TRICK OR TEASE - WICKED LITTLE TREATS: A HALLOWEEN COLLECTION - CHAPTER FOUR

The tension finally breaks. After a year of pranks, banter, and stolen glances, Aria Foster is done pretending Mason Beckett doesn’t get under her skin—in every possible way. What starts as one more argument explodes into something far hotter, fueled by candy, Halloween lights, and all the teasing words they’ve never been brave enough to say out loud. The rules are gone, the lines are blurred, and tonight, neither of them is walking away the same. 

Trick or Tease

Chapter Four

Aria

The Payoff

He doesn’t kiss me right away.

He hovers, mouth a breath from mine, hands steady at my waist like he can feel the tremor running through me. That slow, smug smile curves his lips again, the one that makes me want to bite him just to wipe it off.

“Use your words,” he says, softer now. “Since you’re so good at them.”

I roll my eyes because it’s safer than admitting the truth again. “You heard me.”

“I want to hear it again.”

I lick my lips. His eyes drop to follow the movement and my stomach flips. “I want you.”

“Good girl.”

Heat zips down my spine. He gives me that one, then finally closes the distance.

The kiss starts slow, almost gentle, like he’s letting me catch up. It doesn’t stay that way. The second I fist his shirt, he takes control, angling my head, licking into my mouth, dragging a sound from me I’ve never made for anyone else. The room blurs. The only light is the glow from the jack-o’-lanterns outside, soft and flickering across his face. He looks dangerous in it. Dangerous and beautiful.

“Couch,” he murmurs against my mouth.

I nod, push off the wall, and he follows me across the room without letting me go. The back of my knees hit the cushion and I drop back. He comes down over me, hands braced, crowding me in. I tug at his T-shirt and he peels it off in one clean move. The sight knocks the air out of me. Broad chest, defined lines, a scatter of hair I want under my tongue. I touch because I can’t not. He sucks in a breath when my fingers pass over his ribs.

“Curious,” he says, amused.

“Bossy,” I shoot back, but it’s breathless.

His mouth curves. “Both can be true.”

He leans in again, kissing down my throat like he’s tasting his way to the heat building under my skin. I arch when he finds the spot that makes me stupid. His hand slips under my shirt, higher, higher, and then it’s off and tossed aside. My bra follows. Cool air finds my nipples. His mouth finds them next. I jerk and he hums, pleased, tongue slow, then a quick bite that makes me gasp his name.

“Too much?” He lifts his head, eyes searching.

“Not enough.” I grab his hair and pull him back down. “Keep going.”

“Thought so.”

His hand slides under my waistband and I go still for a second. He waits. I nod. He sinks his fingers inside my panties and the first pass over me is so light I could cry. The second is not. He strokes where I’m wet and needy and smugness flashes back in his eyes like he knew all along I’d be like this for him.

“That’s it,” he says, voice low. “Now you’re quiet.”

“Shut up,” I breathe, even as my hips chase his hand.

“Make me.”

I glare, then give up and moan when he presses two fingers inside, slow at first, then deeper. My legs fall open farther. His other hand cups my breast, thumb circling until I can’t decide where I want him more. It’s too much and not enough, everything and nowhere near what I need.

“Mason,” I manage, and he stills again, just to make me say it.

“What do you want, Foster?”

“You.”

He smiles like I’m the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. He withdraws his fingers and my body clenches at the loss.

“Condom,” he says, practical, like he’s reminding himself. He reaches for his wallet, eyes on mine the whole time, waiting for any sign I’ve changed my mind. I haven’t. I won’t.

“Hurry,” I say.

His laugh is soft. “Bossy.”

“Both can be true,” I echo, and he grins as he rolls it on.

While he does, I snag the candy bowl from the coffee table because it’s right there and I’m still me. I pick up a lollipop and hold it between us, one brow up. He shakes his head like he can’t believe me and then takes it from my fingers, taps it against my lower lip.

“Open.”

I do. The sugar hits my tongue and he watches my mouth like he could climb inside it and live there. He pulls it away and drags the candy across my bottom lip, then down my throat, slow and suggestive. Heat races over my skin. I take it back and circle the lollipop over his nipple just to see. His breath punches out.

“Aria.”

“Curious,” I say.

“Come here.”

