Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She was running.

Her feet slapped against the slick earth, desperate to gain traction, not to slip, not to fall.

Falling would mean death, and death was behind her.

It was gaining, quaking the earth with its crushing speed.

It would soon overtake her.

It would soon take her.

Have to hide, there must be a place to hide.

A carcass, a skull, big enough to duck into.

She slid into its shadows, huddling under the shelter of bone.

It was quiet.

It was dark.

It was still.

But it wasn’t safe.

A sickening crunch, and her refuge shattered around her, blown away in the gale of a horrible earsplitting scream.

She was exposed, she was defenseless, she was doomed.

She watched in frozen horror as teeth and claws eviscerated her.

Mason Weaver sat up in bed with a start, choking back a scream. Desperately, she searched the shadows of her room, searching for enemies, for dangers, for monsters.

She forced herself to pause, to breathe, in through her nose and out through her mouth, willing her heart to still its painful pounding against her ribs. “You’re okay, you’re safe,” she repeated her new mantra under her breath, only half believing it to be true as she brushed at her hair, pulling back strands plastered to her face with sweat.

Stealing her nerves, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet meeting the cold steel floor. Adjusting to the sway of the ocean that carried her, she counted under her breath before making a run for the light switch, slapping it on, and slamming her back against the wall. The fluorescents blinked into life, illuminating the cabin that she had called home for the past two days, empty and still. Tomorrow they would reach the mainland, tomorrow Brooks’ messages would have reached his superiors. Tomorrow, they would most likely all be arrested and silenced about the Island, the Skullcrawlers, and Kong.

Mason breathed a sigh, cursing herself for these reoccurring nightmares and constant anxieties. She had been on the front lines of war, seem numerous atrocities, and yet it was giant monsters that had sent her reeling over the edge of sanity.

She glanced at her watch. 1:08AM “Wonderful,” she groaned, accepting her fate of another sleepless night.

She crossed the room to the wash basin, splashing water on her face and neck, rinsing the cold sweat from her arms, chest, and back. Each time she closed her eyes, she knew that there were creatures surrounding her, ready to lunge at her when she opened them again, ready to kill.

She dried herself off with her shirt, swapping it for a clean tank top before slipping on her boots and entering the brightly lit hallway, closing the door to her quarters firmly behind her.

Mason had been doing this day and night, it was the only thing that helped. She wandered around the halls of the ship like a residual spirit, sensing that forward motion was the only thing that would keep her safe, keep her sane. It canceled out her thoughts, it made her numb, which was better than the panic and the fear.

She wasn’t the only person going loopy on this boat. All of the survivors were shook, and everyone had their ways of coping. It was hard for some to believe that they were truly safe, that they had really escaped from that island, and that Kong could contain the monsters lurking there.

Slivko did his best to rally everyone, leading redundant conversations about plans of all the things that he and his comrades would finally do when they got home to America. He seemed to be holding himself together by holding everyone else on the ship together, herding them to the mess hall for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. More than once he had found Mason in her aimless wanderings below deck, taking her by the arm and wordlessly leading her to a table, sitting her amongst his comrades and placing a plate of food in front of her. She did her best to smile, to eat, to act as strong as she wished she was, as she usually was, before the ground was constantly shifting under her feet, taking all of her concentration just to hold steady and maybe even participate in a conversation or two.

She was usually so quick to adjust, to adapt, to find a plan or an idea to hold onto in order to get herself through the worst of times, and the worst of humanity. She used to always be able to find her way back to hope, to inner peace, but now she was like a film negative, lacking the proper chemicals and unable to take the time to become fully developed.

Hank Marlow’s presence helped. He was so excited about his new freedom, so eager to take in everything that he had missed. The soldiers often congregated around him on deck, gathering in the sunlight as they teased him about his naivety of the modern world, filling him in on past seasons of sports and the latest movies and hometown gossip. They never spoke about politics or current events; it was just too painful.

Mason’s footsteps padded softly through the labyrinth of halls, she wasn’t going anywhere, just going, numbness fogging her senses. She almost didn’t see him, tucked against the wall, sitting on a large pipe reading a book. She stopped in her tracks, ready to about-face and blatantly start walking away from him when blue eyes looked up and froze her in place.

“Can’t sleep?” James Conrad remarked casually as he closed the book around his thumb, saving his place.

