25. Reed

Reed

25

"There you are." Mason peeks his head out the slider that leads to the courtyard.

"Hi, sleepyhead." I smile at him.

Shortly after our early dinner, Mason fell asleep on the couch. I had too much on my mind to rest my eyes, so the moment the sun started to set, I slipped into my pajamas and made my way into the courtyard to stare out at the desert.

It's warmer than I'm used to in LA, but not too hot now that the sun has set, and there's something about staring out at the open desert that is relaxing. It's why I love the many windows lining the walls.

Mason's house might not be that big, but it definitely costs a fortune. He explained that the only reason he's able to have so many windows in the desert is that they have special tinting and UV protection that keeps the Vegas heat out while letting the light in.

But now that the sun has set, the desert is cooler, and I'm enjoying the night air.

"Sorry I passed out on you." Mason steps out into the courtyard.

"No worries. Long day, I get it."

"It's nice out here, right?"

I tip my head back and look at the stars already starting to form in the sky. I'm used to San Francisco and LA, where light pollution drowns out anything above us. But here, in the middle of the desert, the night is clear, and the stars are endless, like they are on the Twisted Kings compound.

"It's beautiful." I close my eyes and take a long inhale through my nose.

Desert air. Warmth. Mason's shampoo from his shower earlier. All calming things surround me.

When I open my eyes, Mason's standing over me, looking up at the sky like I was. The glow of the night defines his strong jaw. His dark tattoos stand out on his skin, and I reach up to trace the design that runs from his hand up his forearm.

He glances down at where my fingers trail over him. "That was my first one."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Sienna designed it for me. She was an artist." He smiles, even if it's a little sad. "And she was a much better one than I am. Do you see that painting above the couch?"

I glance through the windows into the house. To the giant painting hanging in the living room. It's the brightest, most colorful decoration on the white walls, so it's hard to miss. Bold swirls of teal and raspberry bleeding together.

"She painted that?"

Mason nods. "She planned on selling her art someday. At least, before it all went to shit."

He rakes his hair back, and I squeeze his hand, even if I know I can only offer so much comfort. There's no bringing his sister back or absolving his guilt, even if it wasn't his fault.

"She was really talented." I smile.

"She was. I think that's the only reason I got as good as I did. Trying to compete with her."

"It worked."

"Guess so."

I glance down at my bare arms and legs. My brother has worked at Twisted Roses since he was fourteen, but I've still yet to get inked.

"Do you think it's odd that I don't have any tattoos?"

"No." Mason scans my body. "I think when you get a tat, it should be something that matters. So many people just throw random shit on their body and regret it later. Probably why I don't have that many. At least, not that many compared to other tattoo artists."

It's true, of all the guys at the shop, Mason has the fewest tattoos. I never really thought about it, but now that he's explaining his reason, I skim his arms again, wondering what each piece means to him.

"I think that's smart."

"You would." He grins. "You're rational."

"Is that a slight or a compliment?"

"Definitely a compliment." He bends down and kisses the back of my hand.

It's a good thing it's getting dark out, or he'd no doubt catch the blush warming my cheeks the moment his lips graze my skin.

"So…" I clear my throat, trying not to imagine his mouth between my legs with how his gaze shoots a path of fire straight to my core. "If you designed a tattoo for me, what would it be?"

"A bite-sized candy bar. Because you're so tiny and sweet."

He sinks his teeth into the side of my neck until I moan.

"I'm being serious."

Mason pulls back, winking at me. "I am too. Mostly. Hold on a sec."

He disappears back into the house, and I watch him through the windows, circling through the kitchen until he stops at a desk tucked between the living room and the staircase. Grabbing something from one of the drawers, he makes his way back to the courtyard, dropping into the lounger beside me.

"Leg." He pats his thigh.

Narrowing my gaze, I kick my leg up and drape it over him. My bare skin tingles as he brushes up the full length, teasing the line of my pajama shorts before moving to my shin.

"You live up to your nickname, Sticks." He smiles, grazing his fingers on my calf and rubbing it. "Nice pair you've got here."

"You're such a flirt." I roll my eyes.

"Just pointing out the obvious." He sets my leg on his thigh and reaches for the pack of markers he carried outside. "You're wearing those leather pants tomorrow, right?"

"Yes…" My eyebrows pinch. "Why? Already imagining my ass in them?"

