Chapter Fourteen
M ason pushes, shoving my back against the table and the bowl resting there. Water sloshes over the rim, warm now rather than hot, but I tear my mouth from his and hiss through my teeth all the same.
He doesn’t look repentant at all. He moves his mouth to my jaw, licking along four days’ worth of stubble. His hands tug my T-shirt from my trousers and then slide beneath. I tip my head back and pant. “Mason.”
He blinks up at me, pupils so blown that his eyes are almost black. “Isaac,” he replies, and my name in that tone makes my hips jerk.
I should stop him. We should part and go back up into the church. I need to wait for Otto. We need to destroy all the zombies here.
I take his hand and slip out from between him and the table. Mason watches me in silence, though he follows when I gently tug, steps quiet as we walk all the way over to the bed.
It’s pushed up against the furthest wall and isn’t really big enough for two, but I don’t care. I sit down and spread my thighs, and Mason steps between them without me asking him to. He lets go of my hand to gently cup my face in both hands.
“Do you want me, little lamb?”
That shiver runs through me again. Despite everything, his hands are still cool against my skin.
“Yes.” The word comes out so quietly, but his fingers dig in, and I know he hears it.
“Good. I’ve wanted you since the moment I set eyes on you.”
I gasp into our next kiss, the ferocity of it.
The first was fast and clumsy, but now Mason tips my head back where he wants it and licks into my mouth with ease.
I groan when he sucks on my tongue. I want more.
Deeper. I want him seared on me, inside and out, want that fire to fuel me just like it does him.
He shifts to kneel on the bed, straddling my lap, and my hands drop to his hips to hold him in place. His hands might be cold, but his body is heavy and warm, pinning me in place. Mason slows the kiss and inhales sharply before he presses his tongue to the roof of my mouth. I buck up against him.
He pulls back a little way and his eyes only darken at the sight of me. I can hardly catch my breath. I want to feel him, want to drag off his clothes, but…
“What are you thinking?” he murmurs. One hand slides around to the back of my neck. The other plays with the tear in my T-shirt, fingertips occasionally brushing the skin beneath.
“I want to touch you.”
“You’re welcome to.”
“ Mason .”
He grins, showing all his teeth before he kisses me again. This one is shorter but no less passionate, and I grip his hips more tightly.
“Mason,” I breathe again once we part.
“Tell me.”
“I want you naked.”
The words are bold. My entire life, this— sex —has been hidden and rushed, kept to dark shadows or stolen moments and never, ever allowed to linger. I know we don’t have all the time in the world here. It still feels different. Mason wants to take his time and so do I.
He brushes his lips against mine and gets to his feet. A strange whine escapes my throat, but when I go to stand, he rests one hand in the centre of my chest.
“You want me naked. I want you to watch.”
“O-okay.”
Mason smiles again and shrugs his coat off his shoulders, letting it pool on the floor. He’s wearing a dark shirt beneath, buttoned to just below his sharp collarbones, and a pair of dark trousers that are absolutely moulded to his thighs.
He turns his back to me, and I frown, then almost swallow my tongue when he bends at the hips to unfasten his boots. I already know he’s mostly muscle underneath those clothes, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the swell of his arse, and when he wiggles his hips, I realise he knows it, too.
“Like what you see?” A barely suppressed laugh threads through his voice.
“Yes,” I say honestly, tone husky, and he stills for just one moment before he finishes unfastening one boot. The other he does more quickly.
When he turns again, I don’t raise my eyes, and my mouth waters at the sight before me. The bulge of his cock presses against the front of those trousers and I shake with the desire—no, the need —to slide off this bed and to my knees.
Mason takes hold of my chin and tips my head back. “Not yet,” he murmurs, but the quirk of his lips tells me he’s pleased all the same.
He likes how I react to him. I like how he reacts to me.
When he begins to withdraw his hand, I grab his wrist. A frown flickers across his face, vanishing when I press my lips to his palm.
This is too much, isn’t it? For the first time since I’ve known him, a faint hint of colour brushes Mason’s cheeks, and his next breath stutters out of him.
I trail my lips up his forefinger and press a kiss to the tip.
There’s enjoying ourselves, really indulging in a way I’ve never had a chance to before, and then…
There’s this. Whatever this is. It’s different from anything I’ve ever known.
