Page 54 of Penalty Box
“Stop talking like a country song and get over here.”
I pulled him on top of me, one hand around his neck. His weight settled between my legs, mouth finding my throat, my collarbone, the place just beneath my ear that made me moan. My hands were greedy as they roamed his back, mapping every muscle, every mark from his previous wars on the ice. He hissed when I grazed a fresh bruise.
“Sorry.”
His fiery gaze locked on me. “Don’t be. I like it when you touch me.”
I swallowed hard.
He kissed me again, and my fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, anchoring myself to the only thing that felt real and good. My tiny couch made every move clumsy, but we didn’t care. We kissed until I forgot my name, until I couldn’t feel the space between us anymore.
His hands brushed over my bra, lingering at the point where my stiff nipples pushed up. Every inch of skin was a new discovery, and I was consumed with it. When he lifted me into his arms, I didn’t protest. Just dipped my face to his neck as he carried me to the bedroom.
“What else do you want me to touch?” I asked as he set me down on my bed. Mason stood just in front of me, the evidence of his arousal bulging in his pants.
I grazed his hard-on with the lightest touch, and he let out a stifled groan. It was clear what he wanted, but seeing him all worked up like this was too good to waste. I kept my touch barely there, ghosting along the waistband of his sweats. His breath hitched, hands flexing at his sides like he was debating whether to grab me or not.
“I swear to God, Cass…” he rasped, voice wrecked and full of warning.
“Swearing already?” My eyes stayed glued to his as I hooked a finger just under the band. I didn’t pull, didn’t push. Just dragged it slowly along his skin, watching the muscle twitch low on his abdomen, his breath going ragged.
“Don’t play with me.” The desperation in his voice got me instantly wet. I was done for. But he didn’t need to know that just yet.
“Why not?” My breath played against the trail of hair just above the line of his pants. “You like games, don’t you? And you like it when I touch you. You said so yourself.”
His fingers slid into my hair, tugging just enough so I’d look at him. “I do. Too much.”
Good.
I pressed a soft kiss just below his bellybutton, then rested my cheek there, breathing him in. His skin was warm, damp with heat, and the tension in his body radiated like a storm about to break.
My mouth moved lower, lips almost grazing over the bulge right there. I paused, letting my breath tease him through his pants.
“Cass…” His grip tightened slightly, his hips barely restrained from moving. “Please.”
The word cracked something open inside me.
And still, I waited. Traced the length of his waistband again, slower. A promise. A question. Torment.
“Tell me what you want,” I said, voice low, lips brushing the skin. I was torturing him, and I wanted to hear him say it.
“You,” he groaned. “God, I want you so badly I can’t think straight.”
I finally looked up at him, and saw the sheer need in his eyes. It echoed the ache between my legs with glaring likeness. One I couldn’t ignore for much longer. His hand was still threaded through my hair, and the other trembled slightly as he cupped my cheek.
I turned my head and kissed his palm.
Then I slid my fingers under his waistband again. This time with purpose. Mason gave a small, involuntary sound. And it was everything.
I eased his pants down over his hips, watching the tension coil through his muscles like a taut wire. His cock sprang free,already hard and flushed. I took in all of him. Every inch was sculpted and strong, pulled tight under the weight of restraint. He wasn’t touching me, and I didn’t know why.
“Are you just going to stand there?” I demanded.
He laughed, but it broke off when I wrapped a hand around him. My grip was firm enough to make the tendons in his jaw twitch, and his hands fly to my waist.
“I need—” His voice was all choked up with fire.
“I know.” I kissed his collarbone, stroking his cock in a slow, teasing motion. “Me too.”
