by Anya Summers
She spied Garrett, striding back her way with a big grin on his face. She knew it meant he’d gotten them a private room. Her stomach clenched. She was about to go have kinky sex with a virtual stranger.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Mason growled from behind her. Her entire body tensed and kinetic lightning slashed at her resolve just as Garrett made it to her side.
Garrett glanced at Mason. “Easy, Mase.”
“I’m a member,” she replied and gave Mason a deadpan look when in reality her stomach was tied up in knots. “And I was getting to know Garrett here. He owns one of the ski resorts.”
“Yes, I know that. But what I still can’t wrap my brain around is the fact that you’re here,” Mason said, anger and something deeper, darker, and inherently more dangerous to her composure lacing his voice.
“Believe it. And Garrett here was going to take me into one of the private rooms tonight. He’s being wonderful about my entry into the lifestyle. I’m ready when you are, Sir,” she said to Garrett, giving him a gamine grin and threading her arm through his.
At her words, Garrett flashed a pleased, masculine grin, winked, and said, “And you won’t regret it, sweet thing. Mason, good to see you.”
Garrett’s hand slid around her waist to lead her to the back of the club and the private room they would share. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She wasn’t sure if it was from what she was about to do with Garrett or if it was because of Mason’s presence. Damn him for interfering with her life this way.
“No,” Mason growled and stepped in front of them, stalling their forward progression toward the private rooms.
“Mason, you need to back the hell off,” Garrett warned and his arm around her waist noticeably tensed against her.
Mason leveled a gaze at Garrett, then said, “This one is not available. Not tonight, not any night.”
What? He couldn’t be serious!
Garrett and Mason had a wordless staring conversation. Emily really wished she understood what was happening. Why was Mason being such an ass? Of course she was available.
Then Garrett’s hold on her slackened and he took a step away. Garrett backed off. She didn’t know whether he saw the resolve in Mason or whatever their two-minute staring contest was, but he lowered his head and nodded. Then he glanced her way, regret swimming in his eyes. “Sorry, but I think you two have some issues that need to be worked out, Emily. Mason is one of my best friends and I won’t poach.”
“I. Just. Work. For. Him,” she chewed out. Her blood pressure skyrocketed. She wanted to strangle Mason. Where did he get off?
Garrett’s gaze hardened as he glanced at her and commanded, “That’s enough. I’ve said my piece. But if you’re going to be disrespectful, then I will take you over my knee.”
It took everything inside Emily not to scream in frustration. Anger seethed in her veins. Mount St. Helen’s had nothing on her. She was ready to blow a freaking gasket. But nice, sexy Garrett didn’t deserve her wrath.
Mason did.
The bane of her existence. The man who kept her at arm’s length and then told his club members that she was off-limits.
“Sorry, Master Garrett. I apologize for directing my anger your way,” she said as demurely as possible, dismissing him. Emily had not really wanted him, but she’d chosen him for the night.
Then she rounded on the true culprit. The man who had destroyed her well laid plans. Who had no problem trying to control her. She glowered at Mason and said, with venom lacing her voice, “Are you happy? Do you get off on making me miserable? Is that your world that I can’t handle? When in truth you’re just an egotistical, controlling asshole? Well, chew on this, I fucking quit.”
Then she strode around him. Fury dominated her steps and she danced out of arm’s reach. The son of a bitch could rot in hell. She powerwalked to the door. Practically ripped her coat off the nearby hook. Took the steps two at a time and barreled out of the bar before Mason could stop her.
Emily was done attempting to please him. She was finished trying to scrape a measure of acceptance from him when it was clear as day to her now that he never would. And she couldn’t live in a cage, begging for scraps.
Hadn’t she done that most of her life? Seeking the approval from her family for the life she’d chosen for herself while they stared at her as if she were possessed?
Emily was moving out of the lodge tonight. She’d pack her stuff and go.