“Apparently I’m not the only one,” Mason shrugged as she approached him, “what are you doing out here?”

“The lights better,” he gestured with a wave to the bright fluorescents overhead.

Mason stopped in front of him, recognizing the social cues that this was now a conversation that needed her attention, but the stillness made her fidget. She backed towards the wall opposite to James, casting glances down either side of the hallway, wary of possible flickers of movement at the corners of her vision.

James was speaking, what did he say?

“Huh?”

“I said, we’ll reach land by tomorrow night,” he repeated, narrowing his eyes at Mason suspiciously.

“Right, I’m definitely looking forward to getting off this boat,” she snickered in an attempt at being lighthearted, still casting glances left and right.

“It will be nice to be back on dry land, given that we aren’t immediately arrested,” James scoffed.

He stood from his perch, clearly wanting to say something else, to ask a redundant question that he already knew the answer to as he moved towards her.

Are you okay?

Mason’s barrier of numbness was failing her, the anxiety was creeping back into her spine, she had to go, it was going to find her.

“Weaver?”

Mason’s eyes snapped forward as something wrapped around her hand.

James was there, only a step away. His clear eyes searched her face, his eyebrows knit together with concern. Lowering her gaze to her captured hand, she saw that it was his fingers that had reached for her, that were now gently curled around her clenched fist. Her muscles started to relax as he held onto her, anchored her, and the whole time a new sensation started to push past the fear and the numbness.

Her eyes wandered back up to his face, his lips parted as he contemplated asking that redundant question that he already knew the answer to. She didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to have to answer it, she wanted... she wanted-

“Weaver-” he began, but she quickly silenced him, pressing her lips firmly against his own.

Forgoing her own balance, she leaned into him, warmth flooding her chest as she moved her mouth against his. It took him a second to realize what was happening, the former British SAS Captain taken by surprise, but he started to soften under her touch and returned the kiss.

Mason rejoiced internally. She didn’t realize she had wanted this until it was happening, and now it felt so right. She was about to wrap her arms around him and deepen the kiss when she felt the paperback connect with her hip where his hand longed to be. Something about the ridged edge of the pages poking into her skin brought her back to herself. What was she doing?

Mason pulled away in a less than graceful manner, clinging to him momentary as she regained sturdy footing. She wasn’t herself, and, clearly, she was out of her mind, jumping on him like that.

James was saying something again.

“Huh?”

“Do you feel better now?” He repeated, a cocky half smile on his lips.

Cocky? She had never seen him be cocky before. He was always sure and direct. He was guarding himself against something with this snarky facade. Guarding himself against her?

“I’m sorry,” Mason stuttered, bringing a hand to her face to mask her embarrassment, “that was-” Childish. Random. Uncalled for.

Wonderful...

“I’m not sorry.”

“Huh?”

“My, you really are a terrible listener tonight,” he chuckled softly.

“No, I-I heard you, I just...”

The two stared at each other in silence. The fluorescents overhead filled the long hallway with brilliance, but there were still corners untouched by their light, cast in shadow. Mason knew they were there, saw them, dark and sticky against the riveted steel, but, now, looking at James, those shadows didn’t seem so treacherous, so full of nightmares.

“Look, Weaver,” James finally broke in, “that was lovely and all, but, I don’t do casual.”

Casual. She was a liberated woman, but she was never casual abroad. Abroad she was working, and after being around so many young soldiers with hard earned muscles and charming faces, she had all but grown immune to their temptations. It was messy getting involved with someone while on a job, it got in the way. So why now? Why him? He was the same, toned and masculine and handsome, but, there was something different. It was the way that he held his jaw, the way his eyes deepened when he was internally calculating, the way he held a presence in a room while simultaneously fading into the background. There was a maturity, a wisdom, a humility, and a quick understanding that made this man like a magnet to her. This man, that she had known for such a short amount of time, and yet felt so incredibly connected to.

“Weaver?”

“Huh?”

James chuckled again, “I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”

He moved to take her arm, but she quickly grabbed his wrist, countering his gesture. “I...I,” her eyes darted from side to side, trying to grasp at the emotions that were starting to leave her, giving way to the numbness. If he left her now, they would all come back, the monsters in the shadows would come back. The words suddenly came tumbling out of her mouth, “I-I threw your lighter.”

“What?”

