Chapter 89
LILY
The water cascades over us, hot and relentless, washing away everything but this moment—his hands on me, my hands on him, the steam rising around us like we're the only two people left in the world.
Mason's eyes are piercing as he watches me touch him. I can feel the restraint in every line of his body, the way he's holding himself back even now.
"I don't want you careful." My voice is steady despite the heat building low in my belly. "I want you."
His jaw tightens. "Lily, tonight—"
"I'm choosing this," I say, cutting him off. "I'm choosing you. After everything that happened tonight, I need to feel alive. I need to feel good. And I need it to be you."
Something shifts in his expression—the last thread of his control fraying.
Then he drops to his knees.
I gasp as his hands slide up my thighs, gripping firmly, possessively.
He looks up at me with an intensity that steals my breath. "Tell me if you want me to stop.”
Shaking my head, I push his wet hair out of his face. "I won't."
His lips curve into something dark and promising right before he leans forward and puts his mouth on me.
The first touch of his tongue makes my knees buckle.
I brace one hand against the tile wall, the other tangling in his wet hair as he works me with devastating precision.
The water streams over us, hot and relentless, but all I can feel is him—his mouth, his hands gripping my hips, the way he's completely focused on me.
"Mason." His name breaks on my lips, half plea, half prayer.
He doesn't stop. If anything, he doubles down, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes that make my entire body tighten with need. One of his hands slides up to my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple in a rhythm that matches his mouth.
I'm trembling. My thighs are shaking. The pleasure builds and builds until I can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel.
"Let go, pretty girl," he murmurs against me, the vibration of his voice sending another wave of sensation through me. "I've got you."
And I do.
The orgasm crashes through me like a tidal wave—overwhelming and all-consuming. I cry out, my fingers tightening in his hair as my body arches against his mouth. He doesn't let up, drawing out every last tremor until I'm boneless and gasping.
Standing, he turns off the water and lifts me into his arms like I weigh nothing. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, feeling the hard press of him against me as he carries me out of the bathroom.
Water drips from both of us, leaving a trail across the floor as he walks us to his bed. I catch sight of the picture of us Emma took on the bedside table right before he lays me down on the mattress.
And then he follows me down.