8. Mason
Mason
The towel in my hands still carries the faint scent of her as I watch Riley move toward the bathroom.
Water drips from the ends of her dark hair onto the wooden floor, leaving small dark spots that catch the firelight.
Her soaked t-shirt clings to every curve of her body, the thin fabric translucent in places and outlining the soft swell of her breasts and the tight peaks of her nipples from the cold.
The sight makes my cock throb painfully against the front of my jeans, hard and heavy and demanding attention I’ve got no right to give it.
She needs to warm up. And I need distance.
Being this close to her, drying her hair while her body presses back against mine, pushed me right to the edge.
My mouth waters and my hands itch to touch more than just wet strands of hair.
I’m rock hard, the thick length of my dick straining uncomfortably against my zipper, aching with every heartbeat.
This is an assignment. She’s a witness under my protection.
I can’t let myself cross that line no matter how badly my body wants her.
“Take a hot shower,” I tell her, my voice coming out rougher than I intend. “Get warm. Stay in there as long as you need. I’ll make something hot to drink.”
Riley pauses at the bathroom door, looking back at me with those wide, trusting eyes. Her cheeks are still flushed from the cold and from the tension that crackled between us while I dried her off. “Okay. Thank you, Mason.”
The door clicks shut behind her and I hear the water turn on a moment later.
The sound of the spray hitting the tile fills the small cabin, a steady rush that does nothing to calm the blood pounding in my veins.
I grip the edge of the counter hard enough that the wood creaks under my fingers, willing my erection to settle down.
It fucking doesn’t. My cock stays thick and painful, pressing insistently against my jeans as images flash through my mind.
Her wet skin. The way the towel felt in my hands as I worked it through her hair.
The soft sounds she made when my fingers brushed her neck.
I force myself to move, turning toward the small kitchen area.
Distance. I need to focus on something useful.
I pull out a pot and set it on the stove, the metal clanging softly.
Powdered cocoa, sugar, and a can of condensed milk from the supplies.
I add water from the kettle I set on the wood stove earlier, the liquid hissing as it hits the hot surface.
I stir slowly, the wooden spoon scraping against the bottom of the pot, watching the mixture thicken and turn glossy brown.
The heat from the stove warms my front while the memory of Riley’s body against mine keeps my back tight with tension.
The shower runs on, the water sound constant and soothing.
I imagine her under the spray, head tilted back, water cascading over her bare shoulders and down her curves.
My dick twitches hard again, leaking against my boxers.
Fuck. I haven’t been this turned on by a woman in years.
There’s something about her innocence mixed with that quiet strength that hits every dominant part of me.
I want to pin her down, spread her open, and show her exactly how a man like me takes care of his girl. But she’s not mine.
I pour the hot cocoa into two large mugs, the steam rising in fragrant curls that fog the air in front of me.
The scent is deep and sweet, chocolate with a hint of cinnamon I added.
I set the mugs on the small table near the fire and add a couple more logs to the stove.
The wood catches quickly, flames licking higher and throwing fresh waves of heat across the room.
The crackle and pop of the fire mixes with the steady sound of the shower.
When the water finally shuts off, I sit down on the couch, adjusting myself discreetly.
My cock’s still hard, throbbing with unmet need.
I hear her moving in the bathroom, the rustle of clothing as she changes back into dry things.
A few minutes later the door opens and Riley steps out, wearing another one of my large t-shirts and the rolled-up sweatpants.
Her hair’s damp but no longer dripping, falling in soft waves around her face.
The shirt hangs off one shoulder again, exposing the smooth line of her collarbone.
She looks warm and soft and far too tempting.
“Feel better?” I ask, voice low.
She nods, offering me a small smile as she walks over. Her bare feet pad softly on the floor. “Much warmer. Thank you for the towel and for… everything.”
I hand her one of the mugs. Our fingers brush and that small contact sends another jolt straight to my groin. The cocoa’s still hot, steam curling up between us. She wraps both hands around the mug and inhales deeply, eyes closing in pleasure.
“This smells amazing,” she says, taking a careful sip. A tiny sound of satisfaction escapes her, soft and sweet, and my cock jerks again. I shift on the couch, trying to ease the pressure.
We sit by the fire together, the storm still howling outside but feeling farther away now.
The heat from the stove warms our faces while the hot cocoa warms us from the inside.
Riley curls her legs under her on the couch, close enough that her knee brushes my thigh.
Every small touch feels electric. I sip my own cocoa, the rich chocolate coating my tongue, sweet and comforting, but it does nothing to dull the ache in my body.
She glances at me over the rim of her mug, eyes curious and soft. “Thank you for letting me help earlier. And for drying my hair. No one’s ever taken care of me like that before.”
I grunt, staring into the fire. The flames dance and pop, throwing sparks up the chimney. “You were freezing. Had to warm you up.”
She takes another sip, the sound of her swallowing quiet in the cabin.
I can still feel the ghost of her body pressed against mine when I dried her off.
The way she leaned into my touch. The soft sounds she made.
My dick remains painfully hard, trapped against my thigh, leaking steadily now.
I want her so badly it hurts, but I stay where I am. Professional. Controlled. Barely.
The night deepens. The storm continues its assault, wind screaming and snow battering the cabin. Riley finishes her cocoa and sets the empty mug aside. She looks at me with those bright eyes, vulnerable and trusting.
“Will you lay in bed with me until I fall asleep?” she asks softly. “Just until I’m out. The nightmares… they come back when I’m alone.”
I should say no. Should keep that distance. But the plea in her voice and the fear still lingering in her eyes make the decision for me.
“Yeah,” I say, voice rough. “I will.”
I follow her to the bed, climbing on top of the quilts again while she slips underneath them.
The mattress dips under my weight. She shifts closer immediately, her body seeking mine even through the barrier.
The heat of her soaks through the fabric, and her damp hair brushes my arm.
I stay on my back, one arm behind my head, trying to ignore how hard I still am.
She curls against my side, her head resting near my shoulder.
Her breathing slowly evens out as sleep pulls her under.
I stay awake long after she drifts off, listening to the storm and the soft sounds of her breathing, my body aching with need and my mind fighting to remember that this is just an assignment.
But deep down I already know the truth. Riley’s becoming so much more than that. And I’m not sure I have the strength to fight it anymore.