by Stacey Keith
Lifting the curtain, she said, “Mason?”
Chapter Twelve
Cassidy stared at Mason through the bedroom window. Her heart pounded like there was something trapped under her ribcage, something begging to be set free. But Mason wasn’t real, surely he wasn’t. She’d fallen asleep and he’d become part of some feverish dream.
Yet his face coalesced from the shadows and he tapped again on her window. His chest heaved as though he’d run a long distance to get here. Something she had never felt before, a kind of painful, consuming heat, rushed up inside her. And then she knew. It didn’t matter what happened, whether he tossed her aside or cherished her forever. All that mattered was that she become the woman she was born to be. A woman who knew exactly what she wanted because the blood raged through her like a meteor of living fire. No one on earth could put that out. No one but him.
And he was here.
Hoping he would understand and follow, she ran to the front door and opened it. The night air swirled around her bare legs, but it was the sight of Mason rounding the corner of her house that made her body shiver. His silhouette loomed against the misty, otherworldly light from the street lamp, big and powerful and male. He took the stairs to her porch in one bound and then he was standing in the living room, smelling faintly of aftershave and a fresh cotton shirt.
The screen door banged shut and then the front door. Had he closed them? She couldn’t feel the ground beneath her feet any longer. There was this man standing in front of her, a man she’d never forgotten, a man she had never stopped wanting. Her mind may have grappled with the miracle of seeing him here, but her body didn’t. Her body throbbed in response to his nearness. Her nipples ripened in his blistering heat.
She needed to say things, intimate things about how new she was to this, how she didn’t know what she was doing, but nervousness made her silent.
Mason said nothing. He dropped a rucksack on the floor. But she could hear him breathing, the harshness of it. She sensed the effort it took for him not to grab her, and it thrilled something deeply female inside of her, something that also quivered under the restraint. Maybe they both understood how life-changing this moment was, how there could be no going back for either one of them.
“Take the towel off,” he said.
She obeyed without hesitation, without even worrying whether he liked her body, how it compared. The towel lay discarded by her feet, and she lifted her chin as though daring him not to want her. His eyes traveled slowly over her breasts, her stomach, her sex. She could feel how swollen and tender it was, how blatantly needy, and again she felt marooned by her humiliating lack of experience. Her first time, her only time, had been hurried and fumbling. She’d just been so heartsick over Mason. A moment of pain and it was over. How could that one awkward encounter begin to prepare her for someone like this?
“I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you,” Mason said huskily, gazing down at her.
In a surge of terrible shame and embarrassment, she whispered, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I’m going to show you,” he replied, and then his lips were on her lips and her fears vanished.
His kisses made her delirious. They set fire to pathways of sensuality that exploded her pulse points and blasted down her walls. With an exultant sob, she slid her hands everywhere at once—the day’s growth of beard, the warmth of his lips, the hard muscles of his shoulders. Her fingertips couldn’t learn his textures fast enough. She navigated by touch, by instinct, marveling at his differences. Where she was soft, he was hard. Where she was smooth, he was rough. The mystery of sex, of Mason, was unraveling so quickly, she could barely keep up. Her nipples ached for his lips and then his lips were there, teasing, ruthless, gentle and demanding, until her neck arched and she gave a wild, mournful cry.
Oh, God.
She swallowed hard, remembering that his expertise came from having been with many women. Then she reminded herself that Mason was with her now. Just her. And her nervousness dissolved as she tightened in one long clench of erotic anticipation.
“Your clothes,” she whispered.
Mason dropped his shoes on the floor, then grabbed the back of his T-shirt with both hands and pulled it over his head. With breathless wonder she took in his powerful body, the rippling muscles and narrow waist. He made short work of the zipper on his jeans and the sound of him rasping it open just made her shamelessly wetter. Then the entire glorious length of him, heavy and hard, sprang free.
Her heart hammered madly. She’d never seen a naked man before. Not really. Unable to stop herself, she reached down and wrapped her fingers around him. There was so much power here, and when she heard his sharp intake of breath, she realized the power was hers, too. The head was smooth and shiny-taut, like an un-ripened plum. She couldn’t fully encircle him with her hand. Surprised, she glanced up at him and saw his eyes darken. Even though his patience was clearly hard-won, he was letting her set the pace, letting her explore.
With no thought of pleasing him or even an idea of what she was doing, Cassidy knelt and took him in her mouth. Slowly, wonderingly, she savored the clean male scent of him, the satiny texture of the head, its impossible hardness. A thrill of accomplishment went through her when Mason made a sound of deep satisfaction. It felt as though her heart would break and pure love would come gushing out.
She let her tongue slide down the bulging underside, which felt to her tongue like a warm raised seam, and desire balled up fiercely in her stomach. It made her crazy for something, anything, that could take the pain and the ache away. This hollow place inside her… it hungered.
“No,” he said, panting a little. “Not like this.”
