Page 67 of Open Arms

“Perfect for me,” he corrected, and who was I to argue when every fiber of my being sang in agreement?

He lifted me and I wrapped my legs around him. With a slow thrust, he filled me, bringing our bodies together as one. This wasn’t like before, wasn’t like any of the other times. It was slower, softer, but just as erotic.

Mason’s hips moved in a mesmerizing rhythm, each thrust a heartbeat in time with my own. His hands cradled my hips, guiding me as we rocked gently in the water, bodies intertwined like vines on a trellis.

“Chloe . . .” he breathed into my ear, his voice gravelly with desire. “Need you . . . want you . . .”

I silenced him with a deep kiss, pouring all my own need into it until we were both trembling. My hands roamed the muscular planes of his back, tracing scars and contours by touch alone. He was strength personified, hardened by years of physical toil, yet so incredibly gentle with me.

“Mason,” I breathed against his lips, my back arching into his total embrace. He growled in response, his grip on my hips tightening as he moved within me, every thrust hitting a sweet spot I didn’t know existed.

“Chloe,” he gasped, his eyes clouded with desire and something else—something deeper that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. “You feel so good. So perfect.”

“I love you,” I moaned, the words, and he said them back, repeating them like a prayer.

We lost ourselves in each other, in the moment. Time stretched and pooled around us, irrelevant. We reached the peak together, cresting over it in a slow frenzy I’d never thought possible.

In his arms, I felt safe. I felt peace. There was only the now—only the feel of him, the taste of him, the sound of our mingled breaths punctuating the stillness of the night.

27

Mason

I was elbow-deep in paperwork,the numbers on the ledger blurring together until they looked more like hieroglyphics than figures. I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my eyes, and let out a sigh that had been building up since morning. It escaped as a wish—a wish for Chloe’s smile to break through the monotony of financial forecasts and breeding schedules.

“Thinking about her again, huh?” Gray’s voice cut through the silence of my office, his tone laced with a knowing chuckle.

“Can’t help it,” I admitted, grinning despite myself. “She’s . . .”

“Chloe’s what? Irresistible? Enchanting? The bee’s knees?” Walker sauntered in behind Gray, his smirk wide enough to split his face in two.

“Alright, alright,” I said, throwing my hands up in mock surrender. “I’m guilty as charged.”

It had been a week of pure bliss since that night at the hot spring where we confessed our feelings. And now that Abby knew, we’d been able to go public with everyone else too. It seemed like no one was surprised.

“I gotta say, it’s nice seein’ you so whipped, Mase,” Gray teased, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His blue eyes twinkled with mirth.

“Whipped? Nah.” I tried to sound indignant, but my heart wasn’t in it. “Just . . . smitten.”

“Smitten?” Walker echoed, drawing out the word as he dropped into the chair across from me. “That’s putting it mildly. You’ve got it bad, buddy.”

“Like a lovesick puppy,” Gray added with a low rumble of laughter.

“Maybe I do,” I conceded, a sheepish grin pulling at my lips. “But can you blame me?”

“Chloe is special,” Walker agreed, his teasing tone softening just a touch. “You’re lucky, man.”

“Damn lucky,” Gray nodded. His rough exterior always gave way when it came to matters of the heart—something Eryn could take credit for, no doubt.

“Speaking of lucky,” I started, redirecting the conversation before they could rib me further, “how are things with Caroline, Walk? Still got you wrapped around her finger?”

Walker’s face lit up, a testament to how love had tamed Whittier Falls’ former playboy. “More than ever,” he confessed, not a hint of the sarcasm he wielded like a second language.

“Love’s in the air, then.” Gray pushed off from the frame and stepped into the room, a rare, softer look crossing his features. “Makes dealing with all this”—he gestured broadly at the papers on my desk—“a bit easier to stomach.”

“Guess we’ve all got our reasons to push through the daily grind,” I mused, my thoughts drifting back to Chloe’s light laugh, the way her blue eyes sparkled when she was happy.

The ring of my phone cut through the office quiet like a siren,jarring me out of the financial figures that had long since blurred into a meaningless sea of numbers. I snatched it from its cradle, glancing at the caller ID—Abby’s school—and felt my heart trip over a beat.

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