by Ophelia Bell
“Technically it’s been six days,” I say. “And really it’s been three years since I knew I wanted to get to know you better. I was going to say yes to a date with you before you died.” I smirk at him and shove him lightly on the shoulder. “You’d have been the first guy I said yes to out there. But you deprived me of that. So let’s do it now.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Do what? Have a date? What would you call what we’re doing?”
“A booty call, if I’m being honest. But I know it’s more. Let’s make sure it keeps being more. Let’s try to talk at least as much as we screw.”
“We can talk while we screw . . .” he begins. I give him an incredulous look and he laughs. “You’re right, you aren’t capable of more than primal screams with my dick inside you.”
“Oh my god! Listen to you! Mister ‘I Get Off on Fingerpainting with My Own Semen.’ You know, it occurred to me that becoming a father is probably what turned you into a kinky bastard. You learned your spunk has power, saw it firsthand, and now you want to cover the world in it to exert your dominion. Maybe making a donation at a clinic wasn’t enough to scratch that itch and you’re making up for it by covering my pussy with it every chance you get, even though you know I can’t get pregnant.” I poke him in the chest. “Or maybe that’s it. You always secretly wanted to mark your lovers, but for the first time, you actually have the freedom to do it. How close am I?”
He’s laughing and shaking his head. “Are you done, Miss Psychoanalyst? I knew you operated on brains, but I had no idea you could do it with words as well as a scalpel.”
“I’m really just channeling Nina. She’s the psych in the family. But I’m glad I made you laugh.”
“You might be onto something actually. But I need to clear one thing up: I did make a donation at a clinic, but Zoe was conceived the old-fashioned way.”
My eyebrows shoot up, but then I frown. “So you and your friend’s wife . . . and he was okay with that?”
“It was an unusual night,” he hedges. “There was tequila involved. They’d asked me to get tested and leave a specimen, but when the results came back, they wanted to celebrate. When Rafael was a few shots in, he decided it wasn’t enough to just let Emilia go to a doctor and get artificially inseminated. They knew I had viable sperm, and that he didn’t, but he wanted to create some small seed of uncertainty about the baby’s paternity.” He shrugs as if the whole concept was just a given. “So we both had sex with Emilia that night.”
I realize I’m staring with my mouth hanging open, and I blink and clamp my lips together, nodding in thought to try to play off my shock. “Okay, let me process this for a second, because I obviously had the exact wrong idea about the whole thing. You were close enough with them that this was no big deal? A three-way to get your friend’s wife pregnant?”
He gives me a patient smile as if waiting for my morality to catch up with his. “It was his idea. We were close friends by then, yes, but it wasn’t sexual at all until then. And Emilia was definitely attractive, but she was my buddy’s wife, you know? If a woman’s attached, I just don’t look at her like she’s, ah, on the menu. But once I knew she was into it, I wasn’t about to say no.” He studies me with a bemused look.
“So, did you take turns? How did it work exactly? Did she come?”
One dark eyebrow lifts and his mouth twitches. “She had two dicks inside her, what do you think?”
My mouth flies open again and I’m back to staring. “No shit? That’s actually a thing? And it wasn’t strange for you to have your penis pressed against another man’s inside a woman’s vagina?”
“What’s strange is that you keep asking questions and aren’t at all weirded out by me giving you details about the last time I had sex. Before you, I mean.”
“In case you missed it, I’m a doctor. Sex talk doesn’t weird me out. I’d have more issues if you talked about having the most romantic date ever with someone who wasn’t me.”
“I haven’t dated much, so my most romantic date ever would be tonight. Your morbid curiosity about the three-way I had with two other people notwithstanding.”
“It’s not ‘morbid curiosity,’ ” I scoff. “I’m a scientist; it’s just an honest, healthy thirst for knowledge. So spill already—the double-dicking thing. Was that strange?”
