Page 76 of Mason

He should terrify me.

That revelation alone should’ve sent me screaming in the other direction, but I’m more drawn to him than ever.

He stiffens at the sudden contact but doesn’t brush either hand away. His eyes hold mine, instead. “You have five minutes, and then I’m calling Anthony.”

“Are you my timekeeper now?”

“Something like that.” He brushes the tumble of hair out of my face, studying the dark strands between his fingers. They’re flowing freely and probably look insane from being outside in the wind, but I didn’t have time to primp. I doubt he cares, either. I’ve looked a hell of a lot worse in the past.

“You don’t control me.” He does, in a way, but that’s my little secret to keep. He dominates my thoughts, dreams, and currently, my wants and needs.

“No one does.” His voice grows thick as he watches my hand drift over him with a mind of its own. “That’s my favorite thing about you.”

My hand skims his chest, appreciating the contour of his pecs underneath the thin fabric. Teasing. Touching. Exploring. I’ve never felt a man like this, one who’s filled in all the dips and divots of youth with maturity. He’s not as bulky as the meatheads I see at the club, but he’s rock hard and dense where it counts, a solid chest and thick, capable arms, putting him in a league of his own. I want to see and feel what’s under the fabric.

I grip his phone with my other hand, and he gives it up without a fight. “Here’s the thing, you can’t control me,” I say, tossing the phone to the couch where it lands with a soft plop. “But you can kiss me.”

“Is that what you want?”

I nod, and his lips find mine.

The same avalanche comes crashing down as the last time, plowing over everything I thought I knew about intimacy. The kiss reaches my very core, a delicious ripple that heads straight between my legs.

Mason is what I need. What I crave. A deficiency I never knew I had.

At first, it’s a gentle brushing of lips and gliding of tongues. He’s a gentleman, cupping my face in his hands and allowing me to find my rhythm in a world I’m embarrassingly unfamiliar with.

But when both of my hands fall to his waist and haul him forward so the bulge jutting from his pants presses to my stomach, he disintegrates. Brushing turns to claiming. Gliding becomes conquering. The man who treats me like a porcelain doll vanishes, and a side of him I’ve never seen comes out to play. A side I’m not sure I can handle.

I don’t realize we’re moving until my calves hit the couch, and he’s on me, lowering us both to the leather and covering my body with his. He’s between my thighs in an instant, the hard heat pressing exactly where I need it as his mouth does unspeakable things to mine. Things I need to feel reenacted elsewhere if they feel this amazing against my tongue.

His hands skim my breasts, easily finding my nipples despite the thick cardigan and bra. I arch into his touch and he rewards me with a pinch to my right nipple. I yelp, and he laughs against my lips, his hands go from my breasts to the hem, stripping me of my sweater in a single tug.

He drops his head to my breasts, a simple black bra the only thing standing between them and his mouth. I’m gasping, watching him drink me in with his eyes like I’m the only thing he needs in life.

No man has ever seen me like this. No man has ever touched me like this.

Should I tell him?

Should I be doing this at all?

Catholic guilt tries to ruin the moment. Tries to steer me away from what I want. What I need.

It dies a miserable death when he unhooks my bra and tosses it to the side, the air cool against the exposed flesh before the heat of his breath nears. He sucks one nipple into his mouth, rolling the other between his fingers. The pull against the delicate skin sends a torrent of need between my legs.

Fuck guilt. Fuck waiting.

I don’t recognize who I’ve become. My hips rise on their own, rubbing against his hardness. My back arches higher, encouraging him to suck my nipple harder. My body knows what it needs, even if I don’t. The constant friction and pleasure send shock waves through me, settling into a knot low in my belly.

He moves his mouth to the other nipple, his hands going to my waistband and yanking down, taking my panties and leggings to my knees at once. I let out a shocked breath as the cool air hits my most sensitive of places and he laughs against my skin, pulling his lips from my breast with a pop. “You okay with this?”

Am I?

I blink for a second, trying to come down off the wave of pleasure that’s taken me out into unfamiliar waters.

Looking into his eyes, I know he’ll stop if I ask. And that’s what scares me. I don’t want him to stop.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” It comes out as more of a pant than an answer.

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