Chapter Eighteen

- MASON -

When she peels her mouth from mine (making my entire body stage a revolt at the departure of her lips), I’m bracing myself to hear the This Was a Mistake speech from her.

I mean, she did just tell me I’m her best friend, and I’m thinking that fuckbuddy isn’t part of that job description. Oddly enough, that’s fine with me because I can’t imagine using that term to describe Freya, who’s pretty much been my other half for the past two years.

Harris once described her as a cute puppy, following me around with her manuscript and a red pen, to which I actually socked him in the jaw, which was perfectly acceptable because we were sparring in the ring at the time.

But if push comes to shove, I think I’ve been the puppy in this relationship, looking back, always showing up at her apartment looking for table scraps (quite literally because she’s a damn good cook). Even now, as I watch her eyes flash with a strange mix of lust and panic, here I am, the puppy dog, hoping for a pat on the head.

Although I’d vastly prefer a different form of bodily contact right now.

When she opens her door, and says, “Want to come inside?” I nearly leap five feet off the ground giving the heavens a spectacular fist pump. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her. Not yet, knowing that I won’t have a chance to see her tomorrow before I go.

“Love to,” I respond more reservedly in lieu of the fist pump.

“I’ve got brownies I made for your trip tomorrow. The turtle kind, with caramel and pecans.”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

She laughs. “Revised and edited at least six versions of a romance novel.”

Somehow, the thought of that manuscript makes an uneasy thought reemerge in my head. I try to bat it away. But if I don’t settle this now, the guilt I feel is likely to play the role of cockblock tonight. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she replies, flashing a brief smile over her shoulder.

I sit at her counter while she moves to the fridge and pulls out a tray of brownies. Distracted by the sight of swirls of gooey chocolate and sea salt caramel as she pulls the aluminum foil off the pan, I nearly forget my question.

Nearly.

“Last night, when you invited me in,” I begin, “you said something to me that had me worried. You said you didn’t want to be rejected again.”

“And I didn’t.”

“But did you—” Crap. How does a person ask this? “Did you sleep with me because you got rejected by that agent?”

Knife in hand, she bursts out laughing for a solid ten seconds until, still sputtering, she slices me a rectangle of flaky, chocolate bliss.

“No,” she answers, humor still infusing her tone. “I slept with you because I was horny as hell and you were there.”

Forcing a grin, I should feel better hearing her answer. But somehow, I don’t like thinking that I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

If Harris had walked her home, would the evening have ended the same way?

If Harris had forced her to drive across the Bridge, would he have been the one who got laid in his back seat? (Which doesn’t quite apply because his Camaro has a back seat barely big enough for a loaf of bread.)

Standing, I take the brownie she has offered me and set it to the side on a napkin. As tempting as the dessert is, I feel the need to devour something else, if for no other reason, than to make her want to only come to me when she’s “horny as hell.”

I brush my lips against hers lightly, seeing if her eyes ignite—or if I should take my brownie and head home with my tail between my legs.

But flash they do—and I’m determined to make this time count more than a quickie in the back seat of an SUV, so that when I leave, Harris or any man that might traipse by her will look like yesterday’s scrambled eggs by comparison.

“And how are you feeling tonight, Freya?” I whisper against her, tracing my fingers up her arm, feeling the goosebumps on her skin as I barely touch my lips to her neck.

Earlier in the stairwell, she couldn’t have possibly missed just how aroused I am by her. But just in case she needs a reminder, I pull her closer. Her warmth against me makes my blood surge south, emptying my brain. I couldn’t tell you my name right now. I could only say what I need.

Draping her arms over my shoulders, she breathes out a nervous giggle. “Well, I invited you in, didn’t I?”

Starved for her, I lean down to claim her mouth. It’s been only minutes since I tasted her, and yet it feels so much longer, the way I devour her as if I’ve been deprived of the sensation for years.

Her body sighs against mine as her breasts press against my chest, and I bend to lift her onto the kitchen island. Her knees are on either side of me, and I can sense the heat emanating from her, wanting me as much as I want her. Sliding my hands up her shirt, her breath becomes ragged as she tosses her head back, letting her long locks drape further down her back. I need to see her like this, but not clothed, I decide, lifting her shirt from her body.

Then, after tossing my own shirt onto the floor along with hers, I rake my fingers against her skin, sliding them beneath the bra, so desperate to feel the mounds in my hands that I don’t even think to unclasp it. She reaches behind her and frees herself. I suck in a nipple and my tongue toys with it.

I want to take her right now—just pull off her shorts and sink myself into her with her ass still planted on the counter. But the last time I did this was in the back seat of my SUV and, dammit, she deserves better than that.

And I deserve better than thinking I’m just a quick fuck because she’s horny and I happen to be here. Tonight, I want her to know—and remember it well—that I’m the one making love to her.

Because it is love I feel in my heart for her. I know that deep inside my soul as I lift her into my arms and carry her to the bedroom. I’ve loved her on so many levels in the time I’ve known her—so many that the lines between the sensations have become blurred and I haven’t recognized the blend of friendship and passion and commitment for what it is.

And even if it’s too soon to tell her that, even if I leave tomorrow and we go back to being just friends, I’ll make sure that tonight she knows she is cherished.