Chapter Twelve
Ash
“Are you feeling any better?” I asked Mason gently, my chin nuzzling his hair. He smelled of dust and sweat and the faint lingering scent of his shampoo. In other words, absolutely perfect. I never wanted to move again. Sitting here against the wall in my aunt’s house, my arms wrapped protectively around the most complex and frustrating and amazing man I’d ever met, I was in heaven.
It had taken all my mental strength to remain calm as he imploded, and I’d done the only thing I could think of to offer comfort: hold him. To hear his cries and feel his heavy frame heaving against mine as he unburdened the last few months had hurt my heart. His meltdown was always going to happen at some point, and I’d forever be grateful he’d allowed me to be the person he’d leaned on to help him through the agony.
“Yeah,” he answered sleepily. The gruffness in his voice had me imagining how he’d sound when he awoke in the mornings.
I’d like to witness that. Very much.
Mason must feel completely drained, which I guessed was to be expected. But moving him and leaving the cocoon around us wasn’t on the cards, despite my ass being numb.
The sun had passed across the bathroom, turning the hideous flowery wallpaper a bright orange by the time Mason eventually spoke, his voice seeming loud in the quiet enveloping us. “We should finish up,” he said and went to move out of my embrace.
“Let’s leave it,” I replied and, sensing him about to grumble, hid my smile. One quirk about Mason: he liked his life orderly. Whether that was due to what had happened to him he needed his environment to be so particular or his need for order was a result of genetics. Either way, the concept of not tidying up in readiness for tomorrow didn’t sit well with him at all. “Only for tonight.”
“Okay,” he replied, though by his expression, it pained him to say so.
“I’ll get up extra early tomorrow morning and tidy up so we’re ready to go on time.”
“ We’ll get up extra early,” he confirmed, raising himself to his feet. His thick thighs bunched as he stood, and as he wasn’t facing me, I got to stare at his gorgeous ass. He turned, and I zeroed in on his crotch and had to bite my lip as I recalled lying on the floor looking up the leg of his shorts. The head of his thick, cut cock nestled snugly against his heavy and perfectly rounded balls through the sheer mesh lining.
Diverting my gaze, I hurriedly got to my feet, in case he caught me staring, then I dusted my butt with my hands to remove the crap from the floor that covered them.
I followed as we left my house, securely locking up behind us before making our way across to his place, me watching his broad shoulders sway in his T-shirt. Anticipation began to stretch along my nerves as our previous conversation played in my head.
Did he honestly intend to continue our encounter from earlier?
Hell, I hoped he did, but would also grudgingly understand if he didn’t want to after the emotional turmoil he’d experienced. His breakdown had taken a lot out of him, so he may not be thinking about doing anything with me at all tonight. My stomach fell. After all that happened, what if he didn’t ever want to do anything with me at all?
Once inside, I kicked off my boots at the door and walked over to the couch, where I laid the cheap throw I’d brought from my place over the cushions to prevent them from getting dirty. Flopping wearily down, I decided I needed five minutes to rest and relax. Mason sat on his favorite chair to the side, pretending not to watch me.
“Would you like to have a bath?” he asked.
“Hmm, that sounds really good.”
“You want me to run it for you?” he asked nonchalantly, like his question meant nothing, but the slight catch in his voice gave his true intentions away. My heart rate began to climb, my blood pumping fast in my veins as I contemplated what might happen.
Did this mean?
“Thank you,” I croaked and the look I got in return, full of heat and expectation, made me tremble.
He got up and, walking past me, trailed his fingers through my hair, the roots immediately standing on end at the sensuality of his touch.
“I won’t be long.”
I sat rigid, unable to move a muscle until he left the room, the air around me too thick, too heavy. Making my lungs work took effort, knowing I’d hopefully get what I’d wanted since the first day I’d laid eyes on the sexy Mason Wilder.
After about ten minutes he came back down the stairs, my heart thudding in time with each step he took. “It’s ready,” he said roughly and held out his hand. I took it and his fingers entwined around mine. His palms were damp, which helped calm me. He wasn’t as confident or relaxed as he tried to appear. As he led me down the hallway and up to the second-floor bedroom, a myriad of questions tumbled around in my head.
