Stay: A Second Chance Badboy Romance

by Melinda Minx

  “How long were you there?” I ask.

  “Only a few years,” he says.

  Only a few years? He talks about it like he was in Denver building houses, not in Iraq fighting a war.

  “I was in Afghanistan for most of the time. They only sent me to Iraq during the initial invasion, fighting holdovers still loyal to Hussein. I got really good at fighting insurgents, which served me well when they shipped me to Afghanistan. The heat in Iraq was often worse than the insurgents. I’ll take this cold over it any day.”

  I’m wearing his scarf, and he’s only got a beanie protecting part of his ears, but he doesn’t look that cold. It’s like he’s using his memory of the desert to keep himself warm.

  I try to think of a vacation I took to Miami, but all it does is make me feel colder.

  He talks more, but I start to lose focus. I want to hear what he’s saying, but my eyes are drooping, and I can’t focus.

  “Sophie,” he says, shaking my shoulders gently.

  I hear the door open, and I feel him moving me into the car. The door shuts behind me, and I feel immediately warmer. The temperature in the car isn’t much higher, but being shielded from the God awful icy wind does wonders.

  I feel his hand on me; it’s so warm. I grab hold of it, deciding I’m not going to let go of it.

  “Sophie,” he says, pulling at my hand.

  “I don’t want to let go.”

  “I need to get my jacket off.”

  He breaks my hand away, peels off his jacket, and presses it over me like a blanket. He lays me down all along the back seat. The fairly cramped SUV seat feels spacious and luxurious after being frozen outside for so long.

  My ankles are draped over his legs. I can’t reach his hand anymore.

  “Your skin felt so warm,” I say.

  He’s just wearing his button-up shirt now. I sit up and slide a hand beneath it. His hard abs feel even warmer than his hand.

  He tenses up briefly, then laughs.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Your hand is cold as a frozen hamburger. I gotta warm you up, Sophie.”

  He starts to unbutton his shirt.

  Oh, I like where this is going.

  He throws his shirt into the front seat, then he starts working on his belt. He struggles to get his pants off in the confined quarters, but he does it with surprising ease considering his size.

  “You’re good at that,” I say.

  “The rumors about me in high school were true,” he says. “If I can do this in an ‘89 Camaro, I sure as hell can do it in an SUV.”

  I laugh, and he pulls his boxers off. His cock is semi-hard already, and my eyes lock onto it. It will be so good and warm—burning hot—inside of me. And yes, I will make sure he puts it into me this time.

  I lift up the jacket, and he straddles me.

  But I’m still completely bundled up, and even though I can feel the heat radiating off of him, I can’t feel him.

  I start to unzip my jacket, but he stops me.

  “You need to warm up more first,” he says.

  “You’ll keep me warm, won’t you, Mason?”

  He smirks. “Yeah, I guess I will.”

  He lets go of my hand, and I peel the jacket away. And then he takes a good look at me in my red dress, drinking me in.

  I don’t have Mason’s skill at getting my clothes off in the back seat of a car—even if it’s just a dress—so he helps me tear pull it up and over my head. It’s fucking cold when I get all my clothes off—I can feel my nipples getting hard and pointy as icicles.

  But then Mason’s naked body presses down against me, and he pulls the jacket over both of us. His body is hot like a furnace, and I let out a low moan in response to his heat alone. But soon it’s not just his body heat getting me hot; I feel wetness between my legs, and a heat growing inside me.

  “Don’t tease me this time,” I say, our eyes locking together.

  He smiles. A warm and genuine smile rather than a cocky smirk. I decide to take that as his agreement not to tease me.

  I reach down past his hard abs to his now stone hard cock. I squeeze it.

  “Are my hands still cold?” I ask.

  “A little bit,” he says, and he presses his lips against my neck.

  I stroke his dick with my hand as he kisses and bites my neck.

  I reach down and cup his balls, and I bring my other hand to his cock. I run my fingers along the bulging veins of his shaft, and I slide my fingers gently along the head of his cock, until I feel a slick pool of precum.