He barks a laugh and can’t seem to stop grinning at me, even as his dick twitches beneath my hip. “You’re relentless. It was new, I guess, but not unpleasant. It wasn’t about either of us, though.” He shrugs and gets a bashful look that makes him seem ten years younger. “I don’t know how to explain it. It was intimate. Personal.”
Suddenly all my clinical curiosity evaporates and my cheeks heat. “Oh . . . Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I’m such an asshole!” I bury my face in his shoulder. “I get caught up with this itch to know more sometimes. I didn’t mean to be so damn oblivious to what actually happened. It was between you and them, so I shouldn’t have dug in so hard. I’m truly, truly sorry.”
He touches my cheek and nudges at my chin with a finger until I look into his eyes, my face contorted with chagrin. He only sighs. “I didn’t mean I didn’t want to tell you. I kind of want someone besides me alive to remember. I might have to relinquish my alpha male card by saying this, but it was very tender. I think because we all knew we were making a baby. We . . .” His eyes go glassy and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “We were making Zoe.”
The reverence in his voice actually makes me sigh with how sweet it is. I drape my arms around his shoulders again and press my forehead to his. “Mason, I hate to break it to you, but being that into making a baby is a pretty damn alpha male emotion to have, if you ask me. It also proves what fatherhood means to you.”
“It doesn’t spook you? The fact that I have a kid, I mean. Not to mention how fucking complicated the whole scenario is right now. A lot of women might run, especially any focused on careers or whatnot.” He lets out a shaky laugh and rolls his eyes. “Jesus, listen to me. I have you for one goddamn day and I’m starting to sound like I want to have that talk.”
“You mean about a relationship,” I say in a subdued tone, though my belly is erupting with nerves all of a sudden.
His voice is hoarse but hopeful when he says, “Yeah. Too soon?”
Be rational, I tell myself before I can blurt out a denial. I just look into his eyes, then take a deep breath. Before I can get the words out, his shoulders settle and he sighs.
“I want to say no, trust me,” I say. “I want to dive right in, but this is all happening really fast. You said yourself that you can’t make any promises. Can we enjoy this weekend without any more complicated conversations and see what happens?”
“I’d like that,” he says, then leans in and kisses me.
The next thing I know, he’s lifting me in his arms as he stands, then heads toward the stairs up to the second floor and my bedroom. Outside a heavy snow has begun to fall, fat, fluffy flakes sticking against the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Beyond those windows, the world has already been rendered soft and white, giving me the sense of being snowbound alone with him. But the true wonderland is happening inside our little bubble as he takes me to bed and makes love to me over and over for most of the night.
And I know—even though I said I wanted to take it slow, even though we’ve barely spent twenty-four hours together—that my heart is already well beyond the point of no return.
23
Mason
I could get used to this—waking up with Callie’s lithe body pressed against me, warm and soft and apple-scented. The sensory input does a better job than coffee at rousing my sluggish brain, and I’m hard before I even open my eyes.
Never in my life have I had it this bad for a woman. Before my discharge from the Navy, I was a bit of a man-whore. After my discharge, I gave new meaning to the word promiscuous, at least until Gustavo tried to kill me. During those few months back in LA, I didn’t sleep in the same woma
n’s bed twice. I just never had the urge for repeats, and there was no shortage of offers, so I also rarely slept alone.
But now I don’t think I ever want to leave this bed, as long as she’s in it. My proposition when we first met three years ago had just been idle shit-talk to distract myself from the ordeal of going through surgery. Sure, I’d found her gorgeous, but I didn’t have any illusions at the time that she’d say yes. It didn’t take much for me to recognize she was out of my league. I was a fucking criminal. She was a surgeon, and my usual dates were women of a far lesser caliber.
Something about her pretty face just stuck in my head after that, though. The trauma probably imprinted her on my memory, because over the past three years, she’s appeared in my fantasies, in my dreams, on numerous occasions. And now . . . now, as I pull her tight against me and her soft backside presses into my erection, two, or even three nights are never going to be enough.
Her body stiffens a little as sleep dissipates, then she sighs and bumps her ass back against me again.
