Chapter 10
This was my own fault for playing with fire. Mase trusting me with his past hit something deep inside. Even if he didn’t go into detail, he’d come to me. Then I’d gone and pushed him in a way I knew would trigger his baser instincts.
The man couldn’t stand letting himself be vulnerable. I’d expected him to close down or run. I hadn’t expected him to turn the tables so thoroughly. With his words on repeat in my head, I simply gave in.
He won. I didn’t have the space for him in my life, but fuck it. I’d figure it out in the morning.
I couldn’t pull in a full breath, and my body ignited with a slow burn.
His sweats and my shorts did little to soften the hard length of his cock pressing against my ass.
I should have known this was how we’d end up, but I couldn’t muster up a single regret when all I wanted him to do was slide his hand into my shorts.
Mason Black did not disappoint.
He trailed his lips across my shoulder to my neck, sucking lightly before letting out a deep, rough laugh. “I’m not sure that was enthusiastic enough.”
I grabbed his wrist and directed him south. “This isn’t a locker room—but the door’s not locked, and I’m halfway to naked and wet.”
Another low rumble above me and my hips nearly shot off the bed as he dove under the shorts and undies I wore. His fingers were nimble and warm, and he quickly figured out just the right pressure against my clit to have me rolling my hips in rhythm with him.
Mase trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck to my collarbone, then lower to the edge of my sleep tank. I grunted in frustration when he allowed the material to limit his exploration. His hair tickled my cheek as I felt him smile against my skin.
“You want this off?” he rumbled.
“Yes. Fuck, yes,” I panted.
I leaned up a little, and in one easy motion, he yanked the top over my head. Everything in me tightened as he flicked my hard nipple with his tongue. His fingers slicked through my wet pussy and slid inside me—slowly filling me as his palm maintained pressure on my clit.
Involuntarily, my hands clenched, and my short nails dug into his forearm. I didn’t care. I was mumbling nonsense, making tiny whining noises as I got closer and closer, and Mase bit down gently on my nipple.
“God, Mase,” I moaned as lightning flashed behind my closed lids.
The orgasm rocked me to my core, and my body tensed like I’d been tazed. He pulled his fingers from me but continued the pressure until I deflated.
“I’m definitely going to be picturing that during the game tomorrow,” he murmured.
His cock pressed against my thigh, unyielding, and a tiny bit of guilt seeped into the bliss making my body slow and languid. I felt like my blood had been replaced with honey, and my mind refused to engage.
Any fond memories I’d had of other men went up in flames. If he could make me feel that good while fully dressed, what could he do naked?
Mase’s words slowly penetrated along with the realization his hand had moved up to splay over my bare stomach. My sleep tank was missing, but I wasn’t about to stop him from admiring my boobs after the service he’d provided.
“Won’t that be distracting?” I mumbled.
“I can watch the puck and imagine you naked at the same time.”
The guilt returned, stronger this time, and I tried not to be annoyed at myself for feeling like I owed him a sexual favor. Sex didn’t have to be transactional. Mase wasn’t asking for anything else, but it didn’t seem fair to leave him and his poor sleeping habits with a hard on while I passed out.
“Is this going to be a problem for you?” I gestured in the vague direction of his impressive erection.
Mase chuckled. “No. I can handle it. I meant it when I said I only wanted to sleep next to you tonight.”
I squinted at him in the near darkness and tried to muster my thoughts into some semblance of order.
What was the deal if he only wanted to sleep?
Why get me off at all? Why all the talk about fucking me if he didn’t want to follow through?
I sounded crazy even to myself. No wonder he was wary of the mixed signals.
I’d told him letting him sleep in my bed wasn’t an invitation for sex, and now I was getting up in my feels because he listened. He must have read the frustration on my face because he dropped a sweet kiss on my wrist—the way he had before the firestorm—and tucked me against him again.
“You want the truth?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He took a deep breath. “I wasn’t going to escalate beyond a kiss, no matter how much I wanted to. Things got a little out of hand, and I don’t want you to think I’m only here for sex.”
I laughed and a familiar fissure of electricity zipped through me. “What if I’m only here for sex?”
“Then you got what you wanted.”
Several moments passed in charged silence.
“I don’t know what I want,” I admitted.
“Me either.” He didn’t offer pretty words or promises to figure it out together. Just a simple admission that he was as lost as I was. Maybe moreso.
