Sweet Obsession

by J. Daniels

  It’s nearly six-thirty and the sky is beginning to warm with the approaching sunset. Reds and deep oranges color the clouds. The air is slowly dropping in temperature.

  Thank God for the sweatshirt I packed. I may need it before we get to the campsite.

  Across the street, Mason carries a large cooler around to the back of his car. He’s been loading up for the past ten minutes, not that I’ve been watching from the bakery window or anything.

  Okay, I have. He’s excited, and it’s kind of cute to watch him step back and evaluate his packing job. Move things around. Scratch his head when the back door won’t latch shut and then pull everything out and start over.

  Frustrated Mason King is surprisingly sexy, and I’m guessing not something people get to see very often, being Mr. Zen.

  Traffic finally slows and I step off the curb. I get halfway across the street before Mason turns his head and notices me.

  He looks fucking edible in dark gray warmups and a yellow graphic tee.

  Fucking. Edible.

  His hair is a blonde wavy mess, messier when he pushes a hand through it as he watches me. Both of us are in sneakers, which I had to run home for after he sent me a text this afternoon.

  Mason: Your arse looks amazing in those heels. It also looks amazing in runners. That’s what you should be wearing this weekend. Lots of walking, gorgeous.

  How did I forget about shoes? I remember floss and a nail file, but comfortable shoes? Not a priority.

  After setting the cooler down on the back of the car, Mason jogs over and takes my duffle.

  “Here. I’ll take that.” He slides the bag off my shoulder and lifts it with one hand, gauging the weight. His brows pull together as we move to the car. “A bit heavy, yeah? You pack for both of us?”

  I hook a thumb behind me. “Oh, that’s just my lube. My clothes are in my other bag. Can you grab it?”

  His face right now? Priceless.

  Mouth falling open. Alarmed eyes shifting between the bag in his hand and my face. His lips pinch together after a few seconds of utter shock, and he fights a smile through a shake of his head. “Your lube? Jesus, Brooke. A bit of a wasted purchase, don’t you think?”

  We stop at the back of the car. Mason moves a few things around to make room for my bag.

  “Wasted? How is stocking up on lube a wasted purchase? You should always have some handy, just in case. And they last a while. I don’t think they expire for like two years or something.”

  “Do you have any idea how wet I make you? You don’t need lube, sweetheart. Not with me.”

  I cross my arms, leaning against the side of the car. “Are you sure about that? What about anal?”

  He freezes, keeping his hands on the duffle after he stuffs it beside the cooler.

  His head is down. Profile tense and body deathly rigid.

  There is something extremely satisfying about supplying Mason with another spank-bank image. I like the high it gives me, knowing he’ll get off on that later. Picturing my body to seek out his release.

  Enjoy that.

  Laughing at my own cleverness, I start to move to the sidewalk, but he reaches out and grabs me, pinning my body between him and the bumper. My breath hitches when his hand connects sharply with my ass and stays there, his other roughly roaming over my curves.

  His touch is possessive. Indecent.

  I mold to his front like warm putty. I suddenly feel drugged.

  So much for having the upper hand.

  “Don’t give me any ideas about this perfect fucking arse, Brooke. Unless you want me to show you why we wouldn’t need lube for that either.” He sucks on the skin beneath my ear, then drops his hands, moving away as suddenly as this delicious assault came on. “You ready to get going? I want to set up camp before dark,” he says, completely casually, grabbing a rolled up sleeping bag off the sidewalk and sliding it next to my duffle.

  I blink him into focus, reaching up and wiping my chin. I’m surprised it’s not wet with drool.

  “Y-Yeah, sure. Just let me use the bathroom first.”

  Jesus. Pull yourself together, Brooke.

  I rush inside the studio before I see or hear his reaction to my obvious discomposure.

  Lord, the man’s hands are wicked. Paired with that voice? I’m completely defenseless.

  “You started it,” I mumble to myself as I tie my hair up off my heated neck. I guess it serves me right for trying to get a rise out of Mason.

