13. Mason
13
MASON
I t’s early morning when Shelby stirs, her small movements rousing me from the light sleep I drifted into sometime before dawn.
I blink against the soft gray light filtering through the windows, the slow realization settling in—she’s still here. Her warmth, her weight, her scent, all wrapped around me like something I don’t deserve.
She’s curled into me, her head resting in my lap, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other lightly fisted against my thigh. I’ve been in this position all night, sitting upright on the sectional, cradling her against me, afraid to shift too much in case it woke her.
It’s such a simple thing. Basic, even.
But fuck, it feels intimate .
More intimate than anything I’ve ever known.
I don’t tell her that I got the message late last night—that the house was cleared barely fifteen minutes after she fell asleep. That I could have woken her, taken her home, let her slip away into whatever comes next.
I didn’t want her to leave.
I didn’t want to break this quiet, this impossible moment where she let her guard down enough to sleep against me—to trust me, even after everything that’s happened.
Shelby shifts again, a sleepy sigh escaping her lips, and that’s when I feel it.
The sharp awareness of her softness pressing against me. The dull, aching need that’s been coiling tighter all night, ignored, shoved aside in favor of protecting her, keeping her safe, making sure she wasn’t drowning in the horrors of last night.
But fuck, my body doesn’t give a damn about the moral high ground.
She stirs, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheek, and then her eyes blink open—still heavy with sleep, still unfocused.
And then she feels it.
The tension in my body. The hard length beneath her head.
I watch the realization creep across her face. The way her throat bobs, the way she tenses, fighting the urge to either bolt or close her eyes and pretend she’s still asleep.
Her gaze flickers up to mine.
Embarrassment colors her expression, and she makes a feeble attempt to shift away.
I catch her wrist before she can.
A slow, lazy grin tugs at my lips.
“Morning, princess.”
She swallows, her pulse ticking in her throat. “Mason?—”
I lift a brow, feigning innocence. “Something wrong?”
Her cheeks darken. “I—um—I should probably?—”
“Move?” I murmur, still grinning, despite the fact that I’m a ching .
She nods, her breath uneven, her body still stiff with indecision.
I let my fingers skim over the delicate bones of her wrist. I can’t take my eyes off her.
I’ve never had a woman in my lap before. Never had one grace the walls of this house, touch my space, slip so easily into my world without me even realizing it was happening.
The closest I ever came to something resembling a relationship was Mia’s mother.
Elizabeth.
Tommy’s wife.
Our relationship was unconventional, private, built on trust and understanding. A three-way thing, never spoken about beyond the three of us. Tommy, Lizzie, and me, circling each other like magnets.
She gave us three beautiful girls—two his, one mine.
Mia. My daughter.
She never knew. None of them did. I was just Uncle Mason , the guy who hovered close, who loved her like his own because she was mine, even if she didn’t know it. And Tommy and Lizzie let me be there, let me take on that role, let me have her in my life in whatever way I could.
I haven’t seen her since I got out of jail.
That was supposed to be my first stop after leaving Shelby’s house. I was going to go to her. But instead, I found myself circling back, only to land in the middle of a fucking hurricane—a dead cop on Shelby’s floor, a problem so big it swallowed every other priority I had.
I shake the thought off. I’ll deal with it later. Right now, there’s something else demanding my attention.
Something warm. Soft. Right in front of me.
Shelby shifts again, stretching her legs out, rolling her neck, and in doing so, she brushes against me.
I bite back a groan, tipping my head back against the couch, praying for an ounce of fucking self-control.
But she notices.
Her gaze flicks to me, eyes widening slightly, her lips parting like she wants to say something, but the words get tangled somewhere in her throat.
And just like that, the air between us shifts.
The exhaustion, the tension, the uncertainty of last night—it all melts into something else .
Something charged…and dangerous.
She licks her lips, and my pulse fucking jumps.
I watch her. Study her. Wait to see if she’s going to say what we both already know.
Her breath is shallow, and every last bit of control I’ve been holding onto for hours snaps like a live wire.
She doesn’t realize what she’s doing to me.
Doesn’t realize that sleeping in my lap all night, pressed against me like she belongs here, has been its own brand of torture.
I barely slept. I didn’t even try.
I just sat here, watching her, feeling her, my fingers in her hair, my mind unraveling piece by piece until my brain finally succumbed to mental exhaustion.
She shifts again, her head dragging against my cock, still heavy, aching, and I let out a breath through my nose, forcing restraint I don’t fucking have anymore.
We both feel it.
The thick, charged air, the way her body hasn’t moved away yet. The way she’s still watching me, pupils blown wide, pulse hammering at her throat.
