by Tess Summers
Her arms relaxed in front of her, and the corner of her mouth went up, emboldening him.
“I’m prepared to spend the night between your legs begging for forgiveness instead,” he said with a lazy grin.
She stepped to the side, allowing him in.
“You can sleep in the guest room,” she said, closing and locking the door behind him.
Oh, no, no, no. He wasn’t sleeping anywhere but with her wrapped in his arms.
He paused and reached out, touching her arm.
“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. Can we please talk?”
She shrugged and wrapped her arms around her middle. Mason knew she was hurting. He dropped his bag and set his crutches against the wall, then pulled her into him. Thankfully, she didn’t resist, because he wasn’t very steady on just one leg.
She burrowed into his chest and began to cry quietly.
“Oh baby, don’t cry.” He began to stroke her hair. “I fucked up. I should have insisted you stay. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
Her little shoulders began to shake. It was killing him.
“Aw, sweetheart. Talk to me. Why are you crying?”
He tried to pull away and make her look at him, but she squeezed his middle harder and wouldn’t budge as she sobbed softly into his shirt.
“Can we sit down so I can at least hold you properly? I don’t feel very stable on one leg.”
She pulled away, sniffling, and whispered, “Let’s go in the living room.”
Mason grabbed his crutches and followed her into a cozy room with the same wooden floors as the entryway and a large Oriental rug in the center. It looked like it was straight from the pages of Better Homes and Gardens with its overstuffed, vintage furniture in soft, feminine colors. Her decorating touches were ones he’d never even think to consider in his condo. It was very Reagan-esque, and he immediately felt comfortable.
“This is a great room,” he said as he looked around. “It’s very you.”
Her face was splotchy from crying, but she smiled and murmured, “Thanks.”
He sat down on the couch, setting his crutches on the ground, then leaned back and sprawled out, gesturing to the cushions at his side.
“Come here, baby. I need to hold you.”
She immediately complied, and he wrapped his arms around her.
“I was so scared I was never going to see you again,” she confessed. “I was mad—which I had every right to be, by the way. But I acted irrationally, and that’s on me. It wasn’t until I was in the air that I thought about the fact that Jacob had shown up for a reason, and you might have to disappear without me hearing from you again.”
“First of all, I would never disappear without telling you first. Never.” He tapped her chin and gave her a disapproving look. “Something we need discuss about you doing, by the way.” Then hugged her again. “And as far as why Jacob showed up…” He sighed, suddenly more exhausted than he’d felt in days. It was probably the relief that she was going to forgive him washing over him after a long-ass day. “I’ll tell you everything that’s going on—tomorrow, I promise. Right now, I’m just really tired. Can we go to bed? Together? Please?”
He felt her smile against his chest.
“Yeah, we can do that.”
Of course, he had to push the envelope.
“Naked?”
“Still impossible,” she murmured, moving to sit up.
“Always,” he said with an unapologetic grin.
Chapter Thirty
Reagan
She didn’t know if she was supposed to forgive him this easily, but didn’t really care. She’d already softened after reading his text messages apologizing. When he had shown up at her door not more than fifteen minutes after she’d arrived home, what was she supposed to do?
Wrap her arms around him and feel loved that he had chased after her, that’s what.
So that was what she did.
He felt even better lying next to her in her bed, naked.
“Your place is so cozy,” he said when he walked into her bedroom. She would best describe it as shabby chic, with the wrought iron bed she’d found at Goodwill that she’d painted white, to match the furniture she’d picked up at yard sales and secondhand stores and also painted.
She’d splurged on a mattress and bedding though, something Mason seemed to appreciate when he sank down between the sheets, already stripped naked while she stood fully dressed in the middle of her room.
“Maybe it’s because your bed smells like you, but this is fucking heaven. I think I feel more comfortable here than I do my own place.”
“Good, since this is going to be your place, too.”
He looked away with a frown.
Oh god, he’s not staying.
“Isn’t it?” she asked. “At least for a while? Has that changed?”
“No, I’m staying. If you’ll still have me. I’ll explain everything that’s going on tomorrow, sweetheart. I promise. Right now, you need to get your ass in bed and snuggle next to me.”
“Just let me lock up and wash my face. I’ve been traveling—commercial, not on a private jet—for ten and a half hours today.”
“Hurry back,” he called after her as she headed to the main part of the house to make sure the doors were locked and the lights off before coming back and getting ready for bed in the master bath adjoining her room.
She debated putting on the oversized t-shirt she usually slept in, just to hear him growl at her to take it off, but decided against it. Instead, she shut the light off and ventured into her bedroom stark naked. A feeling of happiness bubbled up through her—she was going to fall asleep next to Mason again.
His soft snoring as she slipped between the covers indicated he’d beaten her to it. When she snuggled in beside him, his arm immediately wrapped around her waist, and she fell asleep feeling safe and protected. And loved. So loved.
