Chapter 12 #3
Something in him breaks softer this time. He kisses me again, and when his hand moves between my thighs, it is no longer around the toy. It is him. His fingers. His touch.
My body bows beneath him.
He groans into my mouth. “So wet.”
His weight settles over me, careful but unmistakable, and for one dizzy second I forget everything except the feel of him. The heat of him. The hard press of his body against mine.
Then his ring catches against my skin and we both freeze. His mouth stills against mine.
Mason pulls back first. His breathing is rough, his eyes dark and wrecked, and for one terrible second I think he’s going to stop.
He should stop. I should want him to stop.
Instead, all I can do is lie there beneath him, naked and trembling, while he stares down at his hand like it belongs to someone else.
“Sin,” I whisper.
His jaw flexes.
Then he sits back on his heels.
The sudden loss of him makes me cold. He doesn’t look at me as he reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head.
My breath catches. I’ve seen him in suits.
Sweaters. T-shirts stretched across his shoulders in ways that should be illegal.
But nothing prepares me for the sight of him like this.
Bare chest. Broad shoulders. Hard stomach.
Smooth skin broken only by the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants. He drops the shirt on the floor.
Then his hands go to his belt.
His eyes lift to mine.
“Tell me to stop,” he says.
I don’t and the buckle comes undone. The zipper follows.
He pushes his pants down his hips, stepping out of them with the same terrible calm he brings to boardrooms. Then he stands there in nothing but black boxer briefs, his body hard and beautiful and so obviously affected by me that my stomach clenches.
Then I look. Down his chest. Over his stomach.
To the outline of him straining against the thin fabric.
Holy.
Shit.
My pulse jumps everywhere at once.
His mouth tightens like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Still curious?” he asks.
I swallow. “Unfortunately.”
Something almost like a smile touches his mouth. Then it fades. He looks down at his hand again.
At the ring.
The moment shifts. His thumb moves over the band once and I stop breathing.
“Sin,” I say, softer this time.
He doesn’t look at me.
“I know,” he says.
Just two words. Full of things neither of us is brave enough to say.
Then he slides the ring off.
The motion is quiet. Simple. Devastating. He holds it in his palm for one long second, staring at it like it weighs more than anything else in the room. Then he reaches over and sets it on the nightstand. The small sound of metal against wood makes my chest ache.
There’s no pretending now.
Mason looks at me then. Not hiding from what he’s doing. Not letting me hide either.
“If I come back to that bed,” he says, voice low, “I’m not leaving it untouched.”
My body goes hot and my heart hurts. I should say no and remind him of all the reasons he shouldn’t. Instead, I reach for him.
“Please fuck me, Sin.”
His eyes close for half a second. When they open, whatever restraint was left in him is gone. He comes back to the bed, and this time, when his body covers mine, there is nothing careful about the way he kisses me.
His bare skin burns against mine, and I slide my hands over his shoulders, his back, his chest, memorizing every hard line and warm inch I’ve spent months pretending not to want.
He groans when my nails scrape lightly down his stomach.
“I want you,” I whisper.
His mouth crashes into mine again. And this time, when he moves between my thighs, the shame gives in to pleasure. He moves slowly at first, like he’s learning me. Like this is another prototype, another design, another system he intends to master with infuriating precision.
I come apart faster than I expect, with his name caught in my throat. He watches every second of it. Holds me through it. Draws it out until I have to press my palm against his chest and gasp.
For a long moment, we just breathe. Outside, the rain keeps tapping against the window like nothing has changed. Everything’s changed.
Reality crashes back in, cruel and bright. One of us should move, but neither of us do.
Finally, he whispers, “Laurel.”
I know what he’s going to say. We shouldn’t. This can’t happen again. This was a mistake. All the true things.
So I touch his face before he can say any of them.
“Don’t ruin it yet.”
His eyes open. For one second, he looks almost pained. Then he turns his face and kisses my palm.
“Okay,” he says.
He gathers me against him, and I let him. I let my body curl into his like this is something we’re allowed to have. Like the bed isn’t too big and too small. Like tomorrow doesn’t exist.
But it does.
And so does Jenna.
And so does the fact that I just became the woman I swore I would never be.
Still, when Mason kisses me again, I kiss him back. Because the affair doesn’t begin with sex. Not really. It begins with the moment we both know we should stop.
And don’t.