But go where? Hell if she knew. For tonight, she’d see if one of the nearby hotels had a spare room and then head out fresh in the morning. Maybe she could stay in Jackson. Surely there were enough tourists traps here that someone would hire her.
And as for Mason, the man could rot for all she cared.
Chapter 12
Emily drove back to the lodge like she was training for the Indy 500, a little surprised there wasn’t steam pouring from her ears, she was so angry. The launch sequence of her internal combustion had been activated.
She parked by the door to the restaurant. She wanted her knives first. Good thing she’d left her case in the restaurant. Must have been a bit of foresight on her part. Emily hurried inside and stomped into the kitchen. Grabbing her bag from the dry storage, she hefted it over to the stainless steel countertop, where she’d stored her precious set.
She withdrew the specially made case for them and began packing her knives away. All she had to do was pack these. It shouldn’t take her too long to box up her clothes in the cabin. She didn’t have much. She could be in and out in a flash.
Anger boiled and brewed in her blood. She was surprised she wasn’t foaming at the mouth, she was so pissed. Where did he get off? Did he dislike her that much?
She was gripping her chopping blade when the door to the kitchen slammed open. She didn’t need to look to know who it was. She could feel him. The ever-present current saturated the kitchen.
“You can’t quit. We agreed to a month,” Mason growled with a finality that rankled the fabric of her being and pressed the all-systems-launch sequence.
Unwilling to ruin her knives, Emily slid the chopping blade in its case. And then she picked up a nearby empty metal mixing bowl. Swiveling, she lobbed it at his head. He ducked just before it connected with his cranium.
She shouted, “Screw you and your rules! I won’t work for a tyrant.”
Incensed that the bowl had missed, she fast pitched an orange at his head. Which he again ducked.
She continued her tirade, “If you don’t want me, fine. But cock-blocking me like you did back there is fucking asinine. I don’t belong to you. You had no right to do that to me. Fuck you and your self-righteous glares.”
Mason advanced, his hooded gaze glittering knives as he approached. His jaw was clenched. The power of him, the overriding confidence as he prowled toward her, turned her insides liquid.
Emily didn’t retreat even as tension gripped her, telling her to flee. She couldn’t run. Not from him. Their present clash was nearly predestined from the moment they’d met. She wanted this fight with him, to finally have it out. She gave him a derisive snort. “Can’t handle your world? Please.”
He said nothing, his lips compressed as he advanced.
She tossed the salt canister at him and it bounced off his chest. The pepper grater followed. Nothing stopped him. Self-preservation finally made her backpedal. Mason stalked her through the kitchen.
Emily didn’t realize until it was too late and she was cornered that they had been playing a game of cat and mouse. Only she was the mouse.
Her back hit the wall next to the dry storage. Emily wouldn’t show fear. Not with him. She glared instead, ignoring that she was shaking. Her trembling hands were curled into fists at her sides.
Mason bracketed her body and placed his large palms on either side of her head. Her belly quivered at his nearness as his spicy scent washed over her.
“You can’t quit,” Mason snarled.
Then he pressed his full length against her, gripped her face i
n his hands, and slanted his mouth over hers.
At the first hard brush of his lips against hers, Emily moaned. It was hot. It was hungry. His kiss ignited the very fabric of her being. Emily knew she should push him away. But she couldn’t keep fighting her attraction. She craved Mason the way dieters did sugar.
The way he kissed her. Hard. Brutal. Possessive.
And that was just a precursor. He told her with his kiss that he was staking his claim. Proving with this embrace that while she might have enjoyed a night in Garrett’s arms, Mason was the one she wanted. The only one.
She lifted her fists to his chest. Her palms flattened against his pectorals. And she kissed Mason back with everything she was worth. He was the pinpoint of her need and her desires. His mouth moved against hers with confidence. She moaned as he changed the angle and kissed her impossibly deeper.
She dug her nails into his broad chest. Clung to him as he changed the orbit of her world until all she could feel and taste was Mason.
