Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
I plop down on a barstool at the kitchen island, a stack of vegetarian cookbooks fanned out in front of me. My finger trails down recipe titles—chickpea stew, lentil burgers, grilled portobello wraps—until I spot one that makes me smirk.
Fried cauliflower wings with homemade ranch dipping sauce. Perfect.
I haul myself up and start grabbing ingredients from the fridge and cupboards.
Flour, spices, buttermilk, cauliflower florets.
The counter quickly becomes a mess of bowls and cutting boards.
I fall into a rhythm of whisking, dredging, and frying until the battered cauliflower turns golden and crisp in the pan.
Next: Mason’s beloved ranch. I need to nail this, otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it.
I finely chop the fresh dill, parsley, and chives before whisking them into tangy mayonnaise and creamy buttermilk. I dip the tip of my pinky into the mixture and taste it. Not to toot my own horn, but it tastes incredible.
By the time the food’s ready, the sun’s dipping low, casting an amber glow across the white walls. I drape a tablecloth over the dining table, tugging the corners until the creases smooth out beneath my palms.
I set the table with a pair of plates, wine glasses, silverware, and the lilac-scented candle I got from Derek for Christmas last year. I light the wick and watch the flame flicker.
A knock rattles the door, I rush to answer it, my fuzzy socks skating across the tile. I inhale a deep breath and open it.
Mason’s standing on the doorstep looking like an Abercrombie and Fitch model. He’s wearing a pair of jeans that hug his thick thighs and a green T-shirt that makes his hazel eyes pop.
“Hey, babyface,” he purrs, walking inside.
The door’s barely shut before he hooks a fist in my collar and pulls me into a kiss—hungry and messy, like we didn’t just see each other a few hours ago on his lunch break.
When he finally pulls back, his gaze sweeps over me, slow and heated. “You look good,” he murmurs.
I snort because I know he’s lying. My clothes are dusted with flour and buttermilk stains from cooking.
“Come on. Let’s eat,” I insist, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the dining room.
“Damn,” he whistles, eyeing the candlelight and neatly set table. Each plate is piled high with a tower of fried cauliflower wings, still hot from the stove, steam curling into the air. A small ramekin of homemade ranch sits beside them, flecked with green herbs.
I reach for my chair, but Mason beats me to it, dragging it back with a low screech against the floor.
“Such a gentleman,” I tease, easing myself onto the seat.
He pushes me in, grinning like he’s proud of himself. Then he sits across from me, the candlelight catching his golden curls. He picks up a wing, inspecting it suspiciously.
“What is this? Looks like a chicken wing.”
“Cauliflower wings,” I say.
His eyes widen. “This is cauliflower? The lumpy white vegetable?”
I chuckle. “Yeah. Cauliflower is delicious.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He dunks the wing into the ranch, coating it until it’s dripping, and pops it into his mouth. His eyebrows lift in slow surprise. “Holy fuck,” he moans.
I smirk. “Told you I could make vegetables taste good.”
We eat together with an ease that feels almost effortless, laughing and talking between bites.
I catch myself watching the way his eyes flutter shut with each slow, savoring chew.
I didn’t realize how much I’d missed this—cooking for someone else, sharing food that isn’t eaten in silence.
Back when Travis and I lived together, making dinner for him was always my favorite part of the day.
Mason polishes off another wing as he tells me about his day, his voice softening when he mentions his sister’s report card—two A’s and four B’s. Pride glows in his eyes as he explains how he surprised her with merch from her favorite boyband as a reward.
He sounds like the kind of brother I wish I had. That easy protectiveness, that instinct to keep someone safe and happy. It makes something in my chest ache.
When we’re done eating, he doesn’t even hesitate—just stacks the plates, carries them to the sink, and starts washing despite my protests.
“Sit,” he orders, pointing to the couch. “You’ve done enough.”
When he finally returns, he wipes his soapy hands on his jeans before flopping down next to me, legs spread wide in a way that makes my pulse stumble. The way he takes up space unapologetically is so attractive.
“Thanks for dinner,” he says, rubbing a slow circle over his stomach. “It was delicious.”
“You’re welcome. I hope the ranch met your standards.”
“It did. And I have really high standards.”
“Mhm,” I say, biting my bottom lip. “If I remember correctly, I was promised dessert in exchange.”
He smirks, leaning in. “Impatient, hm?”
I scrunch my nose at him. “Shut up. I just cooked you dinner. You’re not allowed to make fun of me.”
