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“You in my bed.” He sounded so serious, and I couldn’t tell if he flirted or meant for me to just reclaim the spot I’d vacated. Considering he didn’t smirk or reach for me, I decided he’d meant for the latter and made myself comfortable.
Mason stretched out on his back, his hand seeking out mine atop the blanket.
Our fingers entwined as though on their own accord, and I couldn’t ignore the flutters in my stomach over how well we fit together.
Rather than closing my eyes, I watched Mason slip once more into a deep sleep. Full lips parted, he exhaled soft puffs of air that didn’t quite count as a snore. The furrow of discomfort on his brow eased, his face taking on a more youthful appearance. Had his beard and dark hair not been shot through with gray, I would have believed him to be younger than his forty-two years.
No freckles dotted over his nose, but a few lined his shoulder closest to me. I wanted to kiss them. Map out the contours of his body hidden beneath the covers. Lay between his thighs and tell him to wrap his legs around me. Cradle me while I loved him.
Lips thinning, I closed my eyes and gave myself a stern talking-to about the swelling in my groin.
Number one, the man was injured.
Number two, I didn’t know him—not really.
A year earlier, I would have been all up in his space to see if he wanted to hook up, but my desires had changed. I no longer wanted to just fuck and leave.
Number three…
There was no other reason I ought to hold back. The first two were more than enough.
Forcing myself to keep my eyes off Mason, I slipped back into rest.
* * *
The next time I woke, a blanket burrito of muscle and warmth pressed against my side, and a heavy arm slung over my chest.
Mason buried his face in my neck, his dick hard against my thigh even though a thick comforter and my clothing separated our skin.
Lust lit through me, thickening my cock, and I lay still, my breaths shallow. Desire to turn into his embrace rolled over me like an ocean wave, tumbling my thoughts in its wake. Once more counting the reasons I shouldn’t engage with him physically didn’t change the yearning inside me.
I doubted anything but the satisfaction of an empty ball sac would.
No puffed exhale caressed my neck. Was Mason awake? Had he rolled in his sleep to seek out comfort? Or had he woken and done so deliberately?
“Mason?” I whispered.
A shuddered sigh rippled through him, and he shifted his hips from my body. “I’m sorry.”
I slid my left hand over his forearm atop my chest, grasping onto his elbow to hold him in place. “It’s okay. How are you feeling?”
“Better. But still pretty sore.” His whiskers and lips grazed over my skin with every word, causing goose bumps to rise along my arms.
“I expect that’ll be the case for a few days,” I said, my arousal made obvious by my husky tone.
“You smell good,” Mason murmured, nosing upward toward my ear, his whiskers the perfect blend of tickle and stimulating tease.
Closing my eyes, I bit back a groan. “Mason…”
“Sorry,” he murmured, readying to pull away again, but I kept a tight grip on his elbow.
“Stay.” Shifting my shoulders put some space between our upper bodies, and I turned my head to face him.
Mason’s sleepy, greenish-brown orbs appeared more alert than the night before, and I wondered if the narcotics I’d given him had worn off.
“What do you need?” I asked.
The black of his pupils swelled as his focus slid to my mouth.
