Page 77 of Mason

He doesn’t need to know that I’m clueless. That I’m a virgin who's never been fingered, let alone fucked. That I’ve placed my virginity on a pedestal for a man my father picks to take someday, when it’s been mine all along.

I want him to take it. To take all of me. He knows me. The real me. What I want. What I need. And he accepts me for it.

“We have one shot at this,” he whispers against my skin. “Let’s make it fucking count.”

He presses a feather light kiss to my lips before trailing across my jaw. His mouth grazes along my neck, the wet heat of his mouth mixing with the scrape of his stubbled skin in a sweeping rhythm I can’t get enough of. Kisses and nibbles skim my chest, a quick detour to my breasts, leaving me breathless before they find the soft skin of my stomach, tracing the flat planes.

I let out a strangled cry of shock and pleasure when his mouth lands there and he pushes my legs apart, his rough hands gripping and spreading me wide. What starts with a tender kiss explodes into a frenzy of tongue, lapping against the bundle of nerves I’ve only dreamed of a man touching before dipping into me, swirling and sucking in a relentless tempo.

Thisisn’t something I remember reading about.

Isn’t anything I remember Rachel bragging about.

This is the best fucking thing I’ve ever felt in my life.

His tongue drifts back to the cluster of nerves, circling my clit in a steady cadence as one of his fingers slips inside to the knuckle.

“Fuck,” he groans, the message delivered against my skin. My hands fist in his hair and push his mouth back down, earning a laugh that vibrates through me.

One finger isn’t all that bad. It’s foreign at first, hooked in a way that it touches me like I’ve never touched myself, but as another slips in and then another, my teeth sink into my bottom lip.

“Goddamn,” he grunts, working them in and out. “Are you always this tight?”

I nod stupidly, because it’s all I can think to do other than grip his hair and guide his mouth where I want it. The knot is tightening inside and I need relief.

“You like this?” he asks, flicking his tongue over my clit. It’s too slow at first. More frustrating than helpful. But he seems to know that, picking up the pace until my hips rise again and he sucks it between his lips, giving me everything I don’t know that I need.

I’m drunk on him. Infatuated. Addicted. “I fucking love this.”

I’m so close I can taste it. So close I can feel the knot beginning to unravel.

But just as suddenly, it’s out of reach. He pulls away, and my hands automatically reach for his hair again, a disgruntled cry flying from my lips. “What are you doing?”

“Impatient, are we?” He laughs, already out from between my legs and pulling his shirt over his head before I can force his head back down.

His body is everything I imagined, all man and nothing more, with hard lines and a dusting of hair. A collection of pale scars stand out against his skin, some larger and more jagged than others, painting a tale of a man with a dangerous past I know embarrassingly little about, given our current state. The newest one’s faded to a pink like the one on my calf, his left shoulder bearing a permanent mark of the worst night of both of our lives.

I rest my head against the couch cushion, watching him with the same intensity he rains down on me from above. I mirror his confidence, telling myself I’ve done this a thousand times over like he has. It’s no big deal. This is just sex. People do this all day, every day. In. Out. In. Out. I’ve got this. He’ll never know.

He slides off his pants and boxers in the same motion, and with a heavy thud against my thigh, my eyes land on the first penis I’ve ever seen in person, and all that confidence takes a nosedive.

It isn’t what I expect—not that it’s terrible or deformed—I just didn’t know about the sheer size of them. Long and thick with an angry bulbed head. I can’t wrap my head around how it's supposed to fit inside of me. After a moment, I realize I’m staring, and my eyes move from the stiff rod back to his face, my cheeks burning.

His hands skim my thighs and haul my hips against him. For a split second, I think he’s going to impale me with that thing before I can brace for impact, but he hooks my legs around his waist and stands instead, carrying me across the living room, through the kitchen, and down a short hall to a bedroom, the thick rod smacking against my ass the whole way.

The space is cooler than the living area and dark, too, but he rectifies that with a flip of a light switch. The only furnishings are a platform bed and two small end tables, a pair of thick, green drapes covering a window on the opposite wall.

He sets me down on the bed, and I sink into the green duvet. The plush fabric holds onto the chill in the air, sending a shiver up my spine that vanishes when his penis is suddenly eye level with me. It’s not there for long though, as he lays down and pats his chest. “Up here.”

I have no clue why he wants me to sit there but do as he says, seeing that he knows a little more about this subject than I do.

Fake it till you make it.

I straddle his chest, my pussy hovering over his heart, and am no closer to figuring out what the fuck I’m supposed to do next when his hands grip my ass cheeks and he lifts me. Caught off-guard, my hands fly out and grip the wooden headboard as he lowers me into place with my knees sinking into the bed on either side of his head.

I’m about to ask what the hell he’s doing when his mouth finds my center.

Oh, fuck. That’s what he’s doing.

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