Page 63 of Fallen Hearts

“Pia.” His voice was almost hoarse.

I loved it.

Pulling his thumb from me, Mason replaced it with his mouth. His lips crashed onto mine, immediately relentless. His tongue and lips in a perfectly balanced dance that had me grasping at his sweater, wanting so much more this time.

Clearly, he did too. Tugging on my sweatshirt, he tore it off in a heartbeat, barely pausing the kiss. While Mason’s hands roamed everywhere—my shoulders and back, to my chest, cupping both breasts through the lace fabric of my bra—I was just as explorative. I lifted his sweater, and Mason finished the job as he stood, then reached for me. I was pretty sure he said something, but I was too busy staring at more lines than I’d ever seen on a man in real life, except the first time I’d seen him without a shirt. He was absolutely shredded, all Army Ranger. Or cop. Or whatever had him working out hard enough to achieve—that.

“You’re sure about this?”

“No. But I want it anyway.”

What I really wanted was to touch him, so I indulged in the urge. “Do you go to a gym?”

“No,” he said, reaching around my back. “I have some weights in the basement of the inn.”

“Some weights?” I asked, tracing the lines of his abs as my bra strap popped free.

“Yeah.” Mason stared and then immediately cupped both breasts as if they were fine pieces of china. “Fuck me, you have magnificent tits.” His eyes lifted up to mine, an apology in them even though Mason didn’t apologize.

“I’m okay with it,” I said as his thumbs circled my nipples. “I don’t mind at all.”

He came closer, obliterating any distance between us. “What don’t you mind, Pia?” he asked, continuing to rub my nipples as my hands moved to his arms.

“The word you used.”

He smiled. I guessed someone liked me being suddenly shy. “Tits?”

I nodded.

“Are you telling me you want me to talk dirty, Pia?”

Mortified, since I’d never told any previous man such a thing, I looked down to where he continued to fondle me, quite expertly, I might add.

“Pia?”

I looked back up.

“Tell me. Say it.”

Nodding, I said, “Yes. I want you to talk dirty, Mason.”

“How dirty?” he said as one of his hands slid down the waistband of my leggings.

“Very,” I admitted.

His hand slipped lower and lower, Mason never taking his eyes from mine.

“And what should I do as I talk very dirty to you, sweet Pia?” As if I could answer with his fingers dipping even lower. “Should I slip one of my fingers inside, to see if you’re wet for me?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. “Mmm, so fucking wet. Maybe another finger, for good measure?”

Clearly he didn’t want an answer but was simply following my lead.

“Mason,” I groaned as his fingers began to move.

“Should I talk about how fucking much I’ve wanted to do this? To make you so wet for me that you would say my name just like that. Or if I’m being honest,” he said, continuing the sweet torture, “even louder. I want you to… call. My. Name.”

He was going to actually give me an orgasm this way. Sitting on my living room couch, his hands down my pants.

---