The Word of a Liar (11 page)

“Your son? I bet when he saw this place the first thing he did was to slide down the banister.”

“Oh,” Ellen sighed. “JD isn’t here. He’s been staying at my sister’s in Madison, so he hasn’t seen the place yet, except when we Skype. I wanted all the moving boxes to be long gone before he came. He’d have been obsessing over the fact that things weren’t in their proper place and driving me crazy.  I’m lucky to have—’’

Realizing she was rambling, Ellen paused.
Why does he make me so damn nervous?
she scolded herself
.

“You’re all alone in this big house?”

Mason took a step towards her.

Ellen swallowed.

The look on Mason’s face reminded her of a picture of the big bad wolf in the Little Red Riding Hood book she loved as a kid. The wolf was lying in bed, his long snout poked over the covers, his fangs were exposed, and his open mouth was salivating. It was an oxymoron—something so terrifying, she couldn’t look away.

“Aren’t you scared?” he whispered.

He was practically on top of her. His warm breath whispered across her neck.

“Okay” Ellen stammered, bouncing on her toes and then she turned and left Mason to his own devices.

He wandered around the rooms, admiring the refinished woodwork, hardwood floors, and the antiques Ellen had placed here and there. A photograph of a young man holding a baby high up in the air and a younger Ellen standing next to him caught his eye. He picked it up. The tender emotion the picture evoked made him wonder why Ellen and Mad Dog’s happy marriages had been doomed. It didn’t seem right. 

“That’s Paul, my late husband, holding JD,” Ellen interrupted his thoughts. “He was killed while we were traveling on a road very much like the one you found me on. It was at night, and we hit a deer. It came through the windshield and broke Paul’s neck.” 

She took a sip of the wine.

“Alone in that car, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. That’s why I was so scared when you found me.”

Mason set the picture down. “So it wasn’t me who scared you?”

“Let’s just say you added to my terror.”

Ellen grinned.

Mason chuckled, taking a drink of the wine.

“This isn’t bad. What is it?”

“Fortissimo. It’s what all the old Italians drink.”

“You’re Italian?”

“Yes. My maiden name is Dominetti.”

“Sounds like dominatrix to me.” Mason raised his eyebrows.

Ellen frowned. “Want to see the upstairs? I just finished painting my son’s bedroom to look like the inside of a castle, and I’m dying to show it off. JD loves knights that help damsels in distress.”

She smiled.

Mason held out his goblet. “Here’s to chivalrous knights.”

Ellen clicked his glass and then started up the stairs.

Mason followed, admiring the slight sway of her butt, but he resisted the urge to grab it. For the time being, he needed to proceed with caution. The stairs led to a large, open space which Mason thought must have been a sitting area when the house was built. Ellen led him into an adjacent bedroom that looked like the inside of an old stone castle.

“Holy shit! Did you really do all of this?”

Astonished, he smoothed his hand over the painted wall. “How did you get this to look like stone?”

“A lot of tape and faux painting.”

At the far end of the room, the ceiling sloped downward, and painted on its surface were two stone window frames. In one, a knight embraced his lady, and in the other, a young knight knelt in prayer.

“This is Lancelot and Guinevere, and that’s Arthur.” Ellen pointed out.

“You did that?  It looks like stained glass. Your son is very lucky to have a mom like you. This is really awesome.”

Mason moved around the room, marveling at Ellen’s handiwork. A chain mail tunic and shield hung from an iron hook, and a metal helmet with a large red plume adorned the bureau.

“I really feel like I’m inside of a castle.”

“Thank you.”

He looked up at the top of the door frame.  A painted stone archway surrounded a magnificent coat of arms. 

“How much do you charge?  I want you to come to my house and paint my bedroom to look like this, but I want Guinevere to have more of her breasts showing—preferably all of her breasts showing.”

“You, sir, could never afford me.” Ellen tossed her head back.

Mason eyed her as he took a drink of wine.  “So, where’s your bedroom?”

A smile tugged at Ellen’s mouth.

“Before I show you my room….” Her eyebrows rose slightly. “Don’t you think we ought to become better acquainted?”

He stepped in front of her. “What’s a better place to become acquainted than in your bedroom?”

Staring into the brown richness of her eyes, he determined to finally kiss her. He stole the wine Ellen held to her lips and then set the goblets on the bureau. Grasping the nap of her neck, he bent down to kiss her. Their lips met. He tasted wine. His tongue pricked and explored the smooth, wet, warmth of her mouth. Ellen leaned into him. Mason smelled the flowery scent of her hair, the soap on her skin. Their kiss went deeper. She sapped the strength from his knees and deprived his lungs of air. He needed to get her on the bed, but she pulled away. Eyes bright, cheeks flushed, her neck muscles moved.

“We better stop.”