“It belonged to your father, and I threw it into the gas. I meant to apologize for that, but, you know...” Mason was slowly collapsing into herself. What the hell was she saying?

“You don’t have to- you saved us.”

“But it meant something to you.”

“You mean something to me,” James confessed as he faced her, freeing his wrist from her grasp, “Besides, I would have done the same if I was holding it and had the idea... I’d rather have you than a lighter.”

The warmth was back, she could feel it travel from her chest to her cheeks and ears. She was sure she was blushing, like a young girl having a conversation with her first crush. She felt foolish being affected so, she was a woman now, she had matured past finding worth in her self esteem under a man’s affectionate gaze.

“Was that supposed to be romantic?” The true Mason Weaver broke through the fog, delivering the line with a sharpness and a clever quirk of the eyebrow, finally feeling like herself for the first time in days.

“Depends, did it work?” James retorted with a sly smile.

Monsters were real, but she had faced them. The island was deadly, but she had escaped it. The monsters might find her, but she knew how to kill them. Looking at James, she knew that she could survive anything. She had before, and was sure that she could continue that record even if they parted ways, but in a world where giant monsters were a reality, going it alone would guarantee destruction. She trusted James, she felt safe with James. She needed James.

James was talking again.

“-just want you to know that I’m here for you.”

“I appreciate that,” Mason said, feeling bold, “because I’m not looking for casual either.”

His breath hitched at her words, reading them as the invitation that he had secretly been longing for. He buried his fingers in her hair, pulling her close, his hot breath tickling her lips as he waited for her approval. He didn’t have to wait long, Mason timidly closed the distance, pressing her lips gently against his once more, breathing in his scent as the world seemed to melt around them. His free arm moved to wrap around her, the back of his hand pressing into the small of her back where he still held that damn paperback, but she didn’t care. She let him draw her in closer as their lips moved together in a gentle passion, relishing in the growing intimacy between them. Mason dared to close her eyes fully, to wrap her arms around him.

But the hallway they stood in gaped with shadows. They were vulnerable like this, exposed on two sides, setting themselves up to be caught by surprise, pincered by skullcrawlers with no place to run, too tangled up with each other to defend themselves. There was a long low groan in the pipes that echoed, clicked, and snapped and Mason’s eyes shot open, panic rising in her throat as she broke the kiss. Clinging to James’ shirt, she searched around them for what creature had released that horrible sound, trying but failing to keep both sides of the hallway in her sight at all times. The cold was back, the fear in her spine. Something was behind her, out of her vision, it was always there.

“Hey-hey,” James called to her, drawing her attention as he quickly realized what was happening, “you’re okay, you’re safe.”

“We can’t stay here,” Mason whimpered, her head swimming as her lungs were choked by frantic breaths, taking in too much air but not letting enough out.

James nodded, supporting her by the shoulders as he led her to his room, only two doors down from where they stood.

He threw his book down on his desk, pulling the chair against the wall, helping her settle there where she could see everything around her. He knew what was happening all too well, he had witnessed shell shock first hand in many of his own comrades during his time in the SAS. He closed the door tightly, locking it using big exaggerated motions for her sanity’s sake. He came back to her then, kneeling before her as he took her hands in his, massaging them with his calloused fingertips.

Her eyes were darting around his neatly kept quarters, searching corners, scrutinizing shadows. A wave pounded against the side of the boat, causing her to squeak as the room rocked with its force.

“Weav-Mason... Mason look at me. Look at me,” James articulated gently.

Her brown eyes found their way to him, her lips trembling as she registered his presence before her, confusion creasing her face as if he had hadn’t been there before but now had suddenly appeared.

“Mason,” he continued softly, “you’re safe, I’m here, and nothing is going to harm you.”

He wished that he had some bourbon, or whiskey, anything to bring the color back to her pale face. He considered what they had in the mess hall, hot water, a nice cup of tea might help ease her shaking. He stood, ready to act on this when her grip on him suddenly tightened.

“Please,” her whisper was almost a groan, “don’t leave me.”

“Never,” he lowered himself back down to her, “I promise.”

Chapter Text

They sat like that for a long time, Mason in the chair focusing on each breath, in through her nose and out through her mouth, while James warmed her hands with his own, pressing comforting circles into her skin as he knelt before her, showered her with whispered reassurances.

