by Nikki Ash
It's now after two in the morning and we’ve hopped from club to club, losing people along the way—some going home alone and others finding someone to go home with. We’re now at Club Reckless, sitting at the VIP bar, and Mason has ordered us another round of drinks.
While I watch him say goodbye to the last of his friends, my thoughts go back to the other night. To waking up and finding Mason gone. It shouldn’t have hurt me but it did. I haven’t wanted to admit it to myself but the fact is there’s only one reason why a guy leaves at night and it’s for a booty call. I’m not stupid enough to think he doesn’t have sex. He was a manwhore when I met him all those years ago, and he was the same man when we came back into contact years later. I guess, for a minute I forgot who Mason really is. Since he moved in, he’s either at the gym training or at home. He’s just the guy who lounges on my couch and watches movies with me while eating a bowl of popcorn and helps my son with his homework.
He’s sweet and caring and selfless. He’s amazing with the kids, and he doesn’t complain about helping around the house. He’s funny and playful and he turns me on without doing anything more than smiling. And I’ve been slowly falling for that man. But the other night when he left, it hit me that he’s still Mason. He’s still the playboy who doesn’t want to settle down. He’s a complete contradiction and I’m an idiot to want him. I might as well rip my heart out of my chest, place it on the floor, and stomp on it myself. That way I don’t have to watch and wait for him to do it.
While we’re waiting for the drinks to arrive—and since I’m filled with liquid courage—I pull my phone out of my back pocket and pull up the Plenty of Fish app, shooting a message to GetHooked. I need to get my mind off Mason, and the only guy that has a shot of doing that is him.
Looking4Love: I know it sounds crazy but after having been on three horrible dates and watching my friends get married, it made me realize I don’t want to wait for Mr. Right. Want to go out with me when I get back?
I hit send then read what I wrote. Oh no! That came across completely wrong.
Looking4Love: I didn’t mean you aren’t Mr. Right… I just meant I’m done waiting for him. I’m ready to take action. Find him myself.
Oh, great. Now I’m referring to him in the third person.
Looking4Love: What I mean is, you are sweet and funny and I enjoy talking to you, and I think we could have fun together.
I send the third message, groaning to myself, and swear the next time I’ve been drinking I won’t attempt to message anyone—and then I mentally blame Mason for this.
Mason finishes saying bye to his friends and turns to face me, pulling his phone and card out of his back pocket. He sets the phone down on the bar top and grabs the card to hand to the bartender, who sets our drinks down in front of us. She takes the card and smiles then walks away to ring up the drinks. Mason’s phone vibrates, and being nosy, I glance over at it thinking if I see proof of the other women I will stop falling for him. And when I look, I do see notifications from a woman, only the woman is ME! Snatching his phone before he can grab it, I press the circle home screen button to light up the notifications again. It takes a second for it to all click, but when it does, I feel so stupid.
“It’s you,” I say dumbly, and Mason gives me a confused look. Lighting up the screen again and pointing to the notification, I repeat my words. “It’s you.”
His eyes go wide, and he’s speechless for a few seconds before he finally answers. “It’s me.”
“Great!” I yell over the music. “Of course it’s you! The one guy I talk to about everything. The one guy who’s sweet and charming and funny, and who I enjoy and look forward to talking to everyday. It’s you.”
Then it hits me. His image doesn’t have his face showing but mine does. “Oh my god!” I throw the phone at him and he catches it. “You knew it was me!”
I stand and down my drink, the alcohol burning my throat as it rushes down. “You knew!” I shove his chest in anger and embarrassment, ready to find my way back to the hotel alone.
But before I can pull my hand back, Mason grabs it and pulls me into him. “Come here.” He downs his drink just as quickly as I did and snatches his card off the counter where the bartender left it. He quickly writes a tip and signs his name before he pulls me away from the bar toward a quieter area of the club.
