I followed it through the house, noting that James and Vick were absent with growing suspicion.Mason wouldn't leave me here without one of them.
A hint of panic gathered at the back of my throat but cleared as I heard voices. I stepped through the sweeping archway into the kitchen. I found Mason seated on a stool at the island, tossing an apple back and forth lazily between his hands. Rochelle worked over a series of pies, casting him the occasional glance of suffering indulgence. A few pastries were in the oven, which explained the tantalizing smell.
“Claire, baby,” Mason crooned, his eyes crinkled with warmth at the sight of me, “come sit with me.”
My heart thudded pathetically. His cream-colored sweater and light blue jeans made him look like the rich boyfriend in a Hallmark movie. If his domestic look wasn't enough to send me over the edge, he wore a little Christmas tree pin that flashed in time with some silent melody. God, this man made it hard to hold a grudge.
Not long ago, the blood hiding beneath his façade frightened me. Now the duality of his clean, above-board life and his dark, insidious one aroused every one of my mental and physical desires.
“What's going on?” I snatched the granny smith apple out of his hand and took a bite to keep my laughter inside. His lips parted in surprise, and my gaze slid from them down his body. Unfairly hot. That about summed him up.
“It's Christmas Eve,” he waved around, and I noticed the garlands and a pair of small wreaths on each door of the side-by-side refrigerator. His green eyes shined as ifmyslackened jaw and wide eyes were precisely whathewanted for Christmas.
“I know it's Christmas Eve,” I gulped loudly, trying to take it all in, “but I didn't get the impression we were celebrating.” It was not like things were going well for us. I thought of Mila, the teenage girl alone in the gatehouse, sobbing her heart out while we made pie.
He leaned forward and bit the apple before giving me a juicy kiss. His plush, sweet lips melted some of my tension.
“Why wouldn't we celebrate?” he asked, his lips still pressed against mine. I pushed him back and lifted a brow. “Fine, there are many reasons we shouldn't celebrate, but I don't care. It's Christmas, baby, and we're eating pie!” He opened his arms to me, and I rolled my eyes as I sat on his lap.
The pressure reminded me of the butt plug I wore. It was the largest in a set I had been working through since the evening of the holiday party. I struggled to bite back my moan as the plug pushed against the sensitive bits I still didn't fully understand. Mercifully, he wrapped his arms around me and tucked me against his body, unaware of my naughty secret.
“I'll be back when the timer goes off,” Rochelle told us as she quickly rinsed the flour from her hands and left the room.
“You haven't heard from Hector?” I asked, knowing they were working closely to find out exactly what happened the night Casey and several of Hector's men died. I still didn't trust Mason entirely or forgive him for everything he did, but I had to admit he was letting me in and making a genuine effort.
“Hector is under strict orders not to call me until December twenty-sixth, and I have been quite busy today.” His fingers tripped up and down my spine. “And I would appreciate it if you wouldn't tempt fate.”
“Mason,” I groaned. “If he finds something important—”
He pressed his finger to my lips before I could finish my argument. “I have a lot left to prove to you, and Iknowthis won't fix things, but let me give you a good Christmas, baby.” His green eyes looked so genuine and perfectly fitting for the holiday season. I softened into him and his lips pressed against my neck. How could I resist him when he was so irresistible?
“Have you ever had a good Christmas?” he spoke so softly that his question hit all the deeper. His lips pressed into my skin, followed by a bite, and a lick.
I stiffened in response to the question and his attention. “I mean... I'm not sure…” I thought of my mom, drunk, sad, alone, and a little fucking crazy. Christmas was a hard time of year for her. She hated it because her dad died on Christmas, but I don't know if she told me the truth about that. I never met my grandmother, and I always wondered why. Did the woman want nothing to do with us, or was she so bad that my own mother’s abuse and neglect were explainable? Not justifiable, never justifiable.
“I had a couple…” his words pulled me out of my dark thoughts, revealing an uncharacteristically shy smile on his face. “My dad was away on a business trip when I was seven. So it was my mom and me, and well... A lot of those ornaments are hers. I have had little opportunity to use them since she died.” He looked at me, swallowing hard, “let's have a nice Christmas.”
I stared at him for another few moments before saying, “That sounds lovely. Thank you, Mase.” We sat in comfortable silence for a few moments. His lips, teeth, and tongue continued their torturous pattern. Before I lost all control, I needed to remember our responsibilities. “I'm going down to the gatehouse to invite Mila up.”
He swallowed loudly, “I already did. She told me to go fuck myself.”
That didn't particularly surprise me.
“We need to keep trying.” My fingers twisted through the blonde hair curling against his forehead. It was long enough to do that, something he grudgingly endured because I enjoyed it. Though I suspected he also liked how I grabbed it when he went down on me.
“Wewillkeep trying. Victor wouldn't let us give up if we wanted to.”
I followed the motion of his throat as he swallowed and kissed the spot. “Why is he like that with her? Of course we all care for her and want to protect her, but he's different.” He watched Mila like a hawk, and while he never gawked at her, something about it seemed intense.
“He was the one who decided we should bring Casey on. So, yes, I made the final call but based onhisjudgment, Casey was a valuable asset to us. Vick may be cold on the surface, but that fucked him up.”
I laughed in surprise, “You think Vick seems cold!?”
He smiled at me, his affection reaching his eyes. “No, I don't. But most people do.”
“Most people only see the act, which frankly, it's not particularly good.” My fingers absently twisted into his collar to toy with his skin.
“I'll be sure to tell him,”