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“Very sexy, Taylor. You nailed it.”
“What?” My tone was defensive despite knowing that there was nothing visually erotic about what I just did. I basically smacked him and stuck my face a few inches closer to his. Still, that didn’t change the fact that his pecs felt like fucking steel under my hands. That sexiness was undeniably real, but it didn’t keep Mason from snorting at me.
“I don’t know, Taylor. That felt more domestic dispute than it did tender, loving moment.”
My face flushed pink but I snorted, shaking my head at the sheer entertainment gleaming in his eyes. “Fine, asshole. You want sexy?”
“I do,” he smirked. “Show me sexy.”
“You got it – babe.”
Before he could hit back with any snarky reply, I dropped my hand from his chest, stroking down the front of his body and curling my fingertips against every solid ridge of his six-pack. Jesus. I nearly shuddered. Just touching him gave me a painfully vivid picture of what those insane abs looked like naked and it made me rake my bottom lip between my teeth. Biting back the mischief that curled my mouth, I hooked my fingers into the top of his jeans, my knuckles brushing cashmere before they pressed against his hard, bare hipbone. Ho-ly shit. I could feel the absolute heat emanating from his smooth skin as I realized my fingers were only inches from, well, that famously endowed cock of his. I let myself process that – the fact that if I slid my touch just a bit further down on Mason, I’d brush against that incredibly thick root I caught the clear outline of the other day at my apartment. God, I probably wouldn’t even be able to wrap my hand around it completely hard.
Jesus, Taylor, I exhaled. And before my imagination got too carried away, I let go of him. Good God. Did I just fucking do that?
Wetting my lips, I looked up at Mason’s face stripped of smugness, his chiseled features overcome with a look of – was it? – yes, that was plain, thick lust in his eyes that had me almost writhing in my seat. I swallowed the knot in my throat. “Sexy enough for you?”
“If I say no, will you keep going?”
I broke into a laugh. “You really want me to go further than that in public?”
“I’ll take more wherever you’ll give it to me. We can go in the coat check or the fucking walk-in cooler. I’ll tell Noah to clear out the kitchen.”
“As romantic as that sounds, no.”
“Fine,” Mason laughed. With a low groan, he sat up again, spreading in his seat so that our legs pressed tight against each other, our thighs practically exchanging heat.
“What, you’re squishing me now as punishment?” I cocked my eyebrow. When he shook his head, I asked, “What are you doing?”
“Making room in my pants for the damage you did.”
Peering instinctively down at his crotch, my jaw dropped and my head snapped quickly up again to stare ahead. Holy hell – how? Somehow, the damage I’d done in two seconds of faked sexiness was significant enough to require some very extensive snaking down the left leg of his jeans. Seriously. Last week’s under-the-pants outline was absolutely nothing compared to today and it had me suddenly experiencing all my shock in the form of throbbing between my legs. Shit. Arching my back, I sat forward, refusing to let Mason catch the look on my face. “I just need a minute here,” he laughed, clearly entertained by my discomfort.
“That’s fine,” I returned, quickly inserting myself into the travel conversation going on across from me. Despite immersing myself quickly, throwing in bits of my own road tripping stories here and there, my body was still buzzing, completely flooded with heat. Probably because Mason had yet to move or speak behind me and the thought of his blood still rushing hot to one place was driving my pulse through the roof. Minutes passed and our legs still hot against each other, his dick apparently still throbbing through denim. I had actually caught the twitch under his jeans before looking away and five minutes later, I was still envisioning it. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, nor could I believe that my little stunt had gotten a guy like Mason Leo hard as a rock in the middle of a fucking restaurant.
Caving, I finally glanced over my shoulder at him. Lord. It was instant fucking arousal when I found him looking visibly tortured as he sat back, his jaw slack and his heavy-lidded stare pinned to my backside. When he lifted it to me, I expected a laugh or a smirk or some kind of smug look but I got nothing – just the hot intensity of his gaze sending sparks of electricity across my skin.
“Excuse me,” I said suddenly, deciding that I needed desperately to use the restroom – or any space where I could avoid Mason for a second. Because despite the conversation I carried on easily with his friends, all I could think of was one dirty, filthy and seriously uncharacteristic thing.
Giving him relief.
Seriously, Taylor? I couldn’t believe myself, nor could I erase the image of my aching fingers curling, wrapping tight around him and feeling just how hot, hard and thick he was. I was being legitimately crazy and I told myself that. But I also told myself that all I needed was a quick look in the mirror and splash of water on my face to remember who I was, where I was and how much I didn’t actually want to give Mason Leo a public handjob. In fact, I didn’t want to give him one anywhere.
“Okay,” I exhaled, comfortably locked in the dimly lit bathroom and staring at my reflection. My cheeks were rosy and my lips were red, swollen as if I’d been kissing someone. Gathering my hair off my hot neck, I rolled my head back and closed my eyes. I thought about the deal I’d struck with Mason – about the fact that anything going on between us was a product solely of that. I thought about how this act was for Aaron and about how long it’d been since I’d had sex with him or anyone else. That was the obvious culprit for the sudden fever just now. I mean I’d gotten laid at least four times a week for three years till Aaron left. In the past nine weeks, I’d had nothing. I was in a drought, thirsty and susceptible to heat. That explained pretty much everything.
You’re fine, I told myself, repeating it till I believed it enough to run my hand through my hair and open the door. You’re fine, I repeated.
But once I stepped in the hall, I gasped.
“Taylor.”
“What’s up, princess?”
Two familiar faces grinned wide at me – a sandy blonde in a slate blue suit and a goateed idiot drenched as usual in cologne. Tripp and Trevor. Fuck, I forgot which was which but I knew I hated them both. They were former colleagues of Aaron and I’d found them crude, immature and insufferable even before they planned my then-fiancé’s secret going away party – or in my mind, his “leaving Taylor in the d
ust” party.
“Hi,” I said curtly, knowing well from the leering looks in their eyes that they had nothing good to say. “Excuse me,” I said, stepping past them and walking away before I had to hear any of their bullshit.
