Mason

I closed my eyes. Shit. He was going to hear that.

“I love Logan. I do, but he’s not you. I think about touching you all the time. I think about being with you.” As she talked, her finger slid inside her. Her hand moved and I knew she was going in and out in rhythm with her words. Her voice dropped to a whisper, “I get so jealous when Kate’s with you.” She grimaced, a flash of pain came over her face, and she groaned a little. “When I hear her voice in here, it takes everything in me not to come in and drag her out.” Her hand began moving again, harder this time. “Mason, come over here.”

Disgust rolled over me in waves. She was a spectacle for me to watch and knowing how this would hurt Logan stripped any normal response a guy would have watching a girl finger herself. It left me angry and the need to make sure she paid for this. She was trying to come between us. She wouldn’t.

“Mason?” A small note of confusion intermingled with her lust. Her other hand reached up and she grasped onto her hair, pulling at it until she let her hand drop to her throat, then to her chest. Her hand lingered between her br**sts. They were erect against her shirt. As she held my gaze, a small smirk formed, although I’m sure she meant for it to be teasing and alluring. Her hand slid over and covered her breast. Her thumb moved in circles over the tip. She was doing this for me. She wanted to see that I wanted her, that I was enjoying this.

I cleared my throat, unsure how far to take this. This was enough. It would tear Logan up. She moaned. “Mason.” Her head went back, exposing her throat and she reached for her shirt. She pulled it off and let it fall to the floor. Her hand was going faster now, her br**sts were moving in rhythm, her breathing was speeding up. “Please,” she whimpered. Her hand went back to her breast, now touching it without a barrier. She wasn’t even looking at me anymore. “Please, Mason. Come touch me. I want you in me instead of my hand.”

I glanced down at my phone. The call had been picked up; Logan was still listening. The door swung open silently. His phone was pressed to his ear as he came inside. She had no idea he was there. When he looked at me, there was no emotion. I shook my head and gestured to my computer.

Logan frowned, but soon realized. I was pointing to the webcam. His phone dropped from his hand, landing with a thud on the floor.

Tate’s head snapped back and she saw him. She gasped, and she scrambled for her shirt. “Logan!”

He was seething. There was rage in his eyes and his hands were in fists. He jerked forward a step. “Get. Out.”

“Logan.” She glanced at me.

I held my phone up. “I called him.”

He ground out, “I heard everything.”

“Oh.” She paled. “Oh my god.” Pulling her shirt on, she wavered on her feet like she was going to fall down. Her hand pressed to her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Welcome to the f**king club.” Logan never looked away from her. The rage was there, but it was held in control. Barely.

I stood from my chair. Casting a concerned gaze over my brother, I said to her, “Get out. Now.”

“Mason—” She started walking toward to me.

“STOP!”

She jumped back, her eyes large and horrified as she watched Logan with caution now. Her jaw started trembling. “Logan,” she whispered, “please—”

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

She choked out, “Oh my god.” Then she fled. When she turned to go to his room, he went after her.

“Logan.” I caught him and held him back.

“GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE! NOW!”

She froze, then a strangled gasp ripped from her. “My clothes.”

“Fuck your clothes. I tossed ‘em.”

Her eyes got even bigger. “What?”

A bitter laugh came from him; it was harsh and ugly sounding. “Why do you think it took me so long to get here? Your clothes are gone, bitch. Get the f**k out of this house. Now!” He jerked forward against my arm again, but I felt the control in him. He was still holding it back. She just didn’t know it.

She stumbled back a step. “I have to go out like this—”

“GET THE FUCK OUT!”

A hallway light switched on from the third floor. I cursed. Our dad was up. Then I snapped at her, “Get the f**k out of here or I’m calling the cops.”

“But—”

“NOW!”

“What the hell is going on down here?” Our dad was coming down the stairs. As he got to the last step, he tightened his robe and gazed around the group. He frowned. “Why doesn’t this girl have pants on? Why don’t you have a shirt on, Mason? Logan? What is going on?”

I stepped forward. Logan was close to snapping so I pushed him inside.

He resisted. “No.”

“I’ll take care of it,” I told him. “You’re going to lose it soon.”

He bit out another harsh-sounding laugh, but leaned around me. “He recorded you.”

“Oh no.” Her mouth fell open again, and she fell against the wall. “Oh god no.”

“Every f**king thing. He recorded it from the beginning and he called me. I heard the entire thing, not part of it, not a little bit of it. The whole f**king thing. You’re done, Tate. You’re goddamn done. No one will want to be your friend.”

“Go.” I shoved him inside and pulled the door shut. Logan tried to open it again, but I held it firm and waited until he let go. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">