  He got one. I definitely felt it. And now I can very easily confirm his statement about not needing lube.

  I push the door open at the top of the stairs and step out into the loft.

  The room is exactly how I remember it from my first embarrassing experience up here. Lots of grays and blues. Massive wood-panel bed. A small kitchen table that looks to also be serving as a desk. It’s covered in membership forms and signed contracts. A laptop. A book about franchising.

  I walk over to the accent chair in the corner and pick up the stuffed koala. I crush it to my chest.

  “Hey, mate,” I whisper.

  He kept it.

  After using the bathroom and washing my hands, I stop at the refrigerator to hopefully grab a bottle of water. Something to hold in the car when my hands become restless. I swing the door open and startle at the contents littering the shelves.

  Boxes. Bakery boxes. A lot of them.

  Why are there so many?

  “What the hell?” I grab the closest one in reach and open the lid. Four cupcakes fill the container. Four cupcakes I made. Completely untouched. I set the box down and reach for another. And another. Each one still exactly how I delivered it. No bites taken. None of the icing sampled. I find the first box I gave to Mason on the sidewalk the morning we met. The only cupcake that has been disturbed is the dolce and banana I tasted for him.

  He isn’t eating anything I give him. He’s not even tasting them.

  Why? Does he not like cupcakes? Fuck, if that’s the case, why is he allowing me to make it rain desserts every time we see each other?

  I put the boxes back on the shelf and grab some water. I can’t get back outside fast enough. When I push the studio door open, I charge at Mason with my bottle pointed at his chest.

  “Why is your fridge filled with cupcakes? What is going on?”

  The smile on his face diminishes the second I get those words out.

  I lower the bottle. I almost tell him to forget what I just said.

  He looks uncomfortable, maybe a bit anxious. His eyes are shifting about the sidewalk while he rubs the back of his neck.

  But damn it, I want to know. I’m too curious to drop this. And I’m not going anywhere until he explains what I’ve just discovered.

  With a sigh, he pushes away from the car and steps forward, lifting his shoulders. “Because you made them,” he quietly states, stopping a foot away. “I don’t eat stuff like that, Brooke. I haven’t in a long time.”

  “So tell me and I won’t push them on you. Jesus. I can’t believe you never said anything.”

  “I don’t eat them. I didn’t say I don’t like getting them. You’re so proud of what you make. I am too.”

  What . . . did he just say?

  I stare at him as something warm bursts open in my chest, spreading from my neck to my navel. My shoulders sag. I chew nervously on the inside of my cheek.

  He keeps them because he’s proud of me?

  How can someone be so straight-up filthy one minute and this sweet the next? He’s like this beautiful balance of dark and light, dirty and decent, and he seems to know exactly when to be one and when to give me the other.

  Keeping one cupcake because I make it is surprising enough. He keeps them all.

  Every single one.

  Mason watches my reaction, and what does he do? He waits. He waits while I absorb what he’s just disclosed. This completely insane, yet incredibly affectionate gesture. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t move closer and kiss my cheek, o
r tell me I look pretty while I struggle to comprehend this.

  He just simply waits, and it’s so him, and so what I need him to do right now.

  I lower my gaze to his arms, the same arms that just had me pinned roughly to that hard body without giving me much of a choice about it.

  Funny. Now I’m tempted to willingly throw myself into them.

  I don’t fight it.

  “God, Mason.” I reach for his shirt and pull us together. My head hits his chest. I barely move but my heart is pounding. “What are you doing?” I whisper, allowing my eyes to close.

  He wraps his strong arms around my body, squeezing me. “I don’t know. I couldn’t throw them out.”

  I smile against the soft cotton.

  We stand there for several minutes. My head never moves. His arms never leave me. It’s soothing, the constant pressure of his hold, and somehow it feels strangely familiar. Like he’s held me like this for years. Like I’ve known him my entire life, and in the moments when I’ve needed someone to be with me like this, it’s always been him.

  No one else.

