I smiled to myself, despite all my reservations. I wasn’t on duty that night, but I still had no business taking Mason up on the offer. We couldn’t make a regular thing of this, even if my pasta-cooking attempts had always produced gluey lumps, even if I craved him more than any dish he might tempt me with.
I shouldn’t, I typed back.
His reply was quick, and from my spot in the City Hall parking lot, I could see him lounging against his car down at the tavern. Yes, you should, if only to reward me for behaving at the meeting. I want a medal for playing it cool.
Like a fool, I laughed aloud at that. A reward, huh? I think I can do better than a medal, I replied before I could stop myself from flirting.
Prove it. See you about 8:30. Down the block, Mason pocketed his phone and headed into the tavern, a little spring in his step, as if he knew he’d won again. Damn it.
Mason
For once I had on real clothes when I opened the door to let Nash into my house. He hadn’t replied to my text, but I’d known he’d be here, eight thirty sharp, even if part of him resisted my invitation. Sure enough, he’d shown up looking freshly showered in jeans and a polo, not the uniform he’d been in earlier in the day.
“Did you bring my medal?” I asked as I opened the side door.
“You’re a brat.” He let the door close completely before he drew me close. His eyes showed a moment of indecision, but I wasn’t having any of that and kissed him lightly before he could overthink it to death.
“Guilty.” I grinned at him as I pulled him over to the stove. “I’ve laid out everything we’ll need.”
Nash rubbed his jaw as he took in my counter full of ingredients. “Ah. For cooking.”
“Yes, for cooking, Nash.” I kissed him again because I simply couldn’t resist. “Why’d you think I invited you over?”
Nash made a sound like his lungs wanted to laugh but the rest of his body wasn’t on board. “You’re trouble.”
“Yup.” I loved teasing him like this, loved knowing that he was eager for the other part of the evening, even if he didn’t want to show it. “But I’m trouble with an amazing white-pasta-sauce recipe.”
Nash’s eyes narrowed. “Am I going to need to take notes?”
“Nope.” I handed him an onion. “Can you chop this while I do the sausage?”
Nash nodded. He chopped like a nervous surgical resident—slow and careful with measured movements, wincing when he didn’t meet whatever standards he was holding himself to.
“It’s all going to cook down,” I reassured him. “It’s okay if they’re not uniform.”
“Yeah.” Nash didn’t stop his painstaking cuts. “It’s the noodles I’m worried most about. Mine always turn into lumps.”
“Lumps?” Making sure not to laugh, I chattered about salting the boiling water and cooking times as I made fast work of the meat, basil, and garlic, all local from the farm stand on the edge of town. Nash took directions surprisingly well, getting the onions sautéing in the pot with the sausage before I added the garlic and measured out the cream and already grated cheese.
“Now what?” Nash asked as I added the penne to the boiling water and turned the sauce down to the barest of simmers.
Before I answered, I set a timer for the pasta. “Now we have precisely eleven minutes to burn.” I looped my arms around his neck. “Any suggestions?”
“Eleven minutes isn’t even a start,” Nash growled before nipping at my ear.
“Wanna bet?” It might not be enough time for the sort of epic fucking Nash had delivered last encounter, but it was plenty for what I had in mind.
“Not sure I want to win that bet.” Nash groaned as my fingers found his belt. “Should make you wait—”
“But you won’t.” I pushed him against the counter opposite the stove before sinking to my knees in front of him. I’d been dying to get my mouth on him, doubly so since he’d sucked me last time we’d been together. He’d been damn good, and I was determined to show him that I was, too.
“Ah…you don’t have to…” Nash sputtered as I undid his fly.
“I’m already here.” Winking at him, I drew out his cock. Heavy and thick with long veins wrapping around the shaft, he smelled like woodsy soap and musk, and I couldn’t wait any longer for a taste, tongue swiping at his tip, chasing his unique flavor.
“Don’t tease,” Nash ordered, voice deeper and gruffer now.
“But it’s fun.” I flicked my tongue along the underside of his cock, learning all the places that made him curse and shudder.
