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I dig my nails into Mason’s back, moaning as he withdraws his fingers with the same aching slowness while his mouth continues to tease back and forth between my breasts and his thumb circles my clit, building the tension coiling inside of me to the breaking point.
“Stop, not yet,” I pant, reaching down to grip Mason’s thick forearm, stilling the sinful rhythm of his fingers between my legs.
He glances up, meeting my eyes with a hungry look that’s almost enough to tip me over the edge. “Now?” he asks, sounding as breathless as I feel.
“Now,” I beg, nodding too fast, making the room spin. “Now, please. Now.”
Mason claims my lips in another mind-numbing kiss as he makes quick work of his boxers and my panties. The satin is simply there one second and gone the next, and a moment later Mason is between my thighs, rolling on a condom.
I stare, my mouth going dry and my heart skipping a beat.
Or three.
I’ve never seen Mason completely undressed, never seen that thickness I’ve touched hundreds of times through his clothes free to stretch all the way up his flat stomach. He’s bigger than I remember, or maybe just bigger than I’d realized back when we were kids fumbling around in the back of his truck, too nervous to take all our clothes off for fear of taking things too far, too fast.
“You okay?” Mason’s thick arms flex as he finishes with the condom and gives my thighs a gentle squeeze.
Lord, he’s gorgeous. Perfect. Even more stunning than I’ve imagined. I’ve pictured us like this more times than I can count, and now it’s finally going to happen. It’s enough to make me shiver as I nod and reach for him, pulling him down for another kiss.
“Are you sure?” Mason asks against my lips as his fingers return to my breasts, rolling one nipple gently between his finger and thumb, sending a fresh wave of beautiful agony coursing through me.
“Yes.” I spread my thighs and lift my hips, issuing an invitation I hope he can’t refuse. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
He groans low in his throat, whispering my name as he reaches down to position himself. I feel the blunt head of him at my entrance and then, a second later, he pushes inside, filling every aching inch, stretching me, opening me in a way that almost hurts, but doesn’t because it feels so good.
So. So. Good.
“God, Lark.” Mason’s hands cup my bottom, shifting my hips, guiding me even closer, until he reaches the end of me, until he’s buried so deep it’s like we’re two halves of one whole.
“You feel amazing,” he breathes into my neck. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.” I run my hands down his back to dig my fingernails into his ass as he begins to move, thrusting in and out with a smooth, liquid rhythm that quickly brings me back to the brink.
I lift my hips, grinding into Mason as he thrusts forward, squeezing my eyes shut as I get closer, closer, until my entire body hums and—
“Look at me,” Mason breathes above me. “I want to see you.”
My eyes open, meeting Mason’s, and that’s all it takes. I cry out, my body locking down around where he still thrusts inside me, waves of bliss shooting through my every nerve ending until pleasure burns and pulses and vibrates inside me.
“You’re so beautiful,” Mason says, as his pace grows faster.
Faster, faster, until he’s driving between my legs with a rhythm that makes me moan and wrap my legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deep as the exquisite tension in my core begins to build all over again.
I come a second time, calling his name, and seconds later, he joins me, losing himself with a guttural cry that is primal and male and so thick with unrestrained joy it leaves no doubt in my mind that we’re in the same place.
It’s a special place, a sacred one, a paradise we can only find in each other’s arms.
Afterward, we stay locked together, neither of us wanting to move, to venture a single inch apart. But finally, Mason kisses the tip of my nose and reaches down between us.
“I should take care of this,” he whispers, pulling away and moving into the bathroom.
I lay spent on the bed, eyes glued to Mason as he leaves the room and returns less than a minute later. He turns the corner and freezes, smiling as his eyes meet mine. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were ogling me.”
“Ogling is such a dirty word,” I drawl, feeling lazy and delicious and so satisfied that if I were a cat I know I’d be purring. “Admiring is better. I’m admiring.”
Mason stands with his hands on his hips, obviously not a bit troubled by his own nakedness. “Let me know when you’re done,” he says, executing an end-of-runway turn that should be hysterical, but isn’t because he’s just that perfect.
