Mason gains on me in no time—not that that’s exactly a challenge with my gigantic cast weighing me down.

 

“Don’t be so stubborn, Sofes,” I hear him say, the amusement and mockery still clear as day in his voice.

 

I frown instantly, even more annoyed that, after everything this tool has done, he’s both nonchalant and audacious enough to talk to me as if we’re actually friends.

 

Don’t call me that…

 

Suddenly, I feel a hand grabbing at my upper arm, long, strong fingers tugging at me; fingers that can only belong to the antagonistic bastard behind me.

The contact is unexpected, foreign, making my lungs seize and heart palpitate, pulsing out of control as I register the feel of his grip on me, the warmth and strength of his fingers, his skin against my own. Impulsively, I whip around, saying get off me, more aggravated at my reaction to the gesture than the gesture itself.

I hate how good it feels. But the swift action causes me to lose my balance, and I fall backward, but Mason reaches out with both hands now, catching me and breaking my fall, pulling me into him reflexively and almost…possessively.

The sight of his piercing eyes fill my own, his profile even better looking than I remember it from this angle. Then again, I’ve never actually seen him from this angle. I feel his warm breath against my temple, the soft stream of air grazing my skin, making my heart pound like a colossal drum in my chest, its erratic beats echoing further down, pulsing with something I have to force myself to ignore.

In the seconds that follow, all I can do is blink rapidly as my brain turns to mush, looking up at him as he continues to hold me, chest to chest, his fingers splayed across my back, my own hands clutching at his shirt for dear life, seemingly unable—or at least, pretty reluctant—to let go.

I inhale, shuddering slightly as I do, my lips parting without my permission, but no words leave them. This new proximity is unsettling, unnerving, and yet, the fear of almost falling makes me cling to him like an anchor…but then, as if I just got electrocuted, I snap out my trance, my eyes bulging as I come to my senses and remember who it is I’m dealing with.

I jerk out of his hold abruptly, breaking their interlinked bodies putting distance between them, furious with myself. I can’t believe that I’m getting turned on by him, especially after he just made fun of me.

Yes, I may have had a crush on him once upon a time, a long time ago, but that was the past and this is now. After the shit he pulled on my brother, there’s no frickin’ way in hell I would ever let myself like or have anything to do with a manipulative, selfish scumbag like him.

What happened just now was a fluke; a mere side-effect of a not having sex for years.

SPS: Starved Pussy Syndrome.

That’s all it is.

Heck, I would have probably had the same reaction if he were pink-haired, pygmy troll with three horns.

That’s what happens when you don’t have sex for years on end. Your hormones start to fuck with your head and trick you into thinking you want the first guy whose arms you just so happen to accidentally fall into—even if he’s an absolute douchebag and the only reason you almost fell was his fault to begin with.

 

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To be continued…

 

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