17. Riley
Riley
I wake up slowly in the middle of the night, my body heavy and deliciously sore in all the best places. The heavy quilts are tangled around my naked legs. My skin feels sensitive everywhere Mason touched me, kissed me, claimed me throughout the long day and well into the night.
I stretch lazily, a small satisfied sigh escaping my lips as memories flood back.
His mouth between my thighs. The way he filled me so completely in the shower.
The rough, filthy words he growled against my ear while he moved inside me.
I’ve never felt so wanted, so thoroughly cherished, in my entire life.
But the bed beside me is empty. The sheets are cool where he should be.
I sit up, blinking in the dim glow from the dying embers in the wood stove.
The cabin is quiet except for the soft crackle of the last logs and the distant, much gentler moan of the wind outside.
The storm has finally calmed. I wrap one of the thick quilts around my bare body like a cocoon, the fabric soft and heavy against my skin.
It smells like him. Like us. I slip my feet into my boots by the door.
The front door creaks softly as I push it open.
Cold night air rushes in. I step out onto the porch, pulling the quilt tighter around my shoulders.
The cold is refreshing after the heat from inside.
Moonlight spills across the snow-covered clearing, turning everything into a glittering wonderland.
Mason stands at the railing, his broad back to me, wearing only his jeans and a flannel shirt unbuttoned at the top.
His breath puffs out in visible clouds in the cold air.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask softly, my voice carrying that quirky, hopeful lilt even though my heart feels a little heavy.
He turns slowly, those gorgeous eyes finding mine in the moonlight. His face is shadowed but I can see the tension in him, the way his shoulders are slightly hunched. He looks tough and beautiful and somehow sad all at once.
“Yeah,” he says, voice deep and ragged. “Just thinking.”
I step closer, the quilt trailing behind me like a cape. The snow on the porch crunches softly under my boots. “About?”
He huffs out a long breath, white in the cold air, and looks out over the moonlit mountain again. For a long moment he’s quiet. Then he speaks, his voice quieter than I’ve ever heard it.
“About a mission in Afghanistan. We were extracting a high-value target from a village at night. My best friend, Reyes, was on point with me. We’d been through everything together.
He had my back more times than I can count.
That night everything went wrong. Ambush.
We got pinned down. I watched him take a round to the neck trying to cover me while I called in air support.
I dragged him out of there myself. He died in my arms before the chopper arrived.
Still remember the way his blood felt hot on my hands even though the desert night was freezing.
I don’t talk about that. Not to anyone. Not ever. ”
The words settle between us, heavy and raw. I move closer until I’m standing right beside him, the quilt brushing against his leg. The cold night air nips at my face, but being near him keeps me warm. I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves, the old pain he carries so quietly.
“That must have been really hard,” I whisper, reaching out to touch his arm gently. My fingers trace the flannel over his bicep, feeling the solid muscle underneath. “I’m so sorry you went through that.”
He nods once, not looking at me. “Worst of it was when I came home and ran into his wife and kid. I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do. I just stared at them. I’m a fucking idiot.”
I lean my head against his shoulder, breathing in the clean cold air and the warm scent of him. The connection between us feels deeper now, stronger. Like every word he shares is another thread tying us together.
“I’m so sorry. I’m sure she would have liked to talk to you,” I say softly.
He nods. “Yeah, maybe someday I’ll gather the courage to reach out.”
I rub a hand over his bicep. “I’m sure she’d like that.”
He smiles. “I’ve never told anyone this ever.”
“I’m happy you trusted me enough to share.”
He sucks in a deep breath and glances back out at the mountain. “I trust my brotherhood of Marshals, but not like I trust you. You’re different.”
My heart squeezes. “I feel that way about you too. Sure I’ve got friends and my father, but nobody like you.
” My thoughts drift to how I’ll never see anyone ever again.
My mood sours. “The idea that soon I’ll be in witness protection.
That they’ll give me a new name and send me somewhere far away. That I might never see you again.”
Mason turns toward me fully then. His dark eyes are intense in the moonlight, searching my face.
For a moment he just looks at me, like he’s memorizing every detail.
Then he reaches out and pulls me into his arms, wrapping me up completely in his strength.
The quilt falls open slightly between us but his body heat chases away the cold.
He holds me tight, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other pressed against my lower back.
“I don’t like it either, little one,” he murmurs into my hair, his voice rough with emotion. “I don’t like it one damn bit.”
I melt into his embrace, pressing my face into his chest. His heartbeat is steady and strong under my cheek. The night air is cold and clean around us, the snow sparkling under the moon, but in his arms I feel completely safe. Completely home.
We stand there on the porch for a long time, wrapped up in each other as the mountain night settles quietly around us.
The connection between us grows deeper with every shared breath, every silent moment.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring when the storm finally ends, but right now, in this moment, I know exactly where I belong.
Here. With him. On this mountain. In his arms.
And I never want to leave.