12. Mason
Mason
I stand in the kitchen area with my back to the bed, hands gripping the edge of the counter hard enough that the wood creaks under my fingers.
My cock is painfully hard, thick and throbbing against the front of my jeans, leaking steadily and making the fabric stick to my skin.
Every heartbeat sends another pulse of need through me.
The taste of Riley is still on my tongue, sweet and addictive, and the memory of her coming apart under my mouth plays on repeat in my head.
Her soft cries. The way her thighs trembled around my face.
The slick heat of her virgin pussy clenching around my fingers.
I crossed a line I had no business crossing.
I force myself to move, pulling out bread, sliced turkey, cheese, and a couple of cans of soup from the supplies.
The metal cans are cold against my palms. I open them with the manual opener, the sharp crank of the tool loud in the quiet cabin.
The rich aroma of chicken noodle soup rises up as I pour it into a pot and set it on the stove.
The burner clicks to life with a small blue flame that hisses softly.
I stir the soup slowly, watching the noodles and vegetables swirl in the golden broth.
The steam carries the comforting smell of carrots, celery, and herbs, but it does nothing to calm the ache in my body.
My dick refuses to soften. It strains painfully against my zipper, the head slick and sensitive.
I shift my weight, trying to adjust, but the friction only makes it worse.
I want her so badly it hurts. I want to bury myself deep inside that tight heat and feel her come around my cock while she calls me Daddy.
But I can’t. Not when she’s leaving soon.
Not when her life depends on me keeping a clear head.
I glance toward the boarded window. The storm is finally slowing.
The wind has lost some of its fury, and the snow falls in gentler flakes now instead of the blinding sheets from before.
Sunlight is starting to peek through in weak patches, turning the white landscape into something almost peaceful.
The roads will clear soon. The Moretti family is still out there searching, moving pieces across the state like the dangerous predators they are.
Once the storm lifts completely, Riley will go into full WITSEC.
A new name. A new life. Somewhere far from here.
Somewhere I’ll never know about. The thought settles heavy in my soul, a dull ache that has nothing to do with my injured arm.
She’ll disappear from my life as suddenly as she entered it.
And I’ll go back to the empty cabin and the long lonely patrols.
The idea makes something twist painfully inside me.
I’ve never felt this way about an assignment before.
Never let myself get this close. Riley’s different.
Her light, her strength, the way she looks at me like I’m her safe place.
It’s cracked something open in me that I thought was long dead.
I finish the sandwiches, layering turkey and cheese on thick slices of bread. The bread is slightly stale but still good, the crust crisp under my knife. I cut them diagonally, the way my mother used to when I was a kid, and plate them next to steaming bowls of soup.
I carry everything to the small table near the fire. The bowls clink softly against the wood. Steam rises in fragrant curls, carrying the aroma of herbs and broth. I set the plates down and call out without looking at her.
“Lunch is ready.”
Riley comes over a moment later, still wearing my oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. Her hair is messy from sleep and from my hands earlier, and her cheeks are flushed. She looks beautiful. Soft and warm and far too tempting. She sits down across from me, pulling her legs up under her on the chair.
She picks up her spoon and takes a small sip of soup, humming softly in appreciation. “This is really good. Thank you.”
I grunt in response and take a bite of my sandwich.
The bread is hearty, the turkey salty and satisfying.
I chew mechanically, barely tasting it. My eyes keep drifting to her mouth as she eats, watching the way her lips wrap around the spoon.
My cock twitches again, still painfully hard. I shift in my seat, trying to hide it.
We eat in near silence for a while. The only sounds are the clink of spoons against bowls, the crackle of the fire, and the distant, weakening howl of the wind outside.
The generator hums steadily, keeping the vents blowing warm air that rustles her hair.
I can see the way the fabric of the t-shirt clings to her breasts when she leans forward. It makes my mouth water.
I force myself to stay cold. Distant. If I let the warmth in, if I let myself feel everything I’m feeling for her, I’ll pick her up, carry her back to that bed, and bury myself so deep inside her she’ll never forget who she belongs to.
I can’t do that. Not when she’s about to be taken away from me forever.
“Eat all of it,” I say, my voice coming out gruffer than I intend. “You need the strength.”
She blinks, her eyes watching me. There’s a flicker of hurt in them, but she nods and takes another bite. “Okay.”
I finish my food quickly, barely registering the taste.
The soup is hot and soothing, but my mind is elsewhere.
On the storm clearing. On the Moretti family closing in.
On the fact that soon Riley will have a new identity and I’ll never see her again.
The thought sits like a stone in my gut.
I’ve protected a lot of people over the years, but none of them have ever made me feel like this.
Like the idea of her leaving is worse than any bullet I’ve ever taken.
Riley finishes her soup and sets the bowl down. She looks at me across the table, her expression soft and uncertain. “Mason… are you okay?”
I stand up abruptly, gathering the empty dishes. The ceramic clinks together in my hands. “I’m fine. Just focused on keeping you away from harm.”
I carry everything to the sink, turning my back to her.
The water from the tap is cold as I rinse the bowls, the stream splashing against the metal.
I can feel her eyes on me, watching my every move.
She moves closer, grabbing a towel to dry the dishes.
The tension in the cabin is thick enough to cut with a knife.
My cock is still hard, painful and insistent, reminding me of everything I can’t have.
The storm outside continues to weaken, sunlight breaking through more often now. Soon the roads will be passable. Soon she’ll be gone. And I’ll be left here with nothing but the memory of her soft moans and the taste of her on my tongue.
I grip the edge of the sink, knuckles white, fighting the urge to turn around, pull her into my arms, and never let her go.