  His hand goes between my legs in response, and in just moments, I am gushing wet, and ready to feel him inside me.

  “Mason,” I say. “I can’t wait any longer.”

  “Fifteen years,” he says, “and you can’t wait ten minutes?”

  “You said you wouldn’t tease me,” I say, my cheeks burning with anger.

  He laughs. “I never said anything—”

  And just as I’m about to go off on him, he slides the head of his cock up against my wetness.

  I gasp, and he cups my breast with his right hand. I wrap my legs around him, and he presses inside me. It feels like it’s probably just an inch or so, but the warm head of his cock stretching me wide feels so fucking good that it feels like a lot more.

  But then he thrusts his hips and slides in deeper. So that’s what “more” feels like, like more than I could possibly have imagined. My entire body, from the core to the tips of my toes and fingers, tremble and shudder as he splits me wide open.

  My pussy squeezes tightly along his shaft, and wetness floods through me, drenching his cock in my juices.

  “God!” I scream, as the shuddering stops.

  “I’m still barely inside…” he says, his voice heavy.

  Barely inside? Is he fucking—?

  He slides in deeper, slowly and steadily. I feel his girth fill me up further and further, inch my inch, until I’m in total denial that a dick inside me can feel this good. I remember it feeling this good, but I also remember so many other things about being eighteen years old with thick, rose-tinted glasses. I figured that brief moment in time where Mason and I fucked nearly every day was like all of those other things—greatly exaggerated by memory and nostalgia.

  I’ve slept with a number of other guys since Mason left, and each one of them was disappointing in different ways. None of them compared to Mason Steel, but over time, I’d convinced myself that it was the memory of Mason Steel they didn’t live up to. I’d sworn to myself that he’d become this childish little girl’s dream—the man who was perfect, solely because I knew I could never really have him. Surely, if he became real again and we somehow slept together once more, the real Mason Steel would shatter the memory of him.

  But as his thick, nearly full foot of dick slides into my soaking wet hole, I realize that the memory was real. He is everything I remembered, and more. I squeeze my arms and legs around him, vowing to never let him go again. I could never convince myself a second time that he was just a rose-tinted memory. He is what he is. He’s Mason Steel.

  He presses his lips against my ear, and he slides into me so deep that his balls rest against me. I feel his hot breath on my ear, and I arch my back, which presses my clit against him.

  “It’s unreal,” I whisper.

  “What is?”

  “Nothing,” I say, gasping as he starts to slide out of me, making me feel his full girth and length once again. He slides along my inner walls, pulling my soaking wetness all along his thick cock.

  My eyes roll back into my head, and I decide that I will not tell him. I won’t tell him about the man living up to the memory. That will stay my secret, and we will be even. I won’t tell him what his memory did to me, but I will no longer hold what he did against me. We’re even.

  My pussy burns for him, and his slow and rhythmic in-and-out picks up pace. He can feel my body from the inside, and he knows what it wants.

  He thrusts hard, and his balls sl
ap against me with each powerful movement. I start to wonder how I ever felt cold. The ice on my face and the shivering is nothing but a memory. Mason’s burning hot body and cock have warmed me up so much that sweat is beading on my forehead.

  I dig my nails into him. He says physical pain doesn’t hurt him, but I want him to feel me. I can’t let him forget me. Not after this.

  He fucks me hard, and each thrust sends me further back, until my head is pressed up against the side of the door. My heels are dug into him, and my nails are cutting across his strong back muscles.

  “Sophie, God,” he says. “It’s better than I remember,” he grunts as he pounds me for all he’s worth. He fucks me harder and harder, then says, “How can it be better than that? Fuck!”

  My pussy squeezes him, convulsing. My body shudders again, harder than when he first entered me. It’s like a switch goes off inside me, shutting me off from reality. It locks me inside my body—which Mason is part of—and I feel nothing except the beautiful warmth and wetness we are creating together. I am soaking wet for him, and his sliding in and out of me is all that matters.

