Page 12

Jax

When I shift back to my human self, the first thing I see is Mason sitting in the oversized chair across from me, with a pile of clothes in his lap.

“Where did you get those?”

He smirks at me, and the sight makes me feel warm and gooey all over again. How is it that this man has the power to turn me on with just a fucking look?

“I took a trip today to this adorable little pumpkin farm. I think you’d like it.”

It’s my turn to grin as I push myself off the couch and saunter over to him.

I don’t bother covering up, because at this point I’ve lost embarrassment, but also because I know he likes me like this.

He’s made that more than clear. I give my already hard cock a quick palm as I make my way over to where he stands, and he doesn’t move.

His gaze catches mine as I lean one arm over him, my fingers gripping the back of the chair.

I keep my other hand on my cock, noting the bead of precum that’s already started to form.

“Really now? Is that so?” I ask sarcastically. Mason’s eyes glitter like flames through a Jack-O-Lantern on Halloween night.

Halloween night is in two days. My birthday is tomorrow.

I blink as reality settles on me. If I remember correctly, Grandpa said I had until my birthday to find my mate.

I’d chalked his ramblings up to folklore at the time, or just an old man’s way of trying to light a fire under his grandson’s ass to settle down, but now…

What if this is it? What if tonight is my last night on earth as a person?

What if, after I shift tonight, I don’t shift back?

Because that’s the curse, after all. Finding a mate is what is supposed to save me from being a gourd for the rest of my life.

I hadn’t believed in such things, but now…

The thought of losing Mason, of never being able to touch him again, makes my heart ache.

His mischievous gaze shifts to one of concern, and he advances into my space, rising from his chair and setting my clothes on the cushion. His movement pushes me back just a hair, but not enough I drop my hand from its grip on the back of his chair.

“Hey, what’s—?”

I don’t think, I just act. Pain and anxiety lace me as I’m overcome with a deep feeling of desperation. I kiss him, savoring the taste of his mouth. He tastes like coffee and cream, like perfection and heaven.

Mason relaxes as I slip my tongue into his mouth. He pushes against me, dislodging my hand from the back of the chair as he slips one hand up my chest.

His free hand finds mine once more, covering my wet cock, and he tries to bat me away, but I don’t let him.

As bad as I want him to touch me, I want to touch him. I want to feel every inch of his perfection beneath me, his cock rubbing against my own, slick with our combined precum.

And then I want to fuck him until he knows how grateful I am for him, so that he remembers me in every part of his being.

“Jax,” he breathes my name as I swat him away from my cock, then grip his hips. I frantically work at his belt, and he sinks against me, his deep groan running through me like electricity.

“You are amazing, you know that?” I say as I let my lips assault his neck. Mason helps me with his pants, nearly shoving them to the floor.

“It’s just clothes,” he says, his voice laced in darkness.

I nip at his flesh, my hand finding his sizable cock with ease. He’s so fucking hard and wet already, which only elicits a deep moan from my chest.

He’s fucking perfect.

Could he be my mate? I know the thought of never touching, seeing, or kissing him again makes my heart ache, and I’m more than certain he enjoys me—at least in the physical sense—otherwise he would have thrown my ass out.

Is it fate? Does he feel the way I feel? Does he count down the hours until I’m me? Until he can feel my touch? Does just the sight of me make him feel like a puddle of pumpkin goo?

“I don’t even want to know how you got those,” I say as I suck on the flesh of his neck. I know I need to be careful, or he’ll end up with a hickey, which at our age should be embarrassing as fuck, but something inside me pushes me to continue despite that notion.

Mason’s hand slides over my hip until he finds my ass, digging his fingers into my flesh, drawing me closer. He grinds his cock against mine, his head falling back as he says, “Good, because I don’t want to talk about it.”

We stumble around like idiots, a mess of tongues and hands, and wet, throbbing cocks until we find his bedroom, and every last bit of Mason’s clothes have hit the floor.

