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“If you could be anywhere,” Mason starts, “where would you want to be?”
There isn’t a single place I could think of being right now other than at the brewery with him. His warmth wraps me up like a comfort blanket I had forgotten I even had.But, I reminded myself, this is a first date and he is clearly trying to steer our conversation away from such a heavy topic.
“You know that scene that people always use for like tropical vacations commercials? The beach on one side of your home, and a vast untouched jungle on the other side?” I wait for him to nod. “That’s where I wanna be. I don’t care how humid it is, I want a small private island where I don’t have to think about anything to do with my life.”
“That sounds like a dream, where do I sign up?”
We laugh, because who doesn’t want that imaginary island? We are all trying to escape something, but the longer Mason and I spend talking, the less concerned I am about where that dream place is and more about making sure he is there with me. What would our island be like if we made it together, rather than escaping to one for a two week getaway?
My heart is racing a million miles in front of my head, but I can’t bring myself to catch up and think about how insane this is. In fact, I think my life could use a little more crazy and wild, and a lot less taking the slow lane. I’m almost thirty, I need to live a little and have a feral quarter life crisis. I’ve got nothing tying me down, no extreme debt or family, so why the fuck not? Why shouldn't I take the plunge and just go all in with Mason?
“Are you sure you aren’t too warm?” he asks when our plate is long empty and the diet cola I ordered hours ago is just melting ice.
“Oh, I’m boiling alive,” I joke. He gives me a chastising look that tells me he’s annoyed that I’m allowing myself to even be uncomfortable. “Look, I’m not joking about today being a nightmare. I spilled coffee all down my nice top and I had to wear whatever extras we had left at the radio station.”
“I’m sure I have worn more ridiculous things. I’d rather you be comfortable,” he says.
The brewery is much quieter now. The high school football game ended about an hour ago, and since our team lost, most people have gone home rather than having another celebratory round. It’s almost serene to be here now. On a TV somewhere they are playing an old Pacers’ game and I can just see all the servers crowding around the far booth, rolling cutlery into napkins. Things are winding down for the night.
“I’d be more comfortable if we get out of here,” I murmur, my warm cheeks lighting up as I make my next request. “Come home with me?”
Mason looks at me like I’ve just asked him what it feels like to win the lottery. His lips part for a moment before stretching into a large grin that is almost all teeth, making my tummy flip. Giddy, more than I have ever been in my entire life, is the only way to describe how I feel when he slaps a pile of cash down on to the table. He holds out his hand for me and it feels like I'm finally in control of my life and this is just the beginning of something great.
We don’t make it to the back parking lot. As we round the corner of the building, my feet don’t even hit the gravel. Mason moves fast and even when he stumbles a bit, he still manages to press me up against the prefab wall of the brewery like I’m a flyer for a carwash fundraiser. My heart is threatening to pound rightout my chest and I feel amazing, beautiful even. He looks at me like I’m more than an easy first date. It’s like I’m the first rain after a long, long summer. Like his ground has been parched for months, and I’m about to soak his fields.
His eyes darken, or maybe it’s the flicker of the bug zapper hanging by the gutter, but I swear it’s like watching magic happen. The light explodes for a moment and as it dims his eyes almost glow. Mason’s thick thigh presses between mine and his hands slides my arms up until my wrists are clasped above my head. He takes great care in adjusting his hold on me to one hand, rubbing his thumb over my pulse. I bet he can feel it jump under his touch.
“Is this alright, Odette?” he asks, his free hand able to roam the curves and dips of my body. My jacket is still on, it’s thick enough that it takes a moment to feel the heat of his palm at my waist.
“Yes.” I smile, another surge of giddiness washing over me in a way I can’t fully explain. It’s playful and freeing, something I can’t remember ever feeling. From the age I could speak, it had been music lessons and voice coaching. There wasn’t much room for childhood wonder or joy between having my knuckles rapped while trying to learn piano.
I barely know Mason, but I want to be playful and fun with him.
“Can I tell you something?” He leans down until his nose can brush against mine, his thigh creating so much friction between my legs that I gasp. “I know that we were matched for many reasons, but pup…”
His sentence trails off into a groan as he kisses my cheek down to my neck, but that little name plasters itself all over any coherent thought I possess. Adorable, squidgy, soft, and precious; that’s what puppies are, that’s what Mason thinks I’m like. That’s all I want to be.
I know from what I could see of his quiz results that Mason likes what I like. On paper, we are a match in all categories. But having it pressed right between your thighs so you can grind on it like a lust-sick nun getting her first taste of sin is the most validating proof I could ever need that love at first sight is real.
“You are setting my hearts on fire,” Mason says before nibbling on my jaw.
My pussy clenches at the feel of his teeth and I can smell that sour apple bubble gum still. It mixes with the smell of his aftershave and I’m desperate for more. I bury my nose in his thick hair and breathe in the scent of him. My mouth waters and my clit pulses with the beat of my heart.
Mason pulls back to catch his breath, but just as quickly dives back down to capture my mouth. His tongue traces my bottom lip before I open my mouth for him. The taste of him, the feel of his tongue slipping along mine has me wondering ifI’mthe parched one, sucking on it any time he tries to pull back. My hands shake in his grasp, trembling with a desire to touch him.
But my chest starts to ache. I still need to breathe despite how much I never want to stop kissing him. We are also very much out in public, even though it’s late and dark, there are still people at the brewery who could see us if this show doesn’t get a move on.
When we part ways he is just as breathless as I am. The hand that had been massaging my waist, keeping me slowly rocking on his thigh, moves to cup my face.
“Can I?” The question half comes out between heavy pants. He has no clue what I’m asking and neither do I really. Can I what? Suck his cock right here? Get his phone number instead of messaging through the app? Make a rain check on boning?
“Use your words,” he murmurs, forehead resting against mine. “Ask me nice.”
I swallow all the apprehension I can and focus on how good he makes me feel before I ask, “For right now, can I call you Daddy?”
There is a pause and I think may have well and truly fucked this up. Perfect on paper, but not in real life because I’m the idiot who is rushing to the chequered flag, despite the line of failed dates in my rearview mirror. All the blood in my body is threatening to burst from my cheeks as my embarrassment rises.
“Seas above, yes,” he groans, a laugh caught in his throat. “Call me that anytime you want, whenever, wherever, Odette. Sounds so right on your pretty lips.”
