Chapter 24 #2
“Does this happen a lot? Privacy invasions like this?”
“More than you’d think, less than it could.” He shrugged one powerful shoulder. “Part of the deal when you play professionally. People forget you’re a real person sometimes.”
“It shouldn’t be, though,” I said softly. “Part of the deal, I mean. You’re entitled to a private life.”
He squeezed my hand once, then let go to take a drink of water.
“Sports media’s actually tame compared to what actors or musicians deal with. Paparazzi following them everywhere, camping outside their houses.” He grimaced. “At least hockey keeps a lower profile than some other sports.”
I couldn’t even imagine it. The thought made my skin crawl. At least no one followed me around. But I knew all about losing privacy. I knew exactly how it felt to become a viral punchline.
I’d spent years rebuilding my life after Epic Fail Girl, cultivating anonymity, avoiding cameras and social media. Mason had no such luxury.
“How do you handle it?” I asked. “The constant scrutiny?”
He leaned back. “At the end of the day, it’s just noise. I focus on playing the game. The rest is out of my control.”
“And now this...” I gestured to his phone, to the damning photos.
“It’s not the end of the world.” He made it sound like a thing you could file away and survive. “They got pictures of an empty room with some kinky stuff. No actual compromising pics, no videos, no texts. It could be worse.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a pretty positive spin.”
“Helps me sleep at night.” The corner of his mouth quirked up.
We lapsed into silence as we finished our meals, but my mind kept spinning.
Could I really navigate this high-profile world he inhabited?
Doubt crept in, cold at the edges. It felt like stepping into a spotlight I’d spent years avoiding.
Could I stay in the shadow of his fame, or would the ever-watchful eye of the media drag me into the chaos?
After we ate, we migrated to Mason’s living room. The space looked so much better after my redesign, turned from rustic cabin nightmare into a cozy, stylish home. Still, a part of me missed the plaid overload and the sheer number of moose.
When we settled onto the couch, Mason draped his arm over my shoulders. I snuggled into his side, inhaling his clean, familiar scent.
“So,” I ventured, “how was the game last night? You didn’t really say, and I know it was a big deal. Your first one as part of the Fusion.”
Mason’s body tensed. “We won, but I didn’t do great,” he admitted. “I was distracted. I couldn’t get my head in the game.”
I winced. “Because of the photos?”
He nodded, his jaw tightening. “Coach Murray wasn’t happy. Said I looked like I was ‘skating through molasses with my head up my ass.’”
I couldn’t help a giggle at the colorful description. “That’s quite the image.”
Mason’s lips twitched. “Yeah. He wasn’t wrong. Professional means leaving personal crap at the door. I’ve gotta get my shit together before the season opener.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Yeah.” His fingers traced a slow pattern on my shoulder. “Come to my home opener. It would mean a lot to me.”
“The home opener?” I repeated, my stomach doing a nervous flip. A hockey game meant cameras, crowds, visibility.
His world was so public, so complicated. Being with him meant risking exposure, not just now, but of my past too.
What if someone recognized me as Epic Fail Girl? If they connected me to Mason? The headlines practically wrote themselves: Hockey’s hottest defenseman dating Banana Spanx Flasher. The thought made me feel physically ill. I’d never be able to handle that level of humiliation again.
“Hey.” Mason’s voice broke through my spiral. “Where’d you go just now?”
I blinked, forcing a smile. “Sorry. I was thinking that I don’t know much about hockey.”
Mason leaned closer, his blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my heart flutter. He brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his touch sending warmth through me. “You don’t need to understand the game. Just having you there to support me means everything.”
The intensity of his gaze made it clear this wasn’t a casual invitation. This mattered to him. And despite my reservations, he mattered to me.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I promised, squeezing his hand.
“Good.” He pulled me closer, like he didn’t want any distance between us.
I settled into the crook of his arm. “So I should learn some hockey terminology, huh? Beyond ‘that guy hit the puck really hard’?”
Mason laughed, the sound warming me from the inside out. “Might help. Though I appreciate the enthusiasm either way.”