Mason sighed as her pulse steadied, gradually easing her out of her episode. She tried her best not to meet James’ eyes directly, she felt silly, pathetic. Why this? Why now? Why in front of him? She doubted that she would ever feel normal again as the familiar barrier of numbness drowned out her fear. How could she ever leave that island? It seemed like her mind would be trapped there forever.

“Hey,” James’ voice cut through the fog of her dread as he gently cupped her cheek, “come back to me.”

She reluctantly met his gaze, afraid of what she would find in his eyes: pity, disapproval, disgust. But instead, she found empathy in those deep pools of blue, understanding like the clearest of crystals. She found strength and courage, a promise of tomorrow, an assurance of safety, shelter and light. “I’m here,” she breathed, warmth returning to her features as she basked in the solace of those blue irises.

She reached out, affectionetly exploring the contours of his face as she marveled at the man before her, a smile brightening on his lips from the contact. She paused, a thought striking her, before she brought her fingers to his hair line; his hair always looked so flawless and handsome, brunette locks with tinted streaks of blonde from too many days in the sun. He must use product to keep it so perfectly held back, and it must be damn good considering that his style stayed tidy all throughout their days on the island under all the sweat and grime. Reflecting on this, she absentmindedly plunged her fingers into his short quaff of pushed back bangs, massaging against the grain until strands started to come loose from the neat order. Pinching a particularly rebellious section, she pulled it forward, smoothing it against his forehead when James suddenly cleared his throat. “Eh, what’s happening right now?”

“Just making sure you’re human,” Mason teased, only now realizing how ridiculous her actions were but committing to them fully, “your hair is a little too manageable.”

“There’s a trick to that,” he laughed, playing along, “do you want to know the secret?”

“Hair product?” She quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Partly,” his grin widened as he reached for her wrists, using her hands to mess up his hair further.

She couldn’t deny that she loved the feeling of running her fingers through his satin locks, dragging ruggedly against his scalp, but at the moment she was more curious about what exactly he was trying to do.

Finally, he withdrew her hands and looked up at her with a silly smirk, his hair an absolute mess. “Ready?”

“Amaze me,” she snickered, leaning back in the chair and crossing her arms against her chest.

Dramatically, he tilted his head forward and, using both hands, he combed his fingers through his hair in one slick motion, perfectly resetting every strand to its predetermined location, his palms smoothing them down into their former sculpted grace. He followed the gesture through until his hands brushed against his neck, then threw his arms wide to show off the finished product. “Ta da!”

“Impressive,” she mused sarcastically, “but I can do that.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

“Prove it then.”

Mason rolled her eyes in a bored manner, then extended her palms, quirking her fingers at him expectantly until he offered her his hands. He was more ruthless than she, tangling her long mane as he scrubbed her hair back and forth. Mason could only just see the pleased look on his face through her disheveled tresses when she eventually pushed him away. “Stand back,” she warned, half joking.

He sunk back on his heels obediently, angling his head further away as she leaned forward. “Oh, is this one of those hair flips?”

“So, you’ve heard of them?”

“I’ve never experienced one up close before,” he chuckled playfully before growing sober, “please don’t hit your head.”

“Don’t worry,” Mason scoffed as she drew her loose strands over her ducked head, “I’m a professional.”

She played it cool and flipped back her head in a quick jerk, halting the motion just before the full recoil that would have most definitely caused her to see stars, given the steel wall behind her. The maneuver was mostly successful but, given her restraint, not entirely.

“How’d I do?” She laughed, fully knowing the answer. She could feel a couple frizzled bunches out of place, one in particular falling over her left eye.

James suppressed a laugh. “Almost. Do the comb,” he suggested, miming his move from earlier.

Mockingly, she used big gestures to mimic his technique, fixing most of the mess before her fingers tangled in knots that had formed indignantly. She certainly missed conditioner.

“Doesn’t quite work for long hair,” he remarked with a smile, leaning forward and taking over where her half successful comb had left off, “allow me.”

She brought her hands to her lap, turning up her nose defiantly as he groomed her, reordering her dirty blonde waves to the correct sides of her part. His face was close to hers, and Mason found herself slowly dropping her act, softening as she watched him, his forehead creased in concentration on his task, mouth slightly ajar, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. She guessed that this was a quirk he had developed at childhood, sticking his tongue through his teeth as he played with trucks in the sand, built forts, untied stubborn knots.

