11. Luke #2
After our talk in the sauna and the chaotic fun of the cold plunges with everyone, the tension from last night has mostly melted away. Still, butterflies flutter in my stomach as I park beside his truck and grab the little bottle of wine I brought.
The cabin windows glow warm against the darkening forest, and I can already hear the low thrum of soulful music drifting out.
I knock softly.
The door swings open almost immediately, and there he is.
Mason looks incredibly handsome. A crisp white t-shirt stretches across his strong chest and boulder-like shoulders, the fabric hugging every ridge of muscle.
Dark jeans sit low on his hips, and his hair is still a little damp from a shower.
The scent of clean soap and something woodsy washes over me.
My heart does a happy little somersault and my special place tingles.
“Hey, little one,” Mason says, voice low and warm. He pulls me inside and kisses me properly this time—slow, deep, one big hand cupping the back of my neck. When he pulls back, his eyes are softer than they’ve been in the last twenty-four hours. “I missed training this morning. I’m a fool.”
“I missed training with you too,” I whisper, melting against him for a second before he takes my hand and leads me further inside. “Lucky we at least had the sauna and plunge.”
I look around. The cabin feels perfect…
A roaring fire crackles in the stone fireplace, casting dancing golden light across the wooden walls and big leather furniture.
Laid-back soulful music plays from the record player, something smooth and smoky with a female singer whose voice feels like velvet.
It wraps around me like a hug. I let out a contented sigh.
“This is exactly what I needed tonight,” I say, setting the wine on the counter.
Mason gives me one of those rare, crooked smiles. “Good. Sit. Dinner’s almost ready.”
We settle at the heavy oak table. He serves up generous bowls of creamy mac and cheese with a side of roasted vegetables—carrots, broccoli, and zucchini tossed in garlic and herbs. It smells like heaven.
I take my first bite and moan dramatically.
“Oh my gosh, Mason. This is so good,” I say, barely able to contain my pleasure. “Mac and cheese was my absolute favorite as a kid. My mom used to make it on special nights when I’d had a tough day at school. Yours is just as good. Extra cheesy, perfect seasoning. How did you know?”
Mason chuckles, looking pleased. “Lucky guess. Figured comfort food was the move after today.”
We eat slowly, talking about the wellness center antics…
how Taron screamed the loudest in the cold plunge, how Connor nearly slipped getting out.
The fire pops and the music plays, and everything feels cozy and right again.
Halfway through my second helping, I decide to bring up the idea that’s been bubbling in my mind since the playdate.
“So… something interesting came up today,” I say, twirling my fork. “While we were at the Healing Club, I overheard one of the staff talking to a client. The owners are already thinking about selling. They want to move to the West Coast, something about family and a different vibe near the ocean.”
Mason pauses mid-bite, eyebrows lifting. “Selling?” He sets his fork down. “Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
I bite my lip, suddenly nervous but excited. “Maybe… yeah. It’s a beautiful place. Well-run. Popular with locals and tourists. Could be an amazing opportunity.”
I watch as Mason leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Running a business like that… I don’t know if I’m cut out for it, Luke. I’m a rig worker. Heavy labor, machinery, keeping things safe in rough conditions. Not spreadsheets, marketing, or dealing with customers all day.”
I reach across the table and take his hand.
“We could run it together,” I say, putting the idea out there.
“You’d be incredible with the maintenance side, the facilities, making sure everything’s safe and top-quality.
I could handle more of the day-to-day stuff.
You know, scheduling, the Little-friendly touches, events.
I’ve got my finance background too. We’d make a good team. ”
Mason looks thoughtful, his thumb stroking over my knuckles.
I can see the wheels turning in his head.
He doesn’t shut it down immediately, which feels like a small victory.
“It’s… worth considering,” Mason says finally.
“Especially with the rig schedule looming. But I don’t want to rush into anything. ”
“I’m not pushing,” I promise, squeezing his hand. “Just… planting the seed. We’ve got time to think about it.”
Mason nods, and we finish the rest of our dinner in comfortable silence, the idea hanging between us like a quiet possibility rather than pressure. When our bowls are empty, we carry everything to the kitchen and start washing up side by side.
I wash, Mason dries, our usual easy rhythm already forming.
Soap suds cover my hands as I scrub a plate. Mason steps up behind me, his big body pressing lightly against my back. His arms come around me to reach for a dish, but instead of taking it, he sets it down and turns me gently to face him.
The music shifts to something slower, sultrier. His hands settle on my waist, mine—still soapy—rest on his chest. For a moment we just look at each other. Then he leans down and kisses me.
It starts soft, grateful, but quickly deepens.
I rise onto my toes, sliding my arms around his neck, not caring that I’m getting his white t-shirt wet.
Mason growls low in his throat, lifting me effortlessly onto the edge of the counter.
Dishes are forgotten. His mouth moves to my neck, sucking gently, while his hands slide under my sweater, palms hot against my bare skin.
“Mason…” I breathe, legs wrapping around his hips.
My Daddy kisses me again, harder, tongue teasing mine as one hand squeezes my pecs, one after the other, his grip firm and commanding.
His other hand grips my ass, pulling me flush against the growing hardness in his jeans. Heat pools low in my belly, every touch chasing away the last remnants of yesterday’s sadness.
I can feel my cock hardening all the way. This feels right. It’s hotter than the sun, and right now I really want to get burned.
We make out like teenagers right there in the kitchen—messy, hungry, laughing softly when I accidentally knock a spoon off the counter.
Mason’s hands are everywhere, reverent and possessive at the same time. I tug at the hem of his t-shirt, wanting it off, wanting him.
Mason pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard. “We’re not finishing these dishes tonight, are we?”
I giggle, shaking my head. “Nope.”
“Good.” He lifts me off the counter, my legs still wrapped around him, and starts carrying me toward the stairs. “Because I’ve got a much better way to spend the rest of the evening.”
As he carries me up to his big bed, firelight flickering below and soulful music following us, I feel like tonight is just about to change everything between us forever…