I drag my knuckles down her arm, slow, deliberate, watching the way her skin breaks out in goosebumps.
“You’re playing with fire, sweetheart,” I murmur, my voice dropping low.
She licks her lips.
It’s the smallest movement, but it’s all the confirmation I need.
I grab her by the waist and flip her, pinning her beneath me.
She gasps, sharp, startled, but I don’t give her time to think.
I grip her wrists and shove them above her head, my weight pressing her into the cushions.
She should fight me.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she arches against me, her chest heaving, her body already softening beneath mine like she’s just been waiting for me to take control.
My lips curl, dragging my teeth down her jaw, lingering at the pulse pounding in her throat.
“You gonna tell me to stop?” I murmur, my breath hot against her skin.
Her fingers twitch in my grip, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps.
I bite the inside of my cheek, waiting.
She tilts her chin up, baring her throat.
Fucking perfect.
I crash my mouth against hers, swallowing the small whimper she lets out.
This isn’t soft. It isn’t sweet. It’s brutal, claiming, dark, the kind of kiss that demands surrender.
And she gives it.
She melts, moans, her nails digging into my arms, her hips lifting, pressing, fucking begging.
I tear my mouth from hers, dragging my teeth down the curve of her throat, down to her shoulder. I bite down hard enough to leave a mark.
Shelby gasps, her fingers tightening around my wrists.
I smirk against her skin. “You like that, don’t you?”
She doesn’t answer.
I drag my tongue over the mark, soothing it, before lifting up just enough to look into her eyes.
“I asked you a question, sweetheart.”
She shivers, her thighs clenching around my hips. “Mason?—”
I snap my hips forward, pressing my cock against the thin barrier of my sweats that she’s still wearing.
She moans, her head tipping back, exposing more of her throat to me.
I grip her chin, forcing her to look at me.
“Say it.”
Her breath stutters. “I—I like it.”
I grin. “That’s a good girl.”
I yank my shirt off her body, exposing her completely, her nipples hard, her skin flushed, her stomach rising and falling with every breath.
She should be shy. She should cover herself. But she doesn’t.
She just looks up at me, her cheeks pink, her lips swollen, her eyes clouded with dark desire.
She wants this. Wants me. And fuck, I want to ruin her.
I tear the sweats off her hips, sliding them slow, teasing, dragging the fabric down her thighs just to hear her whimper when I leave her completely bare.
I drag my knuckles between her legs, parting her folds, feeling how wet she is for me.
“So fucking ready,” I mutter, pressing my thumb to her clit.
She jerks, moaning, her legs spreading wider in silent invitation.
“God, you’re so fucking pretty like this.” I run my fingers over her again, barely pressing, just enough to make her squirm.
“Mason,” she breathes, her fingers curling into the couch cushions.
I tear my sweats off, freeing myself, my cock aching, hard, already leaking.
I don’t give her time to prepare.
I grip her thighs, drag her flush against me, and slam inside her in one brutal stroke.
Shelby cries out, her body tight, so fucking tight, so goddamn perfect.
I bite down a curse, gripping her hips so hard I’ll leave bruises.
“Fuck,” I mutter, gritting my teeth, trying to keep my control.
She’s trembling, clutching at me, her mouth parted, gasping for air.
“You okay?” I rasp, my forehead pressing against hers.
She nods frantically, her nails digging into my back. “More.”
I let out a rough chuckle, gripping her jaw, forcing her to look at me.
“You want more?” I roll my hips, making her gasp, whimper, arch.
I pull out, slow, teasing, torturing her—then slam back in.
Shelby groans.
Her head tips back, her mouth falling open, her thighs locking around me as I start fucking her hard, relentless, deep.
The couch creaks beneath us, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air, her moans getting breathier, more desperate.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” I groan, pinning her hands above her head, caging her in, owning her.
She’s lost in it now, her body tightening, clenching, ready to break.
I press my fingers against her clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles, and she gasps my name, arching so fucking perfectly against me.
“Come for me,” I demand, my voice low, dark, commanding.
Shelby shatters.
Her body convulses, her back bowing, her sharp cry cutting through the air as she falls apart around me.
The second she tightens, I fucking lose it.
I bury myself deep, grunting against her neck, coming so hard my vision goes black.
For a long time, neither of us moves.
She’s wrecked.
So am I.
I pull out slowly, dragging my fingers through her amber hair, my breath still uneven.
She finally looks up at me, dazed, completely spent.
I smirk.
“I should’ve warned you that you were playing with fire.”
She shivers, and I already know that we’re nowhere near fucking done yet.