Chapter 12 #2
My eyes flutter closed, and the sound that leaves me is embarrassing.
Too soft. Too needy. Too honest. Mason inhales sharply.
Then his hand slides to the back of my neck and his mouth is on mine.
He kisses me like restraint has been starving him.
Like every red light, every hotel-room silence, every night on the other side of the pillow wall has been leading to this exact second.
I kiss him back just as desperately.
My free hand flies to his shirt, fisting in the fabric, pulling him closer. He groans into my mouth, and that sound does something catastrophic to my body. Something hot and helpless and greedy. He tastes like wine and every terrible decision I’ve ever wanted to make.
The blanket slips and cool air hits my bare chest. Mason breaks the kiss and looks down. His whole body goes still. For one second, I want to cover myself and hide all my flaws from him. Then I see his face.
“Christ, Laurel.” His gaze drags over me, slow enough to feel like touch, and by the time his eyes return to mine, I am shaking harder. “You’re beautiful.”
The words hit somewhere too deep, so I pull him down and kiss him again.
He comes willingly this time, one hand braced beside my head, the other at my waist, warm and broad and finally touching me.
His palm slides over my skin like he’s memorizing the shape of me.
Like he has thought about this as much as I have.
The toy shifts inside me.
I gasp against his mouth and Mason freezes. For half a second, neither of us breathes. Then his gaze drops beneath the blanket. His hand flexes at my waist.
“Is it still—”
“Yes,” I whisper.
His eyes close. “Fuck.”
The word is low and raw.
Mason lifts his head and looks at me. “Show me.”
My pulse stops. Then goes wild.
“What?”
His gaze holds mine. “Show me what you were doing before I came in.”
I should shove him off the bed and tell him he has lost his mind. Instead, my hand moves beneath the blanket. His eyes drop.
I watch his face as I move slowly, just enough to make my body tighten. His jaw clenches. His breathing changes. His hand grips the sheet beside me so hard his knuckles go pale.
“That’s it,” he says quietly.
My entire body clenches.
“Mason.”
His gaze snaps back to mine.
“No.” His voice is rough. “Don’t say my name like that unless you want me to lose what’s left of my mind.”
“I do.”
The words leave me before fear can stop them. His expression changes and the last thread breaks. Mason pulls the blanket away. The air hits my skin, and then his eyes are on me, all of me, including where my hand is wrapped around the base of the toy between my thighs.
For one suspended second, I am too exposed to breathe.
Then Mason leans down and kisses the inside of my knee.
He moves higher, mouth brushing my thigh, his breath warm against my skin.
He doesn’t touch the toy yet. Doesn’t rush.
Just kisses me like he has all night, like the rest of the world doesn’t exist, like there is no presentation tomorrow and no wife back home and no line left to pretend we haven’t crossed.
His hand covers mine.
My head falls back.
“Oh my god.”
He stills immediately. “Okay?”
I look down at him. At Mason Sinclair between my thighs. At his hand over mine. At the fact that he asked.
“Yes.”
His fingers tighten. Together, we move the toy once. Slow. My back arches and a sound tears out of me before I can stop it.
Mason’s eyes darken.
The fullness is too much. His mouth on my skin is too much. I reach for him with my free hand, fingers sliding into his hair, and he groans like the contact hurts.
“Please,” I whisper.
He lifts his head. “What do you need?”
“You. I need you, Sin.”
His eyes flash. Then he takes the toy from me. The crazy thing is that I let him. The loss of control should scare me. It doesn’t. Not when he’s watching my face like I am the only thing in the room that matters.
He draws it back, then pushes in again with such careful precision that my mouth falls open on a silent cry.
“Too much?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Words.”
“No,” I breathe. “Not too much.”
His gaze lowers and he pulls it out. The loss is immediate.
Then, with his eyes still locked on mine, he brings the toy to his mouth. My brain stops working as I watch as he licks my arousal from it. His eyes never leave mine.
The sight detonates through me.
“Sin.”
He lowers the toy, breathing harder now.
“You taste like I knew you would. So fucking sweet.”
I reach for him. He comes up over me, one hand still holding the toy, the other sliding into my hair as his mouth crashes onto mine. This kiss is different. Deeper. Dirtier. Full of everything we didn’t say for months.
I taste myself on him. The knowledge makes me shake.
He kisses down my throat, over my chest, his hand learning every curve, every soft place, every inch of me I have ever wished someone would want without hesitation.
And he wants. God, he wants. I can feel it in the tension of his body, the roughness of his breathing, the way he keeps stopping himself from moving too fast.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” he says against my skin.
“You won’t.”
His eyes lift.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I do.”