Mason felt too good under my hands.

My brain was thrumming at every second, wanting to pull him back, to turn him around and press my lips to his, kissing him deeply like I had in the bar. I knew every reason why I shouldn’t have been doing it, and I held back, instead just replaying it in my mind over and over again.

After a few minutes, though, Mason began to lean back against me, sinking into my touch. At first, I was surprised—I wouldn’t have expected him to make any sort of first moves, especially not now, in his own house.

But when he finally sank back against me, falling against my chest so that he was between my arms, I realized that he had just fallen asleep. I looked down at him, and he momentarily blinked up at me, hazy with sleep.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. His eyes were closed again a moment later, and then I was sitting there, with a sleeping man against me and no idea what to do.

I wasn’t accustomed to this. I was used to being with people, hooking up in a mad, lustful dash, and then everyone would go back to their own homes. But I hadn’t hooked up with Mason at all tonight. It was like all the things I normally did had been skipped over, and now I had him sleeping across my chest.

The problem was that I liked it.

I liked how angelic he looked now that his face was relaxed, how sweet and innocent he looked when he wasn’t in a tense frenzy like usual. I gently removed his glasses from his face and set them down on the coffee table, and I considered my options.

I could get up, maybe put on the TV, maybe keep drinking on my own. Pretend like this hadn’t happened, and just wait it out until he woke up.

I could wake him up, kicking him off his couch and going to sleep on my own.

Or… there was the third option. I could stay here with him on the couch. Relish this moment and admit that I was enjoying it, sex or no sex, client or not.

I slowly moved so that I was lying back on the couch and Mason’s weight remained on my chest. I propped up a pillow behind my head and got to a position where Mason was lying half on top of me, facing up, and I had wrapped one arm around him.

I took a deep breath, looking out at the fire and the snow as I felt Mason’s gentle breathing. And I felt the same thing that I’d felt earlier in the night: it was so perfect that it almost hurt.

None of this was mine. Mason wasn’t, the house wasn’t, this type of life wasn’t. Normally, I’d have been out at some skeevy bar, drinking whiskey and looking for someone to fuck. Or I’d be back at my dingy apartment, trying my best not to dwell on my surroundings, wishing I was somewhere else.

I held Mason gently in my arm and brought my other hand up to his hair. I touched it, stroking my hand through, and he let out a happy hum in his sleep.

It damn near killed me.

His hair was soft, and as I slowly laced my fingers through it, I realized that I was beginning to drift off, too. It was later than I’d realized, and we’d had plenty of food and wine.

Mason turned over as he slept, and it made me momentarily more alert. He turned until he was facing me completely, tucked against me, his body pressed up right against mine.

And then he jerked upward, looking down at me and furrowing his brow.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, looking down to see that we’d been sleeping against one another. “Oh. I’m—I’m sorry,” he said, glancing around to locate his glasses. “I must have fallen asleep.”

He got up and instantly I missed the heat of his body against me as colder air from the room rushed onto me.

“Yeah,” I said, “I was afraid you were about to drool on me.” It was a joke that he didn’t seem to get, but at least he didn’t seem to realize how much I’d been enjoying holding him close.

“Let me help you with the pull-out bed,” he said, pushing his glasses onto his face and running his hands through his hair.

I hid my disappointment, helping Mason move the coffee table and pull out the sofa bed. He brought me clean, perfectly folded sheets and a pillow, turned off the fire, and before long, he was gone, escaped back into his room.

I brought the fluffy blanket around my body and curled onto the bed. Mason was right—it was comfortable, more so than any sofa bed I’d ever been on. Already I missed the fire, but the snow was still coming down outside, faster than ever.

The blanket was no substitute for Mason, though. I barely wanted to admit it to myself, but as I lay there, I wanted nothing more than for him to be back against me. Of course I wanted more—I wanted my cock inside him, wanted to hear those incredible sounds, wanted to make him come even harder than he had last time. I’d been so good at keeping those thoughts beaten down during the night, but now that he was gone, they came flying to the front of my mind.

I had wanted him badly. I still did, even more than I had earlier this month.

It wasn’t okay, but I slowly drifted off to sleep dreaming of a world where it would be. A world where I could have Mason tucked up next to me, and feel no remorse as I turned to kiss him, slow and deep.

The first thing I realized upon waking up was that it was bright. Before I even opened my eyes, I could tell that the sun must have come out, reflected off of the blanket of snow, and was now pouring through the big windows in Mason’s apartment.

When I actually opened my eyes, though, I jumped slightly in bed.

There was a woman standing over me. She had long, red hair that was tied up in a ponytail, and she was just watching me, her head cocked to one side.

“You’re the guy!” she said finally, putting her hands on her hips.

“Wh… what?” I said, my voice coming out more like a groggy croak.

“You’re the guy. With all the big muscles. The confidence coach.”

“Oh,” I said, blinking and sitting up a little. “Yeah, I’m the guy, I… suppose.”

“Wow, you’re even more attractive in person,” she said, looking me up and down. “Even though you’re wearing Mason’s ugly old fundraiser T-shirt.”