"Oh, I did that the second you told me about them." He grins, holding up a marker. "But I'm asking because these are permanent, so they won't come off overnight."

Mason smiles, popping the cap off with it clenched between his teeth, and I can't explain what it is about him that has my stomach in a constant flutter. His heart shines through his eyes, no matter how much he tries to bury it. And I'm terrified I'm going to hurt him when that's the last thing I'd ever want to do.

He drops the marker cap to the seat beside him and turns my leg slightly so he can get a better angle on the side of my calf.

"What are you drawing?"

"You'll see."

He drags the marker along a path on my skin, and he has that same focus I've seen when he's inking someone at the shop.

He does a quick outline before moving to a different marker. One after another.

Mason is known at the shop for his portraits and realism. But even at this angle, I can tell what he's drawing on me is a little different. It's wispy but also bolder. And it feels more like his sister's style than his.

Maybe it's the markers, or maybe it's all the color. But there's emotion bleeding from every stroke he paints across my skin.

"When did you know you wanted to be a tattoo artist?" I tip my head back to look at the stars while he draws on my leg.

"When I was eighteen and still in school. I always liked drawing, but a few guys went to get tatted at this shop on the Strip, and I went with them. Something about the challenge of translating art onto skin appealed to me. How you were literally marking people with things so important to them that they wanted to carry them around for their whole lives. That's trust."

I glance in his direction, and he's still focused on my leg.

"My dad was pissed when I started my apprenticeship. That's probably why it took me so long to do it. He wanted me to be practical and to follow in his footsteps. He said I was making a mistake and fucking up my life by following my passions."

"He was wrong."

Mason pauses and looks up at me. An equal mix of sadness and appreciation is in his smile before he goes back to what he was doing.

"I wish I was artistic," I say.

"You've got much better things going for you."

"Not really." I shake my head. "I'm too rational."

"You're smart, Reed. You see the world like I've never been able to. And I'm pretty creative."

I frown. "I don't know why you have so much faith in me."

"That's because you don't see yourself as I do."

"And how's that?"

"Like you're the only thing worth looking at." He avoids my stare with his words, but it wells up inside my chest, filling my ribs to the brim. "Done."

Mason pops the cap back on the marker and sets it aside with the rest, helping me bend my leg so I can see what he drew.

"It's messy, but you get the idea."

A tree stretches the full length of my calf with roots that reach across the top of my foot. It's abstract, but I see it for exactly what it is, and it's beautiful. And in the center of the bark on the tree, I spot something that veins out until it meets the roots—a heart.

Mason traces his fingers over it.

"If you saw yourself like I see you, you wouldn't question that you're strong because you'd just know it. Everything has its season. We all lose our leaves and spend some time falling apart." He moves down my leg slowly. "But your roots, Reed… they're endless, and they come straight from your heart. Everything you do and say—to the way you love—is so big that everyone around you feels it. We all selfishly want it."

My throat clogs as I watch Mason trace over the picture. It's a tree, but it's me—in his eyes. A version of myself I'd like to be. A strength he brings out because he believes in me with all of him.

Dropping my leg from his thigh, I sit up and crawl over to him until I'm straddling his lap. My knees dig into the cushions as I wrap my arms around his shoulders, dipping my mouth to his when words won't suffice.

I'm in denial. I'm holding back and I don't know why.

All the signs are clear. Mason was meant to be a part of my life in some way.

His tongue meets mine, and he tastes like the spearmint gum he was chewing before he went into the house to get the markers.

His hands rake up my back, and he wraps himself around me. My shield from myself on days when I'm tearing apart.

I'm frantic as I dig my fingers into his scalp, and he arches me so he can kiss a path down the center of my throat.

"Mason." I groan when he pinches one of my nipples.

I've always been self-conscious about my chest, but Mason appreciates my breasts. His large palms cup me, and his fingers dig in as I circle my hips in his lap. He leans back in the lounger, toying with my nipple.

His blue eyes burn bright as he watches me roll my core over him, and he sees me like I'm worth looking at. With the intensity that has me desperate to reveal all sides of myself to him.

Reaching for the hem of my shirt, I strip it off and toss it to the side.

"You're testing my ability to be a gentleman, Reed." His stare falls to my breasts.

