Chapter 18
SIENNA
The desert air was still warm even though the sun had dropped behind the mountains two hours ago.
I stood barefoot on the wide wooden deck of the house Mason had finished building on his forty acres, a glass of cold white wine in one hand and the new platinum-and-diamond band on my left ring finger catching the last streaks of sunset.
Six weeks since Vegas. Six weeks since I’d signed my name next to his on that cheap chapel paperwork and then spent the next twenty-eight hours letting him fuck me senseless in a penthouse hot tub until the word “marriage” stopped feeling like a legal shield and started feeling like something alive under my skin.
I was addicted. I didn’t care about bets, cat calls or who broke first.
To the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t watching. To the growl in his voice when he called me “wife.” To the thick, heavy stretch of him when he buried himself so deep I forgot every reason I’d ever had for running.
Speak of the devil.
The sliding door behind me opened. Mason stepped out wearing nothing but low-slung gray sweatpants and that lazy, dangerous smirk that always made my thighs clench.
His chest was still damp from the shower, ink and muscle gleaming under the string lights Regan had insisted we hang along the railing.
“You’re thinking too loud again, wife.”
I turned, letting the silk robe I’d stolen from his closet slip open just enough to show the lace edge of the tiny white thong Regan had packed in that “voodoo” gift bag. The same one I’d worn the night we got married. I’d been saving it.
“Am I?” I took a slow sip of wine, letting my tongue catch the drop on my bottom lip. “Maybe I’m just wondering how long it’s going to take my husband to come over here and remind me why I agreed to all this.”
His eyes darkened. That was all the warning I got.
He crossed the deck in three strides, plucked the glass from my hand, and set it on the railing. Then he backed me up against the thick wooden post, caging me with his arms on either side of my head.
“Careful, Sienna,” he rasped, voice gravel-rough. “You keep talking like that and I’m gonna bend you over this railing and fuck you so hard the neighbors hear you screaming my name.”
“We don’t have neighbors for three miles.”
His grin turned feral. “Exactly.”
He didn’t kiss me gently. He never did when I pushed him like this.
His mouth crashed down on mine, tongue sliding deep, claiming, tasting the wine I’d been drinking and the dirty little promise I’d just made.
I moaned into it, fingers threading through his damp hair, tugging hard enough to make him growl.
He shoved the robe off my shoulders. It pooled at my feet. The cool night air hit my skin and my nipples tightened instantly under the thin white lace bra. Mason’s big hands cupped my breasts, thumbs dragging over the stiff peaks through the fabric until I was arching into him.
“These tits,” he muttered, dragging his mouth down my throat. “Been thinking about them all fucking day.”
He yanked the bra cups down and sucked one nipple into his hot mouth, hard. I cried out, back bowing. He switched to the other, biting just enough to sting before soothing it with his tongue. My hands fisted in his hair, holding him there while heat pooled low in my belly.
“Mason… please…”
He dropped to his knees right there on the deck, hooked his fingers in the thong, and ripped it down my legs. No patience. No teasing. He spread my thighs wide and buried his face between them.
“Oh fuck—” The words tore out of me as his tongue dragged through my already soaked folds.
He licked me like a starving man, long, filthy strokes that ended with his lips closing around my clit and sucking hard.
Two thick fingers pushed inside me, curling instantly against that perfect spot that made my knees buckle.
He didn’t let me fall. One strong arm banded around my ass, holding me up while he devoured me.
The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth mixed with my broken moans and the distant desert wind.
I looked down and the sight of him—my husband, on his knees, eyes locked on mine while he fucked me with his tongue and fingers—sent me spiraling.
I came hard, thighs shaking, a sharp cry ripping from my throat as my pussy clenched around his fingers. He didn’t stop. He kept licking me through it, drawing it out until I was whimpering and trying to push his head away.
He rose, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and spun me around so fast my palms slapped the railing. The cool wood pressed against my breasts. He kicked my legs wider.
“Gonna fuck my wife now,” he growled against my ear, shoving his sweatpants down. His cock—thick, heavy, veined—slapped against my ass. “Gonna fill this tight little pussy until you’re dripping me for days.”
I pushed back against him, needy and shameless. “Then do it, already.”
He lined up and thrust in with one brutal stroke.
I screamed.
He was so thick, stretching me open, the blunt head dragging right over my G-spot on the very first pass. He didn’t give me time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed in again, setting a punishing rhythm that had my toes curling against the deck.
“Fuck, Sienna— so goddamn tight. Still so wet for me even after you came all over my face.”
His hand fisted in my hair, tugging my head back so he could bite the side of my neck. The other hand slid around to rub tight, perfect circles over my clit. Every thrust dragged the thick head of his cock across that spongy spot inside me until I was seeing stars.