“I take it the snowstorm ended,” I said, looking from Terry to the sunlight outside.

“Yeah, it stopped hours ago. They brought out the emergency snow crew. It’s already ten in the morning. Is Mason out?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, he can’t be asleep. Mason never sleeps in late.”

I yawned, watching as Terry went and set her purse down on a small table by the door. “Well, he said he didn’t have work today,” I said.

“Still,” Terry said, shaking her head. “Doesn’t matter. Mason does not sleep in.”

I got up out of the bed, stretching and yawning once more. “Let’s go check on him. We were up pretty late.”

“Late? With him?” she said, eyeing me suspiciously again. “Man, you really must be having an effect on him.”

I followed her down the hall, and she knocked gently on Mason’s door.

“Mase? You in there?” she asked before opening the door. When we entered, Mason was sitting up on his bed, his hair a mess, blinking his eyes open. “Oh my God,” he said, instantly jumping out of bed and putting on his glasses. “What time is it?”

“Past ten,” Terry said. “Well, I’ll be damned. Hell has frozen over. Mason Hartley slept in.” Terry laughed, but I didn’t know if I was supposed to be concerned or not. Mason looked like he’d just been told someone died. There was sheer panic on his face, and he rushed over to the dresser.

“Well, I was working until six o’clock in the morning. I’m going to go take myself a nice nap,” Terry said. “It was truly a delight meeting you… Kane? What was your name?”

“Kade Thompson,” I said, reaching out and giving her a proper handshake.

“Right, right,” she said. “Kade.”

The door to Mason’s bathroom slammed, and when I turned around, I saw that he had disappeared inside.

“Take care of Mason for me, will you?” Terry whispered, glancing over at the closed door. “If you haven’t realized it yet, you’ll learn that he’s a bit… fragile.”

“I know,” I whispered back.

“I can’t believe he let you spend the night,” she said, her eyes wide as she exited the room. I didn’t have a chance to tell her that I couldn’t believe it, either.

I collected my jeans from where I’d left them on top of Mason’s dresser. He seemed to have folded them neatly for me, sometime last night. I put them on, but kept Mason’s T-shirt on—my own still smelled completely like white wine.

Mason emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, showered and fresh but still looking panicked.

“Mason,” I said, “is everything all right?”

He didn’t look me in the eye. “I woke up too late,” he said.

“I know. Me too,” I said. “I haven’t slept in that late in months, at least.”

He shook his head, grabbing a belt and pulling it around his waist in a hurry. “Everything is messed up,” he said.

“What?”

“My Saturday routine. I always get up, have my poached egg, go for a walk up to the grocery… oh God, by now, all the best oranges are definitely going to be picked over....”

I snorted. “Could hardly go for a walk in over a foot of snow, could you?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, taking a deep breath and then sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

“Whoa, whoa,” I said gently, sitting down next to him. I put a hand to his back, but he pulled away slightly, and I dropped it.

“I’m… sorry,” he said as if it took a ton of effort to get the words out. “I’m just tired.”

“I am too,” I said. “We drank a lot last night, and it was pretty late when we went to sleep.”

He shook his head, looking over to me with some sort of calculation going on behind his eyes. As if he was trying to decide how much to say to me. “I couldn’t fall asleep until nearly seven in the morning,” he finally said, his voice defeated.

“Whoa, Mason, really?” I said.

He nodded, breathing deeply. “Nothing worked. My lavender mist, the forest sounds, my sleep stretches. Everything was all thrown off. And now it’s even more thrown off.”

I bit my lower lip. “You seemed so tired last night, though.”

He nodded. “I was,” he said. “I was dead tired when we were… out on the couch.”

I smiled. “Maybe you just wanted to sleep on top of me, huh?” I said. It was an attempt at humor, and I thought it would lighten the situation, but instead he just looked more upset than ever.

“I think… I need some alone time,” he said.

I nodded. “I understand completely. I was going to tell you I’m going to try to head home now. It looks like the train is back in service. But if you need a break, we can postpone your next coaching session until later in the week. Hell, we could do it next week, if you wanted.”

His eyes snapped up to mine, stricken with fear. “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “I already feel bad enough about sleeping in. I need to keep working hard on the coaching. I know I have homework, too, and I plan to get started on it today.”

“Are you sure? It’s a good idea to push yourself out of your comfort zone, but don’t push yourself too hard, Mason.”

He shook his head and sat up straighter. I saw a look of determination coming over his face. “I do best under pressure,” he said. “We can stick with doing the next session tonight.”

“If you’re sure,” I said.

He stood up. “There’s no doubt in my mind.” I could tell that Mason was trying to make up for his perceived failure in his routine by going the extra mile with his coaching. He had to make himself feel good, feel accomplished, with something in his life.

“Okay,” I said, standing. “I’ll leave you for now. But I’m not going to go easy on you for the next coaching session.”

“I’m ready for anything,” he said.

“Good,” I said. “Because I think the best thing to do is to have you come out to a party tonight.”