Her soft voice ran down his skin like hot rain.  Releasing his hold, Mason stepped back, feeling as if he had awakened from a dream.

Ellen picked up the glasses. “Let’s go sit on the porch. I need some air.”

Unfamiliar emotion gnawed Mason’s belly. He speculated on its source, and then fear washed over him in one crushing sweep. He, too, needed to escape. He blew a soft breath.

Ellen headed for the stairs and Mason followed. At the landing, she turned. “I’ll get us some more wine and meet you out on the porch.”

He made himself comfortable on one of the padded wicker chairs and watched the flag attached to one of the porch posts flap softly in the evening breeze. The quiet neighborhood helped to relax him.  He noticed Ellen’s iPod. He picked it up, and then searched her music. He smiled. They liked the same bands. He selected one of her playlists and put the device back on the docking station. The Allman Brother’s
Midnight Rider
played.

Ellen came out on the porch and handed Mason his wine.

“Hope you don’t mind that I put some music on.”

“No.” Ellen sat on the loveseat. “You like old music?”

“Yeah. The Allman Brothers are one of my favorites.” He took a drink of wine. “Now we have two things in common. Old houses and classic rock.”

Ellen smiled and then took a sip of wine. “I love the old rock groups. My parents listened to them when I was growing up.  I guess their music stuck.” 

She wondered whether the wine was making her hot or if it was the way Mason looked right now. So relaxed and settled, with his long legs stretched out in front of him and his arms slung easily over the chair.

Mason looked over at the street. “The old stuff is the best. Southern rock, the blues. You like the blues?”

“Some of it.”

They listened to the music. Mason’s boot tapped out the rhythm. He looked at Ellen and smiled, but she looked down. She wished he’d go, leaving her to familiar isolation instead of this uncontrollable anxiousness his presence provoked. She finished her wine, but it didn’t lessen her discomfort. Another song began to play. Clouds blotted parts of a celestial intimacy as night copulated with day and the western sky blushed magenta.

“What’s wrong, Ellen?” Mason asked. “You look uncomfortable. Do you want me to go?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “No, Mason, the problem is I want you to stay.”

Biting her bottom lip, she rubbed the top of her thighs. “I never imagined I’d be involved in something like this and here I am… I feel ashamed and you should, too, for kissing me when you’re with Desi.”

Mason leaned forward. “I should, but I’m not.”

Ellen looked upward. What had been building between them at the rally had come to a climax, and only she had the power to decide the outcome. Should she tell him to leave, or should she allow him to stay? A melancholy rattling of piano keys floated between them. Bob Seger sang
We’ve Got
Tonight
. The music and lyrics became tangible pieces of Ellen’s heart that created an alluring picture. She didn’t have the strength or the desire to stop what was happening.

Drums rolled, signaling the song’s conclusion. The night went quiet. She looked at Mason. Thin slices of moon light illuminated his face. Standing, he extended his hand.

“So, Ellen, are you going to show me your bedroom now?”

CHAPTER eleven

They entered the house. Rose-colored light painted gentle shadows throughout the foyer. Ellen led him up the stairs to her bedroom. Switching on the light, she sat down at the foot of the bed. Mason stopped in the threshold. His hands gripped the doorframe as his eyes traveled about the room. Anxiety knotted in Ellen’s stomach. Mason’s reluctance could only mean he’d come to his senses and was going to leave.  Looking down at trembling hands, shame parched her throat.

“Should I take my boots off?”

Ellen looked up. Head cocked to the side, brows furrowed, Mason looked like a man not certain of his welcome.

“No, Mason.”

She smiled, relief bolstering her confidence.

Hesitant, he entered and walked over to the bed.

“This room…. It’s so... feminine.”

He sat, raising his eyes to the ceiling. An antique chandelier hung over the bed. Strings of glass beads and pink prisms flirted with the light.  He looked at her.

“It’s beautiful. Like you.”

He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. "All these delicate things make me nervous.”

The rapid bouncing of his knee testified to his uneasiness. Ellen placed her hand over his thigh to soothe the tremor.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve had to consider a man when decorating my bedroom. I’ll turn the light off, and then you won’t see all the feminine things. Besides, I prefer it to be dark. I don’t have a dancer’s body like you’re used to.”

She lowered her gaze; sweat trickled down the back of her neck.

Mason placed a hand over hers. “Tonight is about you, Ellen.”

She reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear, ran her index finger over the exposed pink scar that cut across his temple, and then traced the outline of his mouth.

Parting his lips, he sucked in her finger… leisurely… tenderly. His eyes held her. Teeth scraped along her knuckle. The erotic warmth of his mouth personified her passion. Slowly, she pulled her finger away. He leaned forward. Short seductive kisses teased her senses.