He chuckles, then cups my face and kisses me. Slow, unhurried, but deep enough to make my toes curl. The faint taste of white wine lingers between us.
His hand drifts to my back, tracing down my spine until it rests at the hem of my shorts. He palms my ass through the denim—greedy, possessive—and I can’t hold back the moan it drags out of me.
“You’re so beautiful,” Mason murmurs, voice low and rough. The sincerity in it makes me squirm.
“Bedroom?” I pant.
“Yeah,” he growls.
Before I can stand, he’s lifting me—hands under my thighs, pulling me into him so my legs wrap around his waist. My arms hook around his shoulders instinctively.
“Jesus,” I mutter, heat rushing to my face. “I can walk, you know.”
“No,” he says firmly, like it’s not up for debate.
He carries me up the stairs without even breaking a sweat. I kiss along his neck, biting lightly at the skin. His fingers dig into my ass, holding me tighter, until we reach my room.
He drops me onto the bed, the mattress bouncing under the weight as he crawls on top of me. His gaze sweeps over my face slowly as his thumb traces my jawline.
“Have I ever mentioned how much I love your glasses?” he asks.
I swallow. “No.”
“Well, I do. They’re so fucking sexy.”
I shut my eyes. I can’t look at him when says things like this. It’s too much.
His palm slips under my shirt, warm and slow. He tugs at the hem, and I lift enough for him to peel it off. Cold air prickles my skin, making my nipples perk up. He sits back on his heels, stripping his own shirt.
My eyes catch on his chest, the canvas of muscle and sheen of sweat. Lower, the unmistakable bulge pressing against his jeans. My brain short-circuits at the thought that I’m the reason he’s hard.
He grinds down against me, letting me feel the outline of his rigid cock, but it’s not enough. He fumbles with the button of my shorts, kissing down my bare chest before catching my nipple between his teeth. I gasp, arching into it, my dick twitching.
He yanks down my shorts to free my cock. He strokes me gently, thumbing over the slit to draw out a bead of precome.
“Mason,” I groan, desperate for more.
“Turn over,” he instructs in a low, sultry tone.
A shiver rattles through me as I flip onto my stomach. He palms my ass, pressing his crotch against me, letting me feel him. I groan and push back eagerly.
He hovers over me and presses a kiss between my shoulder blades. His mouth trails down my spine, pausing to leave a kiss at every vertebrae. He seems to be in no hurry at all.
“I love your tattoo,” he murmurs, giving it a soft peck.
I whimper in response, unable to form words.
“So pretty,” he purrs, his breath hot against my skin.
His nose nudges between my cheeks, and I let out a helpless, high-pitched sound. He spreads me open, cool air washing over my skin.
“Do you like getting eaten out?” he asks, his mouth hovering over my hole.
My eyes squeeze shut. I bury my face into the mattress, refusing to look at him. God, this is so embarrassing.
“I- I don’t know,” I admit, voice muffled.
“You don’t know?”
I turn my face, eyes still closed. “I’ve never… tried it.”
He pauses. “Nobody’s ever done this to you?”
My throat tightens. I refuse to tell him I’ve only been with one guy before him, and that eating my ass definitely wasn’t an option on the table. I’d brought it up to Travis once, which had been a mistake. He’d scowled at me and told me it was disgusting—that the thought of doing it repulsed him.
I feel myself shaking my head.
“That’s a shame,” he says, clicking his tongue. “An ass this pretty deserves to be worshipped.”
It takes every fiber of self-control to stop myself from humping the mattress. I’m embarrassingly close to coming, and he’s barely touched me.
“Can I?” he asks gently, squeezing my hip.
I let out a shaky breath. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to. Please, let me make you feel good, Hunter.”
A whimper rips out of my throat. “Okay. Yes.”
He eagerly pulls my cheeks apart, stubble scraping my sensitive skin. I hold my breath, my entire body tensing. His tongue flickers against my entrance, light and gentle, like he’s warming me up for the main event.
Finally, he licks a wide stripe over my hole. The sensation sends a pang of arousal straight to my cock, filling me with panic. My body jolts, slamming my ass into his face, hard. His mouth slams shut with a clash of teeth.
“Ow! Jesus Christ, Hunter,” he groans.
I peek over my shoulder, mortified.“Sorry!”
He sits back on his heels, rubbing his jaw, half-laughing. “Did it feel okay?”
“Yeah,” I croak quietly. “Really good.”
His lips twitch into a smirk. “Promise not to smack me with your ass again?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Alright. Just relax for me.”
