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Grunts escape his mouth as he pounds into me at a brutal pace, and there is nothing I can do but hold on to him for dear life. He has never taken me like this before. Every time we have had sex, it has been sweet and tender, but this is anything but.
He is fucking me.
Every ounce of despair, anguish, and pain goes into each thrust of his hips. It’s raw and animalistic. It’s emotional turmoil mixed with unbridled passion, and I love every minute of it.
He shifts the position of his hips and drives into me harder, the new angle hitting the spot inside me I never knew existed, and I let out a gasp as an unfamiliar pressure builds.
“Mason,” I breathe out as pleasure starts to coil in my belly, and I grip his shoulders tighter. “I-I think I’m going… to come.”
“Fuck, baby… I know,” his strangled voice grinds out. “I feel it… fuck, I can feel you.”
Picking up the tempo, he pistons in and out at an unrelenting pace, my ability to speak, let alone breathe becoming near on impossible as he brings me closer to falling over the edge.
“Come with me, baby… Jesus!” he cries out, and that’s all it takes.
An orgasm so powerful that stars blast across my vision powers through my body, with such intense force it feels like a lightning bolt is burning a path through my body and liquefying my insides. Mason follows right behind me and throws his head back, the cords of his neck straining as he lets out a guttural roar and floods me with his release, both our bodies convulsing as I milk every last drop of his seed.
It’s as if we are both melting as our bodies come down from the high. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and bury my face into the crook of his neck, our chests moving in sync as we take a moment to recover.
Feeling his lips brush against my ear, I close my eyes as his hot breath tickles along my skin. “I love you, Ava Richards...” he whispers. “I love you so damn much.”
ChapterTwenty-One
MASON
The rumble of James’s motorbike pulling up alongside me reverberates through my window as I put my truck into park outside the gym. Grabbing my bag, I exit the door just as he removes his helmet, and I watch his eyes go wide like saucers.
“What the fuck happened to your truck, dude?” he exclaims, stomping over and surveying the artistic talents of Logan fucking Spencer.
“High school,” I grumble, locking my truck and putting my keys in the bag.
His nostrils flare as his eyes roam over the black paint, splattered all over the blue, then looks to me, his expression turning to stone. “Who do I need to cut?”
“Trust me, he isn’t worth the jail time,” I mutter. “Besides, he’s denying it like the little bitch he is, and I don’t have any proof it was him anyway.”
“For fuck’s sake,” James growls, still looking over my truck. “What are you going to do?”
“She’s going into the shop tomorrow to get resprayed.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, a knot twists in my chest and slipping my bag onto my shoulder, I turn away and make for the door. “Come on, let’s go and punch some shit.”
“Yeah, good plan,” James says, peeling his eyes away from my truck with a shake of his head and following me through the doors. “Where the fuck have you been lately anyway?”
“I’ve been busy,” I respond, not elaborating any further as we enter the dojo.
I’ve been spending so much time with Ava recently that I’ve been skipping a lot of training, but with my first cage fight coming up next weekend, I really need to get my shit together. The competition is brutal, and unless I do some serious training beforehand, I’m going to end up getting the ass kicking of a lifetime.
“Well, you might want to start getting busy here, Nerd. This fight coming up is no playground romp. These guys are hardcore. You’re playing with the big boys now, and you can’t afford to go in unprepared.”
“Duly noted,” I reply, pulling my grappling gloves out and walking over to the center of the mat.
“Tombstone or Mitts?” he asks, heading over to the back wall.
“Tombstone.”
“Not messing around today,” he says, tapping the screen on his phone, and“Paper cut”by Linkin Parkstarts playing from the Bluetooth speakers. He grabs the tombstone shield then brings it to the center of the mat.
Slipping my gloves on and punching a fist into each palm, I bounce on my toes, then roll my shoulders to loosen up.
“Okay, let’s go,” I say, getting into position, and James holds the shield up, ready.
