Page 22 of Master Daddy

Hanging out at the Woody Hollow tonight with him, Milo, Taron, Connor, and Kaleb felt so natural. Like we already belonged together. Like we were part of something bigger and warmer than just two people training at the gym and having fun on the side.

I sigh dreamily and finally pull away from the window.

My lips are still tingling from that kiss—passionate, hungry, but somehow still gentle, like he was holding back because he knows once he lets go, neither of us will be able to stop.

In my cozy bedroom, I strip out of my clothes and slip into my favorite soft navy pajamas with little white dogs all over them.

Buster the stuffie is already waiting on the pillow. I grab him under one arm and head to the kitchen, warming up a mug of milk in the microwave and grabbing two chocolate chip cookies from the jar. Then I curl up on my rainbow quilted couch, tucking my legs beneath me, and sip the sweet milk while nibbling the cookies.

The apartment is quiet except for the soft hum of the fridge and I let my mind wander into a beautiful daydream…

What if this wasn’t just four weeks?

What if Mason stayed?

What if we did this every week—beers at the Lantern with our friends, him walking me home, goodnight kisses that turn into more?

I imagine waking up next to Mason in his cabin, making coffee together while he grumbles about needing to spot me on the bench…

I picture him in the kitchen making that beef stew he told me about once, me sitting at the table in one of his big flannel shirts, swinging my legs like a Little while he calls me good boy for finishing my vegetables.

My cheeks heat.

I hug Buster tighter and take another sip of milk. It feels scary how fast I’m falling. Mason has a whole life on that oil rig. Long months away. But tonight, watching him wave up at my window… it felt possible. And it felt like maybe he’s thinking about it too.

I finish my bedtime snack, brush my teeth, and crawl under the covers with Buster. Sleep comes easily, wrapped in thoughts of strong arms, stern commands, and the promise of tomorrow’s training turning up a notch or two in more ways than one…

* * *

Morning light filters through my blinds, and I’m up even earlier than usual, buzzing with energy. I want to beat Mason to the gym today. I want to be the one waiting for him with a sassy comment ready…

But of course, when I push through the gym doors twenty minutes before our usual time, he’s already there.

Mason stands near the bench press rack in black shorts and a tight grey tank, loading plates like it’s nothing. He glances over his shoulder and that slow, knowing smile appears, the one that makes my knees weak.

“Early again, little one,” Mason says, voice low and approving. “Good boy.”

The praise hits me straight in the belly. I drop my bag and walk over, trying to play it cool even though my mind is full of images of what Mason might look like naked and how nice his cock would feel inside my mouth…

“Thought I could get one over on you today,” I say. “I guess I’m going to have to sleep here to arrive before you.”

“Never gonna happen,” Mason replies, stepping close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him. “Now stretch. We’re going heavier on bench today.”

The session starts strong.

Mason spots me perfectly, hands hovering as I work my way up to slightly heavier weight than yesterday. The bar feels challenging but doable. I push through four solid sets, even letting out a little grunt on the last reps, and each time he’s right there, encouraging, correcting my form with firm touches to my wrists or shoulders.

“Drive through your heels,” Mason barks. “That’s it. Good boy. One more.”

By the end of bench I’m flushed and proud, muscles humming. We move through some shoulder work, and I’m feeling strong. When we finish the last set, I wipe my face with my towel and look up at him hopefully.

“Can we do some glutes today? Please, Daddy?” I tease. “It’ll help with my leg drive on the bench. I promise I won’t complain about the program, you know I respect it.”

Mason studies me for a long moment, arms crossed over that massive chest. Then a wicked little glint appears in his eyes. “Alright. We can do glutes. But there’s a twist.”

My stomach flips with excitement and nerves. “What kind of twist?”

But Mason doesn’t answer. He just picks up his gym bag, takes my hand, and leads me across the gym toward the private posing rooms at the back—small mirrored studios usually used for bodybuilding prep or yoga. He opens the door, guides me inside, and closes it firmly behind us.