“Come on now.” Nash wrapped a fist around the base of his cock, rubbing the cockhead across my eager lips. Oh, yes, I liked him all bossy and seizing control. I sucked the head in, still teasing with my tongue, starting a shallow rhythm as he jacked the base of his cock. His other hand landed on the back of my head, gently guiding me to the deeper strokes he wanted.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “So good.”
I was fast becoming addicted to his praise, and I re-doubled my efforts, using my tongue to milk the shaft on the upstroke.
“Can you take more?” His hand left his cock, coming down to rub my shoulder.
“Yeah.” I pulled back long enough to answer him. “Fuck my mouth.”
He moaned and his grip tightened as he drew my head closer. I didn’t trust many guys with this level of control, but Nash wasn’t going to choke me, wasn’t going to push me further than I wanted to go. And I desperately wanted to get him off before the timer dinged, wanted to earn more of that husky praise.
Relaxing my throat, I let him ease forward, sucking hard as he withdrew and welcoming his return.
“Mason,” he growled, holding my head almost tenderly as he thrust. “So fucking good.”
“Faster,” I urged as he pulled back. “I can take it.”
“Yeah, you can.” His head fell back, eyes closing. “So beautiful.”
He went a bit deeper, skirting that edge between too much and perfect. I moaned around his shaft, my hands coming to rest on his hips, following his strokes, hanging on with the last of my sanity as he took over, a fast, deep rhythm.
He’d been stoic when we’d fucked, but he was more verbal tonight, a near constant stream of muttered praise and strangled moans, and I knew he was close as his hands tightened and his sounds became more broken.
“Mason. Fuck. You want my come?”
I moaned my agreement, sucking harder. Yes, yes, I wanted that desperately. My own cock throbbed in my pants, but I ignored it, totally focused on getting Nash off.
“That’s it. That’s it,” Nash chanted as the first salty taste hit my tongue. He pushed deeper, deep enough that I had no choice but to take it, nothing to do but let him fuck, welcoming his climax as if it were my own.
Ding. Ding. Ding. The timer went off right as I pulled back to wipe my mouth.
“I win.” I grinned at him before accepting the hand up he offered.
“Fuck. That darn near killed me.” He shook his head. “You’re something else.”
“Good.” Ignoring my raging hard-on, I drained the pasta and tossed it with the sauce.
“You didn’t…” Nash must have noticed my predicament. “Do you want… I can…”
“Thinking too hard again, Nash.” I laughed and carried the food to the table. “Not everything has to be quid pro quo. If you’re up for it, though, I’m sure some…dessert can be arranged.”
“Oh, I’ll be up for it,” Nash said darkly. “Not sure how wise any of this is, but I can’t seem to get enough of you.”
“Likewise.” I leaned across the table for a fast kiss, rewarding his honesty. “Let’s not over-analyze this. You’re having fun. I’m having fun. Let’s have fun together a little longer. Some cooking lessons. Some easy sex. Think of it as some summer fun.”
Nash was quiet so long that I’d given up hope of a reply when he murmured, “I’m going to regret this.”
I beamed. It wasn’t exactly a yes, but it was good
enough for me, good enough for right then. More evenings like this were exactly what we both needed, regrets be damned.
Fifteen
Nash
By ten p.m. on Sunday, July sixth, I was as tired as I’d ever been.
“Quiet?” Candace Holmes asked as she came into the station. “Finally?”
“Finally,” I agreed. “There’s still people at the beach, so you’ll want to keep an eye on fires and fireworks there, but traffic has slowed considerably.”
Sand still clung to my pants leg after a trek down to the beach to talk to some late-night revelers about fire ordinances. The weather had been perfect for the holiday weekend, and it was no wonder that people were reluctant to head back to their everyday lives. The hypnotic crash of the ocean at night and lure of a near-full moon were just too much temptation to resist.
“I’m so ready to be done with fireworks.” She rolled her shoulders. “I had to give Jimmy Hanks a warning about fireworks in Rowdy’s parking lot last night.”
