The Very Bad Fairgoods - Their Ruthless Bad Boys: A Smoking Hot Southern Bad Boys Boxset

by Theodora Taylor

  June glances to where their hands are clasped over his heart.

  “I believe you will never, ever hit me. Or Jordan.” She sounds breathless, like the truth of her words are a kind of shock to her.

  The surprise in June’s voice does it, though. Mason’s panicky feeling starts to fade.

  Then she says, without him having to force it out of her, “I’ll stop. I will try my best to stop being so scared. I promise.”

  And just like that, he’s back to seeing her as a fragile piece of porcelain. He doesn’t want to make any sudden moves or do anything else that might break her. “Good,” he says, forcing himself to let go of her hand. “Now please get back to making dinner. I’m starving and I fucking love lasagna.”

  Sixteen

  June

  Get back to making dinner.

  June turns to do just that, her hand reaching out to switch the burner back on. This time she doesn’t have to glance over her shoulder to know Mason is heading for the door. She can hear the soft thud of his booted feet walking away. But instead of feeling relief, a surprise surge of anger suddenly rises up inside her. She turns to see him about to walk out, and his name slips past the seal of her lips, “Mason.”

  He stops, spinning back around when he hears her voice. June averts her eyes to the stove, blinking rapidly at the pot of water, like she’s asking it for advice. What do I do???

  “Yeah?” he asks, his tone curious, cautious. Probably because this is only the third time she’s ever called out to him. And the first two times had been at the store earlier this evening, when she’d been afraid he was fixing to make the news again.

  She opens her mouth to answer with “nothing.”

  But … other words, stronger words slip past the seal. Coming out before June even knows they’re there, or what they are. “Don’t ever do that to me again. If you want to talk, you don’t need to raise your voice. And definitely do not speak to me ever again like that at Cal-Mart. That’s where I work.”

  Mason is silent for so long, she begins to wonder if she should reconsider her newfound trust in him. But then he says, “Okay.”

  Okay. Great, conversation over. But no, not yet, because she’s not finished, “And Mason…?”

  “Yeah?”

  This next thing. It’s way bigger than telling him not to yell at her. So big, she actually has to step forward to ask, “Did you really kill your whole gang like Razo said? Even your dad?”

  His eyes shutter. And for the first time since the bath, Mason looks away from her and won’t meet her eyes.

  “It was the board, not my whole gang. And no, I didn’t kill them,” he answers. Before June can respond, he confesses, “My cousin did. And I went along with it. I helped him come up with a plan. Then I helped him execute it. It was the only way we could put a stop to the SFK, to weaken and disband the organization forever. It was the only way I could help D keep his woman safe. But…”

  Mason lets out a long shuddering breath, and June realizes they’ve reached the heart of the matter. That he’s about to tell her what’s been haunting him well before he made his way back to her and to Jordan.

  “See, grown up Mason understands his parents were fucked up people who fought like cats and dogs until things went too far. But ten-year-old Mason couldn’t ever wrap his head around it. Could never put the SFK before his feelings the way he was supposed to. I thought I was doing okay. I thought all that shit from my past was buried and gone. But then I met you. And then D needed my help. And,” Mason pauses and takes another deep, shuddering breath, “I helped D kill my dad. Because he needed me to, because it was the only way to stop more bad things from going down…but also for a whole bunch of other reasons that are way too fucked up for me to reconcile. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

  Mason’s eyes shift again. Not back to her, just to another square of the kitchen floor. “I understand if knowing this makes you not want to live together no more—”

  Probably no one’s more surprised than June when Mason is forced to stop talking. Not because he’s run out of things to say, but because she’s blocking his mouth with her own.

  And this time, she takes way more than a sip of him. With the ravens circling like a tornado in her stomach, June curves a hand around Mason’s muscular neck, pulls him in close. Presses her soft body into his hard one, as she finally realizes…

  …her ravens and that itch he’d mentioned? They’re one and the same.