He spreads my cheeks apart and nuzzles his face between them, his breath hot against my twitching hole. His tongue darts out, teasing light flickers around my rim. It feels wet and tingly and so goddamn good. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
His tongue rolls to a point and nudges inside.
“Oh, God,” I groan, lifting my hips, back arching.
He fucks me with his tongue, slow and deliberate. My brain dials in on the hot, wet slide of him dipping in and out of me. I grind against his face, moaning, wanton and desperate. I barely recognize my own voice.
This is unreal. I can’t believe I went twenty-three years without feeling this.
A finger nudges against my hole before slipping inside.
“Fuck! Mason!”
He grabs my thighs and tugs me down the bed, pulling me tight against his face. His tongue pistons inside as he fucks me with his finger, stretching me open. He curls it skillfully and brushes my prostate.
I can’t take it. “I’m—Mason, I’m gonna—”
He doesn’t stop. He sucks at my rim, nibbling gently as he slips another finger inside. He pumps them steadily and eats me out like he’s starving for it—like he’s starving for me.
I reach between my legs and grip my cock, giving myself a few frantic strokes before I come hard. My release splatters hot across my stomach while he gives my tender hole soothing licks.
Mason pulls out his fingers, and my breath hitches at the emptiness. The mattress dips as he collapses next to me.
I refuse to look at him. That was too much.
“I’m dead,” I mumble into the mattress.
He chuckles, the sound warm and low, and gently rolls me onto my back. My eyes stay stubbornly shut.
“Was that okay?” he asks, combing through my hair.
“More than okay,” I mutter, cracking one eye open to meet his. “Do you really like doing that?”
“I do.” His mouth morphs into a soft smile. “I like making you feel good.”
I feel myself blushing. “Thanks. It was, um. Really good.”
His grin shifts, a flash of mischief in his eyes as he bites his lower lip. “Watching you come like that was really fucking hot.”
God. He’s trying to kill me.
Fighting through my post-orgasm fog, I finally notice he’s squeezing his hard cock through his jeans, and I feel selfish. I swat his hand away before straddling his thighs.
“Wanna blow you.”
“Shit. Okay, yeah. Let me just…” He fumbles to disconnect his pump, setting it gently aside before tugging his jeans and boxers down just far enough to free himself.
“I won’t last long,” he warns, voice ragged. “I nearly came in my pants just from eating you out.”
His words burn through me with an agonizing heat. My mouth dips to the head of his cock, and I slowly sink down, forcing my throat to relax. His girth stretches my mouth in a way that makes my spent cock twitch.
I bob my head up and down, tongue flat against him. He gazes down at me with heavy-lidded eyes as his hips stutter beneath me. I suck him nice and slow, fisting the bottom of his cock.
I grip his thighs, feeling the muscles twitch beneath me. His fingers find my hair, tugging gently and guiding me down until my nose brushes the coarse hair at his base.
“God, Hunter,” he pants. “You’re so fucking—so good at this. So goddamn beautiful.”
He says it like he means it. Like he wants me to believe it, too.
When he comes, it’s with a broken, strangled moan, his whole body trembling under my hands. I swallow every drop, my tongue teasing the sensitive head until he flinches.
When I pull off, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and flop down next to him. His sweat-damp chest rises and falls with slow, focused breaths. He turns to look at me with a soft, blissed-out smile.
“So good,” is all he says, voice syrupy and sleepy.
He pulls me into his arms, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. His fingertips draw lazy shapes on my back.
“I like you, Hunter,” he says quietly.
It’s not a shocking admission, but it still takes my breath away. Because the first few times I met Mason, I thought I hated him. I thought he was just another small-town douchebag with perfect abs and an ego to match.
But since then, the evidence has proved me wrong. Mason is one of the kindest humans I’ve ever met.
“I like you too, Mason.”
We stay tangled like that until the mess between us turns sticky and uncomfortable. With a reluctant sigh, we separate. Mason stretches, his muscles pulling in every direction, and his gaze snags on the potted Monstera by my window.
“What?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes at the labeled popsicle stick. “Really? You named this plant Keanu Leaves?”
A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. “What? He’s tall and handsome. Just like Keanu Reeves.”
Mason shakes his head with a disbelieving grin, leaning over to kiss me one last time before heading toward the bathroom. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, but his voice is warm.
A terrifying realization dawns on me: I’ve never felt more at ease with someone. Breaking this off is going to hurt like hell.