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CHAPTER 4
Mason
What in the actual fuck.
Mason bolted through the lobby and out the front door, glad Zach never came in this early. He didn’t want to explain his sudden flight from the Manor to anyone.
He just spanked and fucked a goddamn employee.
Without any sort of prior agreement or discussion of limits.
For fuck’s sake, he didn’t even use a condom.
Jesus fucking Christ, they were absolutely getting sued. As if Jonathan wasn’t already out of patience with him. He’d undoubtedly murder Mason at the earliest opportunity.
The worst part? He didn’t even fully regret it. He knew he should be on the phone with Jonathan this very instant explaining what happened and working on a mitigation plan. But he couldn’t get the way she called him sir out of his mind. Her plea to keep fucking her.
Hell, it wasn’t even a plea. It was a demand.
His cock got so hard it fucking hurt. He had to get out of here before he marched right back in there and started over at the beginning.
Running the rest of the way, Mason slid behind the wheel of his BMW M5, throwing the used hand towel onto the passenger side floor with a snarl. Fucking hell, what was wrong with him? Starting the ignition, he reversed out of the spot without even checking the backup camera. No one would be there. This was his time to be alone. To decompress. To use the predawn stillness to read or meditate, preparing himself for the day ahead. In seven years at the Manor, he never saw another soul up and about at this ridiculously early hour.
Until Addison.
He groaned and slammed his head back against the headrest. What the hell was this girl doing to him? He’d known her for one fucking day.
Flipping on his high beams, he turned onto the winding, tree-lined road that led to downtown Fairford. The coffee shop in town opened at five. He’d get his double espresso there. Maybe while he drank it, he could figure out what the fuck to do next, because he was spiraling out of control.
And Mason never lost fucking control.
He drove way too fast, and he damn well knew it, but the way his blood surged through his veins, he couldn’t stop himself. His body demanded more adrenaline, and if it couldn’t get it with Addison, it would find another way.
“Because hitting a deer will help,” he ground out, glaring through the windshield. Fuck, if it was a moose, it would total his car and probably kill him in the process.
And yet he pushed down harder on the accelerator, flying down one of the road’s few straight stretches, his hands digging into the leather-wrapped steering wheel hard enough for the stitching to leave impressions in his skin.
God, he wanted to grip Addison like this—hold her down with enough force to leave fingerprint bruises as he slid into her sweet pussy. Hear her moan his name, beg him to fuck her as hard as he could, and call him Master?—
“Fuck!” he screamed as loud as he could, needing to let out the frustration before he exploded.
He and the others had built an incredible life for themselves at the Manor. All it would take was one sexual assault lawsuit to bring the whole thing crumbling down. He’d potentially ruined all their fucking lives because...what? A sassy baker gave him the finger? After a lifetime of ironclad control, he let some woman he didn’t even know be his downfall.
Loosening his grip on the steering wheel by sheer force of will, he made himself take several slow breaths. When he reached something in the general vicinity of calm, he lifted his foot, waiting until the car traveled at a more reasonable speed before returning it to the accelerator.
He had to figure this shit out. Talk to Jonathan, maybe even Aiden and Leo. Make a plan together to fix this before it turned into a PR nightmare.
Glancing down at the car’s display, he tapped on the phone icon. Jonathan’s name sat right at the top of his favorites list. The man would be aggravated to be woken at such a terrible hour, but he’d be even more pissed if he found out Mason waited on something of this magnitude.
With a sigh, he stretched a finger out toward Jonathan’s name.
The steering wheel jerked in his other hand as the wheels lost traction, skidding across a patch of ice. “Shit,” he forced out between clenched teeth, gripping the wheel with both hands and lifting his foot from the accelerator. As the car continued sliding toward the side of the road at alarming speed, he wrenched the steering wheel in the direction of the skid, desperate to regain control before it was too late.
As the trunk of a giant tree got closer and closer, he finally felt the car regain traction. At the last second, he spun the steering wheel in the opposite direction and pumped the brake.
The car slid to a stop mere inches from the tree.
“Christ,” he whispered, every muscle in his body tense, his eyes as wide as they could go. Slumping back against the seat, he closed them and concentrated on breathing. Inhale for five, exhale for five. He focused on the count, the rise and fall of his chest, the feeling of his feet on the floor, his hands on his lap, the back of his head against the headrest.