  But then I feel it everywhere. My clit feels as if it’s humming, and the orgasm rocks across my entire body. Even though Mason is only inside of one part of me, it feels as if he’s bursting across my entire body, becoming one with me.

  I hear his voice, moaning, as if he’s a thousand miles away, and then I feel his cock twitching. I feel him filling me up, but I’ve lost all sense of scale. It feels like there’s a full river gushing inside me, and each time he cums deep inside me, the river grows larger. Fiercer. Thicker.

  I lose control of my body. My hands twitch and slide along his back, and I start to get pulled back into reality as he shoots the last of his loads inside me.

  I’m brought back into Mason’s warm embrace, but I know that this warm afterglow would keep me warm even if he let go of me. Not that I’ll let him release me.

  We both go limp in each other’s arms. He’s still hovering above me, keeping his crushing weight off my body. There’s not enough space for both of us to lie down comfortably.

  I slide out from beneath him, and I shove him until he’s lying on the seat. He’s so tall that he has to keep his knees bent. I lay atop him, as my weight is nothing to him.

  “Fuck, Sophie,” he says. “You don’t know how many times I imagined this happening. I never thought it could be…”

  He trails off, and the phone rings.

  I consider not answering it. I could just lay here forever—

  But Mason reaches out and grabs the phone. He answers, and it’s still set to speaker.

  “You guys done yet?” the voice asks. “I saw the car rocking when I got here, so I figured I’d give you a few minutes to finish—that’s how long it takes me, just a few minutes—but, shit, with you guys it’s been—”

  “Jesus,” I say, feeling horrified.

  Mason laughs. “We’ll be out in two minutes.”

  He hangs up the phone.

  I feel shocked for a few moments longer, then I start to laugh, too.

  “Mason, did your imagination of this moment all those times include a tow truck guy watching the car from outside?”

  The next morning, I ask Dad how his doctor’s appointment went.

  He gets angry and starts eating really fast.

  “Dad, tell me you went.”

  “I’m fine!” he grunts. “Perfectly healthy! I went on a long walk yesterday!”

  I’m livid. This is probably the fourth time he’s cancelled his checkup. “So you went on a walk, the day before the appointment you didn’t go to? That means you don’t need to see a doctor? Did you eat an apple, too?”

  “I’ll go next time,” he says.

  “I’m going to take off work and drive you there,” I say, glaring at him.

  “Fine!” he says. “Just drop it now.”

  “Fine.”

  I’m still glowing from last night, so I can’t let this sour my day. It will probably be another two months before we can get another appointment—if they even let us re-book.

  By the time I get to work I’m pissed off. The glow has faded and I’m more and more worried about Dad. If he really wants me to start my career up again, he could at least prove to me that he’ll take care of himself. With the way he’s behaving, I’m going to have to live here forever, working at the Crab Shack.

  I sigh, feeling butterflies in my stomach. If Mason Steel stays here, then at least it won’t be all bad.

  When Marv’s crew rolls in for lunch, everyone but Marv and Mason come in. Did the two of them go eat somewhere else?

  I catch John outside with a cigarette. “Where are Marv and Mason?”

  “Oh,” he says. “Some of the nets are messed up. They’re untangling them and will be in later.”

  “Ah, okay,” I say.

  “You like Mason,” John says.

  I nod and walk away.

  I have to admit I was worried. Mason being here is...complicated. We finally had sex again last night, and when I didn’t see him walk in with his crew, I worried he’d left again. I feel guilty for even thinking that, but he left me once when I never thought he would. It’s something I have to worry about if I’m going to be with him.

  I go back in and refill Samuel’s and Ashton’s drinks.

  “Hold on,” Samuel says as I start to walk away.

  He pours something from a flask into his soda. “Want a drink?”

  “I’m working,” I say. “And you’re about to be, too. Your job is a lot more dangerous than mine.”

  “Well,” Samuel says, “you like dangerous men, huh?”

