Page 28 of Love, Clumsily
“See?” he said, satisfaction evident in his voice. “Perfect.”
His mouth found mine in a kiss that started gentle but quickly turned hungry. One hand tangled in my hair, holding me in place as he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth with thorough attention. The other continued its exploration under my shirt, eventually finding a nipple and pinching lightly.
I gasped into his mouth, arching into the touch. Mason used the opportunity to trail kisses down my jaw to my neck, where he focused his attention on the sensitive spot that always drove me crazy.
“Mason,” I breathed, my hands moving restlessly over his shoulders and chest, wanting more contact but not sure what I needed.
He seemed to understand, pulling back just enough to tug my shirt over my head and discard it on the floor. His own followed quickly, revealing the broad expanse of his chest that never failed to take my breath away.
I ran my hands over him, feeling the shift of muscle beneath warm skin, the dusting of dark hair that thickened as it traveled down toward his waistband. He watched me touch him, his eyes increasingly golden as his control began to slip.
“I love your hands on me,” he said, his voice rougher now. “Love how they look against my skin. So careful, so curious. Even after all this time.”
I smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to his collarbone. “I’m still discovering you,” I murmured against his skin. “Still learning what makes you growl, what makes you beg.”
A rumbling sound vibrated through his chest—not quite a growl, but heading in that direction. “I never beg,” he protested, though we both knew that wasn’t entirely true.
“No?” I questioned, shifting my weight to create friction where we were pressed together. “What about last week, when I had my mouth on you for nearly an hour? You were definitely begging then.”
His eyes flashed gold at the memory, and his hands tightened on my hips. “Special circumstance,” he growled. “You were being deliberately cruel.”
“I was being thorough,” I corrected, repeating the motion and enjoying the way his breath hitched. “And you loved every second of it.”
Before I could continue teasing him, he stood suddenly, lifting me with him as if I weighed nothing. I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively, my arms looping around his neck for balance.
“Bedroom,” he said, already moving. “Now.”
I laughed, exhilarated by the display of strength and the hunger in his eyes. “So demanding.”
He carried me through the cabin to our bedroom—and it was truly our bedroom now, my clothes hanging beside his in the closet, my books on the nightstand, my ridiculous collection of decorative pillows arranged on the bed (much to Mason’s good-natured complaining).
He set me down beside the bed and immediately reached for the button of my jeans. “Too many clothes,” he muttered, echoing his earlier complaint.
I didn’t argue, helping him unfasten my jeans and push them down my legs, along with my underwear. Once I was naked, I reached for his waistband, but he caught my hands.
“Let me look at you first,” he said, his voice rough with desire.
I fought the urge to cover myself, still not entirely comfortable with the intensity of his gaze despite months of intimacy. He sensed my discomfort—he always did—and released my hands to cup my face gently.
“You’re beautiful,” he said simply. “Perfect. And mine.”
The sincerity in his voice melted my self-consciousness. I leaned into his touch, turning my head to press a kiss to his palm. “Yours,” I agreed. “Now take off your pants before I do it for you.”
He laughed, the sound warming me from the inside out, and quickly shed his remaining clothing. Naked, he was magnificent—all powerful muscle and smooth skin, his arousal evident and impressive.
We came together in a tangle of limbs and heated kisses, falling onto the bed with less grace than intention. Mason rolled us so I was beneath him, his larger body covering mine in a way that made me feel simultaneously protected and possessed.
His mouth explored me thoroughly, trailing from my lips to my jaw, down my neck to my chest. When he reached my nipple, he lavished it with attention, alternating between gentle suction and light grazes of teeth that had me arching up into him.
“Mason,” I gasped as he moved to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. “Please.”
“Please what?” he murmured against my skin, continuing his journey downward, across my stomach.
“You know what,” I said, my hands threading through his hair as he reached my hipbone and nipped lightly.
He looked up at me, his eyes now fully gold, a hint of fang visible when he smiled. “I want to hear you say it.”
“Touch me,” I said, beyond caring about pride or dignity. “Taste me. Please, Mason.”
