by Candy Gray
Trembling from the aftershocks of my orgasm, I groaned and rolled over, shutting my toy off and putting it away.
I didn’t just smell like me anymore.
I smelled like him too.
Chapter 8
Mason
I couldn’t get Sarah out of my head. It had been two days since our date, and I hadn’t heard a fucking peep. We had a good time. I knew we did. I’d come harder than I ever had in my life inside that woman’s pussy, so I knew she had a good time. But she’d left. Just like that. While I was trying to gather myself and keep my headache at bay. No word. No sound. No nothing. Just put her clothes on, called a taxi or Uber or something, and fucking left.
And now, I hadn’t even heard from her.
The night had been like pulling teeth. I got a little bit out of her when we got back to my place, but not much. Women I took out wanted to pour their life stories out for me to devour. Some had daddy issues, some had mommy issues, some had perfect little lives, and some had been cheated on. Some were moms trying to get their groove back, and others had serious self-confidence issues. I had a trick for every single trope in the book.
But she gave me nothing except a bit of familial tension, which she didn’t even go into detail about. Yeah, she told me about how her dad was dealing drugs and how her mom never came after her, and I could sympathize with that shit. Sort of. That wasn’t the point. The point was, she didn’t want to talk to me. It was like all she wanted from me was the sex I could give her. She was unimpressed by the money I spent over dinner, unimpressed with my car, and unimpressed with my home.
That shit never fucking happened. Ever.
I’d have to pull out the big guns for her. The real big guns.
If she’d ever fucking call me.
Here’s how this always went. The woman would wait a day to see if I’d call, and when I didn’t, which I never do, she’d call me. That’s when I’d ghost them. Keep them on their toes. If I got lonely one night and needed a date, I’d call them. They would always pick up, and I always had a nice little pot to pull from. But I couldn’t ghost them and keep them on their toes if they didn’t call.
She didn’t talk about herself, she wasn’t impressed by anything, and she wasn’t calling. There was no way we had that shitty of a time. I felt that pussy clench my cock. I felt her come against me. Twice. I felt the way she keened into me and arched into my body. I felt the way her goosebumps rose all along her skin at the touch of my lips. She adored me. Wanted me. Craved me like I had craved her thighs all through that fucking interview, which had aired. And I’d fucking nailed it.
Needless to say, I was frustrated. It was Saturday, I had no plans, and the one woman I wanted to pull from my pool wasn’t fucking calling me. And I sure as hell wasn’t calling her first. Mason Baker called no woman first. They always came to me because they knew I could give them everything they wanted, all their hopes and dreams, in and out of the bedroom.
But for whatever reason, Sarah Williams wasn’t falling all over me yet, which meant I had to try harder and change up my game.
I called Tony when I couldn’t get my mind to stop whirling. I needed some advice from my right-hand man. He’d know what to do. He could probably tell me the shit I’d done wrong. He’d done it for me a couple of times in the past, told me where I wholly screwed up. Then I used his advice to wow them on the second date, and they were hooked. I could leave them hanging then, keep them in my pot, and tug on their strings whenever I needed them.
And this was one of those moments where I needed Tony’s wisdom.
“So, got yourself some girl problems,” he said, grinning.
“I think she’s one of those different women. So I need some tactics from you.”
“Thanks, I think,” he said.
“So, what do I do for this second date?”
“You’re taking her out on a second date?” he asked.
“Dude. I need her for my pool. I don’t have a woman like her in it yet. Tips, man. Come on.”
I could tell he was only half paying attention to me. This blonde had sat down beside him at the bar, and already he was flirting with her. He was complimenting her on her eyes, telling her they were dark and stormy like the nighttime sky. He was slowly curling one of her tendrils around his finger, pulling lightly at her hair as she sighed. This was how he tested whether a woman was down for a one-night stand. Tony always liked it a bit rough, but he never wanted to get tangled up with a girl who didn’t. If they enjoyed his more aggressive tactics, he sank his teeth in.
Like he was doing right now.
“Hey there, handsome.”
I looked over and saw a fiery redhead sit down next to her. Her hair was cut all the way up to her ears, but she had curves for days. Not really my type with all her physical features, but she was still a beautiful woman.
But for some reason, I couldn’t get my mind off Sarah.
“Care for a drink?” I asked.
“Actually,” she said as she grabbed onto my tie. “I was thinking maybe a round of dessert somewhere.”