  I roll my eyes. “You talking about Mason?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “That old fart.”

  “He’s in his mid-thirties,” I say. “Just like me. Are you calling me an old fart, Samuel?”

  “There’s this show I like to watch,” Samuel says.

  “Dude,” Ashton hisses. “Shut up!”

  “It’s called Cougar Town,” Samuel says, grinning. “Now, you’re a fair bit younger than the women in that show, but the principle is sound—” he hiccups.

  I should just walk away, but Samuel’s stupidity is so incredible that I’m tempted to stay and watch it, like a really bad car crash.

  “So…” I say, “you’re calling me a cougar? Do you always play up a woman’s age when hitting on them? I can’t believe you’re still single!”

  “She knows what cougar means!” Ashton whispers to Samuel. “Shut up, dude! Mason will—”

  “Go on, Samuel,” I say.

  “Well,” he says, “you see, Sophie, young guys like me have really high sex drives, and I read on Wikipedia—and saw on Cougar Town—that women your age have the highest sex drive for ladies, so naturally that is the best combination. For sex, at least.”

  I start to laugh. “What about Mason? The guy you are out fishing with every single day. The guy I am having sex with already.”

  Ashton’s eyes bulge, and Samuel bites his lip, but he finally speaks. “Well, he already left you once, right? I don’t think he’ll stick around, and there’s no way he’s got the same sex drive as me. So if—when—he leaves you—”

  I kick his leg. Hard enough to send a jolt of pain through his whole body.

  Everyone turns to see what happened, but when they see that it’s Samuel, they roll their eyes and go back to eating.

  He laughs. “That’s the cougar spirit, fucking feisty!” He downs his drink. “Can I get another?”

  18

  Mason

  Marv and I get all the gill nets untangled and coiled back up into their buckets. I noticed Samuel was not exactly sober, but the seas were calm today and he was doing what he needed to do. So I don’t say anything to Marv.

  “Fucking hungry,” Marv says. “We’ll take longer for lunch since we got started late.”

  We get in Marv’s truck and head to the Crab Shack. When we get in, Samuel, Ashton, and John have
a big table full of oyster shells and a few remnants of French fries drenched in ketchup.

  “I got a hankering for raw oysters,” Marv says. “You?”

  “Sounds good,” I say, looking over at our crew’s table. “Assuming these guys didn’t eat them all.”

  We sit down at a new table. We’ve been doing that recently, eating together, since the other three are all at least a decade younger than us. Well, John isn’t, but he usually acts like he is.

  Sophie comes over to take our order. Fuck, she looks amazing. Even in her Crab Shack t-shirt and apron.

  “Hey,” she says, beaming at me.

  “Hi. Any oysters left?”

  “Sure are,” she says. “You want ‘em grilled, steamed—”

  “Raw,” Marv says.

  I nod.

  “That’s easy enough,” she says.

  “And a big bucket of fries,” Marv says. “With vinegar.”

  Sophie smiles and nods.

  “You want what they’re drinking, too?” Sophie asks. “Well, just the cola, not the whiskey.”

  Marv shakes his head. “They better not be hitting the whiskey too hard.”

  So Marv does know, at least. I guess it’s under control.

  “How are the nets?” Sophie asks.

  “They’re good to go,” I say. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  Marv laughs. “Bragging about untangling nets, Mason?”

  I glare at him, but Sophie squeezes my arm and smiles up at us. “Two colas.”

  “Damn,” Marv says, as soon as she’s out of earshot. “You two fucked!”

  I laugh.

  “So you did! I gotta say man, ain’t a fisherman in Tuckett Bay who didn’t wanna—”

  “Watch it,” I say, sticking a finger at him.

  “Alright,” he says, “I won’t say what you know I was gonna’ say.”

  I roll my eyes at him.

  “Well,” Marv says, “good for you, man. And for Sophie. She’s from here, but she never really quite fit here, you know? If she’s with you…”

  He trails off.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I guess you don’t really fit here either.”