Strum Me

by Allison, Ketley

  “Are you afraid?” he asks quietly.

  “M-Mason.” Damn my voice for trembling. “Turn on the light.”

  “You want it so bad, you go and turn it on.”

  We both knew the switch is behind him and I’d have to go through him first. I picture him catching me by the waist, my breasts hitting his torso, my face molding into his neck. The way my thighs respond to that image—by clenching shut—isn’t something I’m comfortable with, because I don’t know if they’re closing in fear or to keep Mason from sensing the immediate, sexual response to his words.

  “What do you want?” I ask instead.

  I gasp when calloused fingers trace my jaw, but I don’t flinch away. Mostly because I can’t—not without banging my head against more metal.

  His hand moves down, tracing my elbow then grasping my arm. “Lose the books.”

  Swallowing, I let him take my barricade from me, my protection. I’m in complete conflict over the softness of his touch and his commands.

  His fingers start playing with the buttons of my shirt. Ones he’s trained to play the right notes, to elicit the right response, and my clavicle tingles against his touch. My nipples stand in rapt attention.

  “Did you miss me?” he asks.

  “N-no.” My quick breaths make it hard to talk. “What are you doing? Why am I here? What do you—”

  “Want?” I sense his head tilt at the question. “For you to answer some questions, Big Mack. Isn’t it obvious?”

  His hand cups my throat, still light, still soft, and I swallow against his palm.

  “Right where I want you,” he murmurs, then strokes down and undoes my top button. “Did you wonder where I was?”

  I feel the need to be honest with him. “Yes.”

  “Did you worry?”

  “I—yes. After what I saw…”

  “Mm. Traumatic for a girl of your stature, I know. All chicks love bad boys until those bad boys get arrested in the local McDonalds. Kinda ruins the dangerous streak.”

  Another button pops open.

  “That’s not what I mean,” I say. “I wasn’t sure if you were being sent to jail or if your dad was gonna hear about it or—God, Mason, those cops hated you. It’s like they wanted to hurt you.”

  “Believe me, I give them reason to. Hmm.” The deep tone of his realization when he hits the lace of my bra sends rivers of fire into my veins. He cups one breast through the fabric, and my back arches into his hand in response. His thumb glides over my hard nipple, and I swear to God, I mewl.

  “What do we have here?” he asks in a seductive whisper. “Do you want my mouth on you? Ever done seven minutes in heaven? No, probably not. Not Saint McKenna.”

  “I—” I don’t know what he’s doing to me. “I’m not … this isn’t me. We should go. If this is all you want me in here for then—oh, God.”

  His mouth and tongue are liquid fire through the thin cotton of my bra. A strong arm laces around my waist and draws me closer. My head tilts back, and when things clatter, when metal scrapes, I don’t care anymore.

  “You’re always so nice, Big Mack,” Mason says into my sensitive skin. “But it makes me think, you like the opposite of nice. It turns you on.”

  “Not true,” I say through a gasp. He’s doing things with his teeth I don’t think should be legal. “I deserve respect from you. I’ve done nothing but try to help you and you’re constantly throwing it back in my face.”

  His free hand dives into the front of my jeans. “Then why are you so wet for me?”

  I moan, biting down on his thumb when he takes it out of my pants and scrapes it across my lip.

  My thighs are traitors for unclenching.

  My nipple leaves his mouth with a pop. He straightens and I feel his breath on my cheeks when he says, “I can make you come. I’ll get down on my knees and tongue-fuck you right now, if you’ll only answer one thing.”

  I’m so absorbed in how my body’s responding to him, how I can feel his hardness pressing against my stomach through our clothes, that all I can do is wait for him to continue.

  “Why the fuck did you involve your dad?”

  Mason’s voice is harsh and loud, completely at odds to the beckoning whispers and seductive curves of his tongue.

  I turn into a fish out of water. “I—what?”

  “Your father, Big Mack,” Mason spits out. “I’m in the holding cell and next thing I know, I’ve been given a private lawyer who gets me the deal of my dreams and I’m let out.”