Effortlessly, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. Pressed against his chest, she could hear the urgent beating of his heart. When he laid her on the bed, and she caught a glimpse of his lean muscular body in the mirror of the chifforobe, her desire felt like more than she could handle. Like she might actually combust with it. In the dim light, she watched him moving over her, muscles bulging in his arms and chest and shoulders. Please, never stop touching me, she longed to say, but the words got stuck in her throat. He was so beautiful. She never knew making love could be like this. It felt as though the world didn’t exist anymore, had never existed. There was just this ache that wouldn’t go away, that ransacked her, that made everything else unimportant.
Mason ran his strong hands between her thighs and parted them. Her heart galloped in alarm. She felt naked and exposed, even as her sex throbbed for him. He would see how wet she was, how laughably eager, and think she was silly.
“Shhhh, baby, let me do this,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”
She took a deep breath, trusting him, knowing that he knew.
And then he found her with his tongue.
Her body lay paralyzed. Electric jolts raced beneath her skin, a spider web of wild blue shocks that radiated out, that held her prisoner. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t move. Every part of her was focused on this astonishing new sensation that made her thighs tremble and her fingernails dig into the mattress. Pleasure soared recklessly, faster than she could control it, and with a sound of pure animal enjoyment, he continued flicking and probing her with his tongue. That it was Mason doing this only sharpened her excitement, until suddenly that excitement violently, spectacularly converged and her back arched off the bed.
The wild racking pleasure climbed, dragging her with it. Mason’s tongue drove her higher still. She convulsed, and cried out, sobbing, delirious, her legs pedaling feebly on the bed. She reached for him but he refused to stop, and then another peak started building. She writhed helplessly as the peak crested and grew claws.
Mason kept her teetering on the brink between this world and the next until she couldn’t think anymore. With an incoherent plea, sh
e sat up and pulled his lips toward hers, lips that had shown her things she had only dreamed of. She could taste herself on them, and there was something darkly erotic about that. Then she heard the rip of cellophane and saw Mason quickly sheathe himself in a condom.
“We’ve waited so long for this,” he said thickly.
She nodded, speechless.
Mason positioned himself at her entrance, and then in one long thrust, he was in.
* * * *
The instant he felt Cassidy close around him, Mason almost lost it. She’d worked him into such a state, even the condom couldn’t slow him down. He braced his weight on his hands and went deeper, groaning with the effort to stay in control.
But he’d never known such artless sexual hunger in any woman before. Cassidy gave everything she had without conditions or agendas. She made him feel as though nothing mattered except this, except him.
She gasped when he fully penetrated her, and it made him feel a little invincible. She locked her legs around him, heels tapping his back, as he quickened his rhythm. Physically, she was so much smaller than he was, and he tried to be careful, but every whimper, every moan, drove him mad. No way he could last much longer. The pressure was already mounting, and there she lay spread beneath him, her hair cascading over the pillow, her eyes alight with naked emotion. Before he could stop himself, he was plunging wildly between her thighs.
“I love you,” he gasped. “Cassidy, I love you.”
And just like that, his orgasm surged through him. He let out a hoarse cry and came uncontrollably. Then she was coming, too, her high-pitched sounds blending with his deeper ones.
Spent, panting, they lay heart to heart, palm to palm. The urge to protect welled up inside him, along with another feeling just as strange, a feeling it took him a minute to recognize.
Joy.
It was the kind of joy he hadn’t felt since the first time he’d seen Cassidy in the high school hallway, twirling the combination dial on her locker. Not since he’d plucked up the courage to say hi, and she’d tilted her face up to look at him, and he’d gazed into the only blue he ever remembered seeing after that, the storm-colored blue of her eyes.
* * * *
Cassidy stood shivering and barefoot on her porch. No one was up this early except the Perkins boy, who weaved along the sidewalk on his bike, pitching newspapers.
But the hush of morning made everything beautiful—the silver mist, the dew-covered grass, the gray light of dawn. And she knew with absolute certainty that this one moment when her body ached so deliciously and her heart felt so full would stay with her forever.
Behind her, she could hear Mason washing his breakfast dishes in the sink. She’d cooked for him just as though they were any other couple and this were any other morning. There he’d sat grinning up at her from the table, and she was so in love with him, her hands shook when she scraped eggs from the skillet onto his plate. Every piece of toast she buttered was his toast. Every cup of coffee she poured was his coffee. While he ate, she ran her fingers through his thick dark hair and that feeling of delirious happiness moved through her, so intense it felt like pain.
Waiting out on the porch, she heard him close the zippers on his rucksack. Last night, the sound of a zipper had driven her crazy with desire. Now, there was no lonelier sound in the world.
Then Mason walked out on the porch, dropped his rucksack, and gathered her in his arms. Just touching him was enough to make her pulses go haywire, but as he claimed her mouth, heat and urgency and a terrible sense of loss crashed over her. Mason’s kiss deepened. Tears smarted behind her eyelids. All she could do was hope she didn’t fall apart in front of him.
“I don’t want to go,” he muttered against her lips.
“You have to. Practice, remember?”
“I can’t stop touching you.”
“Your coach is going to chop you up into tiny pieces.” Despite her sadness, no way was she going to hold him back or get him in trouble.
With visible reluctance, he released her. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers. Did he guess her heart was breaking? That no matter how much he said he loved her, she knew about the world he inhabited, a world of fame and money and adoration, that would inevitably take him away from her.