When he finally lifted his lips from hers, she whimpered at the loss. Her gaze felt heavy as she lifted her lids and sucked in a ragged breath. Hunger shrouded Mason’s handsome features.
Emily found her voice and whispered, “Mason.”
“If you don’t want this, say so now,” he ordered, his intense caramel gaze watching her reaction.
Not want him? She’d tried to stay away from him, but it was like trying to make her lungs go without air. She’d wanted him from the moment they’d met. And she was done fighting her attraction.
“I want this,” she murmured.
No sooner had the words come out of her mouth than he was pulling her into the nearby dry storage closet and shutting the door behind them. He walked her backwards with his body until they ran out of room and her back was flush against the wall.
Mason’s hands gathered her wrists. He drew them up over her head. Then he removed his belt and tossed it up over an exposed pipe jutting from the wall before looping it through the silver rings on her cuffs. She was restrained. Her breath backed up in her lungs. Emily had to rise up on her tiptoes. She worried some about the strain on her shoulders but knew Mason wouldn’t let harm come to her.
“Your safeword is red,” he ordered.
She nodded, her mouth suddenly dry.
Mason cupped her face again. The rough pad of his thumb rasped over her bottom lip before his mouth descended and claimed her once more. Emily hadn’t realized she could feel so much. Want someone as much as she did Mason. She’d been kissed before. Plenty. But Mason’s kiss was by far and away the most wicked of her existence.
It mimicked sex.
It was a pronouncement of what was to come. Now that he no longer held back or denied their potent connection, the full brunt of his lust and the carnal way his tongue thrust inside her mouth created a firestorm of desire inside her. She was wet between her thighs. The fact that she couldn’t touch him, could only take what he was willing to give her, was half of the eroticism.
She had never been so aroused in her life. He invaded the recesses of her mouth, plunging his tongue in rapid succession. When he pressed a thick, muscled thigh between her legs, she groaned against his lips.
Then realized she was rubbing her pelvis against his thigh and wondered if she would orgasm against his leg.
His hands undid the front of her leather vest, freeing her breasts. His hands cupped the globes, kneading the mounds. When he rubbed his thumb around a nipple, she moaned.
Mason lifted his head. She felt weightless and needy. He watched her reaction when he scraped his thumbs against her nipples. They hardened at his ministrations and she couldn’t stop the mewl that escaped.
Then one of his big hands dropped down to her hip and drew her short skirt up until she was exposed to his gaze. At the groan Mason uttered, her belly tightened. He dropped to his knees before her. This big, proud man. When he reached the small swath of black lace covering her mound, he gripped it in his hands and tugged. The material snapped at the force.
And now Mason was staring at her pussy, lust covering his face. He spread her thighs and hissed, “Fuck, you’re so wet.”
Then he parted her slit with his thumbs, opening her up to his gaze. She watched, entranced, as he took her into his mouth. Mason ate her pussy. Ran his tongue along her slit, tasting her as if she were a delicacy. His tongue teased her clit, caressing under her hood, and then was plunging inside her pussy. He held her prisoner as he raised one of her legs up over his shoulder.
Emily was lost in a sea of need so startling and intense, she couldn’t control it. She came. Hard. And loud. Her wails filled the dry storage locker.
Then Mason set her leg down and stood. He withdrew a foil packet from his back pocket and unzipped his jeans, shoving them to his thighs with his boxers. His cock sprang forth. He had one of the biggest dicks she’d ever seen. It was long and thick. Perfectly formed. She licked her lips as he rolled the condom down his length, protecting them both. And then he was lifting her legs up around his waist.
He used the wall for balance and guided his cock to her opening. When the crown pressed against her entrance, he ordered, “Look at me.”
Emily hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes. She lifted her gaze and stared into his caramel depths. Then he thrust his hips and plunged deep inside until he was embedded inside her. She moaned. He was so big. He stretched her. And she—oh God, he felt so good.
“Give me everything. I want every sound, every cry. Don’t hold back. Give yourself to me,” Mason demanded.
