Chapter 31 #2
For a moment, I’m startled frozen, forgetting where I am and who I’m with, only feeling the fear of being immobilized rushing through me. I was held in a similar way that night, and for a second, I’m transported back in time.
But then Mase’s scent floats into my senses, and everything comes back into focus, the fear melting away. My heart slows, awareness honing in.
I swear I feel his nose dip into my hair before he breathes in a lungful.
And that’s when I move.
Since he’s holding my forearms against my body, I quickly twist my hands around, digging my thumbs in and gripping him where the ink covers his skin, then force his arms out and drop down to escape.
I turn to face him, adrenaline pumping.
“I told you your moves are good.”
I straighten, blowing a few strands of hair from my face. “Again.”
He reaches for me, spinning me around, this time closing his arms around me higher up toward my shoulders and chest. I jerk my hips back suddenly, creating a fraction of space like he taught, then drop down again.
“Good.”
We work at it again and again.
The final move is when I take out his knee and drop him onto the mat, landing on top of him, slightly twisted, forearm laying loosely across his neck while breathing fast.
For the briefest second, it looks like he wants to smile with pride, but then he remembers himself, remembers his admission to me, and holds it back.
“How was that?”
I feel the slide of his eyes over my face like a caress everywhere. “I think you’ve been paying attention in the classes you’ve attended.”
“Do you think I could defend myself?”
“I do.”
I nod, sliding my leg so it lays between his. “Then kiss me.”
“What?”
“I said, kiss me.”
The frown reappears, and I see a thousand refusals on his tongue before he opens his mouth. “You don’t want that.”
I palm his cheek, pressing in closer. “Yes, I do.”
So much.
The air surrounding us heats as his eyes dart to watch my tongue poke out and drag across my lips. I move my leg again, brushing it against his shorts, where I feel him thickening.
This is far from the woman I usually am, far from the woman he first saw in the club, but it feels natural to be with him this way.
He unlocked something in me, and until the temporary reprieve is over, and all the shit I’ve buried away resurfaces, I will take advantage of this brave person I’ve somehow become.
I lean closer, my fingers trailing over his cheek, then just as quickly as he spun me around and trapped me against his chest, he flips us over so I’m now underneath him. My arms are pinned between his hard torso and my softer one, his palms pressed to the mat beside my head.
His nostrils flare, as if he can scent my arousal . . . or fear. My body is still a little confused and doesn’t seem to know whether it wants to buck him off me or buck on top of him.
Just like the last time his solid form had me pinned down, my first reaction is a flash of worry, like it takes a moment for everything to readjust in my mind.
But then I stare into his dark orbs, and I see everything he is—and everything he’s not—and relax.
This is Mase, the man who has been caring for me since before he even realized who I was, back when he gave me the card in the club.
Lifting my head, I press my lips softly to his, a stuttered breath leaving his chest like he’s fighting it. I can feel his heart pounding, cock thick between my legs.
“Jayne.”
My skin is heated, the desperate need to break through his walls and feel him touch me burns in my veins.
“Kiss me,” I whisper against his lips, then press my mouth to his cheek and chin.
Another beat passes before he answers, “I told you, I’m messed up.”
Dropping my head to the mat again, I peer up at him. Doesn’t he understand the fact that he goes to such great lengths to not hurt anybody is evidence that he’s not bad?
“Not to me.” I lick my lips, watching his eyes track my tongue again.
Finally, with a low sound scraping through his throat, he breaks, dropping his mouth to mine in a desperate, all-consuming kiss. His tongue plunges into my mouth to explore, dancing with mine.
Passion and need pour from him as his lips move.
It’s hard to believe he’d never kissed anyone properly before me.
I try moving my hands up from between us to touch his neck or face or anywhere there’s skin, but as soon as I make any contact, Mase grips my hands in one of his and shoves them to the mat above my head.
I’m stuck, with no way of escaping, my breasts pushing against his chest with every breath taken.
He pulls back, eyes half-lidded, even as the war rages inside them. Conflict, longing, want, self-hatred. I’m most familiar with the latter.
“Is this what you wanted?” he breathes out, lips reddened. “To push me to the limit?”
I scan his face, shaking my head. “To prove you’re not the villain in your story.”
He’s not but I am.
I push the words back down, down, down. Not here. Not now.
His lips connect with mine again, his whole body pinning me down.
My legs fall open, causing his hips to settle deeper between them, and a groan rumbles from him at the motion.
The fabric of his gym shorts and my leggings are barely a barrier between us, and I can feel the hardness of him pressing right against my clit, making it pulse and sending a flush to my cheeks.
All I can think about is more. More touching, more tasting, more of him.
Mase changed me from a scared woman who avoided any type of intimacy for years, to this person: someone willing to put herself in an unknown situation to help him figure out who and what he is.
“I want you,” I murmur, drunk on his kiss.
Eyes closed, he shakes his head, even as his grip on my hands tightens, like he wants me, too. “No.”
There’s probably a voice telling him it’s wrong, that he’s wrong.
“I want you to touch me.” My voice is shaky as I offer my body to him again.
Tremors run through him with the effort of holding back, sweat already dotting his hairline and breaths coming in hard and fast through his nostrils.
