Page 71 of Penalty Box
Mason reached out, hand brushing my arm. “I am. So if you can’t believe yourself, then at least believe me.”
Something about the way he said it, low and certain, made me feel steadier. The rattling in my brain simmered down.
“What about you?” I asked. “How are you holding up?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. There was something else, but he held that back. Then, after thinking for a bit, he went on. “It was just one game, but everyone’s on their last nerve with playoffs approaching. We were shooting for home ice advantage, and last weekend just made that harder.”
“You did the right thing, Mason. Whatever they think.”
He sighed heavily, but didn’t disagree. “I haven’t really worked through all that stuff, but I know I’m grateful you came home with me. That helped.”
I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to be there for you.”
“Why?”
I wasn’t expecting that, or the intensity in his eyes as they locked with mine. I didn’t have an answer. My heart was beating too fast, and everything that had been barreling through my head all day went quiet. The staff, whispers, my dad’s silence.
My hand lifted before I realized what was happening, and brushed the side of his face. His skin was warm, a little rough with stubble. He leaned into the touch, his eyes dropping closed for a moment.
And when his lips met mine, it wasn’t a question—it was the answer.
I melted into him, my hands finding the collar of his hoodie, his arms coming around my waist. The kiss deepened but stayed tender, full of something pulsing and real. All the tension we’d been holding back finally curled into the open space between us.
“Cass…”
“I know.”
And I didn’t care. Not anymore.
The world beyond the garage didn’t exist. There was just this: the press of his chest against mine, the way his breath caught when I touched him. The comfort of skin meeting skin under layers of clothing as we started tugging each other closer.
This didn’t feel like a mistake at all. It never did.
There was nowhere soft to land in this place, no bed or couch to brace ourselves on. But maybe that was the point. This wasn’t planned or polished. It was raw and real, shaped by the ache we’d been carrying for too long.
Mason walked me back until my shoulder blades bumped the equipment shelves, rattling a few cans of puck wax behind me. We both laughed under our breath, lips touching, kissing still, and the air shifted between us again.
His hands found the bottom of my sweatshirt and dragged it up over my head. The cool air hit my skin but I was burning up. He stared like he was trying to take it all in. Every part of me. His eyes flicked from my collarbone to the pale blue lace of my bra. His hand came to rest just below my ribs, holding me gently.
“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”
“Come to think of it… no.”
He chuckled softly. “Well, you’re beautiful, Cass. Absolutely breathtaking.”
My fingers curled into the front of his hoodie and I pulled it off him in one clumsy motion. He was all warm skin, faint tan lines, and that hard line of muscle down his stomach that always did things to me. Unspeakable things.
He kissed me again, slower this time, delving into my depths in more ways than one. His mouth moved along my jaw, down to my throat, each kiss stealing whatever breath I had left. My legs tangled with his as greedy hands slid down the back of my thighs. He lifted me easily, and I wrapped myself around him instinctively, trusting him to hold me. We staggered this way until Mason reached the stacked goalie pads and lowered me on top.
This wasn’t the mezzanine or his garage or my ratty apartment. It was the culmination of something inevitable that neither of us had words for.
When his fingers found the button of my jeans, I nodded, breath catching. He worked them down and took my underwear too, kissing the inside of my knee, then lower. I gasped as his mouth brushed along the top of my thigh. The tenderness held in that moment undid me.
I tugged him back up, fingers fumbling as I returned the favor. First his jeans, then his boxers. I wanted to feel all of him. No more waiting. No more excuses.
His eyes blazed with want, never leaving my face. It was as though he wanted to watch every second of how I fell apart for him. And I was falling. Fast. He pressed me back, bringing his full weight on top of me as he positioned himself between my legs. Holding himself up on one elbow, he slipped his other arm under my knee and lifted my leg, opening me up even more.
The tip of his cock rubbed against me, and he groaned out loud, a shiver snaking through his whole body as he teased me. My hips jerked. Begged for it.
