24. Mason
24
MASON
F or years, I watched them fall.
One by one, my friends, my colleagues—the men I fought beside, bled beside— fell to the pull of a woman.
It was almost comical. The way each one of them swore up and down that it would never happen, that they were different, that they were built for this world—not for love, not for softness, not for the kind of devotion that puts a man on his knees.
And every time one of them went down, I shook my head, smug in my certainty that I would never be that guy.
The perennial bachelor.
That’s how I liked to think of myself. Untouchable. Unshackled. Free.
But now?
Now, I know the truth.
Because here I am, shooting myself in my own goddamn foot, staring at a woman who has me by the throat in the best way possible, and I know—I know—I’ll never walk away from this.
From her.
I can already hear the laughter, the shit-eating grins from the guys when they find out. The smug I-told-you-so’s, the knowing looks. Because they’ve all been here before.
They knew.
They knew that it wasn’t about weakness.
That it was never about giving up some imagined freedom.
It was about having something beyond yourself to fight for.
For years, I thought this life—the blood, the power, the loyalty of my brothers—was enough. That I didn’t need anything outside of it. That love—real love—was a distraction at best, a liability at worst.
But then Shelby happened.
And now?
Now I can’t even tell you what my life was before her.
I try to remember it, but it’s like looking into a black hole. Empty. Void of color. Nothing but endless nights, fleeting highs, and a hunger that never quite settled.
I thought I was living. I thought I had everything I needed. But I see it for what it was now.
A fucking mirage.
Because now that I’ve had her—now that I’ve felt her beneath me, all soft and perfect, now that I’ve memorized the way she breathes my name, the way she lets me in in a way no one else ever has?—
There’s no going back.
No world where I don’t wake up next to her.
No life where she isn’t woven into my very bones.
I drag a hand down my face, exhaling slowly, trying to make sense of the mess I’ve become.
I was so sure.
So damn sure that no woman would ever do this to me. That no woman could ever hold this kind of power over me.
But Shelby?
She doesn’t hold power over me.
She is the power.
And now, the only question left is?—
How the hell did I ever think I could live without her?
She’s got this cute way of scrunching up her nose when she smiles. Like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. Like it’s this unguarded, accidental thing she gives me, and Jesus, does it wreck me.
Because when Shelby smiles, the whole goddamn room lights up. She lights up.
And me?
I’m a man who’s spent too much of his life in the dark.
My fingers tighten on her thighs, dragging her closer on the countertop, pulling her flush against me. She gasps softly, her hands gripping my shoulders, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist like she belongs there.
Like she was made to fit against me.
I can’t fucking breathe.
I tilt my head down, brushing my lips against her ear, my voice low, rough. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”
Her fingers dig into my shoulders. “Show me.”
Fuck. A challenge.
I don’t hesitate. I lift her, her body molding to mine, and walk us through the house like I own every inch of her—like I have the right to. Because maybe I do.
Because maybe she’s already mine.
Shelby clings to me, her breath warm against my neck, her lips pressing tentative, heated kisses along my jaw. She’s fire.
And I want to burn in her.
We reach my room, and the second I kick the door shut, I press her against it. Hard. Her back meets wood, and her breath stutters—half a gasp, half a plea—before she fists her hands in my shirt, pulling me down to her mouth.
And when we kiss, it’s not sweet. It’s not careful.
It’s a collision, an explosion, a claim.
My hands slide up her thighs, gripping, kneading, feeling the way she trembles against me. She’s soft everywhere I’m hard, warm everywhere I’m burning, and when she moans into my mouth, I nearly lose it.
“Bed,” she breathes against my lips. “Now.”
I tear myself away from the door and take us to the bed in three long strides, lowering her onto the mattress like she’s something fragile—but the way she looks at me? Like she wants me to ruin her?
I know fragility has nothing to do with this.
I brace myself over her, my hands framing her face, thumbs stroking the delicate line of her jaw as I take her in. Her eyes are dark, dazed, her lips swollen from my kiss.
And still—she waits.
Like she’s giving me the chance to slow this down.
To make this something soft.
But she should know by now...
There’s nothing soft about the way I want her.
“Mason,” she whispers, arching up against me. “Please.”
