End Game

by Willa Thorne

  “Can I help you with anything?” I asked after she’d taken a few steps down the hall. I was still waiting for her to bite back with a haughty remark, but whatever.

  She turned slowly, seeming surprised. “No, thank you.” There was a pause and I could tell she was debating something internally.

  I watched her green eyes skim my form from bottom to top, appraising me. Then her face suddenly softened. “Would you care to have a drink with me?”

  Excuse me, what? I blinked, wavering in my answer because I was sure I heard her wrong.

  “Jillian?” Zara stared at me, waiting for my response.

  “Sure, I’ll just go change.” I answered, in a bit of a daze. I was astounded that Zara was inviting me to go anywhere with her.

  “We don’t have to go out,” she commented. “Actually, I quite like staying in these days. Would you care for a glass of wine?”

  “Sure,” I answered, and she was already walking toward the wine rack. I watched her inspect each bottle meticulously.

  “Oh, this is perfect.” She smiled as she finally selected a fine white wine in a green glass bottle. Her green eyes flickered toward me, and her red lips curled into a smile.

  “I can always count on my brother to have Montrachet.” She said this with a fluid French accent.

  With practiced skill, she removed the cork and filled two crystal glasses partially, then handed me a glass with a cool smile on her red lips.

  “Thank you.” I took the glass and sipped deeply. I felt Zara’s eyes on me as I looked away and took another healthy swallow. This is so odd.

  We both sipped in silence for a few minutes. I started walking toward the entertainment room, and she followed behind. I relocated my laptop which was still open to a display of wedding cake designs, and set it on the coffee table. Zara’s eyes zeroed in on the open display on the screen.

  We sat adjacent from one another in awkward silence. Gemma had nestled beside my lap, nearly knocking over my wine glass. I was on the sofa, and Zara took a seat in the plush arm chair. I cleared my throat softly after taking another sip.

  “So, Zara, how are you liking Manhattan?” I asked, in an attempt at breaking this stiff silence between us.

  The woman smiled. “I like it. It is still growing on me. It is very different from England, but I do like it.”

  I nodded, but there was more silence following as we both nursed our wine glasses. There was a heaviness that continued to hover over our heads. The truth is, I didn’t know how to interact with Zara. What should I say?

  The posh British woman shifted in her chair, keeping her perfect posture intact. Her brow creased while she seemed to be contemplating quietly, and the expression reminded me of Mason’s occasional stoic expression.

  “So, I-” I began, just as she began to speak at the same time.

  “I am-”

  “Sorry. Go on.” We both spoke in unison, followed by a laugh. It was enough to lighten the mood.

  “Seriously. Go ahead,” I smiled.

  Zara’s polished fingers tapped along the crystal. “I didn’t come over here for my brother, actually.”

  Oh.

  “I behaved very badly last Winter, and I am sorry.” Zara said this quickly, followed by the last swallow of wine.

  I was so caught off-guard, I didn’t know what to say. “Oh. It’s alright.” I answered stiffly.

  “No, it’s really not, but I appreciate how gracious you are about it.” Zara remarked. She glanced at her empty wine glass with a frown. “When I first learned about your involvement with my brother, I assumed you were just trying to weasel your way into society. I assumed you were in it for the money. My father-” she cut herself short, in an effort to retrain her thought. “I am sorry, and if I may be perfectly honest, you really are quite pretty.”

  “Thank you,” I answered with flushed cheeks. I wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the way I reacted to her compliment that made me crimson. “It’s fine. I’m really serious.”

  Zara smiled thoughtfully as she looked at me. “My brother is right about you. It’s no wonder he’s so smitten.” After a pause, she added, “I’m glad he found you.”