Desperate for more, Ellen coiled her fingers in his damp hair and pulled him down. She smelled the clean, spicy scent of shampoo and tasted wine as their tongues converged, stroking, exploring. Coaxing him deeper, she rolled the tip of her tongue along his teeth and over the roof of his mouth as if to drink him in. All she had was this night—this moment. She would not hold back.

Untangling her fingers from his hair, her hands trekked across the hard contour of his chest and down the flat plane of his abdomen, pausing briefly at his belt buckle then over his fly. She kneaded the firm bulge beneath. Mason sighed. Ellen jerked down the zipper tab, but Mason’s hand caught her, halting further exploration.  Before she could utter a sound, he kissed her. Slow, deep, lingering as if he had an eternity to make love. His hand caressed her check; his tongue licked her ear. 

She pulled away. Breathing through her mouth, her heart beating to a 6/8 rhythm, she searched his eyes to affirm his desire.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, emotions too raw, too intense for speech.

He hugged her into his chest.

“Ellen,” he whispered. “You won’t disappoint me.”

His words targeted her terror. Tears escaped.

He tipped up her chin and smiled. “You’re a very desirable woman. The way you kiss me…. I only hope I meet your expectations.”

  She turned away, wringing her hands, the room suddenly unbearably hot and still.

“Mason, at the river you asked me if I felt something for you.” She forced herself to look at him. “Did you ask because you feel something for me?”

Mason lie back, cradling his head in his hands.  “I don’t know what it is, but I definitely feel something for you, Ellen. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Downstairs the grandfather clock chimed the hour.

Mason sat up, somber blue eyes interrogating her. “You said you didn’t feel anything.”

Ellen looked across the room, nervous tension prickled her skin.

“I lied.”

She faced him and stuck out her chin, surprised by her lack of embarrassment.

“I knew it!” A wide smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.

Ellen giggled.

His thumb followed her jawline.

She blew a puff of air from her mouth to control the blitzkrieg of desire his touch incited. Wetness pooled between her thighs. A warm, sultry breeze parted the curtains, carrying a dog’s distant barking.  A devilish grin emerged under the cover of his dark beard.  A deliciously dangerous flame in Mason’s eyes seared Ellen’s skin. She shivered.

Standing, he pulled her to her feet. His lips rode the soft, elegant curve of her neck. Slipping from his embrace, she walked over to the door. A click and the room fell dark. She started to unbutton her blouse. White, natural light illuminated where she stood.

“I want it dark,” she whispered, “like when you found me.” 

She unbuttoned the last button and her blouse parted. She stepped closer.

He took her hand and then sat at the edge of the bed, capturing her hips with his knees. Slipping the blouse from her shoulders, he undid the clasp of her bra. Ellen dropped it to the floor, revealing the creamy white skin of her breasts. Mason took a moment to admire her then cupped a breast in each hand, brought them to his mouth and licked each nipple until they hardened. As he sucked them into his mouth, his cock swelled against his fly.

She reached downward, tugging off his black T-shirt. Warm hands massaged his shoulders and neck, then combed through his hair; breasts enveloped his face. He suckled until Ellen cried out. As she looked up, moonlight captured her lascivious expression. He pulled her down on his knee.

“I like you topless.” He grinned, pinching a nipple.

She moaned, rolling her head back.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Ellen,” he whispered, feeling between her thighs, wanting her naked.

“Stand up!” he demanded, his voice hoarse, lustful.

She rose and then he stood, pressing her naked breasts to his bare chest. His tongue swept the curve of her ear; his teeth nipped her earlobe.

Ellen stepped back, loosened his belt buckle, and then unzipped his jeans. Kneeling, she rolled them to his knees. Her fingers raked the dark curls surrounding his erection. She kissed him lightly and then looked up.  Her eyebrows arched in a question.

The soft light shimmered against her skin, amplifying the contrast of white breasts and tanned body. Immobilized by a foreign sensibility, he watched Ellen grip his manhood, stroking with one hand as she ran the other along the outside of his thigh and then around the curve of his buttocks. He closed his eyes.

Weak with a conflagration of emotion burning somewhere deep inside, Ellen stopped her stroking, drawing him into the soft, hot wetness of her mouth. Her tongue stroked and swirled around the head. Groaning, Mason looked upward. His hips moved involuntarily to the rhythm of Ellen’s undulating caress. The uncontrolled heat of his passion raged; if he didn’t stop her, she would take him to the breaking point. Entangling his fingers in her hair, he freed himself.

“Enough darlin’! You’re killing me.”

Standing, she swept her hand down the side of his face. “Sit on the bed. I’ll finish undressing you.”

The direct manner of her seduction rendered him powerless. He obeyed, watching helplessly as she stripped him naked. Hands on hips, Ellen rolled her head from side to side as her dark, intimidating eyes scanned his body. He imagined her in black leather, welding a whip, contemplating where and when to strike. A rush of sexual energy enflamed his groin.