His body slowly relaxed against me as we lay in the dark, breathing together. I’d had my share of guys stay over, but I’d never particularly enjoyed cuddling. They were too cold or too pointy or too horny. Mase was weirdly perfect.
My body got heavier as I drifted toward sleep, but for once, I fought the sensation. Who knew how long he’d be in his generous talky mood. After the events of the last hour, I felt like I needed to know a shit ton more about the guy currently snuggling me.
“How did you end up playing hockey at TU?” I thought the question was pretty innocent, but Mase stiffened slightly.
“Geographical convenience,” he said eventually.
“What does that mean?”
“It was the farthest D1 university from my dad that offered me a scholarship to play.”
My brows rose. “Aren’t you drafted? Couldn’t you just go play with whatever team owns you?”
He rumbled out a laugh. “I’m not a mail order bride.”
I tried to turn, but Mase’s big arm kept me in place. “Don’t tell me those draft events aren’t like cattle auctions.”
“There’s no bidding,” he pointed out reasonably. “The teams pick in order.”
I couldn’t keep the horror from my tone. “And you don’t get a choice?”
“I can choose not to go to the team that picked me. Even with my shitty circumstances, I still want to play.”
He didn’t need to include the last sentence. Clearly, he wanted to talk about it… right? I wavered for a couple more seconds before falling on the side of needing to know.
“What circumstances?”
Mase didn’t answer for a long time, so long I thought he might have fallen asleep.
I wouldn’t be surprised considering he’d played an entire hockey game before coming here.
In the interest of letting him rest—the main reason he’d crawled into my bed in the first place—I closed my eyes and vowed to ask again tomorrow.
“Knowing any choices I made would benefit my dad. He spent my entire life up to that point trying to mold me into his version of a professional hockey player. I wasn’t a kid—I was an asset.
I wasn’t allowed to date, hang out with friends, get a job.
Nothing. My entire life was hockey and him, tied together.
The irony is… I love hockey, but I’m not sure if it’s more than I hate him. ”
I stayed quiet when Mase stopped. He didn’t seem done, and I felt like if I broke the moment we’d never find it again.
“I was tempted to tell him to go fuck himself and sign up for a trade school or something, but the idea of passing on a chance to play… I couldn’t do it. Sometimes I wish I had.”
With him lost in his thoughts, I hazarded another question. “What does that have to do with your dad?”
“He works for the Portland Sound. When the Sound—our hometown team—drafted me early, I knew he’d been involved.
Goalies go late in the draft because there’s usually more development needed beyond juniors.
None of the teams are going to put an eighteen-year-old in front of an open net.
I’m good, but I’m no generational talent. ”
“Why does it matter if your dad was involved?”
“Because I can’t trust the choice. Being drafted doesn’t guarantee I’ll get to play any games, but there’s a very likely chance it will guarantee my dad a nice kickback if I do. He’s heavily involved in the organization, and I’d never be able to escape him.”
Throughout the conversation, his grip on me had tightened until I had to wiggle to restore feeling to the arm underneath me. Mase swore and started to back away, but I grabbed his wrist.
“My arm fell asleep. You’re fine. I’m sorry, Mase.”
“I don’t need pity.”
“How about compassion? Everyone gets hurt sometimes. Your story sucks, but you’re here now. Without him.”
“True,” he said slowly. “It would be awkward as fuck if my dad was here in bed with us.”
I started to smack his arm, then remembered the main reason he hated his dad. He was an abusive asshole. Instead, I rubbed the tattoo-covered skin, surprised when I encountered rough patches that felt like scars.
Shit.
He’d been drafted at eighteen, but Mase was about to finish his last year at TU. If he was here to get away from his dad, what would happen when he returned to his hometown—under his dad’s influence—to play for the team who drafted him?
As if he sensed my sudden concern, he slid his fingers through mine, locking our hands together. “I still have a couple of months before I have to deal with my future. Nothing is going to change overnight. Go to sleep.”
I wasn’t sure I could after his revelations, but I’d been fighting the aftereffects of the orgasm for a while. With his warmth surrounding me and all my muscles relaxed, it was a losing battle.
“Thanks for letting me in, Mase,” I mumbled. “And for getting me off.”
He chuckled, and his lips brushed my temple in a soft kiss. “Anytime, Taryn.”