I groan, dragging my lips down her throat, tasting her skin, feeling the frantic beat of her pulse beneath my tongue. My hands move to her shirt, slipping beneath it, feeling the bare, heated skin of her waist, the perfect curve of her hips.
She’s so fucking responsive.
Every touch electrifies her.
Every kiss undoes her.
And when I pull her shirt off and toss it aside, my breath catches.
She’s beautiful.
All soft curves and flushed skin, her body writhing beneath mine, her fingers tangling in my hair as I kiss my way down, down, down...
She gasps, arching into me, and I murmur against her skin, voice dark, possessive.
“Shelby, you’re mine.”
She shatters beneath me.
And I don’t stop.
Not until she knows it.
Not until I prove it.
Not until there’s nothing left between us but heat, skin, and the kind of ruin that neither of us will ever recover from.
She’s stretched out beneath me, all flushed skin and ragged breath, her hair fanning across the pillows like she was made to be laid bare for me.
And I don’t come up for air.
I won’t.
Not when she tastes like this.
Not when she sounds like this.
Not when her body is so fucking soft beneath my hands—trembling, arching, offering itself to me like a prayer I don’t deserve but will take anyway.
I drag my palms down her thighs, spreading them wider, pressing them into the mattress until she’s laid out for me—open and fucking perfect.
Shelby whimpers, a hand sliding into my hair, gripping tight like she needs something to hold onto, but I’m not giving her stability.
Not yet.
I want her wrecked.
I want her desperate.
I want her to know—to feel—that this isn’t just hunger, not just sex.
It’s devotion.
I kiss the inside of her thigh, slow, deliberate, my teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp, to make her shudder. Her breath stutters, fingers curling against my scalp, her thighs trembling against my palms.
I glance up at her—fucking ruined already—and grin against her skin.
“Mason…”
Her voice is breathless, wrecked, like she’s already half gone, but I haven’t even given her a fraction of what I want to.
I hum against her skin, dragging my mouth higher, my tongue tracing a slow, torturous path until I reach the center of her, where she’s already soaking for me.
I groan, the sound vibrating against her, and fuck me, she reacts.
Her whole body jerks, a broken little gasp leaving her lips as her fingers tighten in my hair, her thighs clenching around my head like she doesn’t know whether she wants to pull me closer or push me away.
Like she can’t handle this.
But she will.
I press her thighs wider, pinning her down—my grip firm, possessive—and then—then—I give her my mouth.
I taste her.
A deep, slow stroke of my tongue that has her crying out, her back bowing, her nails dragging across my scalp.
Fuck.
I don’t stop.
I don’t let her catch her breath.
I devour her.
Long, slow drags of my tongue—teasing her, learning her, mapping out every single sound that falls from her lips, every little shudder that wracks her body.
I circle, I suck, I take my time until she’s coming undone beneath me—her thighs trembling, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps.
She’s falling.
And I’m catching her.
I slide a hand up her stomach, pressing my palm against the frantic beat of her heart as my tongue moves faster, more focused, more ruthless.
She’s so close.
I feel it. The way her legs tighten. The way her body tenses. The way her fingers shake as they grip my hair, as her hips move—seeking more, needing more, breaking for more.
“Mason—”
I growl against her, pinning her hips down, locking my arms around her thighs because she isn’t escaping this.
She’s mine.
And I’m going to make sure she never fucking forgets it.
Her body bows, her breath catches, and then?—
She breaks.
A sharp cry, a full-body tremor, her fingers tightening in my hair as her pleasure rips through her.
I don’t stop.
I don’t let her go.
I keep my mouth on her, my tongue lapping up every broken sound, every tremor, every piece of her as she shatters.
I don’t stop until she’s pleading, pushing at my shoulders, her body too sensitive, too wrecked.
Only then do I pull back, my lips slick, my breathing rough, and I watch her fall apart beneath me.
Eyes closed. Chest heaving. Skin flushed.
Fucking beautiful.
I kiss the inside of her thigh one last time, then slide up her body, pressing my mouth against hers so she can taste herself on my lips.
I smirk against her mouth. And whisper, “I’m not done with you yet.”
Maybe I’ll never be done with her.