Promise Me Not

Payton

Before, March

“I wish you could have seen the sunset the other night. It was like being in the clouds.”

“I saw.”

Smiling, I look over at him, his brown eyes shining. “You did?”

Something in his face softens, and I turn toward him, reaching out to take his hand. “Of course I did. I was with you, baby. Always will be.”

“I wish there was time to take Deaton to the beach before heading home. He’s obsessed with the water. He is so going to be one of those beach boys when he grows up.”

He reaches out, his warm palm pressing against my cheek. “I look forward to seeing that.”

My heart aches, and I reach for him, running my hand through his dark hair. “I miss you.”

He smiles wide, and I blink slowly, the image of him starting to blur.

My eyes open, and I look over just as Mason kills the engine, finding we’re back at his beach house. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he whispers, nodding toward the back. “Little man slept as hard as you. He didn’t make a sound the entire drive.”

My mouth tips up at the corners, and I unbuckle, stretching my limbs. “That’s because we woke up at an ungodly hour to beat the traffic.”

“If you thought I was going to waste any of my last day sitting on the highway for hours, you were wrong, Pretty Little. We’re doing our last day right.”

He climbs out, and I follow, trailing his movement as he makes his way around the car. With every step he takes, my stomach flutters, feelings I haven’t felt in a long time and some entirely new ones, swirling low, low, and lower. Nerves I’m not accustomed to tickle along my spine, and I chew on the inside of my lip, my eyes lifting as he steps into my space.

I forget to breathe as he leans in close, his palms planting on the glass windows at my sides.

“This is how it’s gonna happen,” he whispers. “Brunch, bathing suits, beach, bonfire.”

I swallow, pulling in a lungful of air as I drop my head back, dizziness settling over me—a result of his nearness. “Is that right?” I manage to say.

Mason presses his body to mine, his smirk shamelessly mischievous. He opens his mouth, and mine parts, and then he pushes off, yanking open the back door and disappearing inside.

I’m stuck where I stand a moment longer, and I don’t miss the raspy chuckle he lets out.

God, he knows what he’s doing to me.

What the hell is he doing to me?

My nerve endings are firing, and I’m antsy all over, and I just woke up. I feel like I could run for miles, and I hate running. It’s a last resort or something I force myself to do when cardio is in order.

There are other forms of cardio, girl.

Oh my god. My face flames at my own thoughts, and then of course, Mason’s face appears again, Deaton in his arms, sans car seat. He lifts a brow, but there’s a knowing grin tugging at his lips.

I spin on my heels and head for the door, pretending his laughter doesn’t reach deep down inside me. He passes me the keys, and I fumble with the lock, half paying attention to what I’m doing, half caught up in the conversation he’s having with my son.

“And after that awful flavorless oatmeal stuff you somehow drank quicker than the bottle, we’re putting on your new Buzz trunks. I think you’ll like ’em. I’m more a Woody kind of guy myself, but…maybe that’s a conversation for when you’re older.”

“Oh my god!” I laugh, whipping around to face him and nearly stumbling over the threshold of the door.

Mason throws his head back, laughing. “I knew you were eavesdropping.”

“You’re right behind me.” I playfully roll my eyes, stepping into the house.

“True, but it took you about five tries to open the door. Reminded me of one night over summer when me and the others came home drunk. Pretty sure I fell off the porch trying to open it.” He chuckles, then stops midthought. “Or maybe that was Chase.”

Now I’m laughing, shaking my head before tossing myself onto the couch. “Okay, who’s making breakfast?”

“The fact that I burned the toast last time means I say we both figure it out together.”

“I can cut fruit. Fry bacon or make pancakes without screwing them up? Not so much.”

“Hmm.” He drops onto his back on the carpet, setting Deaton on his chest and holding him up so he can stretch his legs and pretend to stand. He smiles up at him, moving him around like he’s dancing. “How about scrambled eggs with cheese in a tortilla? We can’t fuck that up too bad, right?”

I roll onto my side, propping my head up as I watch the two of them.

