29. Mason
Chapter 29
Mason
S tupid. Stupid. Stupid.
I’m never doing drugs again.
How could I have told Sophia that I love her before I’m even sure of that?
What’s worse, I know she isn’t on the same page. Or the same book. Or the same library.
To let the issue die, I fake sleep, which isn’t hard, as “Comfortably Numb” is playing in my ears.
Suddenly, I have a great idea.
Genius level, I’m sure.
Maybe I should write it down?
No. It’s so good I’ll remember it later, for sure.
It has to do with books, which are on my mind for some unknown reason. A novel idea, to be precise. A retelling of Pinocchio, but instead of his nose growing, it will be his cock. And not when he’s lying, but when he?—
No, wait. How old is Pinocchio? Better make him a consenting adult.
Yeah. But hold on. I’ve been having trouble with excessive erections as of late, and now I’m writing about a guy with the same issue. Is this idea too on the nose… or cock?
Maybe I should make this Pinocchio female?
But what part of her would grow? Her clit? And under what circumstances?
The car stops.
“Mason?” Sophia whispers.
I pretend to wake up, and we board the ship—where, despite what Sophia says, I’m convinced that everyone knows I’m stoned.
Huh. Stoned. That could easily be the term for a hard-on, which I have at the moment, thanks to Sophia’s proximity.
Maybe I’m Pinocchio? Or Pinocchia? No, wait, I’m not a girl. And it’s definitely my cock that’s growing.
“You know what I’m in the mood for?” Sophia asks.
I lean in and nibble her ear. “A hard fuck?”
Her pupils—the eye kind, not the student kind—dilate. “I was going to say visiting the all-you-can-eat buffet,” she says huskily. “But… I like your idea a lot better.”
I press the elevator button for the suite deck. “Luckily for me, I’ll still get something delicious to eat.”
Her reply is a kiss that lasts until we’re in the suite.
“Hey,” she says breathlessly. “How did we get here without unlocking our lips?”
I stare at her and ponder the same mystery. “I have no idea. Maybe some sexy crab-walking was involved?”
She snorts. “Nothing about crabs is sexy.”
My nostrils flare. “The Russian equivalent of doggy style is crayfish.”
“Not the same crustaceans.” She starts to strip. “I do like where your mind is at, though.”
As soon as her smooth skin is exposed, I cover it with kisses—that is, until she takes her shoes off.
Dropping to my knees, I give her a foot rub just the way she likes, then nibble on her toes until her breathing turns shallow and her pussy glistens too invitingly for me to ignore.
“The buffet is open for business,” I mutter, grabbing her hips.
Her skin reddens all over.
Leaning in, I taste her as I’ve wanted to do all day and find that somehow, unbelievably, she’s even sweeter and silkier than I recall.
“Yes, just like that,” she moans as I suck on her clit.
Inhaling the intoxicating scent of her sex, I keep a steady pace until she comes all over my mouth. Only then do I pull away to look up at her flushed face.
“That’s a good start,” I say huskily and pick her up to lay her on the bed. “But you owe me a few more of those.”
She licks her lips, staring up at me as I get on top of her. Her voice is breathless as I begin nibbling my way down her collarbone to her chest. “A burden, to be sure. But first, I have a craving for Uber.”
I stop midway to her nipple and lift my head to pin her with a confused stare. “Do you mean Uber Eats?”
She bites her lip. “I nicknamed your cock Uber.”
Huh. “You did?”
“It has to do with Nietzsche,” she says. “Not any sort of ride sharing.” She narrows her eyes at my cock. “I don’t want to share him with anyone.”
Fair enough.
I point at her pussy. “I don’t want to share Lyft either.”
“Lift? Like British for elevator? Is it because you’re thinking about riding… up and down?”
“No, Lyft with a ‘Y,’ like the app. But yes, I want Lyft riding Uber all night long.”
She bites her lip. “That can be arranged.” She points at her right breast. “Since we’re on the subject of names, this is Plato.” She points at the other side. “And this is Socrates.”
I arch an eyebrow. “In that case, I’d like to cup Socrates and Plato.” I match actions to my words. “Next, I’m going to suck Socrates and Plato’s nipples.” I do this too until she moans.
“Not fair,” she gasps. “I still haven’t gotten my fill of Uber.”
Oh. Right.
I pull away and lie on my back, Uber jutting out like a mast on a ship chock full of horny pirates.
Sophia takes me into her mouth, making my head spin.
“Fuck, Ladybug… That feels so good, we should name your mouth… or tongue.”
Her reply is a flick of said tongue around Uber’s head.
“Ayn Rand?” I suggest gutturally.
Sophia looks up at me, cock still in her wet, silky mouth, an as-yet-unnamed-eyebrow raised.
“She was a philosopher as well as a novelist,” I somehow manage to explain. “With her being Russian-American, I?—”
Sophia takes Uber deeper until I feel her throat, and further conversation becomes impossible. Thinking too. Hell, I’m lucky I remember how to breathe—but even there, I’m barely succeeding. My inhales are shallow and fast, exhales loud and bordering on groans of pleasure.
“Stop,” I manage to grunt when she ice-cream licks the head. “I want to be inside you.”
Without my prompting, she sheaths Uber with a condom and gets on all fours.
Such a good girl.
“Fucking hot,” I whisper into her ear as I enter her.
I move slowly at first, but then she arches her back and demands I speed up, and I’m all too happy to oblige.
“Yes!” she screams as she spasms around me.
“Next time, scream my name.” I grab a handful of her hair—something that I’ve noticed seems to drive her crazy.
“Just fuck me,” she moans, her gaze on the mirror that reflects my fist in her hair. “Please!”
I love it when she begs for it. Beast-mode activated, I piston into her with everything I’ve got.
“Yes!” she cries. “Yes! Mason?—”
She comes so hard her tight walls squeeze Uber to the point where I can’t take it anymore. Grunting her name, I burst inside her with an orgasm so intense my vision blurs.
It takes us both a long minute to recover. Finally, I find the strength to get up, so I can clean us up. Afterward, I lie next to her and gather her into a hug against me.
“That was nice,” she murmurs sleepily. “And much better than an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
I don’t reply because I have a sudden dumb urge to tell her again that I love her. But I don’t. I’m a tiny bit less stoned, and I’ve learned my lesson.
Unless she acknowledges that she heard me and hints that the feeling is mutual, I’m going to keep quiet and simply do everything in my power to make her fall for me.
I’ll do whatever it takes.