  June wants this kiss. And she desperately wants him. Wants him like she’s never wanted any man before. She kisses him, and kisses him some more. Demanding he believe her. Demanding he trust her.

  But instead of responding to her kiss, Mason cuts it off. He draws back, his eyes wide and intense, his huge chest heaving angry, panting breaths.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, mortified. All the ways she might have misread this situation suddenly pour into her head. The last thing he probably wanted after sharing the horrible circumstances of his mom’s death, was for her to decide this was the perfect time to let him know how she felt. That both she and her ravens wanted him to do things to her that she’d only ever endured before.

  Mason doesn’t acknowledge her apology. Instead, he very deliberately steps around her. Then walks stiffly over to the stove and shuts it off, before turning around, crossing his big arms in front of his chest, and asking, “Are you serious?”

  Oh God, oh God. How many times can June feel humiliated in a single day?

  “I’m—” she begins. But the words escape her, flapping just out of reach. She tries again, “I’m sorry, but I like you…I think. You make me feel like I’ve got a flock of ravens in my stomach. And you have from the start. I know it might seem like I would have a lot of experience with this sort of thing, because of- of where you found me. In fact I don’t—at least not when it comes to real emotions. But my ravens…they’re telling me I want to be with you. But I’m not…,” June spreads her palms wide and places them on either side of her burning face, “…good with words. This is hard for me to say. I want you. And that’s why I kissed you. And…I’m sorry. That’s the best I can do.”

  Mason stares hard at her for a very long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he surges forward and…pushes past her. Like he’s got somewhere else to be. Anywhere but here.

  Oh God…a deep shame, like none she’s ever felt before, crashes over her in tsunami-sized waves.

  But instead of walking out, Mason reaches out a big arm and sweeps the items on her kitchen table to the floor.

  What the—?

  Before June can finish that thought, he strides back across the room and grabs hold of her, covering her mouth with his. And his kiss…it’s nothing at all like hers. This one is rough, unchecked, demanding. For what seems like a lifetime, Mason lays siege to her mouth, both calming her ravens, and stirring them up into a fever pitch.

  “Alright, sweetness, alright…”

  He turns her around, face forward, and pushes her onto the table, her breasts pressing into the wood as he places a firm hand on her back. Mason yanks her Cal-Mart-issue khakis down, and the next thing she expects to feel is the full length of him entering her from behind. Hurting her, invading her…

  But no…the next thing she feels is...

  Oh. Oh!

  His mouth. On her pussy.

  June knows what this is but only in the vaguest sense. She’s seen men and women perform oral sex on each other in the pornos Razo sometimes put on for background entertainment at parties. She also recalls reading florid descriptions of the act in the romance novels she sometimes snuck past her father in that other lifetime, way before she stopped believing in romance completely.

  But watching it and reading about it are very, very different from having the actual experience. At first it feels strange and more than a little invasive. But it doesn’t take long before it starts to feel good. Mason makes a rough sound in the back of his throat, and it feels like he’s drinking her pussy. His tongue flip
ping a switch on and off at the top of her mound, one she didn’t even know she had.

  And then… And then…

  She claws at the wooden table as a sensation unlike anything she’s ever felt comes over her. It’s as if a bolt of lightning hits her and floods her entire nervous system with a feeling somewhere between unbelievable pleasure and pain. Pleasure… June grabs on to the word. There’s so much pleasure, and then she’s no longer the silent one. She moans, as the new sensation fills her entire body…building, building until—the ravens take off, only to explode in mid-air, their dark feathers floating down into a soft pile at the bottom of her stomach.

  Somewhere in the distance, she hears Mason say, “Fuck, this ain’t going to work. Need to see you. Enjoy you.”

  The next thing June knows, she’s in his arms. There’s the sound of clattering dishes, then he plants her butt on the kitchen counter where the tub of ricotta and other lasagna-related ingredients used to be.

