Chapter 12 #3
Mason didn’t flinch. Instead, his fingers traced the line of the scar, his touch featherlight, and then he leaned in to press an open-mouthed kiss to my throat. The wet heat and the unexpected scrape of his teeth made me arch toward him, a gasp tearing from my throat.
My hands fisted in his hair, tugging at the bun until thick strands of his dark hair tumbled free.
I liked him like this, scruffy and messy.
I twined my fingers through Mason’s hair while his mouth moved lower, from my throat to my chest. He sucked one of my nipples into his mouth, tongue pushing hard against the peak.
His hand spanned my back, holding me steady while I squirmed, overwhelmed with new sensations.
The suction pulled a moan from deep inside, vibration humming through my chest and heading straight to my cock.
Precum dampened my boxers, the sticky warmth spreading.
Mason switched sides, teeth grazing the other nipple, and his hips rocked up once, grinding his cock against my ass. The pressure was perfect, the denim of my jeans rasping against the soft fabric of his sweatpants, but he stopped before I was ready. His hands stilled.
“Keep going?” he asked me.
Yes.
I ground down, nodding frantically and chasing the friction.
Mason groaned, the sound low. He worked my fly open.
He tugged it down slowly, deliberately, each tooth of the zipper rasping in the silence.
Then he peeled the jeans down my thighs.
My boxer briefs tented obscenely, the wet spot blooming like a dark shadow on the fabric.
I kicked them off awkwardly, socks snagging, limbs everywhere, until at last I was sitting naked on Mason’s lap.
I was exposed and vulnerable, and it should have been the most terrifying moment of my life, but somehow it wasn’t.
My old fears bubbled to the surface for a second, but I pushed them firmly back down, and it was easier than I’d expected.
Because Mason was here with me, and even though he was gazing at me with an intensity that made me feel like he could see my very soul, his expression was as gentle as always.
Mason was safe.
He held my hips, encouraging me up onto my knees.
For a moment I didn’t know why. Then he let go of my hips and I realized he was squirming out of his sweatpants.
When he settled me back down onto his thighs again, I could see his cock.
It was thick and flushed deep red, with a bead of precum glistening at the slit.
It was bigger than I’d imagined, curving slightly toward his belly.
For a moment I was scared, and the fear flickered like static in the back of my mind—too much, too new—but Mason kissed me again, the taste of him reassuring and arousing all at once.
Then he pulled me down on top of him, our bare cocks sliding together, slick skin on skin.
The heat of us together was like nothing I’d felt before, and I bucked involuntarily, the friction sending jolts of electricity through my balls.
“Easy,” Mason soothed. He wrapped one hand loosely around both our cocks, stroking slowly.
His grip was firm but not too tight, our precum enabling the messy glide of our bodies moving together.
The scent hit me—musky and sharp—and I nuzzled Mason’s neck, licking the salt there.
His pulse jumped under my tongue. We rocked together like that, his free hand roaming my back, his fingers dipping into the dimples above my ass, kneading tense muscles.
Every touch lingered, his fingers pressing into knots until I melted against him.
I wanted inside him, or him in me—the mechanics didn’t matter, just the connection.
But I was so new at this that I didn’t know what I was doing or how to ask for something else.
I rolled onto my back, bringing Mason with me so that he was on top.
He kissed me again, hungry this time, his tongue pushing into my mouth in shallow thrusts while his hand pumped our cocks faster. Wet sounds filled the room.
My cock throbbed, and suddenly I knew what I wanted. I just had to ask.
“Want you in me,” I whispered.
Mason’s eyes widened, and then he leaned down and trailed a line of kisses down my throat, sucking marks that would bruise tomorrow. His stubble scraped my collarbone, then my chest.
And then, I realized with a jolt of shock, he was moving even lower.
He mouthed my cock, nosing the crease of my thigh, inhaling deep. “You smell so fucking good.”
