had no meetings and sent no messages telling me he would be staying late at the office.

            Usually, I wouldn’t care where he was, or how long he stayed out. Truthfully the longer he stays away the easier it is for me. Because being in the same room with him, breathing the same air, even looking into his warm face and compassionate eyes twists my insides up more than they are now. He’s not perfect because no one is, but he’s pretty damn close and he deserves someone that’s just as close to perfection. I’m messier than a toddler after spaghetti night, nowhere good enough for Mase.

            What’s worse is that I’m a monster. I’m a murderer.

            I murdered a man and now I have a deep dark stain marking me forever. And my only chance at redemption or at the very least, my only chance to balance the scales means I’m pacing from one wall to the other while I wait for Mason to get home. If I leave before he falls asleep there’s no way I’ll make it but if I can sneak out once he’s passed out I stand a chance.

            When I tap on my screen it shows another minute down and still no signs of Mason. I‘m tempted to call him. Tapping on the green phone app I pull up his contact and hover my finger over his number for a second before I go back to the home screen and chuck it onto the bed, far away from me. Calling him will only make him suspicious and ruin my plans.

            I’ve been avoiding him for weeks now and everything he makes me feel. That’s the downside of giving someone so much of yourself. When you open up your heart to someone else, you’re giving the instruction manual to you, and Mason is an expert at reading me. He sees the guilt eating away at me and he sees the monster I can be. And the longer I let him see the sooner he’ll learn he deserves better and that I’m nothing but toxic.

            I brought a psychotic motherfucker to his doorstep. Brian was here in Boston hunting and if he didn’t get me? Or if Mason made it to that bunker a few minutes earlier? There is a number of scenarios that could have played out that ended with Mason being seriously injured. or anyone of the bodyguards trying to protect us. One different decision and more innocent blood could have been spilled because of me.

            Mason is going places, bigger places than I’ll ever reach. And the lives he can touch along the way? This is bigger than just me or him. He has real attainable goals and hopes that could make the lives of thousands better and who am I to stand in the way of that? And I put all that at risk by being in his life and bring my troubles to him.  

            But I love him too much to just walk away. So, I’ll do everything I can to prove to him and myself that I’m better than the man I killed. I’ll never rid myself of the stain, but I can dull it. And maybe then I can look Mason in the eyes without seeing Brian’s widen as he realized his life was over.

            “Err,” I growl. Our room is big, but my anxiety nips at my heels forcing me to move faster covering the space from wall to wall in no time. It took me a while to get everything in to place for tonight, major prep work and sneaking around skills were necessary. I don’t have two bodyguards with me at all times anymore, but I still have one. At all times. A condition Mason is not willing to budge on and never will. Not with his life plan and he’s been upfront with me on that for a while now so I can’t fault him that. I even agree with his reasoning and have grown to appreciate having some there. Knowing I’m protected no matter where I am is nice after what happened. Plus, I grew used to having them around all the time anyway. But it makes doing anything secret impossible.

            Thank god for online sites and an office at Shirley’s where I can order, receive and open in privacy. But beyond that my plan is half-assed with lots of room for error, as my current situation puts on display.

            I don’t have my phone to check the time but that doesn’t stop my internal clock from blaring with a warning that the night is growing shorter. Soon I’ll miss my opportunity and who knows when the next one will pop up. My anxiety is rearing its ugly head and twisting my stomach into knots.

            I planned to wait in here for him like I do most nights. It makes it easier to lead the night straight to s*x which prevents any conversations and still gives me a good dose of Mason, a craving I’ve grown addicted to. It’s a win, win with his long days and early mornings he’s beat before we make love and sleeping the second his head hits the pillow after. Tonight that’s what I was counting on.

            Increasingly, it’s looking like that was the wrong move. I could have made it there and back by now, instead, I’m stuck in this room pacing. f**k, this. Storming to the door I rip it open and stumble back as a wobbling body follows the door forward and straight into me.

            “s**t!” Mason grunts as he rights himself and grabs onto my sides, bringing me up with him. The familiar smell of his favorite brand of scotch fills the air around us. His breath is so thick with it, it makes me feel like I’m sitting at the bar with the bottle under my nose. He drinks often, not to the point that he has a problem but lately I’m thinking he might be developing one.  

            Resting my hands on his firm chest to steady myself, I notice his disheveled appearance. His shirt is unbuttoned, rumbled, and untucked. His suit jacket and tie nowhere to be seen, something very unusual for mister OCD. He hangs his suits on a specific hanger in his closet where his housekeeper will take it to be dry cleaned and placed back in his closet by the next night. He rarely deviates from routine, including that one.

            Curious I lean back taking him in from head to toe. His pants are unbuttoned, and his belt hangs loosely at his hips. His feet are bare, so I mentally add his shoes and socks to the growing missing items list. His hair is messier than his natural look, and his eyes are glassy confirming the smell of scotch.

