Page 55 of Ronen
“This is Blackberry,” Mason introduced me to the black beauty, as I reached a hand out flat for the horse to sniff. When he or she–because who could tell with a name like Blackberry–deemed me worthy, I stroked up their soft nose. “The one who couldn’t be bothered with us is Blueberry. She believes she is better than most everyone, and unless we have brought treats for her, she can’t be bothered to care about us.”
“So not just desserts but fruit too?” I asked Mason, who was moving around the horse’s stalls, doing who knew what.
“Huh?” he asked, clearly confused by my question.
“The names for your animals. You said they were all named after desserts, but you tossed in fruit,” waving a hand towards the dog, I said, “Oreo, Cinnamon Bun, Kruller, Fritter–all desserts. Then we have Blackberry and Blueberry here. Fruits. Were you hungry when you named them all?”
He straightened, moving around the horses’ large bodies with confidence and ease, shutting the stall doors behind him. Dusting his hands off on the tight denim stretched over his thighs, I tried not to focus on where his hands were. Or how those thick thighs made my mouth water.
“Blackberry is short for Blackberry Cobbler, her official fancy name on her papers. And Blueberry is Blueberry Pie.”
He pointed to the next stall, and we moved in unison towards it.
A gray donkey, with the cutest pointed ears gave us a look like they were annoyed with the world. “This is Toffee. Officially Sticky Toffee Pudding, but that’s a mouthful.”
“I’m afraid to ask what the chickens' names are. I’m assuming they have names? I mean, they’re just chickens.”
He frowned at me. “Why wouldn’t they have names? I only have three of them. Strawberry Shortcake, Cherry Cheesecake, and Tiramisu. She’s the mean one. Never wants to give up her eggs. Shortcake and Cheesecake are sweethearts.”
I followed him over to where Cinnamon was, then gasped when I saw her two babies. They were the cutest little balls of black fur I had ever seen. Pointed ears and soft little eyes.
“Are those goats wearing pajamas?” I gasped, bouncing on my heels.
“It’s bedtime, of course they are,” Mason grinned at me, like I was the silly one.
The babies, seeing us, began yelling at the tops of their lungs, while they jumped onto bales of hay in the stall. They had on matching blue pajamas with little yellow cars on them, their tails and bellies out in the open.
We watched the energetic, vocal kids jumping around like crazy for a few minutes, while Cinnamon nibbled on some hay.
Turning to Mason, I observed, “Doesn’t seem like they know it’s bedtime.”
He shrugged, “They’ll settle down once we leave and turn the lights back off. Everyone is just excited to have a visitor. They’re showing off. The cows are out in the pasture, so you can see them some other time.”
“What makes you think there will be another time?”
His body blocked me in, my back against the hard wood of the stall door, as I looked up into his amber eyes.
His arms blocked me on both sides, his warmth and scent surrounding me, but I wasn’t scared of him. Beyond the fact that I knew I could handle myself in a fight–in human form or shifted–there was just something about Mason I inherently trusted not to hurt me.
One of his hands came up, and my eyes focused on his fingers as they moved towards my face, then gently brushed a lock of my wayward hair off my forehead.
“Because of this,” his words ghosted over my lips a second before his mouth covered mine in a tender kiss that left us both breathless when it was over.
Licking my lips, I stared up at him, his eyes dilated, the heat of him wrapping around me like a warm blanket.
Slick had me wet for him already, with just one kiss, but I wanted more. Grabbing him by the nape of his neck, I pulled him down, devouring his lips with mine.
“Want you,” Mason groaned against my mouth, grinding his hard cock against me.
This hadn’t been my intention coming here. I’d spent the last week trying to figure my shit out. Trying to decide what I wanted.
Finally, when I still had no definitive answers, I hopped on my bike. Letting the open road and speed of the machine relax me.
Speeding by the Bronco that had been sitting on the side of the road, lights off, hadn’t been in my plans. It wasn’t like it was the first ticket I had ever gotten–far from it–and I doubted it would be my last.
Seeing Mason exit his vehicle had my heart pounding in a way the bike never could. And when he had immediately yelled at me, for once my first instinct wasn’t to yell back at him.
Because I had seen the genuine fear in his eyes for my reckless behavior. Sure, he’d been angry too, but there had been more fear there. And fear often manifested itself into anger.
