Page 93 of Breathe Like Hell

“Well,” I continued, “I still want to help you.”

“I appreciate that, baby.” One of his hands slid down my stomach, his fingers slipping between my thighs. “Maybe after this.”

“After what?” I asked weakly, the question coming out more like a moan than anything else. Mason had one hand on my pussy and the other on my breast, working me up fast.

“After I make you feel better.”

I didn’t resist him at all when he started toying with my nipple again, or when his fingers sought out my clit. I just leaned back against him, melting into him—exactly the way I knew I shouldn’t. We needed to have real conversations. We always just had sex. But I was weak and stupid.

He pinched my nipple, rubbed my clit, teased my entrance, sucked on the side of my neck. His breath was hot on the shell of my ear, giving me goosebumps even in the warm water.

I was turning into a fucking mess.

Mason carefully took the rubber band from my hair, letting my bun fall loose, the ends of my hair floating on top of the water. He turned me to face him, pulling my mouth to his, slipping his tongue past my lips.

Moans and whines and whimpers escaped me in humiliating succession.

Whatever.

I lifted myself on my knees, rising out of the water and putting my tits in Mason’s face. He grabbed me, dragging me forward, sucking a wet nipple into his mouth. Water streamed down my chest and ribs as I moved to straddle Mason’s lap, arching my back, getting my hair wet.

He dragged a line with his tongue across my chest, swirling it around my other nipple. I moaned, swiveling my hips on the head of his dick, hands wrapping around the back of his neck.

I was becoming completely mindless as Mason played with my body. Biting my tits, sucking my nipples, angling his cock to hit me better.

“We’re not supposed to be doing this,” I panted. “I just want to talk to you.”

“Talk to me, then.” He skimmed his lips around the curve of my breast, pulling me down as he kissed up my throat.

“I…” My voice trailed off. I still wanted to have a real conversation with him, but I was no longer capable of speaking articulately. “Fuck,” I whimpered. “Just fuck me.”

Neither of us would be able to focus until this situation was taken care of.

Mason stood me up and turned me around, bending me forward to grab the edge of the tub as he lined his cock up with my entrance.

“I’m going to slip and break my face,” I complained.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Mason said and lifted me out of the bathtub, setting me on a non-slippery bathmat and bending me forward again to hold the ledge. He stood behind me—in the same position as before, but now with my feet on solid ground instead of the slick porcelain bottom of the tub.

I whimpered as he pushed inside of me, my fingers curling on the edge.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

Then, Mason fucked me.

Hard and ruthless, like always.

He fucked me until he came deep inside of my body, both of us damp with bathwater and sweat, my hands still holding onto the ledge of the tub for dear life.

“Are you going to tell me why you hate Micah now?” I asked as Mason lazily pumped his hips, thrusting his cum back inside of me.

He stiffened.

“You know why.”

“I know all the lies you tell me, but I don’t know the actual reason.”

“Fucking drop it,” he said through his teeth.