“This can’t be real,” she murmurs in a husky voice. “I have to be dreaming.”
“If it is, I don’t want to wake up,” I say, gliding my hand up her naked belly and splaying my fingers across her chest to tease both her pert nipples at the same time.
She moans, turning her face into the pillow and grinding her ass back against my hard-on. It’s too much so early, but everything about this has been too much from the start. Too good. I hate to say that I agree with her sentiment. It can’t be real, but I don’t want go back to reality if it isn’t.
I refuse to dwell on it now, though, especially not when she twists her hips again, this time lifting her leg and draping it over mine. The opening allows my cock to slip between her thighs, the head grazing through her hot wetness.
I dip close to her ear and whisper, “Put me inside you, baby. I need to be inside you.”
We’re nothing but a writhing mass of limbs after that. Once she wraps her hand around me to place me inside her, I spear her from behind and she moans and bucks against me. I rise, twisting slightly and bracing myself on both arms for a better angle, jacking into her from behind. She angles her torso so she can look at me while I hold her legs hostage, one lifted to allow for entry, the other bent and pressed to the bed. This vantage allows me to look down at her flushed face and chest.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Callie.” I’m overwhelmed by the combination of pleasure and pure, unadulterated longing to have this last longer than a weekend. It’s cast in stark relief by the fear that I’ll lose her the second I go back to Mexico. The fear bleeds into my fucking, and I thrust harder, as if somehow I can imprint myself deep inside her if I fuck her enough.
“Mason,” she breathes, then repeats my name, this time on a scream as her back arches with her orgasm. I let loose with a groan, shooting deep, then slipping out to obey the compulsion to see myself spilling out of her.
I feel her eyes on me and glance up, then laugh at the taunting smirk on her face.
“Do you have any other fetishes I should know about or is it just that?” she asks.
My eyebrows shoot up at the suggestion and I lie down to face her, ready to argue, but ultimately surrendering with a shrug. “You got me. I guess I can’t really deny I have a bit of a cream pie fetish. If it bothers you, I’ll stop.”
“No. It’s kind of hot, honestly. Cream pie, huh? I guess there’s a name for everything. What would you call the thing you did with your friend and his wife?”
“Ménage? Or do you mean more specifically?” She nods, and I say, “Double penetration, I guess. Double-vaginal, specifically.”
“There’s another kind?” she asks. I just lift an eyebrow at the question, and a second later her eyes widen and her mouth makes a sweet “O” as she grasps the possibilities. “Right. Anal. I must sound like a complete newbie. My ex and I weren’t exactly adventurous, unless you count the time he actually came to LA to see me.”
I frown. “The time . . .? Are you telling me, in all the time you lived in LA, he came to visit you one time? Jesus, what a fucking asshole.” It truly boggles my mind that any man could be so dismissive of her in a relationship. She’s perfect in every way.
“Well, I was a bit busy anyway. Needless to say, I am not up on the lingo for anything that doesn’t involve neuroendoscopies or translabyrinthine craniotomies.” At my confused blinking, she adds, “Brain stuff.”
“Ah. Well, if there’s anything you want to try . . . butt stuff, for example . . . all you have to do is ask.” I give her a salacious grin, but rather than freak out, she gets a thoughtful look.
“Maybe. I’m game to try anything at least once. The double-vaginal thing, though . . . that just sounds very complicated.”
“It wasn’t that tricky. I guess I was comfortable enough with Rafael to keep it from being weird.”
She frowns, her pretty mouth turned down in a thoughtful curve that I’m learning is her tell for some potentially deep thinking. When it twitches at the corner, I know she’s about to share whatever wacky thought is going through her head.
“Would you have stayed with them if they hadn’t been killed? In a relationship, I mean.”
I wince, but at least she doesn’t dissolve into apologies this time. I love her questions, even though the topics are difficult.
