It’s very possible that I let myself get lost inside the fantasy of being with Mason, of living this life, of staying here. How could I help it though? After the day we’d shared, his careful attention to every little thing—no one had ever treated me like that. Like a prize, like a delicate but treasured discovery. I’d been treated like a possession, sure. I’d felt the fire of someone’s jealousy, the grip of a man wanting to show me I belonged to him. But this was different.
Mason was, as I’d managed to say too many times, perfect. He was masculine and capable, protective and strong—but I never felt as though I didn’t have a say. He took care of me, he looked out for me, but I was coming to see that his brand of protection and my brother’s were different. Kevin always thought he knew best. It was how I’d ended up here in the first place. But Mason—he worked on a different level. On instinct, maybe.
And I felt safer with him than I ever had in my life. Not just physically. Mason was different from other men I’d known. There was no external striving for acceptance or need to impress others, which I’d started to think was at the root of infidelity for a lot of men. They needed to prove something to themselves or to society at large, demonstrate their desirability by ensuring they 'still had it’—even when they had a woman at their side telling them they did. Maybe they didn’t believe it themselves, I decided, and they needed constant outside validation.
But Mason. The man was many things, and I knew he wasn’t really perfect. But I also knew he wasn’t the kind of man to look outside himself for validation. He didn’t doubt himself. If anything, I wondered if maybe the world wasn’t a constant source of disappointment for a man like that.
His strong hands held me now as we lay in his bed, my head tucked against the warm solidity of his chest. Our breathing was synchronized, and there was something so peaceful and comforting in the simple rise and fall of our bodies. I let my fingers tangle in the curled hair on his chest as we lay quietly, but after a while, I pulled my head back to gaze up at him.
Mason’s eyes were closed, but I knew he wasn’t asleep by the way he held me, his hand sliding slowly up and down my side. His dark lashes fanned out against his cheeks, his full lips were parted slightly, and his jaw had begun to show a dark stubble through the soft, smooth skin. I raised my hand, letting my finger trace the line of his jaw, and his eyes opened sleepily.
“Hi,” I said.
His arms tightened around me a bit. “Hi.” A light smile touched his lips as he looked at me. “Are you getting cold?”
The room was warm, but the nights didn’t hold on to the heat of the day like they did in Washington. I nodded, and Mason pulled the comforter over us, wrapping me against him.
His hand rubbed my back, making me feel sleepy and content as the warmth settled into my bones. I had a fleeting thought that this was just about perfect, and for an instant, I could imagine myself here, in this life, with this man. But I put the mental brakes on. This, nice though it was, was basically make-believe. This wasn’t my real life, and though I had a good reason for staying away from that life for a bit, I would definitely have to go back. People didn’t just walk away from jobs, apartments, friends. They just didn’t.
So it was easy to linger here in Mason’s embrace. Because I knew it didn’t mean anything. He knew as well as I did that this was just temporary. So for once, I would let myself just enjoy something, and I would not think about what my brother would say if he found out.
After a while, Mason began to stir.
“Is your arm falling asleep?” I asked him, my hand rubbing a line up his chest.
I’d felt another stirring against my thigh too, but Mason didn’t seem to be in a hurry to acknowledge it if he was hoping for round two. I had a feeling he might be stuck inside his own head, questioning our decision to sleep together, which was probably not the best choice, all things considered.
“No,” he said, his voice a low rumble I felt through my body. “I’m getting hungry.”
I looked up at him, and he smiled at me, a sleepy, beautiful thing that made my heart ping inside my chest.
“I am too, actually,” I told him. We really hadn’t had dinner. “I guess we better get up.”
“I’m pretty sure Rascal will be in here in a few minutes anyway if we don’t get his dinner down for him.”
I smiled at the thought of the patient brown dog that was Mason’s quiet shadow. He definitely deserved his dinner. “Okay,” I said, beginning to untangle myself from Mason’s embrace.
“Just a second,” Mason said, his voice still deep and languorous. He pulled me into his chest once more and dropped his chin as I tilted mine up. Our lips met, and I felt him stir against my thigh again, and I pressed into him in response.
As he kissed me with slow, deliberate movements, his hands sliding down my back and coming to rest on the globes of my ass, I could feel his desire growing in intensity—and my own matched his.
I slid a leg over him, inviting him in, and he shifted, notching himself at my entrance. The heat of his cock combined with his passionate kisses had my body beginning to tighten in arousal, and I rubbed myself over his length a few times, building the friction I was craving.
“Poor Rascal,” Mason said, his arms tightening around me as he pushed his cock back into position at the center of my need. Then he stopped, his mouth stilling on mine. “Let me grab a condom,” he said.
But I didn’t want him to go. “I’m on the pill,” I told him. “And I’m clean—I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.”
His eyes met mine, a question there. “You’re sure?” Then, seeming to understand that I needed to know his history too, he added. “I don’t even remember the last time I was with anyone. Years. I’m not on birth control though.”
I slapped his shoulder, laughing, and he retook my mouth with his own, but I pulled away. “You actually know how to joke?” I asked, teasing him.
