Page 8 of Mason

"Mason," I start, but he silences me with a finger to my lips.

"Shh. Not now. There'll be time to talk later." His words are a command, but his touch is gentle, almost tender.

His words hang in the air between us. As he leans down towards me, I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin and the beat of my heart quickens. He moves closer, slowly, giving me time to pull away if I need to. But I don't. Instead, I lean into him, seeking the comfort that only he can provide.

The cool night breeze whispers past us as we stand there, sharing the weight of what just happened inside. His arm circles around my waist, pulling me closer until our bodies are flush against each other. He walks us back until my back meets the brick wall of the bar. My heart pounds in my ears as he lowers his mouth to mine softly at first, a gentle brush that makes my body tremble. His hand cups the back of my head gently, holding me still as he deepens the kiss.

His free hand travels up my side, tracing patterns on my skin that make me squirm with desire as he pulls me tighter against his metal-hard frame. My heart races as we sway together under the moonlight. I clutch at his leather jacket, feeling its strength beneath my fingertips – an extension of who he is - rough and powerful but protective.

All too soon he pulls away, placing kisses on my chin and down my neck. His hand snakes under my top just as Jenny bursts out of the bar with Dagger trailing behind her. “There you two are!” She smiles brightly. Then her eyes widen when she sees what’s happening.

Mason clears his throat, and steps away from me. His warmth going with him and I’m left with my head swimming.

“We should get out of here. I’m sure y’all have some things to figure out in there.”

Mason gives me a quick nod. I want to say something. Ask him what this means or if I’ll see him again. I stand there longer than I should, hoping he’ll ask for my number or offer something to put me at ease after what just happened.

As we stand there, the Iron Reapers' laughter echoing from inside the bar, I can't shake the feeling that we're balanced on the edge of a precipice—one wrong move and everything could come crashing down. But for now, there's Mason, and there's me, and there's the wild, reckless hope that maybe, just maybe, we'll find a way to survive the fall.

Jenny loops her arm through mine. “Boys, thanks for letting us party,” She smiles and turns us around, leading us back to her car.

“What the hell was that?” I whisper when we’re far enough away.

She nudges me playfully. “That my dear was the Iron Reapers.”

FIVE

CARLIE

It’s been six days.

Six days since Jenny dragged me to Perdition and my world turned upside down.

Six days since I’ve seen or spoken to Mason.

Six days for me to remember everything he said and everything we shared that night.

He didn’t ask for my number, but a man like him, I figured he could get it if he wanted to. You know the saying,if he wanted to he would. Guess he didn’t want to. Which bums me out more than I care to admit.

I feel like I’ve been on autopilot all week, just going through the motions. My mind has been on Mason, wondering what he’s doing, who he’s with, if the club is okay after what happened. I’ve been going crazy picturing a hundred different scenarios as to why I haven’t heard from him and it’s eating me up inside. This is what I get for trying to live dangerously.

I’m cleaning up in the living room, thankful tomorrow is Friday and I’ll have the weekend to get my head in order when someone knocks on my door. Surprised, I look through the peephole and find Mason standing there, looking much like hedid the other night with his jeans and black t-shirt and a black leather vest. My heart races and I’m right back there on Friday night, my back pushed up against the brick and my mouth locked with his. I’m excited, yet terrified. I must spend too long in la la land because he knocks again, startling me out of my daydream.

I open the door and he looks me up and down. Is that desire I see in his eyes? I’m suddenly very aware of how I look in the light of day with my hair up in a messy bun, my glasses on, and my signature baggy t-shirt and short shorts combo. I look exactly how I feel, like a hot mess. I cross my arms over my chest and look at the man who has taken up far too much of my brain power lately.

“Carlie.”

“Mason?”

Mason grunts and extends a hand, the glove rough against my palm as he passes me a necklace I hadn't even noticed was missing. "You dropped this the other night," he grumbles, his voice a low rumble that vibrates between us.

"Thank you," I murmur, fingers brushing against his in a moment that sets off sparks. My eyes lift to meet his, and there's a current there, a silent conversation that we're both too stubborn—or too scared—to have out loud. His gaze is unyielding, dark depths luring me into waters I swore I'd never navigate. But here I am, drowning in the possibility of 'what if'.

Mason's eyes don't leave me, and I feel them, heavy and heated.

"Well, thanks again for bringing this by."

"Anytime," he says, and there's a promise in those two syllables that sends a shiver down my spine.

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