His hands run down my sides landing on my hips as he turns me around to face him, pushing me against the wall of a hallway that looks like it leads to an emergency exit. Then he leans down, and his lips brush against my ear. “You looked so damn gorgeous at the wedding, Mila.” His words send shivers up my spine. “And now, fuck, you’re the sexiest woman in this club.”
“Don’t try to distract me with your damn charm! It’s you.”
“It’s me.” He nods and smiles softly.
“Why would you do that?” I feel hot traitor tears forming but I refuse to let them fall.
“At first, I was curious. I wanted to know what made you tick. What you were looking for in a man.”
“You should’ve told me. I feel so stupid.”
“Why? Because you didn’t know it was me? Does it change anything you’ve said to me? Does it change our conversations? I’ve never lied to you, Mila. Have you lied to me?”
“No, but why didn’t you tell me?”
“I started falling for you, and it scared the shit out of me.”
He was falling for me? “Bullshit! Just a couple nights ago you left me to get laid.” I don’t know this for sure, but when he flinches, my assumptions are confirmed.
Mason quickly composes himself. “No, I didn’t.”
“Then where did you go?” I challenge.
“Yes, I left to get laid,” he admits, “but I couldn’t do it. I got there, and all I could think of was you in those cotton fucking pajamas you always wear and those reading socks, and I couldn’t do it.”
He couldn’t do it?
“What did your message say?” Mason encircles his arms around my waist as my hands come around his neck, my fingers running through his sweaty hair.
“I messaged you to ask you out,” I admit. “I’m done waiting for Mr. Right. I love talking to GetHooked and I didn’t want to keep just talking when I could meet him and see where it leads.” And it all clicks. How could I not have realized it was Mason? The guy is known for referring to women as fish! I chalked it up to a guy making a witty play on the name of the site.
“And I enjoy talking to you.” His fingers hold my chin in place as he looks into my eyes, refusing to let me hide. “I look forward to those conversations more than you know.”
A myriad of emotions, I’m not sure what to do with or what to make of, hit me all at once. What does this mean for us? He never did say he would go out with me. He never asked me out. Does that mean he enjoys talking to me but doesn’t want more? I have so many thoughts and questions, but instead of allowing myself to overthink any of this, I do what my gut tells me to do.
I pull Mason’s face down to meet mine. My lips collide with his, our tongues delving into each other’s mouths. Mason’s hands find my butt, and he picks me up—my legs wrapping around his waist as he pushes me back against the wall for support. We kiss passionately and my body grows warm with desire. My heart feeling completely full. And when his mouth leaves mine, I let out a groan of displeasure, not wanting our connection to end yet.
But quickly, his lips are back on my body. Starting at my collarbone, he places soft open-mouthed kisses up my neck until he gets to my earlobe. “Fuck, Mila, we shouldn’t be doing this. Tell me to stop.”
Like hell I’m going to stop this! Neither of us are that drunk. “I want you,” I moan out. “Take me back to the Bellagio and make love to me, please.”
His body stiffens, his kisses coming to a halt, and I immediately know my mistake. I used the word love. He tries to put me down, but I tighten my legs around him, my ankles locking in place. “You know what I mean. I don’t want to wait anymore. Take m
e back to the hotel and have sex with me, please.”
“You’re drunk.”
“You know I’m not.”
He stares into my eyes, looking for what, I’m not sure, but when he finally speaks, he says, “No.”
“No?” I question.
“I’m not renting you or milking you or doing whatever the hell it was that you said you don’t want guys to do! I told you, you deserve more.” Taking my hand in his, he pulls me out of the club using a side exit, so we’re able to leave undetected by the paparazzi.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Back to the hotel. We’ve both had enough to drink and if we stay and drink any more, I might give in, and we both know that’s not what you really want. Don’t forget I’ve been the person on the other side of those messages. I know what you really want, Mila, and it’s not a guy like me.” We’re walking fast, and my feet are groaning in pain from wearing heels all evening. Mason notices me slowing down and stops.