I let go of Mason’s hand and his shaking fingers struggle with the buttons on his shirt. I don’t reach out to help. I grin up at him instead, and something flares in his eyes before he reaches down and pulls the entire thing off over his head.
My mouth goes dry, smile dropping in an instant. Bone-pale skin covers lean muscle, Mason’s pretty pink nipples already hardening in the cool air of the room. I clench my fingers in the blanket to keep myself in place. My cock swells in my trousers, underwear growing damp.
He has scars too, which, considering how he just healed my face, surprises me. One is a slash just beneath his ribs, another looking almost like a tear on his right forearm. Both have a silver sheen as he moves. They’re old.
All of my attention shifts when Mason’s hands fall to the button on his trousers.
He waits until he has my focus, then a minute or two longer.
I don’t look up at his face. I can feel his smirk, the sharp edges of it, the absolute certainty that he can do whatever he wants to me, and I won’t merely let him, I’ll want it.
He flicks the button and drags down the zip achingly slow.
The hair at his groin is as pale as everywhere else on his body, but there’s a curly thatch of it that he reveals as he pushes his trousers over sharp hipbones and then further down.
Mason’s cock springs free, the only part of him with any true colour.
It’s hard and thick and almost purple at the head, which is already wet with pre-cum.
I lean forward with no conscious thought. Mason chuckles and takes a step back, pushing his trousers all the way down before he steps out of them.
“Fuck,” I mutter when he’s finally standing, entirely naked, before me. I run my tongue over my teeth. I want to dig them in, to redden every inch of him, and listen to how much that pleases him.
“Your turn,” Mason says, but when I go to stand, he shakes his head.
I huff and reach back, dragging my T-shirt over my head in one smooth movement.
When I toss it past Mason, then kick off my boots, he frowns like I should be more careful, but he doesn’t tear his eyes from me, so I figure I can do what I like.
I don’t have the self-control to go slowly, though.
I attack the button on my trousers, then shove them and my underwear all the way off in a move that is far from graceful.
Mason doesn’t seem to care. By the time they’ve hit the floor, he’s between my thighs again, hands roaming over my shoulders and chest.
I lean back on my elbows, shifting my hips a little way up the bed, and Mason plants one knee on the mattress. His thigh brushes my cock, and I groan at that brief touch.
“Mason, please.”
“Tell me what you want.” He takes me in again with a sweep of his eyes. “I’m inclined to give you anything.”
“I don’t… Fuck.” I don’t have anything with me, and my head might be spinning, breath coming in short pants, but I know better than to fuck without condoms. Need lube, too. It’s not like I come out on hunts expecting anything like this to happen.
“Protection?” Mason guesses, and I nod, biting my lip. He frowns. “I don’t have anything, but I can get it.”
“Right now?”
He chuckles. “Not right now.”
My cheeks heat. We’ll do this again, then. He wants to do this again, even though we’ve done nothing at all so far. Mason draws a swirling pattern on my hip with his forefinger.
“I have lube,” he says. “And two good hands.”
I bark a laugh at the flash of mischief in his eyes and surge up for a kiss. He lets me take it, gripping the back of my head as I give in to the primal urge to dig my fingers into pale skin.
He might get rid of the marks I leave on him the same way he got rid of my bruise, but I think he might not. He might want to keep them.
He might want to keep me.
Mason kisses my throat and my shoulder, then pushes his thigh up against my cock before he reaches over and shoves a hand under his pillow. The contact is electric. I thrust against his thigh, soft hair and taut muscle feeling incredible against my length.
“Fuck, keep going,” Mason says. He has lube in his hand, though fuck knows where he originally got it, but that thought is a distant curiosity as Mason leans further over me, pressing his thigh more firmly against my shaft.
I’m smearing pre-cum over his skin, close even after a few seconds, but Mason doesn’t seem to mind. Dark eyes flick between my face and my cock, and every time, his own twitches between his thighs, drooling pre-cum between my legs.
“Mason. I’m gonna—”
He pulls his leg back all at once and I let out a desperate keen, back arching. Mason strokes his fingers over my ribs.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I mutter.
He takes my cock in a sudden, tight grip. My hips buck, but his fingers are squeezing so hard that I know I won’t come.
“Don’t apologise,” he bites out. Anger laces his voice, and it only makes me want to move again. “I want to see you come, Isaac. I want to see it over and over again.”
“I—”