  His hands follow, ripping her khaki pants the rest of the way off, before his mouth captures hers in another rough kiss.

  Back when he actually bothered with things like that, Razo’s kisses were soft, almost gentle, and perfect for luring young, unsuspecting girls like her into his spider’s web. Mason’s kiss is nothing like that. And it’s at least ten times more aggressive than the one she’d tentatively given him.

  He stops, fumbling with something between them. A condom, she dimly realizes, when she hears the familiar crackle of tearing foil.

  June knows what comes next.

  But then it doesn’t.

  Mason’s forehead drops down…presses into the top of her head. “Put me in,” he rasps.

  “What?” she whispers, not understanding.

  “Said I wouldn’t ever touch you unless you wanted me too,” he explains, his voice strained. Maybe because he’s reminding himself of his promise as much as he’s reminding her. “If you really want this. Really want me. You got to put me inside you.”

  Put him inside her…???

  June’s first thought is she can’t. She’s not capable of doing anything of the sort.

  “You can do it,” he assures her, as if reading her mind. “C’mon, sweetness…this can’t happen unless you make the first move.”

  Mason kisses her again, gets in closer, his hard length pressing against her wet slit.

  The ravens are back. Flapping, circling, demanding…

  June takes him in her hand. His heavy thickness is shocking. He’s hard, but covered in velvet…she runs her hand up and down his skin-covered shaft—only to nearly drop it when he inhales sharp and hard, ending their kiss.

  “It’s okay,” he says with a hoarse chuckle. “Just like you touching me there a little too much. I’ll get over it. You take as long as you need, sweetness.”

  As long as she needs.

  With a tentative tug, June pulls him forward. Puts the tip of him at her entrance.

  The ravens go crazy. Cawing, urging her further...making her moan as she splits herself with his length.

  “Mason…” she gasps when he’s in as far as she can put him.

  His chin is on top of her head again, pushing down. She can feel his breath, stirring her hair with each pant. “Fuck, sweetness, you feel so good on my dick. But I ain't gonna move. Not until you tell me it’s okay.”

  “Move,” she commands, more curious than afraid. Then in a softer tone, “It’s okay.”

  Mason pushes inside her. He’s so big, yet it doesn’t feel like an invasion. June can actually feel the walls of her pussy gripping him, welcoming him. And it doesn’t burn or hurt, it simply feels good. So good, she thinks maybe he’s moving too slow.

  “Faster!” she gasps, and begins to claw at his rippled back, the same way she clawed at the kitchen table. Demanding, needing, wanting something she still can’t describe or explain. “Mason, please…”

  “Fuck, sweetness…” He starts moving faster, as if he’d merely been waiting for her to ask. “Hold on, hold on…” He wraps her legs around his strong waist, his hands moving down to her hips.

  June’s body instinctively knows what to do. She leans forward, wraps her arms around his neck, and, oh God…! The pleasure is even more intense in this position. His chest hair feels amazing against her budded nipples, and the way he moves between her legs…each thrust touches a secret place inside her. Again, she experiences the bittersweet build of pleasure. The ravens flying…flying…until they combust, filling her with a warm light she’s never experienced before.

  She is dimly aware of her shouts. Of Mason’s grunts. Closer and closer before—now it’s her turn to curse. Because he swells even larger inside her. The hilt of him hitting her hypersensitive secret place, setting off another cycle, another hot stream of pleasure, as a third orgasm rips through her body.

  Mason bucks between her legs, but then surprises her. He catches her mouth in another kiss, right before he releases into the condom with a guttural grunt that vibrates against her lips.

  Then there’s only the sound of heavy breathing. June holds him, and he pins his arms at her sides, keeping them upright as they float back down to earth together.

  Eventually, Mason quietly pulls out, leaving her alone on the counter. But only for as long as it takes him to toss the used condom into the trashcan beneath the sink.

  Then he’s back with her.

  They look at each other.

  No chasing of eyes.