Is this what Mason truly wants? If so, why me? Because I’m here and available? What did this mean to him anyway? A quick release? An experiment? Something more?
Around and around and around .
Does it matter if I’m his experiment? Someone to satisfy an urge? I didn’t want to think too closely about my reasons, but yeah, it did matter. A whole damn lot. As, after the kiss we shared in my bathroom, and I laid bare what I wanted from him and what I wanted to do with him, thinking he might use me in order to quell his curiosity hurt like hell.
We both stayed silent on entering the attached bathroom. Steam rose from the tub, swirling all around us. He stopped, turned to face me and all my questions drained away as I gazed into his beautiful face. The high cheekbones, sharp jawline, and wicked lips that kissed away my sanity all made up the handsome beauty of the man standing before me.
In the end, his reasons why didn’t matter. He’d obviously made up his mind, and to be honest, I wanted this too, so why keep questioning myself? I’d leave them for later, once he’d assuaged his need, and we were both satisfied. I’d analyze my worries then as now I needed to let go and feel.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes.” Mason’s husky voice hit my senses. The tone lazy, easy, made my chest move rapidly, my air coming in small pants as arousal took over. Strong hands at the hem of my tank slid deftly underneath to skim along my skin, making me shiver with need, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
Getting a hold on the sides of the tank, his biceps bunched as he lifted. His knuckles remained in constant contact, grazing my sides, sending tingles of sensation low in my belly. The tank was up and over my head in seconds, discarded on the floor, no longer required.
Ice-blue eyes full of desire scanned my bare torso, traveling over my shoulders, my chest and nipples, hardening them to painful nubs, before lowering his gaze to my flat stomach, and slim waist.
“You’re even better close-up,” he whispered to himself.
“Close-up?”
His eyes came back to rest on my face. “After our walk on the beach, I watched you in the bathroom, before you showered.” He swallowed hard. “I couldn’t stop myself.”
Scanning my memories, I recalled hearing a noise in the bedroom as I stood in front of the vanity waiting for the water to heat up.
He’d been watching me.
I shivered, liking the idea of his eyes on me, of him not being able to resist looking.
“Did you like it?” I asked, voice low, coaxing. “Seeing me naked.”
“Yes,” he shuddered out, voice tortured, as if admitting the truth not only to me, but to himself as well.
I took hold of his hand, placing his palm on my pectoral, directly over my heart, letting him feel how hard the muscle beat for him. “What about now? Do you like it now?”
He didn’t answer, just curled his firm fingers into my chest, raking over the skin, forcing me to release a strangled groan his touch so arousing.
He ran his fingers across my chest again, this time rubbing his thumb over my nipple. The roughness of his skin a testament to the work we’d done over the last couple of days. His pad moved teasingly back and forth, ripples of pleasure radiating out from the spot to encompass every part of me.
“Mason,” I whined as his other hand landed on my right pec and his thumb mirrored the action. Darts of charged energy cascaded down my body right to the tips of my toes, involuntarily curling them into the thick bathmat under my feet.
“Do you like that?” he asked me, turning the tables.
“Mase, I…I…” All my thoughts scattered to the wind as he kept up his ministrations, continually rubbing over my hard nipples.
“Do you?” he repeated his question, the gravel in his tone making me quiver.
“Yes, I…I…” I tried to say more but struggled to form a coherent sentence, moaning in complaint when his fingers moved away, easing the pressure. His deep chuckle reverberated through me as his hands lowered to the front of my shorts, pulling on the cord, loosening them so leisurely he might never get the job done.
“Y-you don’t have to,” I stammered, my eyes locked with his, trying for one last moment of clarity before we went too far. The dark gleam he returned and the wicked smile on his lips told me he did have to. Hot hands disappeared below the waistband of my shorts, his fingers lightly caressing my already painfully hard cock through the single layer of material remaining. Barely there touches, designed to stoke the fire, got me hotter but did not allow any type of relief.
A strangled groan erupted from the back of my throat, my frustration becoming a living entity, until finally, finally, he slipped beneath my briefs, and his fingers wrapped around my shaft.
I started to shake.