Chapter 22 #2
He continues teasing me. Kissing. Nipping. His teeth graze just enough to make me shiver.
“So soft.” He nuzzles the inside of my thigh, his breath hot against my core. “Fuck, Bambi. You don’t even know what you do to me.”
If it’s anything like what he’s doing to me now, I do. I’m already soaked for him, thighs trembling, heat curling low and tight inside me.
I want him to have all of it.
Because in this moment, I’m not broken. I’m not fighting to prove myself. I’m just a woman wanting the man on his knees before her.
And he’s looking up at me like I’m the goddamn moon.
His dark eyes flare as he drags his hand from the back of my knee to the curve of my pussy. He pauses again, his fingers ghosting there, that same question written across his face.
“You say you always watch me. That we don’t hide from each other. You know exactly what I think and what I want better than anyone.” My fingers slide deeper into his hair, pulling his head back to make sure he sees the truth in my eyes. “You don’t have to ask what I want. You already know it.”
His lips part, and he exhales one word that sounds like a confession and a curse all at once. “Fuck.”
Then he surges forward and licks me, memorizing me, and rewriting every fucked-up moment that’s ever made me feel inadequate.
His hands grip me tighter as he works me open, his tongue moving with purposeful flicks, then deeper strokes that make my whole body arch.
I cry out, my hips jerking against his mouth before I can stop them. My hand fists harder in his hair, anchoring myself to him as my knees tremble.
He groans low against me, the vibration making my legs twitch and my belly tighten. He buries his face deeper, eating me out like he’s fucking starving for me.
Then he slides two fingers into me, and they curl just right, stroking that sensitive, aching spot inside me while his tongue continues to circle and suck at my clit.
“Yes,” I breathe out, barely able to form the word. My head falls back, eyes fluttering shut. “Mason—”
Heat spirals out from my center, building fast, and I try to hold on, try to delay the edge he’s pushing me toward, but it’s no use.
I shatter.
My body bows as pleasure detonates through me, and I sob out his name as I come, pulsing around his fingers. His tongue doesn’t stop moving, like he wants every last tremor from me.
Mason stays there, licking, tasting me with slow, wet kisses like he’s savoring the wreckage he caused. Then his lips start to travel upward as he stands, moving across my hipbone, my stomach, the underside of my breast, my sternum, the hollow between my collarbones.
He’s worshiping me.
One kiss at a time.
When his mouth finds my throat, I feel tears prick behind my eyes because not too long ago, I was sure I would lose him.
I reach for the hem of his jersey and tug, wordlessly telling him what I want.
He gets it immediately and pulls the fabric over his head, muscles flexing.
I help him peel off the chest guard next, my fingers brushing over soft skin, and then his pants and padded boxers follow, sliding down his thighs in one fluid motion.
He stands there tall, lean, and utterly beautiful.
My gaze drifts over every inch of him—his defined chest, the curve of his hipbones, the dark trail of hair leading down his stomach to the thick length of his cock. My thighs clench at the sight of him, and I feel how wet I am from the orgasm he just gave me.
I sit down on my bunk, drinking him in with my eyes. “You’re beautiful.”
He pauses mid-step, blinking like he didn’t expect that.
“No, seriously.” I grin, biting my bottom lip as I reach out and run my fingertips over the lines of his chest, lingering where his heart pounds strongly beneath my touch. “Luc’s right. You are a pretty boy.”
He narrows his eyes, amusement flickering in them as he pushes me onto my back, then dips his head low and nips at my nipple in retaliation.
I gasp, body jerking under his mouth. “Mason.”
“That’s what you get,” he mutters, his smirk brushing against my skin.
Then he shifts again, bracing himself as he climbs into the bunk and over me.
His body covers mine, caging me in without making me feel trapped.
His hands slide down to my thighs, and he spreads them apart, guiding them open with possessive care.
I let them fall wide for him, my breath catching the second I feel the blunt head of his cock brush against my still-swollen pussy.
His eyes find mine, and everything stops as he cups my face, cradling it with both hands, and the way he looks at me, full of things he hasn’t said out loud, hits me so hard I forget how to breathe.
Like he’s baring his whole soul.
Every scar.
Every quiet hope.
Every jagged, bleeding piece of himself.
And I meet him there. No hiding. No mask.
I let it all show, every ounce of trust I’ve fought to rebuild, every drop of longing I’ve tried to swallow, the love that’s been curling in my chest since the night he looked at me like I wasn’t broken at all.