  Sighing, I snuggle the tiniest bit closer, clutching my water bottle between us. “You’re crazy.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Promise me you’ll toss them when they start to grow mold.”

  “All right.”

  I crane my neck and kiss his jaw. “Now, take me camping before I realize I’m just as crazy as you are.”

  He smiles, kissing my temple. Tipping up my chin to steal my mouth.

  Or maybe I just give it to him.

  “This is where we’re camping? Really?” I unbuckle my seat belt and lean forward, looking out the window at our surroundings.

  Dirt covered parking lot. One single lamp post lighting the area.

  I turn to Mason, smiling. “You fingered me here.”

  With a sly grin, he winks at me before exiting the car.

  Mm. Ready to build on that stellar experience, Mr. King?

  I take a sip of my water and meet him around the back to help unload.

  Mason insists on carrying the bulk of our stuff as he leads the way down a small narrow path toward the campsites. I follow behind, clutching the sleeping bag against my chest. Tall trees surround us. I can barely see the darkening sky through the branches.

  I move closer until I’m practically climbing onto his back.

  He talks the entire time, as if he can sense my apprehension behind him. He talks about camping with his dad back in Australia. How his sisters never had any interest in going until his friends started tagging along. He tells me he came by here the other day to stake out the grounds for our weekend. There’s a lake, and a few hiking trails he thinks I’ll enjoy checking out. He smiles over his shoulder when I let out a doubtful chuckle, which I play up. I like lakes. I might like hiking.

  It’s as if the fresh air is drugging me.

  When we reach a large clearing in the woods, I watch Mason set everything down by two logs. Tent. Cooler. My bag and his. He kicks some rocks and branches out of the way and immediately goes about setting up the tent.

  I drop the sleeping bag and look around.

  It’s a wide-open space, room enough for at least a handful of other tents, but we’re alone. There’s a fire pit contained by an ill-defined rock formation. It resembles somewhat of a circle. The wood in the center looks recently burned. A metal grill that seems to be a courtesy for campers to use is located next to a large rectangular picnic table.

  Nice. At least we won’t have to eat with our asses in the dirt.

  Stepping to the edge of the clearing, I stand on my toes and peer through a break in the trees.

  “Hey. We’re right by the lake,” I tell Mason, looking over my shoulder. “Did you know that?”

  Literally, right by it. It can’t be more than fifty feet away.

  His smiling face appears from around the back of the tent. “Yeah. That’s one of the reasons why I picked this campsite. The other two are pretty secluded and nowhere near the toilets. Figured you’d do better out here if I kept us in walking distance of those.”

  “Good thinking. I’d hate you for life if you told me I had to go pee in a bucket or something.”

  His chuckle is broken up by the sound of my ringtone. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and look at the screen.

  “Hey, Juls,” I answer, watching Mason disappear again behind the tent.

  “Hey, stranger. I feel like I haven’t talked to you in forever. Where are you?”

  “Camping.”

  My nephew Jacob yells something in the background. I hear Ian’s voice, then the sound of a door closing. “Say that again? It sounded like you said camping.” She laughs. “Jesus. Can you imagine? You? Camping? I think there’s a better chance of Ian carrying our next child.”

  I roll my eyes. “I did say camping. And Ian probably could carry a baby if he wanted to. He’s hormonal as shit.”

  “What?”

  “I said he’s hormonal . . .”

  “Not that,” she brusquely cuts me off. “You’re camping right now? With who?”

  Mason moves on to the next post, securing it down with a spike. I spin around and face the trees.

  “Mason,” I murmur, playing with the hem of my shirt.

  Juls inhales a sharp breath. “Oh, really? The hot Australian from the bar,” she states, her voice lifting with her obvious approval of this development. “Mm. He was really nice. Are you still seeing him? I figured that would be done by now.”

  I move as far away from the tent as I can get without stepping into the woods. I lower my voice to a stern whisper. “I’m not seeing him like that. We’re just hanging out, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

  “Just hanging out doing what, Brooke? Dating? Being in a relationship?”