When his work was finally complete, he gave a content nod, pleased with the final product. His fingers lingered in her locks until, gradually, his palms came to rest at either side of her face, his thumb gently tracing across her cheek as he admired her. “That could have gone better,” she heard herself mutter.

“No, you actually did quite well,” he replied reassuringly.

“Bullshit,” she retorted with a laugh.

“Yeh, maybe just a bit.”

The two of them giggled together as Mason pressed her forehead against his. It had been days since she had even thought about laughing, and now it felt so good in her stomach and chest. James continued to caress her cheek, and that felt good too, everything about him felt good. Their laughter ebbed as a new feeling started to grow between them. She wanted him to kiss her, more than that, she wanted him to touch her. She wanted-

“You should get some sleep,” James said suddenly, drawing back in a snap.

The spell was broken and Mason felt her shoulders hunch at his words, that familiar cold feeling starting to creep back into her bones. “I can’t, I’ve tried,” she replied plainly, “I always go back there.”

“You’re not on the island anymore, Weaver,” he explained as he squeezed her hands in his, “you escaped. And nothing that was there can ever reach you again. You’re safe now.”

She flinched at the sound of her last name, the distance between them was growing. “I know, I know that...” Mason sighed, her eyes reflexively flickering around the room, searching.

“But it doesn’t feel like it,” James said, finishing her thought and bringing her attention back to him.

“No, it doesn’t.”

They sat in silence, Mason watched as James clenched and unclenched his jaw, staring down at their hands, wanting to say something but not knowing how.

“Weaver,” he finally ventured, “I want to help, but I know its not that simple... but you’re more than welcome to stay here for the night. I can sit by the door and keep watch.”

“Sure,” was the only response she could manage.

His warmth left her as he moved to untie her boots, slipping them off in a mechanical motion. Was it something she said? Was it something she did? She grasped for reasons for his sudden distance, sudden formality. She wanted to ask, to bring everything into the open air but she feared making a sound, feared what might hear her.

Boots set aside, he motioned for her to stand. Mason hesitated before reaching her toes to the floor, letting out a hiss as her skin burned against the cold steel, sending a shudder through her. James acted without hesitation, hooking his arms under her knees and behind her back as he hoisted her into the air and carried her to the bed. He eased her down onto the sheets, ready to step away and station himself at the door but Mason held him fast. Reluctantly, he allowed her to lean against his chest.

James was warm, she huddled close to him like he was a campfire in the middle of the woods, a solitude against the darkness and a relief from the cold. Smoothing her hands across the folds of his shirt, she could feel his pulse racing beneath his skin as, cautiously, his arms crept around her, circling her in a protective embrace. She sighed, bringing her face to rest in the crook of his neck, breathing in the comforting scent of fresh soap and subtle cologne. She was here, with James, they were on the ship, the ship that was leaving the island forever. But something had James nervous, and that made her nervous. What was he afraid of?

James exhaled, muscles relaxing as he pressed a kiss into her hair. “Mason,” he spoke her name, whispered like a secret.

“Yes?”

He exhaled again, collecting his thoughts, “you’ve been through a lot tonight, and these past few days. I just don’t want you to think... I just don’t want to be the type of man that would take advantage of that.”

“How so?” She knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it.

“Considering...everything, this wasn’t exactly the best night to start acting on my feelings towards you.”

“And what are those?” Confidence rose in her chest as she drew back to look at him fully.

He smirked, knowing full well that she was baiting him. “That I think you’re brilliant. Compassionate and curious, driven and fierce. And absolutely beautiful.”

The shadows melted under his loving gaze, warmth flooding her body as it absorbed his words, her back straightening to meet his height. “Is that so?” She replied slyly.

“Yes,” he grinned, admiring the steady emergence of the strong woman that he had fallen for before he even had time to realize it was happening, “I’m afraid I’ve grown quite fond of you.”

“What’s so bad about that?” Mason continued her interrogation.

“Nothing,” James shrugged, “except timing. You’ve had a long night... so, close your eyes and go to sleep.”

“Do I look like the type of woman that does what she’s told?” Mason scoffed, scrunching her nose defiantly.

He chuckled, that low rumble in his chest that drove her crazy. He searched her face, reassured as any residual anxiety melted from her features and the renowned anti-war photographer and investigative photojournalist Mason Weaver stared him down. “You’ve certainly proven yourself not to be.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” she boasted, inching towards him as she grew in strength and confidence.