  This evening was filled with surprises, and I certainly wasn’t going to complain. I still partially expected her to end the moment with a condescending insult or subtle hint at my status, but it never happened. Instead, she asked me questions about the wedding, and my family in Ohio. Halfway into the conversation, I felt my guard diminish. She told me about an internship she received with a small fashion magazine in the city, and working under a supervisor with other interns changed her perspective on many things. She didn’t delve into it very much, because she immediately changed the topic and asked about my choice of wedding cake. I hadn’t chosen one yet, but I showed her some designs that I had bookmarked. I still felt a little awkward around her, but at the same time, I was beginning to enjoy her company.

  Her interest seemed genuine. I was floored, but certainly not about to complain. By the time Mason arrived home, Zara and I were so immersed in pictures of flower arrangements online, neither of us noticed him standing in the archway staring at us.

  “I love the yellow lilies,” I commented as she showed me a bouquet with orchids and yellow lilies.

  “They are classic,” she agreed.

  Mason cleared his throat, and we both turned our gaze toward him. I don’t know how long he’d been standing there watching us, but there was a satisfied smirk on his face. I crossed the room and wrapped my arms around his solid torso.

  “Hello, brother.” Zara smiled slightly. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I should be going.” She glanced at me. “Chat later. Do consider the lilies. They’re lovely in any color.”

  I nodded with a smile and waved as she gathered her designer bag and left the entertainment room.

  When she was gone from sight, Mason cast a glance down at me. “Well that was interesting.”

  “I’ll say,” I agreed. “But I’m not about to complain.”

  “I think being free of our father has benefited us all.” Mason mumbled this, and for a moment, I watched the knot in his jaw tick. I raked my fingers down the shirt on his back and he gripped the fabric of my sweatshirt, pulling me closer.

  “You. Bed. Now.” His command was authoritative and the energy radiating off him was as domineering as ever.

  Oh, yes please. I turned to head toward the bedroom, obeying his command, but my ass was greeted with one swift, firm smack.

  “Fuck. I love your arse.”

  ****

  Hours later, I was still trying to catch my breath. I felt my chest heave up and down as I watched him unfasten the cable ties that held my arms firmly in place above my head. I lay on the bed, on my back, still spread-eagled. I was still reeling from the pleasure that consumed my entire body. I watched his large hands expertly unhook the ties from the wooden bedposts. The tingles between my thighs mingled with a very dull soreness.

  “Why do you like to tie me up?” I asked with curiosity in my voice.

  He cast me a funny look, although he was clearly amused by the question. He loosened my wrists and rubbed the area tenderly before kissing my palm. He contemplated the question quietly to himself for a few moments.

  “Perhaps I enjoy watching that sweet little body of yours writhe under my touch.” Despite the delicious ache in my lower region, his words caressed my ear like silk. “Tell me you don’t love being vulnerable, completely at the mercy of my tongue and my cock.”

  Holy fuck. My body involuntarily arched for his touch, and he only smirked as he pulled away. He unfastened the last knot, freeing my wrists from the binding. Tenderly, he took my hands and massaged my wrists and palms. This has been one of my favorite acts that he does to me. The way my small hands feel enveloped in his when he massages and kisses my wrists is so sensual and it is done with such love.

  I stared up at him as he kissed and rubbed the skin around my wrists, and I couldn’t help but wonder… />
  “Have you ever been tied up before?”

  Silence.

  He gently dropped my hands, and looked at me warily. “No.”

  “Really?” I sat up slightly and positioned my weight on my elbows as I looked up at him.

  “I see that look of wonder in your eyes, my darling, but don’t get any ideas about that.”

  “If you never tried it, then how do you know if you don’t like it?” I asked as a sly smile curled up my lips.

  Mason’s gaze burnt through me. “It’s not my cup of tea. I enjoy being the one in control, giving you every bit of pleasure you deserve while you remain at my mercy. This is how it has always been.”

  “So you’ll never let me have my way with you?” I asked. The topic started out of sheer curiosity, but I was surprised by the disappointment I suddenly felt.

  Mason’s lip twitched, and the knot in his jaw tensed. I guess I have my answer. “Not if I can help it.”

  He grasped my wrists with one hand and pinned me with a direct stare. “Ms. Pryor, don’t get any ideas.”

