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“That’s the general idea. Now stop trying to do everything for everyone else, and let someone else take care of you for once.”
“Yes, sir.” I let out a giggle, which vanishes as he kisses his way down my stomach.
His firm hands spread my thighs apart and he moves between my legs, kissing, sucking, lapping.
I should take him in my mouth right now ...
No. He’s right. What’s wrong with letting someone give me pleasure?
He spreads the petals of my pussy wide apart and buries his face there, and the heat swirls up inside me until the pleasure is agony. Even then, he doesn’t let up. My hips buck and he holds me in place, which is fortunate, because I almost fall off the couch from the strength of my orgasm. It rocks my whole body and leaves me spent and gasping.
The next thing I know, he’s flipped me over, shoving a knee between my legs, spreading me open roughly.
“You want this?” He’s on top of me as I lie with my face turned to the side.
“Oh, God, stop talking and fuck me.”
Who just said those words?
Apparently, the voice of authority, because he magics a condom out of thin air, the crackle of the wrapper a promise of what’s to come. I’m about to beg for him to hurry, but I feel him at my entrance and finally, he’s inside me, stretching my tight sheath.
His thrusts are so hard that I’m shoved me forward on the couch and I have to reach up, disentangling my arms from my shirt, and brace myself on the couch arm. Every thrust shoots sensations of intense pleasure through my pussy, already sensitive from just having come.
He comes first, and the sounds of his pleasured groans and the pistoning of his hips send me over the edge a second time. “Fuck,” he cries out. “Oh my God ...”
He gasps, breath heaving from him, and collapses on top of me. Finally, he slides out of me and we lie there wordless for several minutes, as our breathing finally slows.
We roll onto our sides and he throws an arm and leg around me, pulling me up against him.
I rest my head on his shoulder.
“What are you thinking?” he whispers into my ear. “And don’t tell me how you’re thinking about how incredible the sex was, because while that is true, you’ve got that serious look on your face.”
“Do not,” I protest.
“You’re thinking about something work-related. It’s okay. You love what you do, and I love that about you. I mean, I think about hockey all the time, how I can be better, I plan moves in my head ...”
I let out a laugh.
“Not while we’re having sex,” he adds quickly. “When I do that, I am focused on one thing, and one thing only. Making you come so hard you see stars.”
“Mission accomplished.” I smile at him.
“So,” he persists, “what’s on your mind?” And he actually cares. He wants to know what I’m thinking, what’s happening in my life, how it affects me.
“I’m thinking that as for a personal recommendation about what to do about your mother, I’d have her ass followed and watched around the clock. Gather all the dirt you can. Do a deep dive into her history, any arrest records, ex-boyfriends, her past and current finances ... and be ready to bury her if you need to.”
Mason props his head up on his arm and grins at me fiercely. “Why, Rowan James, you are positively evil. Should I be worried that if things go south, you’ll bury me?”
I reply with a sweet smile and an innocent blink of my eyes. “I already have the shovel ready and my alibi arranged.”
29
ROWAN
I shouldn’t eavesdrop.I really shouldn’t.
It’s a nasty habit, like gossiping or making people listen to you explain who the Bachelor should pick for his bride this season.
