27. Free Preview Next in Series. #3
"Rosie." His thumb presses into my hip. "I've spent two months lying awake at night being noble, dealing with a painfully blue balls situation all by myself because I keep telling myself we can't take what we've got going on any further.
And now you're telling me that the whole time, some battery-operated thing has been—" He stops to exhales through his nose. "What's it called?"
A laugh bursts out of me. "What?"
"They have names. My sister left one of her girly magazines in the bathroom once. I know things about girls most men don't."
"I am not telling you its name."
"So it does have a name."
"Mason, I'm not telling you—"
"Is it a person's name? Please tell me you didn't name it after a person." His eyes narrow suspiciously. "Please tell me you didn't name it after a hockey player."
I press my lips together and say absolutely nothing, because watching the ever-calm Mason Morrison spiral over the name of my sex toy is the single greatest thing that has happened to me all season.
"Well, what would you say if I told you I named it after… you."
I absolutely haven't, but when I see the way he groans and swallows hard…
Totally worth the lie.
"Shit. You can't say things like that while sitting on my dick, Rosie."
"Then here's an idea." I shift against him, then watch his breath turn ragged as I roll my core over his shaft. "If you actually want to stop doing whatever this is we've been doing, then take your hands off me." I lean in and kiss his cheek. "Or, if you want to keep going, then—"
I don't even get to finish.
Because whatever argument he’s been having with himself ends right there.
Mason surges forward, his mouth crashing into mine as he pushes me back against the chair. One hand slides into my hair while the other tears open the last button on my blouse, and the groan he releases when my bra comes fully into view sends a bolt of heat straight between my thighs.
“Fuck, Rosie.” His eyes drag across my chest, sending warmth blooming across my skin. “Look at you.”
There is so much hunger in his expression that every ugly word I’ve ever heard about my body disappears beneath it.
He lowers his mouth to the swell of my breast, kissing, sucking and biting while his hand slips beneath my bra. I arch into his palm, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he rolls my nipple between his fingers.
Yes, yes, yes. Oh GOD yes.
I need this. I fucking NEED this.
Nobody has ever touched me like I'm the good part of their day. Mason touches me like I'm the whole day.
Maybe that's why he's becoming so addictive.
“This doesn’t feel like stopping,” I gasp, rocking my hips against him.
“I’m reconsidering my options."
I laugh breathlessly and pull him back to my mouth. Mason kisses me harder, spreading my thighs as he presses closer, and the chair lets out another tortured squeal beneath us.
I freeze against his lips, feeling the chair straining beneath us. “That sounded structural.”
“Don't give a fuck. I’ll buy you another chair.”
“Destroying office furniture during foreplay and replacing it afterward feels like you're dangerously close to becoming my sugar daddy.”
Mason pulls back and looks deep into my eyes. "Rosie, if I were your sugar daddy, you'd already know. There'd be jewelry. And significantly less clothing."
He thrusts his hips against me again, but it seems the chair has finally given up on life.
It cracks beneath us, one wheel shoots across the carpet and the entire seat collapses backward. A scream tears out of me as we crash toward the floor, but Mason twists his body around mine, taking the impact while I land sprawled across his chest.
For half a second, neither of us moves.
Then I start laughing.
Mason looks at the destroyed chair beside us, then down at my open blouse and the position of my thighs around his waist. His laughter joins mine while his hands check my back and hips for injuries.
“You okay?”
I nod. “I think so.”
His gaze flicks toward the desk. “At least your dinner survived.”
“Thank God. I’d hate for this evening to become a disaster.”
Then, as his mouth returns to my neck, Mason's hand slides up my thigh, and stops at the button of my jeans like he's asking a question.
"I assume the floor's still an option," he murmurs against my throat.
I'm one breath from saying yes when heavy footsteps pound toward my office.
The door flies open.
Dad stands in the doorway, his eyes moving from the broken chair to my open blouse, then finally to Mason lying between my thighs with one hand still cupping my tits.
Mason scrambles upright. “Coach, this isn’t—”
Dad’s face turns purple.
Mason looks prepared to explain, apologize or possibly accept his own execution with dignity.
I know my father better.
“Run,” I whisper. "Run, Mason!"
Mason glances at me, more unsure than I've ever seen him. “Seriously?”
“MORRISON! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!”
Mason bolts through the door, barrelling past my father who regathers his balance and charges after him with more speed than a fifty-two-year-old man with a rebuilt knee has any business possessing.
“YOU THINK YOU CAN SLEEP WITH MY DAUGHTER AND GET AWAY WITH IT?”
I remain on the carpet beside my destroyed chair, blouse open and chocolate-orange shake miraculously unharmed.
And somehow, in amongst all of that…
I still haven’t had sex.
"For fucks sake," I groan, standing up and straightening my clothes out. "Story of my life."
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