“Yes and no. They didn’t really have room for me in the way you’re suggesting. I loved them as friends—nothing more. But yeah, I planned to stay for Zoe once I was done with my assignment. Not that I didn’t trust them to be great parents; I just wanted to make sure she knew me. Knew she had a protector, even if she only called me Uncle Mason.”
She nods, but I sense more questions. I slide my arm beneath the pillow, bunching it up to rest my head on. “Spit it out. No question is too weird, I promise.”
“Ah, it’s okay if you can’t answer. I’m just wondering how it works in relationships like that. I barely had time to be in one with one guy. I can’t imagine two. But I guess that’s a thing. Throuples. And you were just so close, I was curious. Mostly about how the sex works, I admit, but the whole love thing too.”
I laugh out loud this time. “Yeah, throuples are definitely a thing. But you’d have to ask my brother if you want actual answers. He’s part of one. Though I think it’s different for him, since he’s into both his partners. I think you might have met them too—Leo and Celeste. I know they were there that day I was brought in.”
“I remember them,” she says. “Maddox introduced me when they visited your mom last week. I had no idea they were together. Wow.”
“Please tell me this isn’t a thing you want. There’s not another guy lurking in the wings who wants to share you with me, is there?”
“Oh god, no. I think your rock star dick is more than enough.” Her brows furrow and she adds, “But you would do it if I wanted, wouldn’t you?”
I open my mouth to admit that I’d do pretty much anything if it made her happy, but then think better of it. Too fucking soon. Instead I shrug and say, “I’d try anything once, I guess.”
“Well, I’m game for adventures with you, but that’s one I’m fine skipping.”
“Thank fuck,” I say, eliciting a laugh from her and a coy look over her shoulder as she slips out of bed. She opens the blinds and the room floods with sunlight so bright I have to shade my eyes. “Jesus. Did someone turn the sun up to eleven?”
“It’s the snow. It reflects more light so the whole world seems brighter the day after. My god, what a beautiful day. It seems like a shame to stay in bed. Want to go have some adventures?”
Blinking, I climb out of bed and pad over to the window to see what she’s talking about. Beyond the frosted glass, the world is completely white, like it’s all been covered in a fluffy cotton blanket. It’s stunning. I can’t do anything but stare for several seconds until Callie nudges me.
“You okay? You have seen snow before, right?”
“Not in real life, no
,” I say, still unable to tear my eyes away until she waves a hand in front of my face. I look down at her delighted grin and grin back, unable to help myself. “Can we go out in it?”
“You want to go play in the snow? Are you sure you’re thirty-one years old?”
My eyes narrow at her mild taunt, but I know what she’s fishing for. “Yes, goddammit. I want to go play in the fucking snow.”
24
Callie
Mason’s broody, serious demeanor transforms once we bundle up and head outside shortly after breakfast. His playful side was briefly evident after his arrival at my door yesterday, but after delving into his past, our night was fraught with complicated feelings I’m still not sure how to process. But out in the snow for the first time, it’s like he’s not only shed his worries, but about twenty years as well.
We jog across the street to Commons Park. The tree-dotted landscape bordering the river is a pristine, white expanse, sparkling beneath the morning sun like a freshly cut diamond. A few local residents are out walking dogs or jogging, their breath puffing out in clouds. We’re the only ones who venture farther off the recently shoveled footpaths into the virgin snow.
He jogs ahead, kicking snow into little plumes with his boots like a big kid, then bends down and grabs a handful. Next thing I know a giant snowball hurtles straight at my head.
“Hey!” I yelp, dodging just in time to take the hit on the shoulder rather than square in the face. A chunk of it lodges under my scarf and melts down my neck. “You ass!”
Mason laughs out loud, bouncing on his heels.
Oh, it is on. I grit my teeth and bend down to scoop up a big handful and pack it into a ball, lobbing it back at him as hard as I can. He laughs and twists, the snowball splattering against the back of his black woolen peacoat.
We run around laughing and throwing snowballs at each other for the next fifteen minutes, during which I get hit more often than I land one.