  I sucked on my lower lip as I blinked up at him with a feigned innocent smile. “Of course, not at all, sir.” His stare was so intense, and it caused a short giggle to escape my lips.

  He studied me suspiciously for a few moments before he lay back in the bed beside me. The intensity radiated off this man, especially as he wrapped his arms around me possessively.

  I felt his breathing on the back of my neck as he spooned me in the bed. Hours had passed, and Mason was sound asleep beside me. His arms remained snaked around my body. I felt restless, but I didn’t move, because I didn’t want to wake him. My mind was alive with thoughts and ideas.

  “I fucking did what was necessary…” Mason’s warm breath tickled my ear as he spoke those words in a soft yet adamant whisper. My heart skipped a beat within my chest. He hadn’t spoken a word in his sleep since the night he surprised me in Ohio.

  “I’ll bloody tear you to shreds!” He gave a low growl, and I turned in that instant to watch him. My heart did another leap in my chest as I witnessed the snarl on his lips, although he was still asleep.

  “What was necessary? What did you do?” I whispered. I had to know what he was dreaming. I wanted to console him, to help him.

  I reached my hand out to touch the side of his face, and he jerked his head away sharply. Before I could even process what was happening, his fingers curled into a fist. His knuckles turned white, and his fist slammed powerfully into the pillow. I gasped in shock; his fist pommeled the pillow, only half an inch from my face.

  “Fuck you! Piss off!” Mason roared, and his fist again flew into the pillow furiously.

  “Mason!” I reached my hand out in another attempt to soothe him. He’d never been violent in his dreams, at least not while I shared a bed with him.

  As I tentatively reached my hand out to console him, he grabbed my wrist fiercely. The grasp was far from the tender affection he showed earlier. This hurt. A lot.

  “Mason!” I shouted, and his grip only tightened on my wrist, and it was enough to make me wince. “Ow! You’re hurting me!”

  His eyes flew open, blazing with rage. His face was crimson. The moonlight shone through the windows of the penthouse, and it was enough lighting to see the pain and anger etched all over. The tension was thick in the air in those few, fleeting seconds before he realized it was me staring down at him. My heart beat furiously, pumping adrenaline through my veins. I was terrified for what was going on in his mind. His cold, hateful eyes darted to the merciless grasp he had on my wrist.

  Immediately he let go of my hand and I pursed my lips.

  What the fuck?

  He exhaled deeply as he came to his senses and wrapped his arms around me tightly, like there was no tomorrow.

  “Oh, thank God.” Even as he apologized he was thoroughly rigid. “I’m so sorry, baby. Forgive me.”

  My wrist still throbbed from where he grasped me, and it was a sound reminder of all the times he had been so gentle with me. I lay on my side and rubbed my wrist. I knew I was going to be bruised there the next day.

  Without a word, he took my hand and kissed the skin that was still sore.

  I didn’t know what to say; I was still trying to process what the hell had just happened. I looked into his face and it was filled with anguish.

  “I’m so sorry, love. You know I would never try to hurt you.” His voice was hoarse.

  I nodded. “Why were you punching the pillow?”

  “I was dreaming,” his short response followed. He lay on his back and pulled me closer to his body.

  “That’s obvious. What were you dreaming?”

  He was silent for a few moments. “I dreamt I lost you.” I glanced up and saw the severe tension in his jaw. His arm remained snaked around me, but held me possessively.

  “Lost me? Like I left you…? Or I died?” I studied his face, and the tension never left his jawline.

  “No. I dreamt I lost you. Permanently.” He sat up suddenly without a word, and slid out of the bed.

  I could only assume the villain in his dream was his father. Who else could it be?

  “Where are you going?” I asked as he crossed the bedroom. He didn’t answer me. I don’t think he was ignoring me; his mind was elsewhere.

  He was gone for a minute, and then returned with a cold pack and tenderly held my hand as he pressed the compress to my wrist. I could tell by the expression on his face that he was beating himself up over the way he acted while he was dreaming. He had never grabbed me like that before, and I knew he would never hurt me like that deliberately.