I came again, harder this time, walls fluttering and squeezing around him like I was trying to keep him forever.
He groaned, deep and filthy. “That’s it, baby. Milk my cock. Take every inch like the good little wife you are.”
He fucked me through it, never slowing, hips slapping against my ass, balls hitting my clit with every thrust. The wet sounds were obscene. I was dripping down my thighs.
He pulled out suddenly, spun me around, and lifted me. My back hit the rough post as he hooked my legs over his arms and sank back inside me in one smooth glide.
Face to face now. Eyes locked.
His cock felt even bigger at this angle, dragging over my G-spot on every deep, grinding thrust. I could feel the fat head kissing my cervix, the heavy weight of his balls slapping against me.
“Come on my cock again,” he demanded, voice wrecked. “Want to feel you fall apart while I’m buried to the balls in my wife.”
I did. The orgasm slammed into me so hard my vision whited out. I screamed his name, nails raking down his back, pussy clamping down on him like a vice.
Mason snarled, hips stuttering. “Fuck— Sienna— gonna fill you up.”
He thrust deep one last time and came with a guttural groan.
I felt the first hot, heavy pulse of his seed flooding me, thick ropes coating my walls, spilling so deep I could feel it leaking out around his cock as he kept grinding through his orgasm.
He kept coming, pulse after pulse, until it was dripping down my thighs in warm, sticky trails.
He stayed inside me, forehead pressed to mine, breathing hard.
We stayed like that for a long minute, the desert night cool on our overheated skin, his cock still twitching inside me, his cum slowly leaking out.
I kissed him softly this time. Lazy. Sated.
“I don’t even know what your favorite food is,” I whispered against his mouth.
“Or your favorite color. I don’t know your middle name or whether you like pineapple on pizza or what you wanted to be when you were ten.
But I know you’re mine. And you’re my soulmate, Mason Cross.
We skipped every small step. We went straight to the big one.
And somehow… it fits. It works. It’s us. ”
He pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes soft in a way I’d only seen a handful of times. “Favorite food’s a ribeye, medium-rare. Color’s the exact shade of green your eyes turn when you’re pissed at me. And yeah, baby. It’s us.”
He carried me inside, still buried deep, and laid me on our bed. We didn’t sleep for another hour. He took me again—slow this time, face to face, my legs wrapped around his waist while he rocked into me and whispered every filthy, sweet thing he’d been holding back for weeks.
When we finally collapsed, sticky and spent and wrapped around each other, I fell asleep with his cum still leaking out of me and his ring heavy on my finger.
The next morning I woke to the sound of something scratching at the sliding glass door.
I sat up, sheet pooled around my waist, and blinked.
Bandit.
The gray traitor was sitting on the deck, bell jingling, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the entire universe. He meowed once—loud, demanding, exactly the same sound he used to make when he wanted breakfast and world domination.
Mason stirred beside me, arm tightening around my waist. “What the—”
I laughed, the sound cracking open something bright and ridiculous in my chest. “He came back.”
Mason sat up, hair wild, eyes still heavy with sleep and sex. A slow grin spread across his face when he saw the cat. “Told you Regan’s intel was good. Little asshole finally decided the desert wasn’t better than free tuna and a warm bed.”
I slipped out of bed, naked and unashamed, and opened the door. Bandit sauntered in like he owned the place, tail high, rubbing against my legs once before marching straight to the kitchen like he’d never been gone.
Mason came up behind me, arms sliding around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder. His hand splayed possessively over my lower belly, right where I could still feel the faint ache of how thoroughly he’d fucked me last night.
“Guess the grand gesture worked,” he murmured, kissing the side of my neck.
I leaned back into him, smiling as Bandit jumped onto the counter and yowled for food. “Guess it did.”
The loose ends had tied themselves up nicer than I expected.
The Oakley family’s dumping operation had been exposed three days after Vegas—anonymous tip plus the serial-numbered vials I’d dropped and the club’s carefully placed evidence.
Dr. Harlan had flipped under pressure and was now in federal custody singing like a canary.
The dirty cops who’d been on the take were under investigation.
Regan had officially announced her run for mayor and was already polling ahead.
Tank and the club had come out of the mess stronger than ever.
And me?
I still had my job—real oversight, no more falsified reports. I had my cat back. I had a husband who looked at me like I was the only thing in the desert worth fighting for.
I turned in Mason’s arms, rose up on my toes, and kissed him slow and deep.
“I still don’t know your favorite color,” I whispered against his mouth.
He grinned, hands sliding down to cup my ass. “You will by the end of the day, wife. Right after I make you come on my cock again in the shower.”
I laughed, the sound bright and free and completely mine.
Bandit meowed again from the kitchen, impatient as ever.
Life was messy. It was dangerous. It was ours.
And I wouldn’t trade a single second of it.