His hot breath ghosted over my slit, and then his tongue lapped me from balls to tip, tasting me. I jolted, crying out as a fresh spurt of precum escaped me, and he hummed his approval, vibration buzzing through me.
I threaded my fingers in his hair, not pulling, just holding.
He sucked the head of my dick into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing.
No teeth, just wet suction, his tongue swirling.
Pleasure coiled tight inside me. My thighs trembled and my toes curled.
Mason took more, inch by inch, throat relaxing, until his nose pressed my pubes.
The stretch of his mouth, the flutter around me as he swallowed—it was overwhelming, but in the best way.
Mason pulled off with a pop and crawled back up my trembling body.
He kissed me again, our tongues meeting before it even occurred to me it might be weird or gross to kiss him when he tasted of my precum.
It wasn’t, though. Nothing about this was weird or gross.
Everything about it was a revelation, and I wanted more.
Mason reached for the lube on the nightstand and clicked it open with one hand.
I shifted as his fingers dipped lower, nerves sharp but not quite screaming at me yet.
Mason circled my hole with his fingers, not pushing, just gently petting the puckered skin.
And then, when I exhaled, he pressed a finger inside me.
Okay, so maybe that was weird and—
He crooked his finger, and I saw stars. Sparks exploded behind my eyes like fireworks as he massaged that spot inside me in slow circles.
“More,” I gasped. “Please, more!”
Mason held my gaze as a second finger joined the first. The faint burn faded before I’d even registered it properly and was replaced by an ache as he scissored his fingers.
Mason shifted back, taking his weight on his knees and leaving him a free hand to stroke my cock.
His thumb smeared precum over the head. A litany of sounds escaped me, more than I’d ever made together in my life, probably—whines, gasps, and moans.
My body arched off the bed. Mason’s fingers moved relentlessly, the stretch building. My whole body throbbed in response.
He withdrew his fingers, then rolled a condom over his cock and slicked himself up.
“You sure?” he asked me.
I nodded, teetering between trust and terror.
Mason leaned down over me again, and his closeness made me less afraid. The head of his cock breached me slowly. It didn’t hurt, but the ache was back. Mason kissed my eyelids, my nose, murmuring, "So good for me. Perfect. Tell me if you want to stop.”
I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to be this close to him forever.
I groaned as he bottomed out, right on the edge of being overwhelmed by the fullness.
Mason stilled, a drop of sweat chasing down his brow and splashing onto my chest. We breathed together, chests heaving.
Then he began to move, rocking into me slowly and gently like we had all the time in the world.
It was nice, for about half a second, before it was frustrating.
He was treating me like I was made of spun glass, and didn’t the asshole know how badly I needed to come?
I hooked my legs around him. “Go faster. Hurry.”
He huffed out a soft laugh, then kissed me before shifting back so that he could move faster.
My mouth fell open on his first hard thrust and stayed that way for the next ones.
The head of his cock dragged against my prostate on each pass, sending shockwaves through my entire body.
Wet slaps sounded, the lube squelching, and it might have been funny except my brain barely registered it as heat built between us and pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside me.
Mason’s hand fisted the sheets beside my head, the muscles bunching in his arms. His bun had frayed into dark tendrils that hung around his face.
My body ached urgently with need, and my balls drew up tight.
“Mason,” I choked out, my fingers digging into his back and my ankles crossing behind him to hold him in place.
“Come for me, Cash.” His hand wrapped around my cock, stroking frantically. His thumb pressed into my slit and I shattered—ropes of cum splattering his abs as I clenched around him convulsively. Mason followed seconds later, pressing his face into my neck and groaning as he shuddered.
When he was done, he collapsed gently onto me.
We stayed like that, his weight grounding me, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my hip as I soaked in the warmth of him.
Words failed me again, but it didn’t matter.
They weren’t needed here. Our bodies tangled together and our breath mingling were enough, and so was the tender ache of being held closely after being completely wrecked but, somehow, not broken.
And when I slipped into sleep with Mason’s hands warm against my skin where he was cradling me, I slept better than I had in months.