Mason is just so natural with him. He doesn’t get frustrated or hurry to hand him back. It’s quite the opposite, in fact. When he fusses, Mason comes running, reaching for him and carrying him off. When he’s hungry, Mason asks if there’s a bottle, wanting to feed him himself. When he’s tired, he tucks him to his chest and walks back and forth until his little eyes close, and even then, he doesn’t put him down. He sits down, keeping him tucked against his chest.

Against his heart…

Mason looks up at me, and I blink a few times, realizing he’s waiting for a response, but I forgot the question. “What?”

He chuckles, lifting Deaton into the air and laughing when he squeals and smiles wide. A long drop of drool falls, and Mason jumps, but it still catches him in the neck.

I laugh, rolling over, and he reaches over, gripping me by the hoodie.

“Oh, this is funny, huh?” he teases, tugging me from the couch until I’m bumping into his side. He drops Deaton onto my chest, then bends his neck, running it along my cheek.

I squeal, wiping at the wet spot and rolling halfway away without letting Deaton fall.

When I look back, Mason is propped on his arm, leaning over the both of us.

Suddenly, the room grows quiet, and when he leans forward, I hold my breath, but his lips don’t fall on mine. They press to Deaton’s temple and hold, his gaze never leaving mine, a tenderness tucked deep inside, and I feel it all the way to my toes.

My lips curve, and his follow.

We sit there for a little longer, neither of us in a hurry for the day to begin, because the sooner it does, the sooner it’s over. Or at least that’s the thought that crosses my mind when the food’s been made, the mess cleaned, and we’re all set up closer to the water.

I wish I could slow time down, because as I look over at the man tugging the little hat lower on my little boy, I realize I don’t want today to end.

I don’t think I want any of this to end.

I want to do it all over again tomorrow.

And again the day after that, and that is terrifying.

Because what happens if it’s all taken away?

What if I start to fall in love with him and then lose him?

What if the first part isn’t a what-if at all?

There’s tension in the air, and it’s not going away.

In fact, it’s getting stronger by the minute, like a storm on the horizon. I feel it coming, sense it in the air, but I don’t react.

Deaton’s been asleep now for a few hours, and the outside air grew too chilly, even with the help of the fire, so we’re back inside the house. The big-ass house that no one else is in.

It’s just me and Mason on the couch, a random movie neither of us has ever seen playing on the big screen. We’re sitting beside each other, bundled in the same blanket with our legs outstretched on the coffee table he tugged closer. His left arm is thrown across the back cushions, his fingers teasing at the edge of my shoulder, and I curse myself for not putting a hoodie on after the shower. Why I went with a tank top and sleep shorts, I don’t know.

Or maybe I do, because while I’m brimming with an anxiousness that makes me want to jump and run, I’m also melting at the feeling of his rough fingertips against my skin.

I don’t even know if he knows he’s doing it, but he is. He is and has been for twenty minutes now, and I swear, the goose bumps covering my flesh are going to become permanent if he doesn’t stop soon, but I don’t want him to stop. I want him to slide a little lower. Scoot a little closer.

I want him to kiss me again.

My muscles clench, and I curl my toes in my socks, shifting slightly beneath the blanket.

Mason moves, too, a little closer.

My eyes stay glued to the TV, and the anxiousness in the pit of my stomach doubles when I realize where the scene is leading.

Mason catches on at the same moment I do, his fingers freezing against my upper arm as the man on the screen gently pushes the girl against the wall. His hand disappears under her shirt, and I inhale, my eyes tracking the movement and snapping up to the woman’s face when her breathy noises flow from the speakers.

My core clenches, and I swallow, my heart rate spiking, beating so hard I’m scared he’ll hear it, that he’ll know what’s happening inside me.

And what’s happening inside me?

I’m coming alive, sprouting from nothing and desperate for the heat of the sun.

For the heat of him.

I lick my lips, and Mason’s fingers start their little dance all over again, trailing up and down, a little farther each way this time, and I gasp, staring at the couple as they move to the edge of the bed.