  “That wasn’t my father,” I say carefully. I may be treading into the waters of stupidity, but in the cloak of darkness, I do it anyway. “It’s someone he knows. All I did was ask him if he could help out a friend of mine by making a few calls—”

  “So I’m your fucking charity case now?”

  “No!” My knees are unstable when he steps back. “But witnessing what happened to you and how unfair it was, I had to do something! I couldn’t just walk away knowing you were taking the fall for something you didn’t do.”

  Mason’s nose nearly hits mine as he dives forward, but he doesn’t relent. “What happens with my brother and Me, with my family, is none of your goddamned business.”

  “So you’d rather rot in jail, then? Is that it?”

  “I can handle myself. Always have. Always will. Last thing I need is some pathetic chick with a save-the-bad-boy complex running to my rescue. What is it you’re not grasping, Big Mack? I. Don’t. Like. You. I feel sorry for you. So stop thinking you see something in me. ‘Cause now I’m about to either fuck Amy or Miss Lucas, I can’t decide. Either way, I’m washing you off my hands and forgetting your sad ass.”

  I speak as though his words don’t hurt. “I only wanted to help. And it looks like I did. A simple thank you would’ve been nice.”

  Mason chuckles, and its absurdly evil in the pitch black. “Oh, my mouth on your tits and my fingers against your pussy were my thanks. But now? Now, here’s my fuck you.”

  Light blasts into my eyes and I instinctively cover them, forgetting that my shirt is open and my breasts completely bare.

  I dare a peek through my fingers, fully aware of what I’ll see but doing it anyway.

  You’re better than him. You’re stronger. Your life will be so much fuller. Mason’s nothing but a shit-stain on the carpeted steps to your future…

  I lose all positive thinking when so many people, so many pairs of eyes, land on my exposed body.

  Tears smearing my vision, I fumble to shut the door against all the pointing and laughter, but I hear Mason’s voice ricochet through the hall. “Anyone else want a go? Big Mack’s ready for you!”

  18

  Mason

  I’m back at the hotel shining like a star.

  Whether it’s residue from sweating my heart out on stage or the sparkly sheen of playing a flawless set, what’s it matter? Both ways, I’m downright satisfied.

  My shirt was lost somewhere between hitting the stage and stepping into my suite, but it’s one of many white tees tossed into scrabbling hands—or ripped from my body.

  Chest heaving, I yank a hand towel from the attached bathroom and scrub my face, slick back my hair. I scratch at my scruff with the white cotton, and my attention diverts to the adjoining door.

  Mack.

  I’ve been treating her like a sourpuss lately, but I don’t have a conscience over it. She baits me with her body, then undercuts that passion by turning it into a business transaction. The fact she turned the tables on me pisses me off. We’re not teenagers anymore. We’ve moved past humiliation and pettiness.

  Or … I thought she had, anyway.

  Before I think it over, my knuckles rap against the wood. When there’s no response, I knock harder. When there’s still nothing, I pound with the side of my fist incessantly until the door flings open and Mack barks, “What?”

  I lean against the frame with my elbow, hand on my head and fingers digging into my damp hair. “Hi.”

  Mac
k squints. At me, at the light in my room. Behind her, the room is dark and cool. She’s back in an over-sized t-shirt, her hair all over the place and her face bare of expertise—exactly the way I like her.

  “Oh, so now you’re choosing three in the morning to talk to me?” she says.

  “I’m on a high,” I admit. “Can’t help it. The concert was insane—we played like we were back in high school, totally in sync. Honestly, Mack, it hasn’t been that way in so long … it was fucking epic. And all four of us stayed afterword to sign autographs and meet fans. That never happens. We even posed for pictures. That’s a rarity. Usually Rex frowns and stalks off to a corner, East is too shy and reserved, and Wyn threatens to pull out his wiener if the paparazzi so much as captures his profile. But no, man, there we were, totally rising above all our petty shit.”

  Something flits behind Mack’s expression, and I take it as her being miffed that I’ve ignored her for days.