Forward and wanton. Exactly my type for these kinds of nights. I could take her into the bathroom, press her against the wall really quick, slide my dick in deep, and then get a little bit of action. She might get hers. She might not. The point was I had a fabulous woman whose pussy was probably already dripping down her leg, and I had this other fucking woman on my mind.
Sarah.
The damn woman I couldn’t nail down.
“How about I buy you a drink, and you ready that beautiful body for someone else?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes and slid off the stool, stomping away like a child who had her favorite toy ripped from her. I turned back around to continue talking with Tony, but I saw him exiting with the blonde underneath his arm.
At least someone’s game was on point tonight.
I finished my drink and settled the tab before I went on home. I cruised through the streets with my convertible top up. I didn’t feel like being gawked at right now. My mind was occupied with thoughts of my date with Sarah, wondering what in the world I could’ve possibly done wrong. It was perfect. The car. The compliment when I picked her up. I opened her door, rented out that little restaurant with the view. Pumped her full of ridiculously expensive wine. Showed her my home. Made her come twice.
What was wrong with that shit?
I got home and went inside and instantly took my cell phone out of my pocket. I was over this. I needed to call her. If Tony wasn’t going to help me with this shit, then I was going to help myself with it by breaking the one rule I kept close to my chest.
The phone rang me all the way to voice mail, which wasn’t a surprise, but all I did was hang up. I called right back, hoping to catch her attention or interrupt whatever plans she had. Maybe she was already on another date. Maybe she was already hooking up with another guy. She didn’t strike me as that kind of woman, but if she had that kind of play, I had to admire her for it.
Most women didn’t have the confidence to play that game.
Then finally, on the last ring, she answered.
“Yes?”
“Ah, so you have been thinking about me,” I said, grinning.
“Do you ever stop?” she asked.
“Not even when you beg for it,” I said.
I heard her scoff, and it caused me to grin. She was adorable when I was pissing her off. I could see that little scowl on her face now that crinkled her nose and reddened her cheeks.
“Why would I be thinking about you?” she asked.
“Because I rocked your world a couple of days ago.”
“Oh, really? And how do you figure?”
“The wine. The drive. The talk. The eroticism.”
She giggled, and I knew I had her. If I knew all I had to do was pursue her a bit longer to get her hooked, I would’ve fucking done this shit yesterday.
Some women enjoyed being chased before they were devoured by their predator.
/> “It was all right, I guess,” she said.
“All right?” I asked. “Are you really sticking with that story?”
“It’s funny to me that you think it’s a story.”
“Fine. Fine. If it was just all right, then tell me what could I have done that would’ve made it better.”
“And ruin your game? No, thank you,” she said.
“Just humor me.”
“I already did.”
“And how did you humor me?”
“By pity fucking you.”
I was in shock. I threw my head back and laughed, thinking she was making a joke. But I didn’t hear her laughing, and I started to get a bit … I don’t know. I wasn’t familiar with what I was experiencing honestly.
“How it could’ve been better? For starters, you could’ve actually indulged about yourself a bit.”
“Funny, coming from you,” I said.
“I told you my father was dealing drugs, and my mother chose him over me. That’s pretty personal.”
“Anything else?” I asked.
“The only reason you pumped me full of wine was to get me to screw you. You didn’t have to do that. I went into the date knowing I needed to relieve some stress. The wine was a waste on your part. Though I could’ve used a shoulder massage.”
I was absolutely beside myself. Was this woman fucking serious?
“And lastly, you never called.”
“You didn’t say a word when you left,” I said.
“Does that bother you?”
Honestly, it did. I just didn’t fucking know why.
“Better luck next time, precious.”
She hung up the phone, and I was beside myself. What the hell had just happened? This woman, whose world I know I did rock because of the amount of shaking she did in my bed, had just … Mason Bakered me.
I fucking got Mason Bakered.
Chapter 9
Sarah
I laughed every time I thought about that conversation. Giving men like that a dose of their own medicine is exactly what they needed sometimes. But it was odd. Even after the conversation we had, he kept calling. Playboys didn’t do that type of shit. It was all over the news. The women he interchanged. The different flavor every week articles that broke down the new woman on his arm. What she wore. What she did for a living. Where they probably met. How long they would last.
I knew he wasn’t hunting for another woman because he was spending his free time blowing up my damn cell phone.
He was supposed to be this big, bad playboy, but all he portrayed himself to be was this desperate, insecure man.
He kept calling, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’d ignore him, and he’d leave a voice message. I’d turn off my phone, and he was texting me. And every single time he kept asking me for the same thing.
