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“Fuck.”
His breathless grunt was muffled against my skin, and then his hand delved beneath the waistband of my panties, and he slipped two fingers inside me.
Air rushed
into my lungs, and I let go of him to grab fistfuls of the sheets at my sides, arching off the bed as I clenched around him.
“Mason!” The word was hardly more than a gasp, a whimper. “Please. I need—”
I didn’t know how to tell him, didn’t know how to describe the ache building inside me, the hunger and desperate need consuming me. So I showed him as best I could, lifting my hips off the bed, rubbing against his hand as his fingers pumped in and out of me.
“Fuck.”
He spoke against my skin again, moving up to lick and suck at my neck as his fingers slipped out of me. I heard the sound of his zipper and felt the rustling of his clothes before he flipped my skirt up and grabbed my panties, yanking them to the side.
Then, with a surge of his hips, he thrust into me.
He was hard and thick, filling me completely as our bodies met. We both cried out, our combined sounds filling the small space of my bedroom.
We froze like that, locked together in the most intimate way, and when he lifted his head to gaze down at me, something had shifted in his expression. He looked almost… shocked.
Then his features smoothed out, the pain and fury from earlier vanishing, and he watched my face as he withdrew almost completely and thrust back in hard. Our joined bodies rocked with the force of the movement, and twin sounds of pleasure fell from our lips. My hands still rested beside me on the bed, and I wanted to touch him again, wanted to hold onto him, but I couldn’t force myself to move at all.
I was transfixed by the look in his eyes, the sight of his face as he pulled out again in a slow drag and then surged forward.
We both groaned again, and Mason dropped his head, burying his face in my neck and keeping his pelvis pressed hard against mine, like he couldn’t bear to withdraw from me even for a second, not even for the delicious friction that came with it.
Like he’d live here if he could.
He stayed like that for several beats as our chests rose and fell against each other, our bodies resting together. When he finally pulled back out and started to thrust in again, he jerked to a stop with a strangled noise.
“Fuck. Condom.”
I blinked. Oh, shit. He was right. I hadn’t even thought of it until he spoke, hadn’t had the wherewithal to remember. I had just needed.
And I still did. So much so that even as I gasped out, “In my dresser—top drawer,” I was still squeezing my inner walls around him, wrapping my arms around his back, as if I could stop him from ever leaving.
I felt his body shake as he pulled back, sliding out of me. His hair was a mess, his shirt and tie were still on, and his pants were barely off, pushed down only far enough to free his dick. As he stumbled over to the dresser, I looked down at my own body, which was even more disheveled than his. My shirt was half off, and the skin of my chest was flushed and marked by Mason’s mouth. My skirt was bunched up around my waist, and my panties were soaked and twisted to one side. I still had my shoes and socks on too.
Mason dug into my top drawer, pulling out a small plastic-wrapped packet. When he turned back toward me, heat and something like regret flashed in his bright green eyes as he took in my appearance.
He kept his gaze locked on me as he set the condom on top of the dresser and reached for his tie, loosening it and tugging it off. His shirt came next, baring the toned muscles of his chest, abs, and arms. Then he kicked off his shoes and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and boxer briefs, shucking them in a deliberate movement.
When he was naked, I couldn’t stop my gaze from drifting downward. He was still hard, his cock standing out from his body, a slightly different color than the rest of his skin. Darker. The texture more smooth. I could see evidence of myself, of my own arousal, glistening on the velvety skin, and I bit my lip as my breath picked up.
“Dammit. I should’ve done this the right fucking way.”
Mason’s words were soft, and I wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or me. But he didn’t look away from me as he grabbed the condom off the dresser and returned to the bed, crawling up to kneel near my feet.
I felt awkward, spread out so wantonly like this, my legs splayed open and my panties barely covering everything. But Mason didn’t seem to mind at all. The anger and tension that had vibrated beneath his skin for weeks was gone, replaced by a quiet intensity and something else I couldn’t quite identify. His green eyes sparked with an inner light as he picked up my feet, slowly removing first one shoe, then the other. He peeled my socks down my calves and slid them off too, gently massaging my skin in a way that made me start to squirm.
A small, satisfied smile crossed his lips, and he didn’t stop his slow, deliberate torture as he set my feet down, moving his large palms up my legs, stroking every inch of my skin before finding the zipper of my skirt and tugging it down.
Once my skirt and panties were gone, he moved on to my tie and button-down top, and unlike his previous frantic movements, which had sent several buttons flying, this time he took care with each remaining one.
It was fucking killing me.
Did he not know?
