Chapter 11 Mason
Chapter eleven
Mason
“You’d think I was stranded on a mountaintop instead of mildly snowed in,” she mutters, stepping aside to let me in.
She’s wrapped in a blanket like some kind of pissed-off woodland sprite. It's cute. Alarming, but cute.
“Hi to you, too.” I brush snow from my jacket as I step inside. My gear’s still half-frozen from the last call, bunker pants damp and boots tracking snow across the entryway.
“Your power’s out.”
“Clearly.”
“You didn’t check in,” I repeat.
Her arms fold. “I was going to. But my phone wasn’t charging because, shocker, the power’s out. And before you ask—yes, I started a fire. Yes, it’s safe. Yes, I’m warm. No, I’m not planning to die here.”
The sass hits like a balm. I fucking love it.
“Didn’t say you were,” I murmur, unclipping my radio and checking the volume before setting it on the side table.
She arches a brow. “Then why the hell are you here, Fireboy?”
I glance around. The place is small but tidy, and a flickering fire throws gold across the walls. The power outage’s cut all ambient noise, which makes everything feel closer. Quieter.
“We had a call from dispatch. Downed line and tree over on Holloway. Herb mentioned you hadn’t checked in and your place was close by, so I figured I’d swing past.” I shrug like it’s casual. “You’re up on the ridge line—service can be patchy in a storm.”
“You figured right.”
She says it with a clipped edge, but I catch the look of something else in her eyes as she scans my gear and uniform.
I take a step toward the fire, and raise my hands up toward the flames.
“You good?” I finally ask against the silence.
Frankie nods. “Peachy. I was just about to sleep.”
I glance down at the little nest she’s made in front of the fire.
“You sleep on the floor often?”
“It’s called being cozy, Mason.”
“Cozy,” I echo.
She glares. “You gonna stand there judging, or…?”
I smirk and turn, heading for the door. “Nah, I’ll leave you to your floor-bed and bad attitude.”
“Great.”
I gather my radio and tug the door open, then immediately regret it.
The wind slaps me in the face with a sheet of ice, snow piling fast around my boots. The kind of fast that makes you reassess your whole damn night. Visibility’s shot to shit, and I can barely make out the response truck through the whiteout.
Still, I stomp toward it, duck into the cab, and key in my radio with a gloved hand.
“Station 341, this is Unit 7, checking in.”
There’s a beat of static, then Beck’s voice crackles through. “Go ahead, Fletch.”
“Cabin on Ridgeview confirmed safe. One occupant. No injuries, no hazards. Power’s out, but fire’s lit.”
“Copy that,” Beck says. “Will let Herb know. Chief Rhode’s just pulled non-essential comms for the night. Roads are closing fast—better haul it back now or ride it out.”
“Understood,” I say. “Attempting departure now, but will otherwise stay put. I’ll update shortly. Unit 7, over.”
I set the radio aside, and reach for the ignition.
Nothing.
I try again. Still nothing, just a weak glow from the dome light before it dies.
“Son of a—” I smack the wheel, then climb back out, bracing against the wind.
I slam the hood open and double-check the cables—they’re secure, but the battery’s drained. Between the idle time, freezing temps, and no block heater, she’s not coming back tonight.
“Perfect,” I mutter.
After a minute of staring at it, I shut the hood with a curse and trudge back to the porch, radio and gloves in hand. My boots leave deep tracks in the powder, which the wind tries to immediately erase.
I radio back to Beck to tell him I’m stuck, then knock again.
The door eventually lurches open, revealing Frankie still wrapped in her blanket, but her hair is more mussed and her breathing is just a little uneven.
“Seriously?”
I hold up the radio. “Truck’s dead. Battery’s toast.”
Her mouth parts. “You’re kidding.”
“Wish I was. Radioed in already, but the storm’s getting worse. Roads are shot to hell.” I step inside. “I’ll try again in a bit.”
She squints. “You’re stuck here?”
“Looks like it.”
She stares at me, and I stare back. There’s a long crackling pause, and I watch her hand tighten on the edge of the blanket.
“Cool,” she says finally. “Super festive.”
I don’t acknowledge that, just start unzipping my turnout coat and drape it over the nearest chair.
Frankie’s eyes snap downward, and she tracks the slow slide of my undershirt as I yank it over my head. Watches the way it pulls across my chest and shoulders.
Her blanket slips an inch lower, and my mouth twitches.
“Problem?” I ask.
Her gaze jerks back up. “You’re dripping on the floor.”
“I’m not the only one, I don't think.”
She chokes. “Excuse me?”
I give her a grin, and finish taking my gear off, while she throws me a look that could cauterize.
“If I’d known you were gonna get stuck here, I would’ve gladly walked back to the Parnell's.”