"Don't be a gentleman then, Mason." I grip his shoulders, circling my hips again. Leaning in, I run my tongue over his lower lip until he steals it, sucking it into his mouth.

This man brings my body to life in ways I didn't think was possible.

I drag my fingers along the scruff on his jaw when he breaks the kiss. "I'd rather you fuck me dirty."

Dirty.

Unapologetically.

Like he's craving me as much as I crave him.

"Yes, ma'am." He grabs my ass and lifts us up, spinning us around until my back hits the cushions. "You should really be careful what you ask for."

He rips my pajama shorts down my legs in one swift move before he stands to strip off his own shirt, revealing every carved inch of his chest in the moonlight.

"What's the fun in that?" I tease my lip with my teeth.

He reaches for his belt, and I sit up, stripping my bra off and appreciating how he can't take his eyes off me. His focus has my nipples pebbling. And my core throbs at how slow he's sliding his zipper down.

Mason pulls his cock out, wrapping his hand around the thick shaft. A bead drips from the tip, and he strokes his thumb over the slit. I'm desperate for him to take me, to fill me. But he's patient, pleasuring himself to the sight of me first.

My tongue darts out, and I wet my lips. A move that has Mason grabbing me by the throat to pull me closer.

"Are you going to be a good girl for me, Reed?" He angles my chin up, slowly painting my lips with what's dripping out of the tip of his cock.

"Yes."

The veins in his forearms pop as he tightens his grasp on his shaft. "Even if I want to fuck the back of your throat until you're crying for me?"

He shoves his thumb into my mouth, forcing it open.

"Yes," I mumble around it.

"Good girl." He drags his thumb out, and then he's thrusting his cock in.

He's so large, he stretches my lips, and my jaw aches almost instantly. I'm trying my best to wrap my mouth around him, but I'm fighting for air. His hips thrust forward, and he does what he promises; he strikes the back of my throat, but he's not even bottoming out yet. His hands find my hair, and I grab what doesn't fit, stroking him.

Mason finds a rhythm. Choking me with his hard thrusts as I gag, and tears spill down my cheeks. But I don't pull back, and he doesn't stop. I want to please him how he needs it.

"Eyes on me, Reed."

His tone snaps my attention up to him. He cups my jaw with one hand, holding the back of my head still so I can't pull away when he thrusts deeper.

He caresses my throat, encouraging me. "Swallow."

I do, but he doesn't come like I expect. Instead, as my throat works, he shoves his hips further, and his cock buries deeper than I thought possible.

"Good girl." He pulls out, and I'm choking for air between thrusts. "Again."

I swallow again as he bottoms out. And he's no longer just fucking my mouth. He's in my throat. Watching me take every inch.

"Fuck, Reed. You're going to make me come." He pulls out, and my lips pop off his cock.

Spit streams from my mouth, and he drags his thumb over it.

"I want you to come." My voice is raspy.

"I will." Mason picks me up and spins me around so my knees hit the cushions. My fingers grip the back of the seat while he wraps my hair around his fist and forces my back to arch. "I'm going to fill you up until I'm dripping out of you."

He shoves himself inside me in one thrust, and he's not a gentleman about it. My pussy aches with the depth as I stretch around him, but when he pulls out and tilts his hips, moving forward again, he hits that spot that has me losing all my senses.

From this angle, he's hitting me deeper than I thought my body could take. My legs are numb with each thrust, and my ass shakes as he bottoms out. Striking me so deep I scream.

"Let me hear it." Mason's grip on my hair tightens. "Scream for my cock like the good girl you are."

My lungs release everything my body's been holding back. Because I do want this. I want him. In every way I'm ready for and every way I'm not.

Mason releases my hair and grabs the mounds of my ass. He fucks me until my face is buried against the back of the chair, and he doesn't slow, and he doesn't let up.

I'm screaming at the top of my lungs as my legs start to shake, but it's muffled in the cushions.

"Squeeze my cock with this pretty pussy." He angles his thrusts. "Come for me."

My eyes roll back, and I'm shaking. I'm coming apart, and he's right behind me. His warmth hits my core, and I'm shaking from the intensity. I black out for a second as I come down from the rush of adrenaline. And when he pulls out, he holds my hips up, not letting me collapse just yet.

His cum drips down my legs, coating the inside of my thighs, and I feel his eyes watching every drop.

"Now that's art." He grazes his hands down my legs. "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."