****
Mason
He woke up early the next morning feeling content in Reagan’s bed. The morning light let him look around her bedroom as she lay next to him. From what he’d seen of her house, it reflected her personality to a T, and he loved it. He was going to be really comfortable here over the next few weeks while he healed.
Probably too comfortable. He knew leaving her was going to be a bitch when the time came, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now, he was going to enjoy his life with Reagan Jones, and get a glimpse of how things were going to be permanently once he neutralized the price on his head and broke ties with the agency.
The physical therapy appointment he’d booked wasn’t until Friday; he had two entirely free days—and at least one was going to be spent having makeup sex.
Maybe both.
Just then a beeping noise filled the room. Reagan groaned and rolled over, fumbling for her phone on the nightstand and shutting the sound off.
What the hell? She set an alarm?
She stroked his forearm where it was wrapped around her.
“I’m sorry if that woke you up,” she said softly.
“I was already awake.”
That elicited a giggle. “Of course you were.”
“Did you mean to set an alarm?”
She sighed then reluctantly sat up.
“Yeah, last night. I have absolutely no food in this house for breakfast, and I have to get you coffee. Actually, I’ll need to get a coffee maker or Keurig thingy for you, unless you like instant coffee?”
“No instant, but a coffee maker or Keurig works.”
“Which would you prefer?”
“Why don’t I go with you?”
The idea brought a smile to her face, then she paused. “Wait. Is it still okay if you’re seen with me?”
“As long as we stick to the story.”
“So why did Jacob come back?”
He blew out a breath. “To let Bella and me know there’s a bounty on our heads. Well, your sister’s has been cancelled. She’s listed as deceased.�
��
As he expected, panic flashed across her face. He’d seen it too many times in the short time he’d known her.
“Oh my god. What are you going to do? Is it safe for you to even go out? You should stay inside. I know there’s physical therapists who make house calls.”
He smiled at her concern, causing her to hit his arm.
“Mason, this is fucking serious!”
He stroked her cheek, trying to dampen his smile.
“Sweetheart, I know it is. This isn’t the first there’s been a price on my head, but hopefully, it will be the last.”
“Why? Are you going to fake your death like my sister?”
“Something like that.”
“Something like that? What the hell does that even mean?”
“It means after my wounds are healed, I’m going to headquarters and meeting with my bosses about my resignation. Since I’m no longer going to be in the field, I’m hoping they’ll work with me about listing me as dead. Then I’ll go back to using my birth name all the time.”
She shook her head as if trying to digest everything he’d just told her.
“Time out. One—why do you have to wait until you’re healed to go in? Two—what’s going to happen to your pension and health insurance if you’re listed as dead? Three—your birth name?”
“I’m waiting until I’m healed because there’s going to be a cost. Probably a hefty one if I’m asking to be considered deceased.”
“You’ll have to pay to quit?”
He shook his head. “Not with money. With a dangerous assignment that I normally wouldn’t take otherwise. After I do their bidding, they’ll probably give me a lump sum that will modestly cover me through retirement, and send me on my way. Unfortunately, I’ll have to be on my own regarding health insurance. And yes, my real name. The name on my birth certificate and on all my diplomas. The one that only people with the highest clearance know about. That was my stipulation when they recruited me to become a special agent—I be given a new ‘real’ identity in addition to the multitude of fake ones I’ve acquired.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I have two identities that are considered authentic by the government. I file two sets of income tax returns; I have bank accounts in both names, property in my real name, brokerage accounts in both names—”
“How are you able to do that?”
“Like I said, it was part of my negotiations before I agreed to go undercover. I wanted an exit strategy before I even entered, and I wanted to keep my parents and siblings safe.”
“Wow,” she whispered. “It’s kind of like the witness protection program.”
He chuckled. “Kind of.”
“I’m assuming Marcus did the same thing?”
“Yeah, except he’s not listed as dead so he’ll be getting his pension direct-deposited into his account, along with terrific healthcare.”
“Will he go back to using his birth name, too?”
“Probably not. It’ll be safer for me if he doesn’t.”
“So are you going to tell me your birth name?”
“Afraid not, sweetheart. Not until I’m completely out and going by it.”
That seemed to hurt her feelings. “Why? Don’t you trust me?”
“The fact that you know Hughes isn’t my original last name means I trust you. No one but Marcus knows that.”
Reagan continued to pout.
“I’m sorry, baby. It’s safer for everyone right now this way.”
She sighed and stood up, leaning over to peck him on the lips. “I know you’re right. But I also think it’s safer if you stay put while I go get some groceries. Nothing like riding around in a motorized shopping cart to draw attention to us.”
Mason hadn’t thought about that. God, he couldn’t wait to be walking normal again. He was going to be the most dedicated physical therapy patient ever.
He reached for her hand. “Do you have to go right this minute?”
She smiled and let him pull her back onto the bed. “No, but I just thought you’d be starving this morning.”
Rolling over so he enveloped her frame with his, he growled, “I’m starving all right. Just not for food.”