  “Please, I’m fine.” I tried to assure him.

  His mouth was set in a grim line. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Just hold me, and tell me about your dream.” I said softly as I lay on my back. I took his hand and pulled him into the bed with me. He set the cold compress on his nightstand and gazed at me solemnly as I rested in the crook of his arm. He adjusted himself and attempted to relax, and I felt his fingers caress the skin between my shoulder blades.

  “You know that my greatest fear is losing you,” he finally confessed after a few minutes. “Sometimes, I dream that.”

  “I’m not like her- “ I began.

  “I know that and that’s not what I mean. I sometimes dream that something happened to you.” He shook his head and kept his embrace around me quite snug.

  “I love you, Mason. I’ll never let anything separate us. You know that, right?” I asked with a soft smile.

  He smiled faintly, and it didn’t touch his eyes. “I know that, my darling girl.”

  He exhaled deeply and stared up at the ceiling. I must have fallen asleep as I watched him, because I don’t remember much else after that point.

  I felt distracted at work the following day. It didn’t help that I only slept a few hours. The images of Mason punching his pillow, cursing in his sleep, haunted my thoughts. My wrist was only slightly bruised, and it didn’t hurt. I wore a thin, cream colored sweater which easily hid the marks left by his harsh, defensive grasp. It was almost noon, and my phone vibrated on the desk. Mason. He was calling me again.

  “Hi babe,” I answered.

  “Good morning, gorgeous. I had a minute and thought I would check in.”

  “My day is slow. Piper had two cancellations this morning.”

  “How are you feeling?” Mason asked, getting straight to the point of his call.

  “I’m feeling fine.” After a pause of silence, I added, “please don’t beat yourself up about last night. I love you, and I promise, it doesn’t hurt.”

  “Yes, but I shouldn’t have-”

  “Mason, it’s not like you punched me in the face,” I whispered softly. “You were dreaming that someone was trying to hurt me.”

  I glanced up and found one of Piper’s clients waiting patiently at the desk. Mr. Collins cast me an inquisitive glance while he waited for me to check him in for his afternoon appointment
.

  “I have to go,” I said softly into the phone. “I’ll call you later. Love you.”

  Our brief chat ended and I placed my cell phone beside the keyboard on the desk. I turned to Piper’s patient with a bright smile.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Collins.” I greeted. His dark blond hair was gelled back and he was impeccably dressed in a dark business suit and a navy tie. I didn’t know much about him, only that he began his sessions around the time that I started working for Piper, visited once a week religiously and made sure to stop at the front desk, even when it wasn’t necessary for him to do so.

  “Hello, Jillian.” He returned a kind smile. “How are things in paradise?” He gestured toward the yellow diamond on my finger.

  I smiled. “Great. We’re getting married in the spring.”

  “That’s lovely. Congratulations.” He gave another grin.

  “Thank you.” I beamed. I turned to face the screen and verified Mr. Collin’s payment information.

  “You can have a seat and P- Dr. Rochester will see you momentarily.”

  “Excellent,” he continued with his smile as he seemed to study me. Mr. Collins was one of Piper’s more pleasant clients, although I often wished he would not stare at me the way he did. Sometimes his fixation with me made me uncomfortable.

  I returned another polite smile in his direction and then busied myself with filing and faxing. I felt his eyes on me the entire five minutes while he waited, and a sense of relief washed over me when Piper finally called him back to her office for his session.

  Once I was alone and unoccupied, the scene from last night resumed playing through my head. I spent my brief lunch break doing research from my phone. An idea came to me, and I felt wicked for even thinking it. I needed to get Mason’s mind off what happened last night. I needed to help him relax. I bit my lower lip as I sat in the corner cafe and sipped my latte. I scrolled through the research I had collected on my phone. I had no fucking clue what I was doing, but that was half the thrill. As my lunch break was coming to a close, I typed a text message to him: