Chapter Fifteen #2
I don’t waver, and though Dane glares at me for a moment or two longer, he gives up first. He wanders over to his sleeping bag and lies down, turning his back to the three of us. I sigh and shove a hand through my hair.
“You can’t stay up here,” Mason murmurs. He wraps a hand around my wrist, grip loose.
“I need to keep watch.”
“We both know no zombies are coming up here.”
I look him full in the face. “Do we?”
Mason frowns. He turns to Callum. “Can you…?”
“Of course,” Callum says quickly, though he doesn’t look pleased about it. The look he shoots me is full of suspicion. I don’t let go of my bat.
When Mason tugs on my wrist, I don’t argue. I only stop to scoop up my boots, tucking them awkwardly into the crook of my elbow as we make our way over to the stairs.
I don’t look back. I know Dane is watching us. Maybe Blake, too.
Once we’re inside his room, Mason closes the door and lets go of my wrist. I drop my boots carelessly on the floor.
“What just happened?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“What just—” I shake my head. “You did something, didn’t you? Dane saw something.”
“Isaac…”
“Just tell me. Please.”
Mason sighs. “In the morning?” For the first time, he looks tired. No, exhausted . “I need some rest. So do you.”
“Like there’s enough room in that bed,” I say, gesturing at it with my bat. Mason huffs a laugh and shrugs off his coat, then hangs it up next to the door. He drops onto the mattress to remove his boots, but his fingers are clumsy. Is he cold? I don’t know how long he was outside tonight.
I lean my bat in the corner—I’ll move it closer to the bed before I climb in—and then drop to my knees before him. The stone floor is cold, even through my jogging bottoms, and Mason’s eyes widen in surprise.
“What are you doing?”
I bat his hands away and pick at the knots on his boots. Doesn’t help he’s tied them so tightly. “Helping.” My face heats and Mason pushes a gentle hand into my curls, softly pressing against my scalp.
“Thank you.”
I duck my head so he can’t see the blush on my cheeks. I don’t think it matters if he can see it or not. He sighs when I tug off one boot, then the other, and then draws me up for a short kiss.
My hands rest on his thighs, fingers pressing against muscle. That thread of want I felt yesterday morning still quivers inside me, but I’m tired too, and when our mouths part, I stifle a yawn.
Mason laughs. “Come on, little lamb,” he murmurs. “Get into bed.”
When he stands, it’s clear he won’t climb in first, even when I fix him with a scowl. He merely shrugs as if to say he can, and will , remain in this standoff until the sun comes up.
“What if someone comes in here?”
Mason scoffs. “They wouldn’t dare.”
I don’t know if I believe that, even though Mason’s voice tells me I should.
Still, I give in and climb under the duvet, then press my back against the wall.
It’s a tight fit, two grown men in this single bed, but Mason wraps himself around me, hitching a leg over my thighs before he tucks his face against my throat.
“Why were you outside tonight?” I murmur.
Mason blew out the candle before he climbed into bed, and the darkness is a velvet comfort.
“I like the quiet,” he says, words ringing hollow.
“Do you want me here, then?”
He scoffs and somehow manages to wriggle closer. One hand slips under my T-shirt, fingers splaying over my spine. “Of course. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
His breathing evens out and sleep begins to cloud my thoughts. The last clear thing on my mind is that I don’t think he’s just referring to me being in his bed.
I think he’s talking about me being in this town at all.
I wake sometime later to the feel of Mason’s hips moving against mine. I push back against him, still in that hazy state between sleep and wakefulness, and when he takes my mouth in a fierce kiss, I groan.
He bites my lower lip and shoves his hand down the back of my jogging bottoms. I push his T-shirt up, desperate to dig my teeth in. We struggle for a moment, neither of us willing to let go, the rustle of clothes and sheets the only sound in the pitch-black room aside from our panting breaths.
“Fuck,” Mason hisses and takes his hands off me to drag his T-shirt off himself.
I whine when he’s not touching me, the darkness convincing me he’s so far away.
Mason grabs my face and misses my mouth, kissing my cheek first. I thrust my hips forward.
He grunts and gets my mouth this time, attacking me with teeth and tongue.
“Mason,” I murmur between kisses. My hands explore his torso, fingers skidding over the scar I catalogued yesterday before I tease his nipples. He growls again and pushes me onto my back, fitting his hips better against mine.
“Did you get—” I whisper, and he groans.
“No. Not yet. Fuck.” He reaches into my jogging bottoms and curls his fingers around my cock. I keen and arch up into his touch. He’s gentle, teasing, and I want more. I want that bite of pain from before. I want his marks, proof that he’s touching me, that he wants me.
Mason teases me with slow, gentle strokes and I tremble beneath him.
I kiss and lick every inch of skin I can reach, letting out a sigh when he shifts and moves up so I can work my way down his torso.
He groans when I suck one of his nipples into my mouth, teasing the little bud until he growls and drags my head back.
“That mouth…” he murmurs.
“Fill it.”
His hand tightens around my cock, just for a second.
My length is slick with pre-cum, sweat prickling my hairline and the back of my neck.
Without being able to see anything, all I can take in is what we’re doing—our panting breaths, each not-so-gentle touch, the smell of him and me that’s becoming sharper with each second that passes.
“Are you sure, little lamb?” His tight grip on my hair loosens and he slides his hand down and around, thumb stroking over my cheekbone.
“Yes.” The word comes out as a whine and Mason swears under his breath before he climbs off me. I hear him strip off his clothes but remain where I am, faintly trembling as I try to hold still. I think he wants me to obey.
For the first time in my life, I want to obey, too.
Mason makes a pleased sound when he climbs back on the bed, this time straddling my chest. I stroke my hands up his thighs, reaching around to cup the swell of his arse. He runs his fingers down my jaw and then back to my mouth.
“Open up.”
He wants it like this? I swallow hard. It’s not a position I’ve been in before. It needs too much trust. There are too many ways things can go wrong.
My cock jerks against my belly, exposed to the air where Mason pulled me out of my jogging bottoms.
“Isaac?” Mason runs his thumb over my bottom lip. “We can do something else.”
I shake my head. I want this. Like this. I want Mason to use me, want him to unleash everything on me the way he did those zombies, when he was strong and magnificent. I let my mouth drop open and dart my tongue out to lick his thumb.
He presses down a little harder before he pushes the digit inside. I close my lips around it and suck hard. Mason groans deep in his chest and thrusts his hips forward until his cock bumps against my chin.
I gasp and he pulls his thumb free. Want thrums through me and Mason can hear it from my breathing or feel it in the way I clutch at him because he shifts again and then the head of his cock rests against my lips. Yes. Yes. This is what I need.
I dart my tongue out again and groan at the bitter taste.
Mason grunts, giving me a few seconds to lick over the head before he flexes his hips and pushes in a little deeper.
Every inhale brings the sharp scent of him, makes my mouth water.
I try to pull him closer, and he growls, tightening his grip on my hair.
“You’re not in charge here, little lamb.”
Am I not? I suck hard, pressing my tongue against the underside of his cock. I’ve not taken all of him, not yet. He’s thick, stretching me wide, but I want to feel him in my throat, want to be reminded of this moment every time I speak for the rest of the day.
“Fuck,” Mason says with a chuckle. “Maybe you are.”
He pushes and pushes, giving me time to breathe and get used to him until I’m sure he’s all the way inside. His heavy balls rest against my chin. Drool escapes from the corners of my mouth and I squeeze my eyes shut when he cuts off my air.
My head swims. Nothing else matters. Nothing outside of this room exists as I float in this moment, full and aching and desperate and so deeply satisfied that I know whoever I fuck in the future, it will never be as exquisite as it is right now.
Mason’s thighs tremble, arse flexing beneath my hands.
He’s holding himself still, too. Does he feel what I do?
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. He pulls back almost all the way until the head of his cock rests on my lower lip again. The breath I suck in is loud and gasping. Mason makes a faint sound before he thrusts back inside.
He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t ask for permission. He knows what I want, even if he can’t see well enough to read it from my face. He has to be able to hear it in the way I moan every time he thrusts in deep, feel it in how I clutch at him when his cock bumps the back of my throat.
The hand in my hair is tight, pulling at my scalp. The other skids over my cheekbone and strokes my temple gently. I whine, tears stinging my eyes. I don’t know how to get more, but I want it. I want all of him. Want him to hollow me out and live inside me and—
“You feel incredible,” Mason breathes. My cock twitches and my balls draw up at the sound of his voice. He sounds wrecked somehow, even as he’s the one ruining my throat.