  “Have a drink with me,” I say.

  Mack rubs her eyes. “Go find your brother and celebrate. Or the rest of your band. I’m sleeping.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not them I want to kick back with right now.”

  “I wouldn’t think it’d be me, either,” she says. “I thought I pissed you off so much you were ignoring me until I crawled up to your feet and kissed your toes for forgiveness.”

  I smile. “Nah, I’ve grown out of that.”

  Mack sighs. “The answer’s still no, Mase. I’m tired, and—”

  “You have to abide by the contract.”

  Her eyes meet mine again. “You’re serious. Are you aware what time it is?”

  “Perfectly.” I grow serious. “And I also know that you’re mine to do with as I please so long as we’re on tour.”

  “I’m not a toy, asshole.”

  “Didn’t say you were. But you are subject to my spoiled rockstar whims. I’m only reiterating what you signed. You’re to be at my side, as requested, no matter what time of day.”

  “Does it please you? To force people to hang out with you when they really don’t want to? Is that how you’re still making friends?”

  I don’t let the barb hit. The night’s been too much of a rush, and Mack’s annoyance with my presence only makes the adrenaline taste sweeter. “What’s your poison? Scotch or vodka?”

  “My poison is you,” she mumbles. She combs her hair back, then drops her hand at her side. “Let me find some pants.”

  “Scotch it is.”

  “Beer,” Mack corrects.

  “Fine. Beer. See you in five.”

  The adjoining door clicks shut.

  I pour myself a scotch on the rocks and grab Mack a bottle of beer from the fridge, then kick back on the couch near the bay windows overlooking Munich. As I stare into the outside, the foreign landscape lit with the same neon lights as my hometown, I’m hit with the random urge to explore the city with Mack.

  We never actually tour the places we’re in, mostly because there’s no time to appreciate architecture when your stay at the epicenter encompasses about twenty-four to forty-eight hours of cars, hotels, venues, and crowds. I’ve been around the world a few times, and I can vividly remember blurs of color and open mouths screaming my name. Not much else.

  With Mack, I’m thinking of a stroll through some of the gardens, maybe some old villages, and the quiet solitude of having a woman by my side as we figure out where to stop for lunch.

  The thought strikes sideways and I grimace before lifting the glass to my mouth. I’m not supposed to yearn for that kind of shit. Especially from Mack. We had it okay back in high school, when she broke through my defenses, but that was temporary. I was back to screwing it up before graduation hit, and I’m probably fucking it up now.

  I’m forcing her under contract to be here.

  Preventing her from doing her so-called job.

  Now, convincing her long-term that she doesn’t need to sell her body, that’s a work in progress.

  I know that body. Traced it with my tongue. And damned if I’m going to let strange men have at it again.

  There it is, that thought of fixing her situation by having her by my side. Grumbling, I stand and refill my drink.

  “All right. I’m here.”

  McKenna appears and steps through the adjoining door, clad in athletic shorts and the same tee. I note the lack of a bra and the peaks of her nipples budding through her shirt.

  She stands in the middle of the room. “Where do you want me?” she asks.

  “Don’t be like that,” I say when I hand her a beer. “You can move about freely and you know it.”

  “Just making sure I didn’t miss any fine print,” she says before settling into a sofa chair adjacent to the couch.

  Her gaze travels to the windows much like mine did, but I doubt she’s thinking of goddamned gardens and villages and lunch.

  I resume my position on the couch, tipping back my drink. We sit in silence for a moment, Mack proving her point that she doesn’t want to be here, and me enjoying Mack’s presence without her ruining it with her quick mouth.

  “Are you happy?”

  The question catches me off-guard. I search her face for the trap.

  “I mean it,” she says, staring at me levelly. “Are you happy, doing what you do, being part of Nocturne Court?”

  “Absolutely,” I say without thinking. With the way she searches my eyes, I guess she’s looking for more. “It’s what we always dreamed of, back in my moldy garage. I got the hell out of there and made a ton of money doing it. I got to escape my pops. I could pay for Brax’s multiple rehabs and he finally got clean. Also moved myself into new neighborhood in a fly zip code, and I’ve never looked back.”