“Get on.” He bends down slightly, and I jump up onto his back, my hands linking around his throat. “Don’t choke me to death!” he yells through his laughter, and I giggle.
“Gitty up!” I squeeze his sides with my thighs, and Mason shakes his head, chuckling. As he carries me down the sidewalk, I start to recognize our surroundings. Mason is quiet, and I’m trying to think of a way to change his mind. He’s only saying no because he thinks I still want to wait until marriage, and while that would be ideal, I’m done waiting. Especially now that I know Mason is GetHooked.
We’re only a couple blocks away from our hotel when I spot The Chapel of Love. “Look!” I point to the church and giggle. “It’s a church! We can get married and then you can own the cow! And then I can finally have sex!” Okay…maybe I’m a little drunk.
Mason stops and glances toward the Chapel, dropping me to my feet and turning around to face me. “I would make the worst husband ever.”
I let go of his hand and bring my hands up to his neck. “You would make an incredible husband. Like you said, don’t forget I’ve been the person on the other side of those messages. I now know both sides of Mason Street.” I pull his head down and kiss him. “Marry me. Marry me and then fuck me. I know this sounds crazy, but we could be amazing together.” I kiss him again and he groans into my mouth.
“Please,” I plead, “Marry me.”
Sixteen
Mason
We’re not drunk…tipsy, maybe. But drunk? Nah. That’s what I tell myself as my wife pulls me into her hotel suite. We had a few drinks, a couple of shots. We’re not drunk, though. That’s what I try to convince myself of as Mila undresses in the center of the room.
I watch as she reaches her hands back and undoes the knot of her top. Because she’s not wearing a bra, her heavy tits fall slightly as they’re freed. Her pert nipples are hard and begging to be licked and sucked. I don’t suck or lick them, though.
I just watch as she pushes her sexy as fuck outfit down past her hips. It falls the rest of the way on its own, pooling at her feet and leaving her in nothing but a black thong. She steps out of the material and I notice she’s still in her fuck-me heels. I want nothing more than to lay her on the bed and explore every inch of her body. I don’t touch her, though.
I continue to watch as her fingers hook in the sides of her thong and she pushes it down then steps out of it. Her almost bare cunt is on display, begging to be fingered and fucked. I don’t do either, though.
Instead, I stay right where I am, watching as she steps out of her heels, and as she bends down to move them to the side, her tits fall like perfect rain drops. My tongue darts out to wet my lips as I imagine taking each of her nipples into my mouth and sucking on them.
When she finally approaches me, she takes my left hand in hers—the matching silver bands glinting in the light—and walks us over to the edge of the bed. She unbuttons my shirt and removes it from my body. Then she undoes my belt and pants, pushing them down and leaving me as naked as she is.
“Your body is perfect. It’s almost too perfect,” she murmurs, giving me a shy smile before her eyes scan down her own body.
“Don’t do that. Your body is beautiful.” I expect her to argue, to mention her stretchmarks or to cover herself up, but she doesn’t and that turns me the hell on.
“Thank you.” She stands up on her tiptoes and I think she’s going to kiss me, but instead she whispers into my ear, “I know what I’m doing. I’m not completely drunk and I promise I will remember everything tomorrow. Fuck me, please, and don’t hold back.”
Her words melt away the last bit of resolve I have, and lifting her up, I toss her onto the bed, her hair falling against the pillow in waves. She smiles brightly as I hover above her, and my only thought is that she is without a doubt the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen, and she’s all mine. “Are you sure, Mila?” I ask.
“Yes. Please, Mason.”
My body is so close to hers, my cock pushing against her entrance, and that reminds me I don’t have any condoms in here. “I need to go next door to my room to grab a condom.”
She pouts but agrees. “Okay, hurry up.”
“Where’s your card so I can get back in?”
“On the table.”
Still hovering above her, I dip my head down and give her a hard kiss on her soft lips. “I’ll be right back.”