  “Shut up,” I snap. “And stop grinning like an idiot. I can totally hear it in your voice.”

  “Look at you,” she laughs. “First sign of being in love is denial. Welcome to the club, sis.”

  “Oh, my God,” I groan, rubbing my forehead. “I’m hanging up.”

  “Wait! Are we still on for dinner next week?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, good. Jake and Izzy miss their favorite aunt. You need to come over more.”

  “Fine. I gotta go.”

  My shoulders ache with tension. Why did I even answer this call? Juls is always giving me grief.

  “All right. But Brooke? Just remember . . .”

  There is a long pause. I drum my fingers on my jeans and sigh exhaustively. Her breathy laugh pushes through the line.

  “You’re my sister. I love you, and I will totally give you a discount when it’s time to plan the wedding. Don’t think . . .”

  I disconnect the call and power off my phone.

  God, she is completely insane. How are we even related?

  Stepping over a log, I drop the phone onto my bag. I begin to pace in front of our gear, kicking up dirt and cracking my knuckles. I try and sit down on the cooler, but my ass barely touches it before I’m springing to my feet again.

  I should’ve let that call go to voicemail. Now I’m restless and ready to chew my nails off.

  I risk a glance at Mason. He’s staring at me like I’m in the middle of a psychotic break.

  Talking. Talking might settle me. I can talk. I’m fucking awesome at talking.

  “So, possible showers tomorrow night. Did you see? Like a ten percent chance. Not much, but still.”

  He positions a stake in the ground. “I think it’ll hold off.”

  “It was fifteen percent earlier, then they dropped it to ten.”

  “Yeah.”

  “If I got naked right now and jumped into the lake, what would you do?”

  I look over to where Mason is crouched down beside the tent. His hammer is suspended in the air.

  He looks startled. Confused maybe? I can elaborate.

  “I mean, obviously, you’d look. Who wouldn’t? But would you take off you
r clothes and follow after me? Or would you continue pitching that tent and the one in your shorts?”

  “Are you planning on getting naked and jumping into the lake?” he asks, lowering the hammer and resting his elbow on his knee.

  I shrug, kicking a rock out of the way. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never been skinny dipping before. Shocking, right? You would think I’ve done that, but no.” A nervous laugh bubbles in my throat. “I’m just wondering what you would do if I did it.”

  “Probably follow you.”

  “Would you get in?”

  He hits the spike once, then looks back up at me. When he tries to answer, I cut him off.

  “Have you ever done that before? Gone skinny dipping?”

  “No.”

  “Yeah, me either.” I step over the log and continue my pacing. “Mm. We’re both virgin skinny dippers. That’s cute.”

  He hits the spike a few more times. The branches under my feet snap.

  “How old were you when you lost your virginity?” I ask, chewing on my thumb nail.

  “Brooke.” Mason catches my gaze and studies it. He slowly rises to his feet. “Are you okay?”

  I stop behind the log.

  Am I? Fuck. He’s looking at me like I’m definitely not okay. Like I’m some wild animal he’s just encountered out here and he’s trying his hardest not to startle me.

  I exhale a quick breath. My hand falls away. “I’m fine,” I tell him, stepping over the log again. “Just killing time while you . . .” I pause, looking up at the large red and gray house Mason has pitched. “Oh, you’re finished. Nice.”

  Holy fuck. This thing is enormous! Not at all what I pictured in my head when he suggested we do this.

  Two-man tent. Close quarters. Little room for space between our sweaty naked bodies.

  Mm. Maybe I can unpack and spread my clothes out on one side. That should help force the two of us together. This portable condominium is large enough to contain Joey and his personality. Not many things are.

  Mason drops the small hammer by our bags and comes to stand next to me. His hand circles my back. “Are you cold?” he asks when a shiver chases up my spine. “I can build a fire.”

  I look from the tent to our surroundings again, my arms hugging my body. Mysterious noises rustle the branches of the trees. Crickets sing into the night. It’ll be fully dark soon.