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How have I resisted him for so long?
Mason’s lips graze the line of my neck until he finds my jaw. He kisses my chin, and it turns into a soft bite, claiming me, demanding more.
I reach down between us and grab his dick through his sweats.
He groans, low and long.
“Want this in my mouth.”
He laughs. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”
Oh, but I amnotkidding.
I smash my lips against his, devouring his mouth.
I’m able to catch him off-guard enough to roll him onto his back.
His touch almost distracts me from my mission, but I won’t allow that to happen. Not when his hard cock is laboring between my legs.
“Christ, Laney, you feel even better than I remember.”
“And you’re not even inside.”
Mason chuckles. “If this is as close as I get, that would be just fine. Because you…” His hands trail up my thighs and waist. “God, I haven’t stopped wanting you.”
I rest my forehead against his.
Fuck if he doesn’t know how to ruin a moment with another moment. All of my inspiration to get his pants off and pop his cock into my mouth is interrupted by the desire to take things slow. Savor this moment.
Who knows, this might be the only one we get.
I dip my fingers under his sweatshirt and work it upward.
Mason assists me in getting it over his head.
I toss it aside and sit back on his hips to look at him.
There are the tattoos I remember, the ones I visited so often with my hands and mouth over the years we were together.
The Celtic knot on his shoulder and the thorny roses across his bicep. There’s the snake wrapped around a dagger over his right abdomen that I used to trace with my tongue and the date signifying the birthdays of both his grandmothers along his ribs.
It’s the additions that I’m most interested in.
I press my finger against the American traditional anchor on his bicep. “This is new.”
Mason glances down at it and then turns his arm a bit to reveal a wave on his bicep similar to The Great Wave. “This too.”
“What’s the inspiration?”
“Not much inspiration, really.” He shrugs. “California. Being high all the time.”
I roll my eyes, then glance at the new tattoo on his left pectoral, right over his heart.
A hummingbird. Different from all his other tattoos in style, splattered with watercolors.
I touch it with the tips of my fingers. “What about this one?”
Mason doesn’t regard the tattoo this time. Just me.