“Certainly not,” he grinned, admiring the beauty of her growing fire before closing the distance between them, capturing her lips in an eager kiss.

She was ready for him, digging her fingertips into the nape of his neck, anchoring herself to him. She licked at his satin lips, urging them to part for her, their tongues intertwining in a deepening passion that neither one of them had the power, or desire, to put off any longer. He was around her, encircling her tightly, one hand in her hair the other caressing her back possessively, protectively.

She kicked one knee over his thighs, straddling him as she pulled herself closer, the fire inside of her growing to match the intensity of his own flame. She ached for him, and there were far too many barriers between their bodies for her liking. Mason reached for the base of his shirt, untucking it with a rough tug and running her fingers over the newly exposed skin of his stomach. She continued to push the fabric aside, greedy for more when James broke away from their kiss, regarding her through half lidded eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked breathlessly, seriousness crossing his face as he waited for her answer.

“Yes, I want this,” Mason replied soberly, “I want you.”

James grinned, dazzling her with a flash of his white teeth, delight radiating throughout his features. “And I want you.”

He kissed her cheek, moving to nibble at her ear as she drew his shirt up his torso, only breaking away so she could lift it over his head. He leaned back as he flicked his shirt to the floor, satisfaction in his face as he watched her admire him. His body was like a picture made of a thousand stories, one for each mark and scar, tales of pleasure and pain that had formed James into the man that sat under her now. She ran her fingers across his sculpted form, exploring every inch of him as he moved in again, bringing his lips to her neck.

He burned hot kisses into her tender skin, sucking at the sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder met, causing a small noise to escape from Mason despite herself. She could feel him smile against her at the sound before continuing, tracing a path of those sweet kisses up her neck until he reached her jawline. Cupping her face in his palm, he moved back to her ear. “Can I touch you?” He whispered, his voice laced with desire.

“Yes,” Mason practically squirmed, digging her fingers into his skin for emphasis, “I need you.”

He obeyed, running his hand at an agonizingly slow pace down her stomach, finally reaching for the hem of her tank top. He licked at the shell of her ear as his fingers found her skin, his calloused hands burning into her flesh as he caressed her hips. The ache at her core grew and she subconsciously grinded down on his lap, feeling his own excitement pressing against her inner thigh. He sucked in a breath at the contact, and before she knew it her tank top joined his shirt on the floor as James dug into her, their lips meeting in a heavy passion as his hands fanned across her newly exposed skin.

His touch was absolutely intoxicating, purging all thoughts from her mind as sensations flooded through her. But one idea slipped to the front of her attention, pricking at her with resolve. “You wouldn’t happen to have a condom, would you?”

“Actually,” James chuckled, a look of amusement crossing his face, “It just so happens that I do.”

“Oh, I see. Were you planning to get lucky on this trip?” Mason teased.

“No,” James explained plainly as he rolled her off of him and crossed the room to his desk, fishing in the top drawer, “First day on the ship, Mills was trying to embarrass Brooks and ended up throwing one at me, since I just happened to be standing there at the time.”

“Did it work?” Mason asked curiously, drawing her arms around her knees, feeling slightly cold without James’ touch.

“No, turns out that nerdy geologist has been around a time or two, that or he has an excellent poker face,” James simpered as he came back to the bed, tossing the condom next to the pillow and kicking off his own boots before rejoining her.

“I can see that.”

“See what?”

“Him having a way with the ladies.”

“I don’t want to see that,” James scrunched up his face, shaking away any involuntary imaginings of such a thing.

“Come now, don’t be a prude,” Mason jested, poking him in the ribs.

“Why are we talking about this?” James shot back, capturing her hand as he twitched under the sudden jab, “this is the worst thing we could be talking about right now.”

“I could think of worse.” Mason giggled, surprising him with a prod from her other hand.

“Please don’t.” James grunted with effort as he fought off her assault.

“Hey, you brought it up,” Mason said accusingly, leaning back as she attempted to free herself for another attack.

He followed her retreat, tightening his grip on her until he had her pinned against the sheets. “You’re awful.”

“You like it.”

James sighed. She always had a way of pushing his buttons, of driving him crazy, making him move to her will. But she was right, he did like it.

Mason freed one of her hands, hooking a finger in James’ belt and pulling him down to her suggestively. “Now, where were we?”