He expected her to giggle, but instead she ran her fingernails down his back and seductively murmured, “Mmm, what do you have in mind?”
“I think it’s easier if I show you,” he replied with a smirk and a wink.
He dipped his head to kiss her, and she cried out, “Wait!”
He pulled back instantly, worried he’d hurt her. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to brush my teeth,” she said as she scampered out from under him.
He flopped back on the pillows, watching her naked ass walk toward the bathroom. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely,” she called over her shoulder.
Goddammit, now he was going to have to get up and hobble into the bathroom to brush his teeth, too. As he watched her tits bounce while she moved the toothbrush up and down, he tried to suppress his grin.
Totally worth it.
Chapter Thirty-One
Reagan
She lay panting as he crawled up her body with a satisfied grin after making her moan out his name as she orgasmed.
Damn, did that man know how to lick her pussy.
He leaned down and kissed her so she was tasting herself on his tongue. Pussy and toothpaste, what an erotic combination. She’d had no idea.
“You’re getting around better,” she observed as he maneuvered around the bed.
“I had incentive.”
She pushed on his shoulder so he was laying on his back and began to kiss his chest, her nipples grazing his core as she worked down his stomach toward his cock. His delicious, hard-as-steel, perfect cock.
“God, I love your cock,” she whispered in awe, slowly stroking his shaft. Beads of precum collected at the tip, and she dipped her head to run her tongue around his helmet, looking into his eyes as she did.
She’d never considered herself sexy until she met Mason, but something about being with him brought out her inner vixen. He never disappointed in showing his appreciation.
“Fuck, that is hot,” he growled as he watched her intently.
With his cock between her lips, she smiled and took him as deep as she could—still staring in his eyes.
“Holy fuck,” he shuddered and briefly closed his eyes with his head thrown back.
She began to bob her head up and down his cock while she fisted his shaft from the base to meet her mouth in the middle. Her rhythm started slow and seductive, but as his breathing became shallower, she picked up the pace.
She glanced up and found him watching her, mesmerized. He tenderly tucked her hair behind her ear and let out a long groan when she took him deep in her throat again. His cock was nice and slippery when she popped him out of her mouth and resumed stroking him. Sucking him back into her mouth, she started to moan around his dick. She knew that turned him on.
“Fuuuuck!”
He started to thrust his hips subtly in tempo with her rhythm, and she continued slurping and moaning.
“Baby,” he panted, “I’m going to come.”
Reagan didn’t stop, and he started to grunt while slightly pushing her head down as he began to spurt in her mouth. There was too much cum to swallow, and it dribbled out the sides of her mouth onto his shaft while she continued sucking and stroking him until he began to jump under her touch.
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, jerking away from her like she was tickling him as he tried to catch his breath.
She smiled and made her way to the bathroom for a towel, feeling his eyes on her as she did.
“I think we should have a rule,” he said when she returned and began to clean him up.
She paused her wiping and looked up at him. “What kind of rule?”
“No clothes allowed when we’re in bed—ever. Or in the bedroom at all, for that matter.”
“Not even underw
ear?”
“God no. Especially not underwear.”
Lying naked next to Mason every night—her skin touching his? Gosh, twist my arm.
“I think that can be arranged,” she said with a sly grin and finished cleaning him.
He tugged her next to him and lazily ran his fingers down her spine.
“We should probably also dedicate at least one day a week to not getting out of bed. Starting today.”
She lifted her head to look at him.
“We already had one day this week that we spent in bed, remember? It was the most perfect day I’ve ever had.”
Mason kissed her hair.
“Mine too. But the week restarted when we left Ensenada.”
She smiled against his chest. “But today, I really need to go to the grocery story, unpack and do laundry. Not to mention rearrange my closet so there’s more room for your things. How about if we designate a weekend day?”
That would work better for when she started back teaching anyway.
He sighed dramatically. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Jones. But how do you feel about couch sex? Or counter sex? Or on the washing machine?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Tell you what. If your physical therapist approves it, I’m all for it.”
“Oh, he’ll approve it, all right,” he said confidently.
“You’re incorrigible,” she said, pecking his lips than crawling off the bed.
“Is that better or worse than impossible?”
Reagan headed toward the bathroom, calling over her shoulder, “Worse.”
“But in a good way, right?” he yelled from the bed.
She peeked her head around the door jamb, the sight of his muscular, naked body lying in her bed causing her to catch her breath.
“Of course.”
****
Mason
Reagan left to go to the grocery store, leaving him alone in her quaint three-bedroom.
“Look around, get familiar with the place. I have no secrets from you. My sex toys are in the cabinet of my nightstand,” she said with a wink as she walked out the bedroom door.
Of course he checked them out the minute he heard the garage door close. There were definite possibilities of incorporating some into their playtime. He wondered if she’d let him fuck her ass and use a dildo in her pussy? His cock moved at the idea.