Mason lifted his hand and gently stroked one side of her face. “Cassidy…”
“Yes?”
“Come to Dallas. We’re playing the Giants this weekend. Lots of wives and girlfriends will be there. You’ll love it. And that way, you can meet everybody.”
Everybody. She forced herself to smile. Everybody sounded like she would be on the receiving end of a whole lot of what Kayla served, only dressed up and with more money.
But this was for Mason. It came with the package.
“All that matters is getting to see each other,” he said. “I could send you a plane ticket. Or maybe you’d rather have a driver and a limo.”
A limo? She tried to picture one of those shiny black cars like the ones on TV and cringed when she thought what a stir that would cause in Cuervo. “Flying is good. But I don’t know yet if I can make it.” Or how she would make it. She had a daughter. A house. A job.
Bills.
She forced another smile before he read her thoughts, yet her worry intensified. It made her head ache. But then every muscle in her body ached right now from what he’d given her last night and, from the look on his face, wanted to give her again. A car drove by with more than a few faces pressed to the window. Heat crept up to her cheeks. They were out on her porch.
“I’ll videochat with you tonight,” he said. With a glint in his eye, he added, “What do you think my chances are of getting your clothes off?”
* * * *
Storm clouds blew in while Cassidy was pinning sheets on the laundry line. Before she could gather them up again, rain pitted the dirt around her feet.
“Great,” she muttered as the thunder rolled overhead. She had to pick Lexie up at the bus stop in fifteen minutes. Snatching clothespins off the line, she bundled the sheets under one arm and ran for the house. Muffins was already waiting for her on the top step, motor-boating around her legs while she struggled to open the door. He ran straight for his food bowl and set up a pitiful racket.
She put the sheets on top of the washing machine and wondered again how she was going to make it to Dallas. The last time she’d even been close to Dallas was for her cousin’s wedding in Fort Worth, and she’d been about Lexie’s age at the time. All she could remember was glass skyscrapers, packed freeways, and beautifully dressed women. But she also knew that Dallas was full of the one thing Cuervo didn’t have and never would: Money. She felt that difference all the way down to her bones.
Yet Mason was there. Just saying his name in her head made it seem as though she were floating. Her thighs ached from him. Her breasts were rubbed pink by his stubble. Such strange, new sensations.
Mason. After all those years. Then last night happened. No one could ever make her feel what he made her feel. A traitorous heat worked its way south, stopping to reignite every inch of skin he’d touched. She clutched the damp sheets, shocked that a mere memory could affect her so roughly. She could still feel the muscles of his back rippling beneath her hands. She could hear him whispering her name. No one had ever made her name sound so sexy before. Longing for him reasserted itself as a physical need.
And the only way need could be met was by putting her fears aside and going to Dallas. Never mind that she’d be missing work and the light bill was due. She knew that she could ask Mason for money and he would instantly give it. But she would rather die than ask for money. She would rather die than ask for anything.
Raindrops rattled the mudroom window. Her gaze went to the clock beside it. Lexie’s bus was almost here. Cassidy grabbed the big green umbrella and told herself that she’d worry about Dallas later. S
he was just nervous and tired, was all. Everything seemed bleak when you were tired.
She closed the front door, popped open the umbrella, and a gust of wind almost ripped it from her hands. Up ahead, Lexie’s yellow school bus turned the corner, vivid against the gray slashing rain. Cassidy hurried to meet it, rain clattering on the umbrella. The bus stopped and a handful of children clomped down the stairs, including Lexie.
“How’s my girl?” Cassidy shielded her daughter with the umbrella, noting how pale she looked. Probably no one at the slumber party had gotten any sleep last night. Of course, she hadn’t either, and the memory made her cheeks burn.
“Amy’s party was so much fun,” Lexie said over the roar of the rain. “Her dad made a campfire and we cooked S’mores.”
“And when did y’all go to bed?”
Lexie gave a little huff of exasperation. “We knew it was a school night, Mom. Everybody had their sleeping bags out by nine.”
Which actually meant eleven. Cassidy pulled Lexie closer under the umbrella and herded her up the sidewalk toward the house. She didn’t see the deliveryman on her porch until they were almost there. He held an elaborate spray of a dozen red roses.
“Wow,” Lexie exclaimed. “Did Mr. Mason send those?”
Cassidy’s heart gave a wild throb of joy. Mason sent roses? It didn’t seem like him, really. Mason was more the handpicked wildflowers type. But anything from Mason had the power to amaze her, and she bounced up the porch steps, shook out the umbrella, and then faced the delivery man with a smile.
“Cassidy Roby?” the delivery man asked.
“I’ll hold them,” Lexie said. She set her books on the white wicker porch rocker and accepted the roses, which dwarfed her. Cassidy signed for them, and then she and Lexie watched the deliveryman head out into the rain. For her, it felt as though the clouds had parted and the sun shone. She wanted to hug the whole world right now. She wanted to—
“There’s a card.” Lexie pried a cream-colored envelope from the tissue paper. “Can I read it?”