Overcome with desire, I push him down, angling myself over him. I stare down at his fiery amber eyes and reach out to brush some dark hair out of his eyes. My fingers trace the lines of his jaw, which is now thicker with stubble, and the touch is coarse against my fingers.

I’m overwhelmed not just by his looks—because he is so fucking gorgeous, it should be a crime—but by the knot in my chest, in my stomach, and my throat that I get when I look at him.

I’ve never wanted anything in my life as badly as I want him.

Mine, mine, mine.

I open my mouth, but suddenly I can’t remember how to speak.

Mason gazes up at me, my abdomen wet with the trails of his precum as he thrusts himself against me. His gaze is full of heat, and I have to remember to fucking breathe .

“Jax?” His voice is low, full of lust and desperation.

“You are so fucking perfect,” I say, my voice not betraying a hint of the overwhelm that I feel.

Mason’s eyebrows furrow as he shifts himself underneath me, wrapping his legs around my waist. His ankles lock, and he pushes me closer, a wicked smile forming on his face.

“I know,” he says as he kisses me, and I think I really am a puddle of goo masquerading as a man.

My hands trace their way down his chest, across that delicious, cut V.

I grip our cocks together, squeezing us both.

Mason’s eyes fall shut as his mouth parts just the slightest. A deep moan escapes him.

My hand easily slips and slides along our shafts due to the amount of precum we’re both leaking.

“Mason,” I breathe his name, but it’s all I’m able to get out.

Because when he looks at me with that familiar golden glow, once again I forget how to speak. All I can do is kiss him everywhere my mouth has access to—his lips, his neck, that sweet spot in the midst of his clavicle. It’s a bit uncomfortable, but I even manage to take a nipple in my mouth.

“Jax, please …” His voice is strained, but it is hypnotic.

I let go of our cocks, sitting back on my heels for a moment to take full stock of him before me. His thick, large cock, wet and bouncing, the valleys of his sculpted abs and chest, his kiss-swollen lips and his furrowed brows.

God, I want all of him, and knowing my time as a man may be up soon, I intend to take all he is willing to give me.

Stingy Jax, indeed.

Suddenly, I feel the strangest sensation as I palm my cock—I feel extra wet.

I blink for a moment, as I realize I’m practically oozing precum.

A lot more than usual, which should freak me out, but I barely have time to comprehend what’s happening before the thick scent of pumpkin spice permeates the air.

I pull my hand away, noting that I’m pretty well lubricated. I don’t waste a second as I lean down, slipping one finger into Mason’s tight hole, testing my newfound ability.

I mean, this has got to be a Jack-O-Lantern thing, right? Self-lubricating cocks sound like something you’d find at the sex shop, not on a person.

Mason writhes beneath me, and I stop. I don’t want to hurt him, and I think maybe I’ve gone too far, but before I can remove myself, he grabs me, stopping me.

“Keep going,” he says, breathless. “Please don’t stop.”

I blink, swallowing hard.

How could I ever resist this man?

I resume my onslaught as I continue to pump two fingers in and out of him with one hand, while I use my free hand to stroke his cock.

“Are …?” I struggle to find the words I want to say, and instead try to focus on words I know that are easier. “Are you ready for me?” I ask, watching the rise and fall of his chest.

Mason nods. “Just fucking do it, already.”

If any other man had said such a thing in the tone Mason did, I might be offended. But Mason’s bite is full of desperation and need, and something else I can’t quite place.

I remove my hands, lining myself up. I watch his face as I press my head against his entrance.

He opens his eyes, thick lashes standing out against his perfect complexion.

I inch myself inside of him, fully intending to go slow, but the moment Mason arches his back to meet my thrust, I lose all sense of everything around me.

My cock is so wet and hard that I slide into him with ease, bottoming out in no time.

“Oh fuck,” Mason curses, one hand finding my shoulder, while his other cups my ass. He digs his fingernails into my ass cheek, pushing me until I’m so deep it feels like I’ll never escape.

And I would be lying if I said I wanted to escape the clutches of my Pumpkin Master.

I pull out, relishing in the feel of the drag. I thrust into him harder, rocking him until the headboard rattles against the wall.