She could only nod as he proceeded to move. His hands gripped her rear as he rocked his hips, plunging in a steady pace, bent on driving her crazy. She writhed against him, meeting his thrusts as he flexed his hips.
And she did as he asked. She wasn’t quiet. She couldn’t be if she tried. Mason pumped his big dick inside her in rapid succession and she saw stars. Her body clenched around him, wanting to draw him deeper.
The scent of their sex filled the small space. The slap of their flesh against one another competed with the cacophony of moans erupting from the back of her throat.
Emily’s body coiled in on itself as Mason fucked her. She could feel the etchings of her orgasm like a runaway freight train from which there was no escape. His control began to slip and his pace became more frantic.
Through it all, he watched her, his gaze steady on hers. He jackhammered his thrusts. She rocked her hips. Keening now, she was in a heightened state where all she could see and feel was Mason. His scent, his body, his cock… as he fucked her brains right out.
“Come for me, Em,” he growled.
When one of the hands clutching her ass pulled back and smacked her cheek as he thrust deep, Emily’s body went over the ledge.
“Mason,” she keened, straining as the orgasm ripped through her system. Her pussy spasmed and quaked around his pummeling cock. Teutonic plates shifted from the force of the tremors wracking her body.
Then Mason buried his face in her neck and his thrusts became impossibly faster. She barely came down from one orgasm before another ripped through her.
Then his cock jerked inside her folds. He slammed his cock home.
“Fuck, Em!” he roared. His hips pistoning inside her clenching heat set off another round of sparks in her pussy. He moved until his climax was spent.
And then he just held her close. Not moving. His face was buried in her neck. Her arms were tired from being restrained. But the rest of her was like molten molasses and twice as gooey. She could barely lift her eyelids. She liked that he held her. That he didn’t pull away right away.
She sighed against his shoulder. Sex with Mason. Epic. There was no other word for it. And she was too sated to worry about the consequences.
When he finally lifted his head and looked at her, she inhaled a deep breath. The feeling, it seemed, was mutual.
Chapter 13
Mason released Emily’s wrists from their restraints. Pulling her cuff loops off h
is belt, he rubbed her arms before setting her on her feet. He leaned her against the wall when she wobbled so he could collect himself and then take care of her. Disposing of the condom in a nearby trash can, he fixed his jeans and picked up his hat from where it had fallen to the floor in their earlier rush.
When he noticed her sliding down the wall and shivering, he took his flannel, and slid it over her arms. Then he scooped her up. She nestled her face at the base of his throat as he carried her. Her vanilla cookie scent surrounded him.
She really was a small thing. Much more delicate than he’d thought. A protectiveness he’d not felt with another invaded his chest. He strode with her out the back door of the main lodge, taking the short trail up the hill to his house. At the nip in the air, Emily murmured and snuggled against him more tightly.
An owl hooted nearby as he took the stairs up to the front door of the two-story Victorian style farmhouse. It was the house his parents had built when all the land around them had been nothing but wilderness and a dream. With his bundle cradled against his chest, Mason opened the front door single handedly, shutting it behind them with a booted heel.
Cole was still at the club and likely would be for a bit. Mason ascended the stairs and carried Emily to his bedroom. It sat at the tail end of the hall on the second floor. The same hallway he and Cole had built forts and had epic lightsaber battles in. There was a continuity he always felt at living here. Mason’s room was the master suite. He had moved in there a few years after his dad had passed away.
He had added his furniture when he’d moved in. The four poster mahogany king-sized bed, for one, which he now laid Emily upon. The spill of her silken red hair against his pillows was a slash of color against the muted gray sheets. He hungered to feel those tresses surround him. He yearned to wrap her lengths around his hands as he buried himself inside her once more.
Fuck.
He never should have touched her. But tonight, seeing her in the sexy as hell short skirt, about to go with Garrett into one of the club’s private rooms, had brought out a possessiveness he couldn’t explain. It was as if the Master in him had already laid claim to her and considered Emily his.