A playful smile spread across my face as I looked up at him. “I don’t know much beyond the skating around trying to shoot the puck into the goal part. Except hockey players like to fight a lot. And then they get sent into the timeout zone.”
“The timeout zone?” Mason smirked, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You mean the sin bin?”
I frowned, trying to wrap my head around it. “Wait, they send you to the bar?”
Mason burst out laughing, shaking his head. “The sin bin is what we call the penalty box. The bar is named after it, silly.”
I thought it was the name of the bar, not a hockey term. I rolled my eyes at myself, a playful grin on my lips. “Oh, wow. That’s embarrassing. I had no idea what sin bin meant. That explains a lot.”
“Wait, you didn’t know? That’s actually kind of cute.” He gave my hair a playful tug. “Imagine if they sent us to a bar instead of the penalty box for fighting.”
I nudged Mason with my shoulder. “Let’s start the movie before I embarrass myself further.”
Mason queued up the spy thriller I’d mentioned wanting to see and settled beside me on the couch.
The lights dimmed automatically as the opening credits rolled across the screen.
I curled against his side, aware of every point of contact between us.
My shoulder against his chest, my thigh alongside his, his arm draped along the back of the couch behind me.
The movie played, all explosions and witty one-liners, but Mason had that distant look in his eyes.
The small crease between his brows told me he wasn’t really watching.
I wanted his head out of the noise and back with me. And I knew the perfect way to distract him. To be honest, I’d been thinking about touching him all evening.
Slowly, deliberately, I shifted closer and let my hand brush his thigh. I felt him go still, his focus snapping to me.
“You seem distracted.” I traced a lazy circle on his leg. “Don’t you like the movie?”
“Sorry. A lot on my mind.” His voice was a low rumble I felt more than heard.
I slid my hand higher, feeling his muscles flex beneath my touch. His breathing hitched as I inched higher.
“You know,” I said, biting my lower lip when I caught his gaze tracking the movement, “I can think of better ways to spend our evening than watching this movie.”
Before he could answer, I turned toward him, the movie forgotten. I kissed him gently, my lips barely brushing his. “Let’s see if I can do a better job of keeping your attention.”
I swung my leg over his lap, straddling him. Mason’s hands closed on my hips, his fingers sinking into me as I pressed my mouth to his.
I leaned down, my hair falling around us, shutting out the rest of the room.
“You’ve got my attention,” he murmured.
I grinned, rolling my hips once, slow and testing. “Perfect,” I whispered, and kissed him again.
The kiss started soft and exploratory. The gentle pressure of his mouth against mine, the slight scratch of stubble against my skin.
His hand slid into my hair, cradling the back of my head, and the heat between us snapped tight.
I parted my lips on a sigh and Mason took the invitation, deepening the kiss with a thoroughness that made my toes curl.
My hands climbed his chest, palms skimming the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt. I could feel his desire, his need for me, and it lit something reckless in me. I rocked against him, eliciting a low growl from deep in his throat.
Smiling against his mouth, I trailed kisses along his jaw to the sensitive spot below his ear.
Then I sat back just enough to let him look at me.
My weight stayed settled on his lap as I reached for the satin sash on my wrap blouse.
With deliberate slowness, I tugged at the knot, letting it loosen to reveal a teasing glimpse of skin.
Mason’s eyes darkened. His hands slid up my sides as I let the blouse slip from my shoulders. The silky fabric whispered over my skin and fell away, pooling in my lap.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” he said, gaze steady and hungry enough to make warmth bloom under my ribs.
I arched my back, offering myself up. His palms skimmed my ribs, then higher, leaving heat in their wake. His thumbs brushed the undersides of my breasts and my breath caught.
Mason reached behind me, fingers finding the clasp of my bra. With a quick movement, he unsnapped it, and the lacy garment loosened. I let the straps slide down my arms, slowly revealing myself to his hungry gaze. His hands were there immediately, cupping me like he’d been waiting all night.