I stifled my wince at that news. Jimmy was not going to be happy about that, which meant that Mason probably had heard an earful on the unfairness of local law enforcement. “You did the right thing there.”
“Same with a noise complaint from Patsy’s B&B—Adam Ringer and a bunch of his friends were doing an impromptu show for guests. I just issued a warning because I figured that was what you’d do.”
“Yup.” I nodded. “Lots of warnings, all weekend long. Hopefully tonight is quieter for you.” Please don’t let Mason have been with them. That was probably a futile wish, but I couldn’t exactly ask Holmes for details as to who all was there, not with Marta five feet away and still up in my business over how often I ate at the tavern.
He’d been nice enough to bring in takeout from the tavern for the whole crew on the Fourth, and that was all I’d seen of him in days. Which should be a relief, frankly. Maybe even a sign that this…whatever we had going was coming to a close. We’d had that lesson on pasta, and then, later that same week, one on mashed potatoes and oven-finished steaks and another on fish. You could almost say we had a routine of cooking and fucking going before the holiday weekend blew it all to hell, and I really should have been relieved because a routine with Mason was not what I wanted.
I finished up the changeover with Holmes and headed out. Right as I pulled into my driveway, my phone chimed with a message. Lord knew I was not up to anything more than a hot shower and bed, but I dutifully checked just the same.
Finally home? I’ve got a massage with your name on it.
Now there was an offer I’d never received before. And if Mason had suggested cooking, I would have declined and not felt too guilty about it—I was simply that exhausted. But something in me hesitated about how to reply to this new offer.
Never had a massage, I finally typed. Not sure I like them. But thanks.
I swore I could hear him laugh from where I stood in the driveway, and sure enough, my phone dinged with a reply. Only way to know for certain is to try one. And I’m good at it.
His cockiness made me smile and made it harder to turn him down. Something about when he went all confident turned my crank big time. It had to be a sign of how tired I was that my resolve weakened. He was every bit as tempting for me as the beach was for those partiers, and even if like them, I’d undoubtedly have regrets come Monday morning, I was powerless to deny the pull.
Let me shower first, I quickly texted. I might not have much experience with massages, but that seemed like the polite thing to do. And no offense to Mason, but I had the far better set up at my place.
Whatever ambivalence I’d felt back at the station was quickly replaced by anticipation as I hurried to my shower. I had no idea why I let Mason wind me up like this when the only real thing I should be doing was sleeping until I had to be back on duty tomorrow. I had no business skulking down the back alley like a common criminal, yet there I was, hair still damp from the shower, shirt sticking to me from dressing hurriedly.
“You look bushed,” Mason observed as he opened the door. “We were busier than we’ve ever been, so I knew it had to be worse for you guys.”
Damn it, why did Mason have to be so nice? This whole thing would be so much easier if he wasn’t so fucking likeable. Liking someone made everything way more complicated, as I well knew from my experience with Steve, and yet I was powerless to do anything other than kiss him hello, channeling some of my frustration into pinning him against the door.
“Hey, now.” Mason finally broke away. “You’re going to distract me out of your massage.”
“I’m good with that.” I leaned back in, but he stopped me with a hand on my chest.
“Come on. I’ve got everything all set up in my room.”
The way I saw it, massage was pretty straightforward—you rubbed around some on the other person and hoped it felt decent. But what Mason was proposing was a different beast altogether. He’d stripped the comforter off the bed and laid out some small bottles of oil and a towel next to the pillow. The lights were turned way down, and he’d lit two candles on the nightstand. Soft music played from a speaker next to the candles. It was, dare I say, romantic, and I was not a guy who did romance.
“I feel like I’m at that spa your friend was talking about,” I grumbled to cover my discomfort.
“That’s the idea. Only I’m not charging.” He pushed me toward the bed. “Shirt off.”
“Maybe this isn’t such a good notion,” I hedged.
“Nash. Just let someone do something nice for you for once, okay?” He pulled my shirt up, and I shrugged out of it on some sort of autopilot.