“Mine.” The word falls out of my mouth without warning.

It’s not enough to convey what I feel, what I know in my heart, my soul, deep in my pumpkin guts.

Mason’s cry shatters the world around me as his hot cum splatters across my stomach.

It’s like a domino effect, and instantly I still, my entire body tensing as I come. I take his mouth against mine, thrusting into him lazily as I ride out the euphoria.

My brain feels foggy, and I am semi-aware that my cum has started to run out of room inside of Mason, and for some reason, that’s what brings me back to the here and now.

I slide out of him, falling back onto my knees, and the scent of pumpkin spice is thick like a fog. Mason doesn’t move, except for the steady rise and fall of his chest, so I take the moment to grab a towel from his bathroom to clean us up.

“Shit, if that’s the thanks I get for some clothes …” he jokes, and I laugh.

“It’s more than the clothes,” I say. “If you had to deal with my grandfather, you deserve a fucking medal.”

Mason shrugs as he heads for his dresser, pulling out a pair of clean underwear and some fresh sweatpants.

“Get dressed,” he says, shooting me a wicked glance.

It’s my turn to grin seductively.

Mason blushes momentarily. “I’m not having dinner with you naked.”

“Fine, I'll be civilized,” I say as he disappears around the corner. A moment later, I meet him in the doorway, and he hands me my clothes from the living room.

“There’s still apple pie, too,” he says with a smirk.

“I’ve already had my dessert,” I tell him, kissing him lightly as I take my clothes from him. As good as I feel, there’s still a part of me that feels like something is missing. Or rather, there’s something I should have said.

Mason shakes his head, his amber eyes imploring mine.

“How does pizza sound?” he asks, his lips twisting up in the corners.

Could this man be any more perfect?

I put my underwear and pants on, slipping my shirt over my head as I respond. “Sounds like my favorite.”

Mason nods. “Cool. You want to browse for a movie, and I’ll make the call?”

I realize at that moment that this is it. Somehow, I know this is the last time I’m going to see him. It doesn’t make sense, but it’s like I just know something this good can’t be real. Or at least, it can’t be real for me, because I’m fucking cursed. I fight the urge to break down.

Mason leads me out of his room, picking up his clothes and dressing himself along the way.

As I settle onto the couch, I distract myself by browsing for a movie. Everything is themed to Halloween, but I don’t want to watch something scary.

I want something romantic.

When I see his recently watched list, I note the movie he’d watched the first night he’d brought me home … as a pumpkin.

The one he cried watching, because he was alone and upset.

I don’t think twice about selecting it, and Mason finds his way next to me.

“That’s an odd choice,” he says as he leans back into the cushions. My heart is in my throat again as I look at him, slipping my arm around his shoulders. He leans into me with ease, and I let my fingertips trace circles on his bicep.

“We can change it if you want. I just thought—”

Mason sets a hand on my thigh and squeezes lightly. “It’s fine.” His gaze settles on my lips then flashes up at me. “It’s no Pumpkinhead or Trick Or Treat , but if it’s what you want …”

I can’t resist kissing him once more, relishing the taste of his sweetness. He really is a treat.

I wake up with a numb arm. I turn to note a softly snoring Mason is passed out on me.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I guess after the euphoria of sex, pizza, and cuddling the hottest man on the planet, it was inevitable.

One glance at the television screensaver, and I note it’s almost three thirty.

The witching hour. I know Mason has to get up early, and I also know sleeping on the couch on top of a person is not the best support for anyone, so I don’t think twice about picking him up.

Mason isn’t a small guy by any means, but in my arms he feels different. He curls into my chest, murmuring something in his sleep that is incoherent.

I carry him to bed, taking care not to wake him as I settle him under the covers. When he’s comfortable, I remove my clothes and get behind him, pulling him against my chest as I drape my arm over his hip.

I plant a soft kiss in his hair, and regrettably close my eyes.

Because I know before long, I’ll turn into a pumpkin.

So I focus on his breath, on his warmth, and the feel of him in my arms until the sun comes up and curses me once more.