  “I’m glad you got out of there.” Mack sips her beer. “But I always thought you were destined for escape, not just through your band. You would’ve carved your own path, too.”

  I frown. “I did carve my own path. With my buddies.”

  Mack nods. “Yeah, but you were so damned determined to raze our school and climb out on top. You hated everything, especially hand-outs. It was like, if you weren’t going to get the hell out of there, you were going to burn it to the ground, anyway.”

  “I was an angry kid. I didn’t think life had been fair to me, so I thought spitting in its face was the way to answer back.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Mack takes another swig.

  I stare at her harder. “Are you looking for an apology? For everything I did in high school? Fuck, Mack, most of my memories are with a coating of red rage.”

  She laughs hollowly. “I’ll never expect an apology from you, Mason.”

  Part of my chest flickers to life. “I was unfair to you. Borderline cruel. But do I regret it? No.”

  Mack glances at me, eyes wide with insult.

  “I don’t want to change it because it ultimately led to us. You and me, in your basement, pretending to study but really just making the excuse to fuck. You, listening to my rants when my brother got into more trouble. Tending to my bruises when Pops blamed me for the cops showing up to our door again. You, letting me stay nights in your fancy townhouse, hiding in your basement away from your parents.”

  Mack’s hand slips from the bottle, and it’s not from the condensation. It’s her only show of emotion.

  “I didn’t care that I was basically an injured raccoon you were trying to nurse back to health and hide from your folks down in your crawl space,” I continue. “You helped me, Mack. I didn’t escape by myself.”

  “Wow.” Mack licks her lips in thought. “Gotta say, that might be better than an apology.”

  I lean back against the cushions. “Let’s not forget you were also a tasty piece of ass. What made it even better was that you were my dirty little secret at school.”

  “And there you go, ruining it again.” Mack shakes her head in honest disappointment. “I guess I should be thankful you stopped sleeping with Miss Lucas when you started hooking up with me.”
<
br />   I eye Mack over the rim of my glass. “That made you jealous, huh?”

  “You were an addiction I couldn’t shake. God, you introduced me to things that I … I didn’t know my body could do. Of course I wanted you all to myself.”

  “And now here we are,” I say, stretching my arms over my head. “While I still lay claim to being the best lay you ever had, you’ve probably well surpassed me in the skills department.”

  Mack stares down at her bottle. “You can’t resist bringing that up, can you?”

  “I’m not sure you can blame me, considering the sweet, studious Mack in high school has turned into … you.”

  Mack bows into the cushions behind her, not restful, her upper body curved over her drink like she has to protect it. “I haven’t gone bad, Mason. I wish people would understand that.”

  “You’ve taken on more risk. Put your life in the hands of strangers. Involved sex with money, which is one of those things that could get you killed.”

  Mack smiles sadly. “Don’t tell me you’re concerned.”

  “If you don’t give a shit what I think, what about your pops? Your family? How are they with all this, or have you adopted my dirty little secret for your own?”

  “Dad’s not really around anymore.”

  Mack’s mom died from cancer when we were kids. It’d be a shame if she lost her dad, too. I say, “He was a decent guy. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “He’s not dead,” Mack says. “We’ve just … grown apart.”

  “So he doesn’t know?”

  “No. He’s pretty isolated where he is.”

  “Where’s he at?” I ask. “Did he buy some tropical island with his wads of cash and take his wife to drink Mai Tais the rest of their lives? Why’d they ditch you?”

  “He’s in jail.” Mack finishes her beer in two large gulps.

  My drink freezes midway to my mouth. “Say what?”

  “Yup. Good old Dad, CFO of a major corporation, embezzled funds to maintain our lifestyle and even participated in a ponzi scheme. He was caught. End of story.”

  “Uh, I feel like there’s more to it than that. Mr. Beckley is a criminal? When the fuck did that happen?”