“Why are you being nice?” I kicked off my shoes. “I heard from Holmes that both your brother and Ringer got busted over fireworks.”
“And what? You thought I’d be pissed about her doing her job?” Mason rolled his eyes at me. “At least Jimmy didn’t get hauled in. That’s all I really care about.”
My stomach churned even as my neck prickled. Chances were that someday I was going to have to bring Jimmy in, and Mason wasn’t going to be near this casual and sympathetic about it.
“You’re doing the whole thinking thing again,” Mason chided as he again shoved me toward the bed. This time I went, and I let him arrange me face down.
“Fuck.” I yawned. “I might fall asleep. This was a—”
“I’ve already set an alarm for you, so you can sneak back before the neighborhood wakes up. Now let me work.”
He really had thought of everything, and a strange kind of gratitude washed over me. I was used to being aroused around him, used to being confounded and irritated by him in turn, but being taken care of by him felt new and itchy.
Mason didn’t give me much time to stew on this, though, warming up some oil in his hands and then slathering it on my back. Not able to help myself, I groaned. The oil smelled like mint and rosemary, and I knew I’d forever associate that combo with his strong hands kneading my weary muscles.
He hadn’t been lying—he was damn good at this, starting with broad strokes and working up to more intense rubbing, using his thumbs to knead particularly tight knots that I hadn’t even realized I had. I’d kind of expected him to rub me down fast and then get on with our usual fucking around, but Mason took his time, working my neck, my shoulder blades, even my biceps.
“How’d you get so good at this?” My voice sounded slurred.
“Dated a massage-therapy student for a while. I let him practice on me.” Mason’s tone was light, but I still felt the distinct prick of unwelcome jealousy.
“I can…try…” I yawned. Staying awake to return the favor was fast becoming an issue, but I never liked keeping him wanting.
“Stop it.” He lightly slapped my ass. “This is a gift. Now quit worrying and just enjoy it. Going to sleep on me is totally fine.”
Not wanting another slap—or worse, for him to stop—I let myself drift as Mason worked my muscles. It wasn’t entirely platonic as he peppered my neck
and spine with kisses every now and again, but it also lacked the urgency of most of our foreplay. It was simply…nice. More than nice, really. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this boneless, this at peace. My to-do list fled along with thoughts of my phone and what tomorrow might bring. All my senses zeroed in on Mason’s magic hands. I was straddling that space between awake and dreaming, but I was powerless to rouse myself.
“Okay, Chief, I think you’re good.” Mason’s hands slowed, soothing my sides before disappearing altogether. I made a grunt that might have been displeasure at the loss of his touch, and he laughed. The mattress sagged as he stretched out next to me.
“You sleeping, too?” I couldn’t be bothered to open my eyes, but I did scoot over to give him room.
“Yup.” He dropped another kiss on the back of my neck.
“You need…” My hand blindly fumbled for him.
“Nope. Doesn’t always have to be sex.” He captured my hand, wrapping my arm around him as he burrowed in against me. “But do feel free to fuck me awake when the alarm goes off.”
“Will do.” Yawning again, I let sleep claim me, carrying me away from thoughts of how I was in way too deep with this man, this generous man who was much more giving than I deserved.
Mason
I wasn’t sure which roused me first—the buzzing clock on the nightstand or the warm arm snaking down my torso.
“Awake?” Spooning me from behind, Nash bit at my ear.
“Nope.” I snuggled against him, breathing in his scent—massage oil, outdoorsy soap, and good, clean Nash that immediately got some blood pumping south even as my eyes stayed closed.
“You did say…” Nash’s boxer-covered erection nudged against my bare ass. He’d already been most of the way to sleep when I’d stripped off my clothes and climbed in with him, and he must have lost his jeans at some point in the night.
“I did.” I bumped my ass into him. “But I don’t have to be awake to enjoy it.”
Nash snorted. “You start snoring and I’m out of here.”
“Give me a reason to wake up, then.” Arching my back, I let my head fall against his shoulder.
Trust with a Chaser (Rainbow Cove Book 1) Page 12