Throwing on my pants, I run next door barefoot and unlock the door with my swipe key. I grab a couple of condoms then run back to Mila’s room. I can’t be gone more than two minutes tops. When I open her door, she’s still lying in the same place I left her. Only she’s snoring.
Chuckling to myself, I throw the condoms on the nightstand and pull her blankets up all the way to cover her naked body. Not drunk, my ass. Then I get into bed next to her and watch her sleep soundly, her eyelids fluttering softly like she’s already dreaming. I wonder if tomorrow she’ll remember any of this. Will she regret marrying me? I don’t even know what I was thinking when I agreed to marry her. Actually, I do. I was thinking about how she found out I was GetHooked. She told me she wanted to meet him, and I thought if I married her maybe I could keep her. I could have her in every way possible instead of being hidden behind a phone and a dating app.
She was standing there in front of the church, begging me to marry her. If given the opportunity, who wouldn’t marry this woman? But what I did was wrong. We both have been drinking. Both of us drunk to a certain extent. I should’ve said no. I should’ve taken care of her while she was drunk, not gone along with her crazy idea. It’s not like it will ever work out. I’m not the marrying type. My longest relationship has been over a dating app. I think a part of me wanted what Tristan has, even if it was only for a few hours. To be somebody’s husband without enough time to fuck it all up. All she wanted from me was for me to make love to her. I laugh softly at that. I didn’t even get that shit right. She passed out without even getting laid like she wanted.
I watch as her chest slowly rises and falls and wonder to myself, what if maybe this marriage could work? We already live together. What if I could give her everything she wants? What if I could take care of her and Alec? I’m not my parents. I make a good living, and I have money put away in the bank. I could spend my days training and my nights making love to Mila just like she wants. The chemistry is there. I feel it every time we’re around each other. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. When she smiles, my stomach knots. When she frowns, I want to make it right. I want to make her happy. I couldn’t make my mom happy. I was a burden to her. I was too young to take care of her. But now I’m in a place where I can take care of Mila and Alec.
Who the fuck am I kidding? Tomorrow, in the light of day, when Mila wakes up and freaks out over marrying me while drunk—even though she’ll swear she wasn’t—she’ll insist we file for an annulment and we’ll both move forward. Because we both know I’m not the one she’s looking for.
Seventeen
Mila
Ugh! My head is pounding, and my throat is dry. I try to part my lips, but my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Yuck! I bet my breath is nasty. It tastes nasty. I open one eye slightly, trying to remember last night.
The wedding.
The dinner.
The cake.
Clubbing with Mason’s friends.
Drinking.
Drinking some more.
Finding out Mason is GetHooked.
Begging Mason to have sex with me.
Ughhhh!!!! I begged Mason to have sex with me! Real classy, Mila.
Begging Mason to marry me.
Marrying Mason.
Whoa! Back up! Did I just say I remember marrying Mason? I open both eyes and peek down to my left hand, and sure enough there’s a thin silver wedding band on my left ring finger.
What else happened? I remember coming back to the room, stripping down for him, and then stripping him down. Damn, that body! Then he told me he needed to grab condoms, and since I’m not on birth control, I agreed.
What happened next? Fuck! Think Mila! Did I finally have sex and not remember it? Oh my god! I squeeze my thighs together to see if I’m sore. Surely after not having sex in five years, I would be a little sore after being with Mason. I don’t feel sore, though. Maybe it sucked? I mean, just because his dick is thick and long and looks like it could please a woman doesn’t mean he knows what to do with it…
“Good morning.” Mason’s deep voice has me jumping slightly. When I glance over at him, he’s lying next to me, his muscular arm propped up with his hand holding his head up. The blanket is only covering him up to his waist, leaving his tight pecs and deliciously ripped abs on display.
“Good morning,” I croak out. “I need to get some water.” When I pull the blankets off me, I immediately pull them back up because I’m naked. Like completely naked.
