Page 48 of Break Me Apart
I exhale. “He’s... Russian.”
Mason’s face does something complicated. “Russian?” he repeats, like he’s trying it out for size. “Hang on. You mean—”
“Yeah,” I say flatly.
“Which one?” he asks, eyes going wide again.
“Arseny.”
He stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Zakirov?” he whispers, as if the name itself might manifest a demon. “Russian special ops Sergeant Arseny Zakirov?” I don’t answer. I just hold his gaze. He makes a strangled sound and leans back like he’s been physically pushed. “Oh my—”
“Stop.”
He laughs again in disbelief. “You absolute bastard. I’m sorry, but—” he says, still laughing, still horrified. “I mean... him. That’s—” He shakes his head hard. “That’s not a little thing, mate.”
“I’m aware,” I say dryly.
A grin creeps in across his face. “So...” he says slowly, and I can see the intrusive gears turning. “Right. Important question.”
“Here we go.”
He points at me, deadly serious. “Top or bottom?”
I stare at him. “Get fucked all the way off.”
Mason laughs, delighted. “Bottom then.”
“Shut up.”
“You are,” he insists, leaning forward like he’s uncovered state secrets. “I can see it on your face.”
“You can see nothing.”
Mason gestures at me broadly. “Look at you. Mister ‘I’m not emotional,’ but you’re sitting here confessing about your Russian boyfriend like you’ve swallowed a romance novel.”
“He’s not my—” I stop, because the word is too loaded, and Mason clocks it immediately.
“Ohhhh. Yeah. He’s your boyfriend,” he teases, giving me a wicked grin.
“I will hit you.”
“Zakirov tops you into the mattress, and you thank him for it. Oh fuck, does he make you call him ‘sir’ while he does it?”
“Connor—” I warn.
He cackles, then wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, still grinning like a man who’s just discovered the world’s funniest joke, and I bark out a laugh before I can stop it. His face softens a fraction at the sound. Then, slowly, the laughter drains out of him as he looks at me properly. “Does he—” he starts, then pauses. “Does he treat you alright?”
“Yeah,” I say, and I mean it. “He’s... him. But yeah, he’s amazing,” I say, unable to keep the huge smile off my face.
Mason nods, absorbing it. “Right,” he says. “So that’s why you’ve been happier.” I don’t argue with the word. He exhales, then looks up at me with something like awe and pity mixed together. “You’re fucking mad.”
“Probably.”
“Do you—”
“Love him?” I finish forhim. “Yeah, I do.”
Mason watches me, then nods slowly. “Yeah, fair enough.” Then he looks away. “Don’t go after Harris,” he says, quieter. “Please.”
