I stand there on the threshold, half-dressed with her scent still clinging to my skin. My cock is straining against my pants, heartbeat thudding in my throat.
I wait one more moment before I turn and make my way to the couch, slowly sinking down onto it with a sigh.
This is definitely my own dumb fault. I ran my mouth. Pushed too hard and said her online name like it still meant the same thing. As though I hadn’t left her wondering if I was dead in a ditch somewhere while I sat there convincing myself that pulling away was noble. That silence was protection.
It wasn’t.
It was cowardice, and now she’s behind that door, furious and hurt and maybe crying and I just… I can’t fucking move.
Time blurs into hours, and the snowstorm intensifies.
I toss a log on the fire when the flames start to fade and pull the blanket over me. Try to close my eyes to rest, but can’t stop seeing her face. Her mouth. The way her breath stuttered when I touched her. The way she stilled when I saidRed.
I should’ve said her real name. Should’ve told her the truth the second I stepped through that door, not waited until my cock was hard and her lips were on mine and everything felt too fucking good to ruin.
The fire pops, and I drag a hand through my hair. My body aches from lying in the same position for too long.
Then I hear it. Faint, barely audible over the soft crackle of flames.
A moan.
I freeze, not moving an inch so I can listen harder. It could be anything. A dream, a restless sound in her sleep. A trick of my desperate, unhinged imagination.
Until I hear it again. And this time, there’s no mistaking it.
A breathy whimper. Sharp and stuttered, followed by something faint and rhythmic.
“Mason.”
My blood stops cold, then ignites.
No. No fucking way.
My name on her lips. My real fucking name, moaned out of that mouth. That’s what shatters my restraint and yanks me to my feet, blanket falling to the ground like ash.
I step toward her door, and through the narrow gap, I see her.
She’s spread across the bed, tank rucked up beneath her breasts, those sleep shorts nowhere in sight.
Thighs wide open, knees bent, one hand gripping the sheets, the other holding the purple vibrator. Her brows are pinched, lip caught between her teeth, head tipped back as her chest rises and falls in shallow pants.
I go completely still, because she doesn’t know I’m watching. And I know I should back away, I know I should give her privacy.
But then her head turns, her lashes flutter open, and her eyes lock on mine. She doesn’t scream or scramble to cover herself.
Shesmirks.
Heat slams through my gut. My cock twitches like it knows exactly what it wants to do, but I haven’t fucking earned it yet.
“Frankie…” Her real name scrapes out of me this time, rough and stunned and almost reverent.
She doesn’t stop.
Instead, she slowly arches for me, legs spreading wider as she drags the toy up her pussy, slowly circling her clit.
Her tank’s shoved beneath her tits, nipples flushed and stiff. She tips her head back for a beat, then lolls to the side again—eyes finding mine through the crack in the door.
She knows exactly what she’s doing. And fuck me, it’s working.