He responded by sinking his teeth gently into the side of my neck—not a bite, but a nip that sent my arousal spiking. “Be good,” he growled.
I reached down, gripping him in order to put him where I needed him, and he growled again, but this one was a needy, deep groan that lit every one of my nerves. When I had him where I wanted him, I pushed myself down, taking him in, inch by inch as my hands braced against his shoulders. And I watched him, our eyes locked as I worked him inside me until he was seated there, his full length enveloped in the wet channel of my desire.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he whispered, and then one of his hands came up to trace the line of my face, to push a lock of hair behind my ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, and the way his voice broke on the sentence made me wonder if it was hard for him to say. Mason wasn’t the kind of guy who handed out compliments freely, and the words meant that much more to me as a result.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and then I began to move, sliding up and then pushing myself back down, Mason’s iron length becoming the focus of every cell in my body.
He let me set the pace but matched me, thrusting up as I pushed back down. I could feel his restraint as his body began to shake beneath me, and there was something so heady in knowing I’d done this to him, that I’d driven this strong, stoic man to a point where he had to fight for control.
My own control was slipping, and I let my chest meet his as I thrust against him, welcoming the warmth and strength of his body bracing mine as my release began to coil itself in tight rings around me.
“Oh,” I heard myself say, almost in surprise, as I felt the inevitable rise of sensation inside me. “Oh god,” I moaned, my body beginning to feel like a foreign object, something I couldn’t control.
“Yes,” Mason said beneath me, the sound an encouragement and a signal that he was close too. “Fuck, yes.”
My senses shattered then, my body desperately clutching and throbbing around Mason as his own release took him, and he let go of control, thrusting up into me relentlessly as his hands gripped my butt.
When the orgasm began to fade, I lay on his chest, enjoying the aftershocks of his release as his body began to slowly relax.
“What were you saying about feeding the dog?” I asked him, laughing.
“Right. Yes. In one minute.” His arms banded across my back, holding me to him, his cock still inside me.
We lay for a long minute, breathing each other in, and then we rose by some silent agreement, to find food and feed poor Rascal.
After I’d cleaned up a bit, I met Mason in the kitchen, giving Rascal a couple long strokes on the back as he ate his very late dinner.
Mason had turned on the television, and the news was droning behind us as he worked in the kitchen.
“Can I help?” I asked him.
“Chop tomatoes?” he suggested, pushing a cutting board and knife my way.
He’d pulled a couple flatbreads from the breadbox and was making what looked like pizzas with tomato sauce, spinach, olives, and cheese. I chopped the tomatoes and listened to the news, feeling like I’d been away from the world for a very long time.
My attention was only half on the television until I heard the newscaster mention Senator Andrews by name, and then I turned to watch, the pleasure of the day sliding away. Mason stopped moving and listened too.
“Senator Andrews, clearly upset by the actions of his constituents on his behalf, has issued a statement through his lawyer. The statement was read on the steps of the Capitol at a press conference this morning.”
The camera footage switched to the press conference, a man in a suit with glasses on reading from a sheet of paper as he faced a small crowd.
“While I appreciate your loyalty and your faith in me,” he read, “I am ashamed to tell you that it is misplaced. Though my lawyer cautioned me not to admit guilt because of the appeal he’s working on, I feel that I have no choice but to be brutally honest in light of the actions my constituents have taken against those brave enough to testify against me. I did things I am not proud of, things I will learn from, things I will not repeat. I hurt my family and this great nation, and I’ve disappointed all of you, who believe in me so completely. Please, I beg you to stop retaliating against those who told the truth. The women who bore witness to my indiscretions should be allowed to move on with their own lives, and should suffer no punishment for doing the right thing according to the laws of the country we all serve.
“I want to be clear: stop harassing those who testified at my trial. It doesn’t help me, my family, or our country. Instead, turn your attention toward helping to find a better representative of your interests, someone who will deserve the great faith you’ve placed in me.”
The camera moved back to the newsroom, and the newscaster continued.
“Hopefully that heartfelt message will be enough to put an end to the terror some of the witnesses from the senator’s trial have had to endure.
I had dropped the knife somewhere in the midst of that—hearing the lawyer speak took me back to trial in some ways, and a cold discomfort spread through me.
Mason stepped around the counter and pulled me into his arms, his solid warmth acting as an immediate antidote. “That should help a lot, don’t you think? If the guy these nuts think they’re helping tells them in no uncertain terms to stop?”
“I hope so.” Relief was beginning to move through me. Mason was right, I thought. If the senator himself told people to stop, it seemed like they would. They’d thought they were working on his behalf, but that message made it clear enough he didn’t support their actions.
“You okay?” he asked, holding me and looking down at me, his handsome face etched with lines of concern.
I nodded. “Yeah. I feel better, actually. I think maybe that really will be the end of it.” I did. The more I considered the words I’d just heard, the way the senator’s following listened to him, the more I was certain it would help a lot.
But another thought registered just as I’d begun to feel better about things: this meant it was probably time to go home.