Entwined Secrets by Robin Briar Read Free Book Online Page B

anywhere. He’s cradling my entire ribcage in his large hands, which I love. The size of him compared to me.
    I place my hands on his shoulders and loop my hips, stroking him with my nethers. There’s no use fighting it anymore. I’m not turning off his brain any more than he’s turning off mine. We both gave it a shot. We both failed.
    He wants me to join him. To meet him halfway. Mason doesn’t want to fuck me. He wants to make love to me. And if I have to come clean… if I must be honest with myself… I want that too.
    I stand up off his lap, turn around, and lower myself down again, sidesaddling him. Eager to have him back inside me again. I twist around and plant a kiss on his waiting lips.
    I keep my eyes open, wanting to see how he will react, if he can sense the difference. The change in me. I am officially dropping my façade, Mason Boone. I am no longer a good-time girl. I am giving myself to you. All of me. Mind and body. Is this what you want?
    My eyes make the point. It should be clear through my gaze, but Mason has to figure it out for himself. He has to get there on his own. Two can play this wordless game.
    If Mason is going to talk to me without using words, then I’m going to do the same. I’m practiced at this form of communication. Fluent. Until now, however, I never met anybody who could speak it as well. This is when I find out whether Mason understands me like I understand him.
    That’s when he leans over slightly, keeps his warm brown eyes open, and kisses me more tenderly than I ever thought possible.
    A swarm of butterflies erupts in my belly.
    Oh, Mason. Oh bloody hellions, Mason. Where did you come from?
    He slips one arm under my legs and his other around my back, cradling me. Mason stands up, lifting me off him, and carries me to the standing shower. It feels like I’m flying, like we’re crossing a threshold.
    Mason places me on my feet and reaches back to close the door behind us. The shadow is just big enough for the both of us.
    He turns the handle and uses his body to shield me from the cold water until it warms up. Then he takes a bar of soap, spins it around in his hands, and kneels in front of me. Mason is going to clean the paint off my body. He’s going to wash me with the same attention to detail with which he painted me in the first place.
    His hands run up and down my front, from my toes to my neck, scrubbing the paint wherever he finds it. He doesn’t scratch me once. His touch is gentle, but rigorous. Every fleck of paint is removed. It’s more like a massage than a cleaning, one that is sorely needed. I didn’t realize how much until now.
    Mason finds all the places where my body craves the attention of his hands. No prompting from me whatsoever. I don’t want this scrubbing to end, and lucky for me, for the longest time it doesn’t feel like it ever will.
    I lose track of time, and Mason is thorough. I eventually have to brace myself, holding on to the shower neck for support until he finishes me off.
    My face is last. He uses the shower sponge and is almost unbearably tender. He washes the creases of my nostrils, the hollow under my lips, the space behind my ears. Then he takes the showerhead and rinses me off, stroking my brunette curls straight.
    He douses my flesh until nothing but pink skin remains. The shallow basin of the shower is a pool of color beneath our feet. I’m kind of sad it’s over, but glad I took a picture.
    Mason hangs up the showerhead and turns back to me. He is no longer the painter. I am no longer a canvas. It’s just the two of us alone in the shower.
    That’s when, without warning, his hand goes straight to my neck and he pins me against the shower wall.
    “I tried, Jess,” he says in a strained growl. “I tried to keep him at bay.”
    Mason is not quite choking me, but his strength is monstrous. His other hand grabs my breast roughly. Is this the same man I spent the past week getting to know? The kindness of that man is nowhere