            Through his clearly drunk haze, his eyes are blazing with passion and determination. He may have been later than I hoped and drunker than I expected, but he’s ready to play. And the alcohol will only make him fall asleep faster.

Blessing in disguise? To be determined.

            “You alright?” His words aren’t slurred, but they are deeper and already filled with heat. By his appearance alone I bet he’s been thinking about what he would do when he got me in his arms and now that I am, even by accident, his mind is still on track.

            His hand's fist at my sides, scrunching the fabric of his loose white t-shirt I’ve claimed as mine. I wear it most nights with a pair of panties and both only last about as long as we’re not in the same room with each other. Already his hands are pulling it up and sliding beneath, running along my sides and cupping my ass and pulling me impossibly closer where he’s hard and waiting.

            “I’m fine,” I giggle and push into him. “How are you?” I stress you as I run my hands up his chest copying his movements as he massages my ass and lifts me to my toes. His head dips to my neck as he lets out a long groan and nuzzles in.

            My breath leaves me in a rush of anticipation as my need matches his. Still, after months of sharing this man’s bed, his touch leaves me breathless. All thoughts of plans for redemption and my twisted guilt get shoved aside and pushed down deep. Warmth, joy, and passion fill me instead as they always do when we’re in each other’s arms. I’ve never experienced anything like it.

            When I was younger and needed to get away from my physical surroundings, I could fall into myself, detach myself so I could stay safe until the pain stopped. I could lose time there feeling nothing, just being numb. And that was my safe space, that was what I was comfortable with and wanted. To be numb, where no emotion, no person, no anything could touch me or hurt me.

            I fell in love with baking because my Grandma and I saw the love she and Grandpa shared with each other, so I knew it existed, that it was possible. But after Brian, I knew I never wanted it for myself. I was happy with numbness and comfortable with my love for baking. I was safe. Until Mason.

            I feel too much with him. I lose myself in him. Not in the bad, or toxic way either. Nothing I can legitimately complain about or ration away as a reason to leave. No, he makes me better. He supercharges me with every look and revives me with every kiss. He swept me off my feet and put me back together when I didn’t even know I needed him. And when I was in trouble, in danger he stood by me, protected me, and proved time and time again that I can trust him completely. That he is worth it. He’s worth the emotions he brings.

            The love. The warmth. The joy. The passion. The adventure. The vulnerability.  The respect. The safety.

            God, the safety. He protects me like no one else ever has. No one. Not even grandma and grandpa protected me as Mason does.

            With butterflies in my stomach, I reach up, brushing my fingers through his hair as I angle my neck to his mouth. He gets the point, setting his lips on my neck and sucking hard. I moan and push at his head wanting him to suck harder. I love it when he sucks on my neck and he knows it. Good thing I know a few of my own tricks.

            He massages my ass and pulls me up again but doesn’t stop when my toes pull up off the ground. I take the hint and wrap my legs around his waist as he walks us back towards the bed. Running my fingers through his hair I rock into his hard length, grinding through our thin underwear. He moans against my neck and grinds back into me.

            He’s not too steady on his feet as he moves, making me hold on to him tighter and regret jumping into his arms but by a miracle alone we make it to the bed in one piece. His weight on top of me feels good, warm, and safe like I’m home. Something so little that I never thought would be possible at one time in my life, and now I enjoy it, crave it. The power he has over me and my body drive me wild.

            “What has you so worked up, Baby?” I ask while looking into his eyes. It’s the first still moment, no less heated but a lot more emotional and connected. It’s like we're one, connected on another level I’ve never known before. Something bone-deep, something ancient and old recognizes him as the other half of me. The seconds could tick by endlessly as long as I’m in his arms, right where I belong, it would be the best gift. To spend eternity here and now. Where we belong.

            His eyes drift closed as he darts his gaze lower on my face, so he doesn’t have to look me in the eyes like he’s trying to hide his emotions from me. Guilt pierces me like every other time I feel him trying to reach out to me and being hurt when I don’t respond well. Everything that’s easy shatters when we start getting real and move beyond the physical so I push him away, so I don’t have to feel and in doing so I put the pain on his shoulders.

            “Just a long day and now I’m ready for my reward.” He doesn’t look up as he travels down my body placing kisses along the way. The conversation ends there not going beyond moans and dirty words for the rest of the night. And even as he fills me and brings me the greatest pleasure, I’ve ever known I can’t shake the growing guilt and sense of urgency wrapping around my heart.

            He may be the other half of my soul, the light to my dark but soon he’ll see just how dark and stained I really am. He’ll see the monster I’ve become in its entirety. And he’ll leave me, so I don’t tarnish him any more than I already have.