Page 78 of Mason

My head falls back, my hair tumbling down my back as he consumes me in the best way possible.

His fingers bite into my hips so hard that I know I’ll see bruises tomorrow, but I don’t care. I need this. I want this. Fuck, I need more.

His tongue takes me higher and higher, so high that I’m out of breath, overcome with the need for the knot inside to burst and break free.

When his hands fall from my skin and his tongue slows, I’m almost in tears, so desperate for release that legs physically shake around him.

“Ride my face.” He delivers the message against my flesh, and it doesn’t take a genius to know what he wants.

I rock my hips forward and am rewarded with a lap of his tongue, and when I roll them back, I’m met with another blissful bout of hot, wet contact. Putting them together in a rhythm, I take the pleasure I need, letting instinct guide me where experience can’t.

My fingers clutch the headboard at first before I work up the courage to thread them in his hair, the rush of power the position gives making his mouth on me that much better. He isn’t just pleasuring me. He’s letting me lead, letting me take full control of him and his body. A man who could easily snap my neck and call it a day.

It shouldn’t, but it thrills me. It breaks the last chain of inhibition, and I give in, relaxing into his touch. That’s all it takes.

The heavens align.

An angel gets its wings.

The patron saint of sex looks down on me with a smile and a wink.

And I come undone.

That pesky knot snaps, exploding into a thousand fireworks. The pulsing reaches the point of no return and I’m screaming, begging, pleading with Mason. For more. Less. Everything.

And he gives it to me.

I take it all, greedy for anything he has to offer. So high on being his that my body hums all the way to my toes.

When my hips slow to a lazy swirl, he lifts me off and rolls over, leaving me to curl into the bedcover. Reaching into his bedside drawer, his hand rustles around the contents, and I know he’s looking for a condom which hello, we need, but I still feel a pang of jealousy that he has them on hand. That he’s had sex with other women. Most likely in this bed. And who knows when the last time was. One could’ve rolled out of here five minutes before I walked in the door, and I wouldn’t know any different.

He rolls back with a silver square between his fingers, tearing it open and extracting a rubber ring. Yet another first I’m seeing today. Placing it on the tip of his penis, his fingers drift downward, unrolling it in a clean sweep nearly to the base.

“What are you in the mood for, babe?” he asks, his voice hoarse with desire. “Ride, from behind, or missionary? Something else?”

My heart flutters over him calling me babe, but I try to play it cool. Riding sounds terrifying, given the size of that thing, and missionary is always made out to be boring, so I say “From behind.”

His lips meet mine, conjuring up the same spells as earlier that leave my toes curling. I can taste myself on his tongue, and I’m already thinking of ways he can use it on me again.

I’m panting and breathless when he flips me over, my hand and knees sinking into the bed. I’m suddenly doubting my choice as he prods at my entrance, the thick head hard and hot against me. He’s given me everything I’ve asked for, and this is his realm. He has control here, and honestly, it terrifies me as much as it excites me.

He circles my opening before sinking in, and a gasp is all I can muster at the invasion.

“Fuck.” His hands rest on my hips, holding me in place as he eases in with a slow, steady, unrelenting slide that stretches me beyond my wildest dreams. Once fully embedded, he leans close and dusts a kiss between my shoulder blades, sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

My teeth sink into my bottom lip, and I squeeze my eyes closed. The deep ache consumes my every thought, the fullness stretching me in ways I can’t begin to understand. I feel him everywhere.

This is sex. The big hurrah. The forbidden fruit no one seems to be able to resist. The lead-up to this was nice, but this… this hurts. Well, it does until his fingers find my clit again, and a bit of pressure and rubbing has my body melting against his touch.

Leaning back, he almost slides completely out, easing the pressure, but within another breath he’s gliding forward and then back again, building a rhythm of his own. Push. Pull. Push. Pull. It's a rolling wave inside of me, a battle between the pain and the pleasure he’s stirring with his fingers on my clit.

His free hand grips my hair, snapping my head back.

“Open your eyes,” he orders.

I do as I’m told, meeting his, the blue stormier that I remember. Hungry. Feral.

His hold is unforgiving on my hair, twisting it around his fist as he works into me, my scalp stinging at his roughness.

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