“Stop looking at me like that!” A defensive move to subjugate her power, he grabbed her wrists, pulling her down beside him. “I feel like I’m being auctioned off.” 

“You’re beautiful.” Ellen rolled the tip of her finger over his tiny nipple.

“A real man can’t be beautiful.”

Ellen’s hand roamed down his thigh. She grinned.  “I’m glad I’m having sex tonight with a real man and not an imaginary one. I’ve had imaginary sex for quite a while; I’m ready for the real thing.”

“Tell me what you did when you were having imaginary sex, and don’t leave out any of the important details.”

Mason rolled on top of her, grasping her arms and pinning them above her head. Brown hair spilled around her face. Her liquid eyes, the color of whiskey and just as intoxicating, added to his hunger.

A sly smile crept across her mouth. “I’d be willing to show you, Mr. Hackett, but I can’t seem to move.”

“Hmmm, I can’t decide what to do. Let you up, or keep you like this?”

He lowered to his elbows, her breasts flattening against his chest. He nuzzled her neck. “God, Ellen, you’re lovely.”

He rolled on his side. “Show me!”

He drew her hand to the waistband of her shorts.

Ellen unbuttoned them and then slid down the zipper. Their eyes locked as her hand slid beneath her panties. She pulled up her knees only to let them fall apart. He watched the movement of her hips, the hump of her hand working beneath her clothes. Her breathing quickened. She licked her lips.

Mason’s erection throbbed, his scrotum hardened, and an intense sensation brought him to the brink. He rose and went to the foot of the bed.

Ellen’s hand stopped moving. Her eyes were fixed on him.

“I can’t watch you do that any longer. You’re going to make me come.”

“Without even touching you?”

Mason inhaled, his heart raced. He enjoyed the smart ass banter, but it only added to his helplessness. He didn’t know what was wrong with him.
He felt like an inexperienced teenager. He needed to get it together. Gritting his teeth, Mason half sighed, half groaned. 

Grinning, Ellen gripped the waistband of her shorts, lifted her pelvis, and rolled them to her knees, red panties her only cover.

Mason yanked off the shorts, gripped her ankles, and slid her hips to the edge of the bed. He positioned her feet on each of his shoulders.  Ellen’s breath caught when his palm stroked the coarse thatch of hair through her panties. He paused. Hands back around her ankles, he moved closer, rocking his erection along her crotch. He watched her hips as she wiggled against him; sexual anticipation wet the smooth, silky fabric.   Perspiration trickled down his temples. Control lessened.

He drew back, allowing her legs to fall over the bed.  On his knees, his face between her thighs, he bit small pieces of her panties. The smell of her sex and the flowery scent of soap clung to her moist skin. Growling, he rubbed his beard against her inner thigh. 

Ellen giggled, her hands fondling his hair. He forced the crotch of her panties to one side, parted her soft, tender folds, his fingers slowly exploring her slick flesh. He reached inside to discover the exhilarating warmth of her body. Ellen’s hips moved rhythmically with his touch; he rolled his thumb over her clit.  Soft moans encouraged him. His mouth consumed the hardening bud. Ellen’s legs stiffened. 

“Mason, stop!” she cried, tugging at his hair.

He moved away and looked up at her. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Her shaky voice apologetic, she rose to her elbows, slapping her legs closed. “I can’t do this.”

He rubbed the top of her thighs reassuringly.

“Relax and go with it.” He spoke softly to diminish her sudden fear.

“No! Please, stop!”

She backed up to the pillows as if a fiendish apparition had entered the room.

He stood, perplexed and uncertain, but crawled in the bed.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?”  She sucked her lips into her mouth.

“No.” He brought his arm around her shoulders. “I want to pleasure you, like you did to me.”

He cuddled her face in his hands; deep sadness pooled in the dark depths of her eyes.

“Ellen, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, okay?”

Ellen drew in her breath then exhaled slowly.  She nodded. “Okay.”

He smiled, lying back on the pillow. His raven hair fell away from his face.

“You have an earring.” Ellen slid down beside him. “I didn’t notice before.”

She propped her head up on her hand. “You know, Mason, with your hair off your face, you look familiar.”

“Maybe we’ve met in another lifetime. Maybe I was your slave and you were my mistress.” His eyebrows arched.

“That’s where I remember you. You were locked in my dungeon where I had you chained and did wicked things to you. But as I recall, you enjoyed it way too much.”

“I remember. You wore a lot of leather and carried a whip.”

She shook her head. “You’re very naughty, Mason Hackett, very naughty indeed. I’m going to have to punish you.”

His blue eyes twinkled. Ellen rose, slipped off her panties and then straddled Mason. With renewed confidence, she placed her arms on either side of his head, breasts dangling provocatively before his eyes. “Like those?”