“Mm, lucky me.”
I turn away, scanning the cabin with more focus. Small kitchenette, fireplace, couch, armchair, one closed door.
“Gonna see if there’s anything dry I can borrow from their closet,” I say, already moving toward the bedroom.
I push open the bedroom door to find it tidy. Cozy. A little messy in the way you expect—one boot near the wall, a cardigan draped over the chair, and a bottle of water on the nightstand.
And on the other side of the bed—
Well.
There’s a sleek purple vibrator, a small bottle of lube, and a shiny gold plug glinting with a red gem on the end.
Every cell in my body locks up, and my jaw flexes, gaze dragging slowly across the evidence of what she was probably preparing to do right before I knocked again. It explains the flushed cheeks and the way she’s barely making eye contact.
Suddenly I’m way too aware of the way my pants cling to me, which is at the exact moment she walks in and stops dead.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
I open my mouth to say something that might smooth it over. That might not imply I’m rock hard and imagining exactly what she’d look like with that plug in, but she speaks first.
“That’s not mine,” she blurts.
My brow lifts at the world’s worst lie.
“No?”
“Well. I mean, I didn’t bring it here.”
I nod slowly with a hum, as if that explains everything.
With a groan, she swipes a hand down her face, and turns like to leave—then spins back again, her blanket slumping off one shoulder.
She notices and yanks it back up, but I’ve already seen the curve of her collarbone. The way her nipples are tight against her tank top.
“I didn’t think anyone was gonna knock again while I was—” She gestures wildly. “—preparing to be emotionally resilient.”
“Emotionally resilient.”
“Yes.”
My mouth curves. “You always that emotionally resilient?”
“Don’t shame me.”
“Oh, I’m not shaming you.”
If anything, I’m seconds away from getting down on my knees and thanking her. But I manage to keep it together by biting through my damn tongue and standing stock still.
“What,” she whispers, a crease forming between her eyes. “You got more to say about it, smartass?”
I step closer, just one pace, but enough to tower over her.
“I was gonna say,” I murmur, “it’s funny you say that.”
She crosses her arms.
“Because I’ve heard you being emotionally resilient.”
Her eyes narrow. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I ask. “Don’t mention how I’ve heard every filthy sound you make when you think about me?”
Her jaw tightens, but her pupils blow wide.
“Or don’t bring up the way you begged me to let you come?” I keep going, lowering my voice. “Or remind you that you always came hardest with my voice in your ear, how you fucked yourself for me, moaning at the thought of me bending you over the couch?”
“And you,” she snaps, voice fiery in challenge now. “Gripping your cock and grunting like you couldn’t breathe without my moan in your ear. ‘Harder, Red.’ ‘Fuck, just like that.’ Don’t act like you weren’t just as fucking gone.”
I grin. “Oh, I was very gone. Still am.”
There’s a pause, and I let it stretch, just so she can hear my next words clearly.
“I came so hard to the sound of you I saw stars, Frankie. And then I did it again. And again. Couldn’t stop. Still can’t.”
I take another step forward, and her back hits the edge of the drawers.
“I’ve been obsessed with you since the first goddamn night.”
She exhales shakily, blinking fast. My eyes coast slowly over her face, and I reach a finger out to loop a strand of her red hair.
“You gonna be resilient now, sweetheart?” I whisper, my eyes falling to where her hands twitch against the edge of the drawers. “Or you gonna show me what I’ve been missing?”
Her chin lifts like she’s about to spit something cutting, but her eyes say otherwise. They dart down to my mouth, my chest, then to my fingers fondling her hair.
When they raise back to mine, they’re furious and feral.
I smirk, and that’s all it takes.
She lunges, and I catch her.
Our mouths collide hard, her fingers tangle in my shirt, and the blanket falls to the floor as I haul her flush against me.
Her thighs wrap around me, heat blazing through the thin cotton of those tiny sleep shorts as she grabs my face with both hands and kisses me.
It’s weeks of frustration, silence, and tension snapping loose. Her tongue swipes across my lip and I groan, twisting her until her back hits the wall beside the bed.
She gasps, then bites my lip.
“Fuck,” I mutter, fingers sliding under the hem of her tank top. “How are you real.”
“I’m right fucking here.”
She tugs my shirt up, and I help her rip it off. Her breath stutters when I lean in, hips grinding just enough to make her whimper.
She fists my waistband, voice cracking. “Off. Now.”
“Say please.”
She scoffs. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re soaked.”
Her breath catches as I glide my hand between her thighs. Even over the material of her shorts I can feel the heat and wet already there.
“Mmm, so wet for me, Red.”
The second that name leaves my mouth, something shifts.