Before I realize what I’m doing, my legs are rubbing together, chasing the friction I suddenly desperately need.

Mason’s fingertips bite into my skin, and a low whine builds in my throat, slipping free. Instantly, I’m flying to my feet. I race from the living room into the kitchen and bury my head inside the fridge.

I inhale deeply, welcoming the cold. My eyes close, and a shaky exhale escapes.

Then his chest is pushing into me from behind, and I jump, my head snapping up, but I don’t look. I can’t.

This is…too much.

It’s nowhere near enough.

Shit. I swallow, panting now.

Mason’s hand comes around, pressing to my upper belly, and I allow my body to fall back into his.

Those perfect lips find my ear, and I feel them part, the heat of his breath sending a shiver down my spine.

A small groan leaves him, but he swallows it away, whatever words he planned to speak dying on his lips. Instead, he takes the lobe of my ear between his teeth, and my center spasms, clenching. I might whimper. He drags them along the skin before releasing me, and I swear I’m floating.

I can feel him against me. He’s turned on. Hard and long and resting against the highest curve of my ass, his fingers biting into the softness of my stomach and sliding south.

I want to spin around and press into him.

I want him to reach between my legs and feel how much I want him, too.

I do. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

The thought has me tensing, and Mason goes taut behind me.

Slowly, he releases me, the heat of his body retreating and leaving a coldness in its wake.

I whip around, unsure if I want to reach for him or run, but the expression on his face tells me I can do whichever I want and he’ll understand. It makes me want him even more, but I’m afraid.

The feelings washing over me are like nothing I’ve felt before. Ever.

Not even with⁠—

No.

No, no.

This isn’t about before. This is about now, and right now, I…

I swallow, stepping forward.

Mason steps back.

I move again, and he turns, his eyes blown black and locked on mine as he blindly moves back into the living room. Like a magnet to metal, I follow.

Fireworks burst beneath my skin, sparking and heating every part of me as I wait to see what he does next, and then he lowers back onto the cushion, those brown eyes holding mine prisoner, an expression so damn deep, there are no words fit for it.

I don’t even know what’s about to happen here, but I trust this man more than I trust myself, so when his eyes fall to the place at his side, I lower my body into it.

The gap between us is a little wider than before, but it seems intentional, so I sit, a ball of fire in my stomach, and wait to see what comes next.

Mason turns to the screen, rewinds it to the moment the man presses the girl to the door, and then he hits play.

I suck in a breath, head snapping in his direction.

His attention remains glued to the TV, and ten seconds in, he lets his head tip back just enough where he can keep his eyes on the screen, his hips gliding down the cushion the slightest bit.

My eyes fall of their own accord, locking on the bulge pressing against his sweats.

My thighs press together again, and all the air whooshes from my lungs when his hand slides down his hoodie, his palm pressing against his own length.

My body shakes at the sight, and our eyes flick to each other.

In the background, the woman moans, and I bite at my inner cheek.

Mason holds my gaze, giving the slightest of nods as his features tighten, his fist closing over himself from the outside of his clothes. His eyes close, and he faces forward.

My entire body vibrates, and slowly, my hips slide down to match his, my head falling back just the same.

He peeks over, but only with his eyes, and I watch, mesmerized, as his teeth sink into his lower lip, making me wish it were me sinking my teeth into his flesh. Slowly, his gaze slides back to the couple, who are now peeling the clothes from each other’s body.

Their noises grow louder, and with each sound they make, my pulse jumps higher.

The man lowers her to the bed, slipping between her legs, his lips falling to her exposed breasts.

Mason groans softly, and it’s a shot of adrenaline in my veins.

That ball of fire is a raging inferno, and I need to put it out.

I need him to put it out.

God, I need⁠—

Mason grabs the blanket that fell to the floor and gently lays it over us, and when he shifts, a hiss leaves his lips, and my clit throbs with need.