He wanted to take me out on another date.
I didn’t want to go out on another date with him. I didn’t want to waste my time trying to give him a dose of his own medicine again. Men like Mason Baker needed to be brought down a peg, that much was for sure, but I’d settle for him no longer blowing up my phone.
So, I finally picked it up and listened.
“Just let me take you out one more time. And this time, you can plan the date.”
“Excuse me? You’re asking me on a date, and you want me to coordinate it?” I asked.
“Not execute it. Paint me the perfect date, and I’ll make it happen.”
“Are you trying to redeem yourself or something?” I asked.
“Think of it as a second first impression.”
Honestly? It sounded kind of nice. After all the jerks I’d met and the bullshit I went through in high school, it would be nice to actually get the date I wanted. And it was one date, right? Mason Baker surely didn’t do the iconic third date.
Hell, we did on the first date what usually waits until the third date.
“Okay,” I said. “A second date, it is.”
“So, talk to me. About your perfect first date.”
“No, no, no, no. I’m agreeing to this under one solid principle,” I said.
“Name it, beautiful.”
“Stop fucking calling my phone. No phone calls until the day before the date to solidify things, if you need to.”
“I can do that,” he said. “How do you feel about Monday night?”
I see how he wiggled around that principle. That cheeky little bastard.
“Monday night sounds fine. You can pick me up at my place around the same time as our last date.”
“All right. So, what constitutes your perfect first date?”
Honestly, I wasn’t sure. I was very relieved my phone wouldn’t be ringing off the hook anymore, but I had to admit that having his attention was nice. It wasn’t like the first date was terrible. In fact, it had been wonderful. It wasn’t without its awkward and guarded moments, but welcome to the world of first dates. That’s how that shit went. He had been on my mind, but not enough to blow up his fucking phone.
However, I was intrigued by this new concept of a second date.
“I want you to take me on a cruise on the countryside in your convertible. Top down so the wind can blow through my hair.”
“Sounds familiar,” he said.
“I want you to take me to Wylie. It’s north of Dallas, sandwiched between two beautiful lakes. Make a picnic basket so we can eat in your car. We’re going to find ourselves a remote location right on the edge of the lake so we can watch the stars reflect in the still lake waters, where we eat and actually open up about ourselves.”
“Are you holding me to that or yourself to that as well?” he asked.
“Any in-depth answer you give, I’ll give an equal in-depth answer in return,” he said.
“And who is the judge of these answers?”
“I am,” I said. “Afterward, when we’re done eating and talking, we’re going to cruise back to your place with the top of your car up, holding hands.”
“Holding hands.”
“Yep,” I said. “We’ll go back to your place and sit on that same couch we sat on last time, except you’re going to make me a decent cocktail this time instead of crapping out and just opening a bottle of wine.”
“That was expensive wine.”
“Leave it closed for someone else. Cocktails and that couch. What happens from there happens,” I said.
“I think I can do that. See you Monday at seven. And I won’t even call you until I’m there. I take it you want to come out like last time?’”
“Yes. Have the door open and ready for me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
I could feel his grin through the phone, and my spine shivered with anticipation.
“See you then, playboy.”
I hung up the phone and giggled. Holy hell, that man was relentless, and I was excited about the prospect of screwing him again. If there was one thing that man did well, it was fuck. I wasn’t going to tell him that, though. I needed him to think he was still working. Men who thought they were still working for it threw their all into sex.
And that’s what I wanted.
Some fucking good sex like we had last time.
I was a bit nervous again, but this time I was more excited than nervous. I knew exactly what was going to happen, and it was going to be romantic. He thought he was just doing all these things to get me in bed, but I was able to concoct the one date I’d never been privy to.
A simple, romantic, vulnerable evening between two people.
We wouldn’t be under the scrutiny of the press, no one would be trying to take pictures of us, and we could get his fucking wallet out of the way. He thought he could lavish me with expensive things and that would be enough. I wanted to drop that defense and see the person who was behind that wallet of his.
The person he attempted to hide from the world.
I gathered my things and went to meet up with Emma. I promised her we would do dinner tonight, but whe
n I got to the restaurant, she was in a rough mood. I checked to make sure I wasn’t late before I ordered my food and drink, and it took her ten minutes to finally take a deep breath and speak what was on her mind.
“My fucking brother never showed up for dinner the other night,” she said.
“Well, I was about to ask you what was wrong, but there it is,” I said.