Cracks are forming, ready to rupture.
“Please.”
He slaps the mat beside my head, making me jump, but it doesn’t deter me.
“You have my consent, Mase.”
Those words seem to do it.
With a feral sound, he wrenches his free hand off the mat and moves it to my neck, feeling my pulse flutter, then he slides it down to my breast, squeezing like he’s been waiting years to touch me, his face falling into the crook of my neck.
“God fucking dammit.”
He gives both breasts attention, kneading each with his big hand while I squirm beneath him, but he doesn’t raise his head to look.
Shifting slightly sideways, he runs the same hand over my ribs and stomach, down to the waistband of my leggings. Now that he’s only pinning one side of me, it’s easier access for him.
Mase keeps his face buried, unable to look at what he’s doing while his fingers creep under the fabric and inch toward my center. When he finds my wetness, he makes a soft grunting sound while my hips jolt upward, seeking his touch rather than pulling away from it.
Each stroke and each touch is tentative at first, exploring.
He’s never touched a woman before.
The thought hits me suddenly. I know he said it, but it didn’t truly register until now that he’s inexperienced, maybe even more so than me.
“Yes,” I hiss when he brushes over my swollen bud. “Right there.”
He focuses on the spot, massaging it with intent while my hips jerk again under his weight, and I lose myself in the feeling.
Tingles start to grow, a delicious ache forming low and threatening to spread.
“Don’t stop.” Pleasure blooms, the need to come growing with each stroke of his fingers. Our surroundings fade away, time melds together, pasts gone. And then I detonate in an array of colors and life, knowing he’s the one touching me. Moans fly past my lips with his name as the chorus. “Mase.”
My mouth is hanging open, breaths coming out in short bursts when I open my eyes to find Mase watching me.
With eyes dark as night, he frees his hand from my core and brings it to his mouth, sucking his fingers between his lips.
A desire-roughened groan escapes him, then he’s releasing my hands and yanking at my leggings, pulling them down to reveal my pussy. I help kick them off the rest of the way, and before I can even register what he’s doing, he’s burying his head between my thighs.
I’m not sure who makes the loudest sound when his warm tongue glides from my opening, all the way up to my clit, then back again. This is the first time anyone has licked me before.
“I fucking knew it,” he mumbles to himself, lapping at my juices. “You taste divine.”
He devours me, licking and sucking my sensitive flesh and driving me crazy, building me back up again, right before he lifts his head and drags his tongue over his lips, dark eyes glazed over.
“I want you, Mase.”
Next to go are his shorts, removed in a rush of frantic movements before he falls over me, pressing my hands to the mat again.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice breathless.
Lips ghosting mine, he maneuvers his hips until he’s lined up.
There is no finesse in the way Mase enters me, just the raw, basic instinct to fuck. He pushes all the way in with a guttural sound, my body barely moving under his weight and stare.
“Jesus,” he chokes out, holding still for half a second before moving again.
His thick length is an intrusion I’m still not accustomed to, but welcomed all the same.
Each thrust is hard, like a lifetime worth of pent-up need and want is coming out all at once, anger and relief mixing together.
And god, it turns me on knowing I’m the cause of it, knowing I’m helping him break through his fears.
This is his first time without handcuffs.
The grip he has on my hands tightens.
I’m not scared, though, not worried he’ll do something to me against my will. He’s not the man he thinks he is. I want it all from him.
And he’s helping me, too, whether he knows it or not.
Lifting my legs, I wrap them around his waist, moving along with him.
Dark eyes sear into mine, half concerned and half consumed by lust.
Damp hair falls in waves over his forehead, his teeth gritted as we rock together.
His cock rubs against my inner walls, my already stimulated clit getting worked by his groin. Every pound of his hips brings me closer to coming a second time, whimpers spilling from my mouth.
I like the feel of him inside me—losing himself, finding himself.
Mase releases one of my hands to slide his arm behind my neck and grip my opposite shoulder, then releases the other so he can grip my collarbone, keeping me in place while he fucks me deeper, his movements urgent.
He slides his knees forward, changing the angle and going harder.
I gasp as he hits a perfect spot, setting off my second orgasm.
My body flushes hot, pleasure filling every crevice, the slightest touch of fear at his hold on my neck adding to the sensations. My moan vibrates against his hold as I come, and he drops his forehead to mine, panting. “Fuck.”
His hips jerk a few more times until I feel warmth spill into me, his cock pulsing with his release. A deep groan rumbles from him, his lips brushing against mine in a non-kiss as he rides out his orgasm.
Eyes closed, his brow still rests against mine, cock buried deep inside, and chest rising and falling as if he was just running for his life. My breaths are still coming fast, my body feeling languid.
Finally lifting his head, he locks eyes with me, an array of emotions floating to the surface.
He’s going to apologize; he regrets his actions, feeling like he did something wrong.
“Don’t.” I lift a hand to his cheek, and his muscle shifts under my palm. “I wanted it,” I whisper, reminding him. “Wanted you.”
His head angles the slightest, cheek pressing into my hand, then he gives a small nod.
I know he’s not fixed after us having sex, but it’s progress.