The blanket starts to move, up and down, up and down, and when I look to his face, his eyes are closed, those lush lips parted. He’s pleasuring himself with long, leisurely strokes, and I cannot look away.

He moans, and I nearly shatter, my hands shaking as I dare to follow his lead.

I push my shorts down, my chest and cheeks burning with the blush of all blushes, and then my fingers brush over myself. It’s the barest of touches, yet my hips fly off the cushion, the need so strong I can’t breathe.

I gasp into the room, my eyes flying to the TV when a long, loud moan fills the space.

The man is fucking her now, his body rolling and hips thrusting slowly.

Suddenly, it’s not two strangers on the screen.

It’s me and Mason.

It’s my body bare beneath his.

He leans in, licking along my neck, and I shake.

He grabs my thighs, rough and hard, and I moan.

His body lowers, covering me like a warm, weighted blanket I need more of.

I drag my nails along his back, desperate to bring him closer, and he presses my knees open wide.

He buries himself inside me, driving deeper than I’ve ever felt, and I start to shake.

Mason groans and I whine, my eyes flicking open and realizing it wasn’t part of the fantasy.

My eyes slide his way, the blanket having fallen with our movement, exposing his wrists but nothing more.

My eyes are glued on him, my hand following his rhythm, and my stomach muscles tighten, my breathing growing choppy.

I want to feel him.

See him.

I want to taste him.

The thought is so tantalizing, the pulsing need to do exactly that so foreign, I choke on air.

My toes curl into the blanket, and I give a tiny tug.

The fleece hiding him from me falls to his thighs, and my face grows beet red.

Mason’s hand is wrapped tight, his dick silky and solid and swollen in his fist. The tip is glistening, a thick gleam slipping down the head, and when he takes his thumb, brushing it over the wet spot, I moan, licking my lips.

His eyes snap to mine, and my entire body quakes, my core locks, pleasure bursting low and all the fuck over, but my hand won’t stop.

And neither will the feeling.

Mason runs his tongue along his lower lip, and my hips fly up, chasing something, chasing more.

I need more.

His pace quickens, his hips raising with each long pump, and then his eyes widen, his muscles growing tight, and I clench my eyes closed, my own hand moving faster.

A second wave is about to crash.

“I don’t think so, baby,” he groans. “Let me see you.”

I listen, and when his free hand falls into the space between us, I press mine into it.

“All I’m thinking about is you.” He squeezes, flipping our hands so his is on top, shoving our fisted connection into the couch as pleasure bursts within us, and I can see it.

His body pressing me into the bed. Burying me beneath his large frame. He’s so big.

Everywhere.

And I want him all over.

His hold starts to shake, and I pant into the air.

Our eyes are locked, the girl on the TV screams, and we both shake, hips jolting, bodies shuddering.

Long white ropes pulse from his dick, and I stare, the twisting and turning in my belly a full-blown whirlpool. I might drown.

Suffocate.

My lungs are drained, my body so tight it feels like it might snap, and then it does.

It shatters into a million tiny pieces, every single one laid out at his feet like I’m a peasant making an offering to the king.

I wait for the awkward silence to follow, but it never comes.

Mason sits up, shuffling around a bit as he cleans up, and then we’re lying side by side, tucked in each other’s arms, the movie still playing in the background.

I’m not sure how much time goes by, but when I wake in the morning, I find that I’m alone.

With a frown, I sit up, stretching, and follow the sounds coming from the kitchen.

As I reach the threshold, my feet pause, the sight a soothing, settling one.

Mason is sitting at the table, Deaton’s high chair pulled in close, a baby spoon pressed between his fingers.

He notices me instantly, his eye snapping up to meet mine.

The man smiles, and I feel it in my soul.

“Looks like mama’s awake, little man. What do you say? Should we tell her about our plans?”

Our plans.

His and Deaton’s and mine.

Heaviness falls on my chest, but hovering above it is a little white light, a soft tendril of what could be. Or maybe of what is.

I smile and step into the room. “Okay, boys. Lay it on me.”