A soft moan slipped out as his thumbs swept over my nipples. He kneaded with just the right pressure, teasing until I tightened and trembled. Every pass pulled me a little closer to that hazy, needy place I didn’t want to climb out of.
I leaned into his touch, head tipping back. He replaced his fingers with his mouth and I gasped at the hot pull of his lips. My hands threaded into his hair, holding him there, urging him closer.
I tugged at the hem of his shirt, desperate for skin. Mason leaned forward so I could drag it up and off, then I tossed it aside and let my palms roam his chest, appreciating every hard line.
“You’re ridiculously fit,” I murmured, fingers splaying over his sternum. “It’s actually unfair to the rest of humanity.”
A rough laugh escaped him, edged with want. “Professional athlete, remember? Part of the job.”
“Mmm.” I kissed his collarbone, then lower, following the trail my hands had made. “And I appreciate your dedication.”
His breathing turned uneven as I moved down his body. When I reached his waistband, I looked up. The raw intensity in his gaze nearly undid me.
I went for his belt, the metallic clink sending a sharp thrill through me, but my fingers fumbled the button in my haste.
Mason covered my hands, gently moving them aside. “Let me.”
With swift, impatient movements, he lifted his hips and stripped off his jeans and briefs in one fluid motion, shoving them aside. He settled back in front of me, bare and confident, his arousal unmistakable.
“Your turn,” he growled, hands already at the waistband of my jeans.
I rose onto my knees as he popped the button and dragged down the zipper. With one impatient tug, he shoved my jeans over my hips, revealing my lace panties.
“These damn jeans,” I laughed as I finally kicked them free.
Mason’s hands were on me immediately, sliding up my thighs with slow, punishing pressure. “Worth the wait,” he murmured. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my underwear and drew them down with agonizing care, like he wanted me to feel every second of it.
The last barrier fell away.
He wrapped his arms around me and rolled us until I was beneath him, the weight of him settling in like a promise.
“You’re dangerous.” His gaze swept over me as his hands tightened on my hips. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I pulled him down, catching his mouth with mine, hands gripping the solid strength of his shoulders as he answered with urgency. He pressed against me, hips shifting, teasing me with the friction.
He kissed me again, deeper, more demanding. His tongue slid against mine in a slow rhythm that made my stomach tighten.
I wrapped my legs around him, dragging him closer, urging him on.
His hands moved everywhere, touching, teasing, learning.
He took his time like he wasn’t in any hurry, like he wanted me wrecked and grateful for it.
He found the spots that made me gasp and arch, and I came alive beneath his attention, nerves sparking, body tuned tight for him.
When he finally poised over me, condom in place, our eyes locked.
“Lila,” he breathed, my name soft and reverent as he eased inside me.
The sensation of him filling me was exquisite. A delicious stretch that left me clinging to his mouth. For a moment, we stayed still, connected, breathing into each other. Then Mason began to move.
“God, you feel amazing,” he groaned, voice rough as he set a steady rhythm that had me clinging to his shoulders.
I tightened my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper, meeting every thrust. The friction was perfect, each stroke hitting exactly right. My nails dug into the hard muscle of his back as pleasure built fast, hot, relentless.
“Yes.” I arched up to meet him. “Just like that.”
Mason’s pace picked up, controlled and powerful. Sweat gleamed at his temples as he braced himself over me, muscles flexing with every drive that had me writhing beneath him.
When his hand slipped between us to touch me exactly where I needed it most, I shattered, coming hard with his name caught in my throat.
Mason followed moments later, a broken groan against my neck as his rhythm faltered and his body went tight above mine. For several heartbeats, we stayed locked together, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat and satisfaction.
When he finally moved, he shifted to his side and pulled me against his chest like I belonged there. His heartbeat thudded beneath my ear, gradually slowing.
His arms tightened around me. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and something in my chest pinched at the tenderness of it.
“Stay the night?” he asked, casual words, but his tone gave him away.
My brain tried to be practical. No toiletries. No extra clothes. Early meetings. I shoved it all aside. In this moment, there was nowhere else I’d rather be.
“I’d like that.”