  No words.

  They don’t need any.

  Without any further discussion, Mason picks her up. Cradles her in his large arms as he walks to the back of the house. To the bedroom.

  And June knows but doesn’t remotely care, that they won’t be having lasagna tonight.

  Seventeen

  Mason

  When Mason first started dealing for the SFK in the small town surrounding the compound, he had regular interactions with a variety of folks—many of them full on addicts who’d as soon sell their mother, if it meant getting a much-needed fix. But of all the people he dealt with, the ones who troubled him the most were those who, through family or friends or plain ol’ luck, somehow managed to get clean. To stay sober for a few months. Maybe even a few years.

  Only to fall off the wagon.

  And it was never just a little stumble. No, when they fell, they went all in. Wanting packets of heroin. Not one pack, but a fucking bag. Enough to binge on. Enough to silence the cravings…for a little while at least. Of all his customers, they were the ones most likely to OD.

  Mason didn’t touch the stuff, especially after seeing what drugs did to his mother, to his family. So he never understood why those particular clients seemed incapable of practicing more self-control. Buy a little heroin—why not take one bite of cake instead of eating the whole damn thing?

  He never understood, that is, until now. Mason finally gets it. When you’ve used all your will power to hold yourself back for a very long time, you’re not going to want a damn cookie. You’re going to want the whole fucking dessert platter.

  That night, Mason is insatiable. As far back as he can recall, he’s never, ever begged anybody for anything. That’s not the Fairgood way. But with June, he sure as hell comes close, whispering, “Put me in, sweetness” against her neck with way more desperation than he intends.

  And when he’s finally too tired to get it up, he buries his face between her legs. Dragging orgasm after orgasm out of her. Just to hear her come.

  With one taste, he’s become addicted to June. By the end of the night, he’s consumed with the need to either be inside her, or have some part of her in his mouth. Mason devours her pussy. Tongue-fucks her breasts, loving the sounds she makes when he conquers her with his lips. The way she pushes and scratches at him, hard enough to leave a mark when she’s close to coming.

  He can’t stop making her cry out. Can’t stop listening for the little gasps she rewards him with, as if everything he’s doing to her is exciting and completely new.
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br />   She might have been Razo’s girl when Mason found her, but it doesn’t take long for him to realize she’s never been fucked right. And knowing this makes his heart rev hard in his chest.

  He loses count of how many times he makes her come. But eventually, he knows he’s taken her past her breaking point when he tries to go down on her once more and she begs him to “please, let me sleep,” her sweet voice raspy with fatigue.

  That’s when Mason discovers he really can’t deny her anything. He relinquishes his new drug without protest, settling back on a pillow and dragging her limp body across his chest.

  “Sorry I wasn’t gentler with you,” he apologizes as they drift off to sleep. “You had me out of my mind, sweetness.”

  “That’s okay,” she mumbles back. “I liked it. I never liked it before.”

  June’s tired confession makes him feel proud and sad at the same time. The man in him likes being the best she ever had. Yet another part wishes better for her. Wishes she’d grown up entitled, like that college girl at the bookstore. Not vulnerable to the whims of losers and creeps like him and Razo. Wishes she lived the kind of life that would ensure she’d never have to give a piece of shit like him a second glance.

  But he doesn’t have the words to say all this, and she mistakes his silence for something else.

  “Seriously, Mason. It’s okay,” she says with a sleepy laugh. “I’m not a princess, and it’s not like I ever had it gentle before.”

  It’s more words than she usually gives him. And he knows they’re supposed to make him feel better. But they don’t. Instead, he stays awake. Long after she’s fallen asleep, Mason stares into the dark bedroom, thinking.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “So that’s why she told me to go back to Luke’s last night.”

  Mason stops short in the kitchen doorway. Surprised, but not really, to see Jordan at the stove, frying up bacon in a large cast iron pan, a bowl of eggs waiting their turn on the counter next to him.