He kisses me hard again, the candy trapped between our mouths for a second, sticky and sweet and ridiculous. I laugh into the kiss, then gasp when he slides my panties down and off. He sits back on his heels for a heartbeat, hands framing my hips, eyes taking me in with a reverence that cuts through every joke I’ve ever made.

“Beautiful,” he says. No teasing. No smirk. Just that.

My chest aches. I reach for him, pull him back over me, and guide him to where I need him. He notches in, thick and hot, and we both shudder.

“Look at me,” he says.

I do and then he pushes in slow, giving me time, and the stretch steals my breath. I clutch his shoulders, toes curling, head tipped back until he says my name again and I drag my eyes to his. He watches every second. The flicker of the light outside moves over his face, over the grit in his jaw, and the care written all over it.

“Mason.” It’s not a plea this time. It’s a yes.

He sets a rhythm that ruins me. Deep, sure, each thrust angled like he knows exactly how I come apart. My hands move without me. Grip his back. Slide to his biceps. Clutch the cushion when he catches both my wrists, pins them above my head, and holds me still for him.

“Better,” he says, kissing the corner of my mouth when I moan. “Now I can hear you.”

“Cocky,” I say, but the word falls apart in the middle when he changes the angle and everything lights up.

“That one,” he says, satisfaction rough in his voice. He does it again and again until I’m scrambling, hips pushing up to meet him, pride dissolving under the steady drag of his body over mine.

“Tell me,” he murmurs. “What you wanted.”

“This,” I pant. “You. Like this.”

“How long?”

I turn my face and bite his arm because the truth is dangerous, then say it anyway. “Too long.”

He groans, deep and guttural, and lets my wrists go so he can get his hands on my thighs, spreading me wider, driving in harder. The couch thumps against the wall. The candy bowl rattles on the table. I swear I think I hear people still laughing somewhere down the street and it makes me wetter, the absurdity of it, the thrill of doing this with him.

He slips a hand between us and finds my clit with ruthless accuracy. I go silent, eyes wide. He smiles like he’s been waiting for that.

“Thought so,” he says. “Come on, Aria. Take what you want.”

I do. I chase it shamelessly, grinding into his hand, into his cock, head tipping back as heat floods me. He says my name again and again, a prayer, a curse, a promise that pulls me tighter and tighter until it snaps. I break apart hard, a full-body rush that blanks out my thoughts and leaves only sensation. I shake, claw, gasp. He holds me through it, talking me down, voice rough and sweet in my ear.

“That’s it. Good. So good for me.”

When I can breathe again, he isn’t done. He never stopped. He pushes me through the aftershocks, relentless, chasing his own edge. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him in, loving the sound he makes when I do. He kisses me like he’s drowning and I’m the air, then buries his face in my neck and groans my name as he comes, thrusts stuttering, body shuddering against mine.

Silence stretches, warm and heavy, broken only by both of us trying to remember how to inhale. His weight settles. I slide my hands up his back and just hold him, because I can.

Eventually he lifts his head, breath still rough, eyes searching my face like he wants to memorize it. The smirk tries to make a comeback. I poke it with a fingertip.

“Don’t,” I warn, but I’m smiling and he sees it.

He kisses me once more, softer, then eases out and disposes of the condom. When he returns, he drops onto the couch beside me and pulls me into his lap like it’s the most natural thing we’ve ever done. I tuck my face into the curve of his neck and breathe him in. Clean soap. Sweat. A hint of sugar we never managed to finish.

He tips my chin up with a finger, eyes glittering in the dim light. “Guess that makes me the winner tonight.”

I snort. “Pretty sure we both won.”

“Maybe.” He kisses the corner of my mouth, reverent now, nothing smug about it. “But I made you say please.”

I glare, failed by the heat crawling up my neck. “I did not.”

His smile turns slow and wicked. “You did.”

I roll my eyes and steal the lollipop off the table. I pop it between my lips and watch his gaze drop, pupils darkening like we didn’t just fall apart on this couch.

“Round two,” I say around the candy. “If you can handle it.”

He laughs, low and sure, fingers sliding back to my hips. “Oh, Foster. I’m counting on it.”

To be Continued. Come back tomorrow for part five

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

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Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

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First Edition: October 2025

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