“Mase . . .” My words dissolve on a moan as he buries his mouth between my legs.
He nips at me with his teeth, punishing me before slashing me with his tongue in a brutal and delicious assault. I lean back, leveraging as I dig my heel into his back, encouraging him to have his way. Opening myself to his fury. He growls against my over-sensitized flesh, whether in frustration or approval, I’m not sure. I’d take either.
He slides one big hand up the back of my shorts, grabbing my ass so hard it’s sure to leave a mark. “It’s over.” His teeth graze, lips pull, and tongue lashes against me.
I roll my head on my shoulders, trying to stay upright and at the same time wanting to fall into the strength of his hands. No, no, no . . . it’s not over. My voice can’t find the words as his mouth has robbed me of breath.
So close, the sensations coil deep in my belly. I rock myself against him, joining in the rhythm as his hand at my ass guides me, rewarding me. Loving me even through his anger. Reminding me what I’ve given him and what he claimed. Proving that I’m his—that he owns not only my heart, but my body too.
I fist his hair, holding him exactly where I need him. My teeth sink into my bottom lip as my orgasm shreds through me, full-body and overpowering. My thighs quake, and a low whimper of ecstasy pours from my lips. Panting, I breathe through the aftershocks of my release. His tongue moves still, in lazy but purposeful stokes, coaxing me back to earth.
My heart beats to the chant of my soul: I’m his. I’m his. I’m his.
My ankle wobbles on my high heels, threatening to give out. He pulls back, hoisting me up to the countertop and settling between my legs. His arms wrap around me, and his lips kiss a pattern against my neck.
My eyes burn with tears. The combination of seeing him here, having a front row seat to his disappointment then his punishment, and having more questions than I have answers, only intensifies the pain.
A mournful cry falls from my lips as all the years of my searching seem to dissolve in this moment. I don’t want to live with this hurt anymore. Don’t want to push away my one chance at a happy life. Sick of selling my soul for hope that Lana’s killer will be found, I’m tired of pushing Mason away.
“Beatriks, baby . . .” He smooths my hair off my face. “You gave yourself to me, and now it’s my responsibility to keep you safe. Those guys, Hatch, they’re dangerous, and I’ll give you the choice, but if it’s not the right one, I’ll make it for you.” He runs the pads of his thumbs along my jaw, his blue eyes piercing mine. “Walk away from this with me.”
He’s right. I’ve prolonged this long enough, and before, when my heart was empty and I had nothing else, it was easy to convince myself that this is what I needed to do. But my heart is full now and my search seems pointless.
I nod. “I want to. I really want to.” I hold him close, burying my nose into his chest and breathing in his earthy sweet scent. “I love you, Mason.”
“Love you too.” He rubs soothing circles against my back. “Hate seeing you here; hate all this.”
“Wait . . .” I pull back enough to see him, blinking through the fog of my tears. “How do you know Hatch?”
His eyes dart to the side of me, and I lean over to catch his gaze. “Tell me.”
“Caught him and some of his guys fucking with Drake. Thought they’d kill ’em. Jumped in. They put Drake’s debt on me.”
“Drake’s debt. What did he owe?”
“Drugs.”
My eyes narrow as I put two and two together. “So . . . you had to give them drugs?”
“Basically, yeah.”
A gasp slips from my lips before I can catch it. “You’re a . . . drug dealer?”
“No, I delivered drugs to some assholes who tried to kill my brother so that they’d fucking leave him alone.”
“And did they?”
He shrugs. “We’re here, aren’t we? No clue what Drake’s dad has in store for him tonight—”
My eyes widen as realization of their earlier conversation finally dawns. “This guy, the one behind the door, is Drake’s dad.”
He nods. “Shit with this Hatch guy runs deeper than just an MC. He’s in bed with Elijah, who is the worst combination of criminal: greedy, psychotic, and no fucking soul.”
Nausea rolls through my stomach, and the lemon drops threaten a second appearance. I shiver in his arms. “Drake’s in deep?”
“Trying to shovel his ass out, but yeah, he is.”
I shake my head, worrying my bottom lip with my teeth.
“Whatever you need from this Hatch guy isn’t worth you putting yourself in this kind of danger.”
He’s right. “You’re—”
Bam-bam-bam! “Open up!”
My eyes pop wide, and my pulse pounds between my ears. “Oh shit. It’s Hatch.”
Thirty-three
Mason
Son of a bitch.