This had the benefit of me getting my hands, lips and tongue on him. This had the added benefit that, when I discovered he was stil wearing boxers, I could rip them off him.
Then he recovered and it got heated. It became the tangling of arms and legs, the sliding of lips, the tasting of tongues, the gliding of fingertips and the dragging of nails.
He tore my panties down my legs and whipped my tank over my head.
I got my mouth between his legs then he got his between mine.
Then I rol ed him over, got on top, wrapped my fingers around him and guided him inside.
I was in control for three glorious strokes before he rol ed me and pounded deep.
I wrapped my calves around his thighs and begged him to do it harder.
Mace complied.
He was kissing me when I came, moaning into his mouth.
It took him longer and my eyes were on the shadowy column of his throat when his head reared back, he drove into me one last time and let out a deep, long sigh.
His weight settled into me after he finished and I liked it, the heaviness of him, even though I couldn’t breathe.
I took it as long as possible. When I made an audible gulp for air, Mace heard it and immediately rol ed to his back, taking me with him so I was on top.
We were both stil breathing hard (me alternately purring). I tucked my face into the space between his shoulder and neck and cradled the back of his head in my hand.
As my breathing slowed, the purring breaths stopping, I realized something was happening to me. Something thril ing and frightening. Something like being on the front page of the paper and referred to as a “celebrity”.
But bigger.
And better.
Something that made me think, for the first time in my life, that my luck was about to change.
I didn’t want to test it but I had to.
“Mace?”
“Yeah?”
I didn’t know what to say.
Then I did. “You walked away.”
His arms had been loose around me but they got tighter.
“I was pissed, Kitten,” he said softly.
H e was pissed. And Mace pissed was like a natural phenomenon, a tornado or a hurricane or a volcano exploding or something.
“I was a bitch,” I whispered.
One of his hands came up and tangled in my hair.
“You got reason. Lots of shit happening to you. You can’t keep it inside, it’l fuck you up. So you gotta be able to take it out on someone. That someone is me.” He twisted his head and kissed my shoulder then finished quietly, “I gotta learn to handle you with more care.”
My throat made a noise I couldn’t control, soft and low, like a moan of pain but it wasn’t that I felt the pain, it was that I was letting it go.
His head settled back, his hand twisted softly in my hair and his other arm wrapped tighter around my waist.
“Why’d you give me back my keys?” I asked.
“You told me to.”
“Yeah, but –”
Then my body tensed when Mace interrupted me by saying, “For now, whatever my father told you to do, he’s gotta see you doin’ it.”
Oh my God.
How did he know?
“How did you know?” I breathed.
Mace didn’t answer me, instead he went on, “What we’re not gonna do is play by his rules. He won’t know I’m comin’
home to you.”
“Do you think he’s watching?”
“Yeah.”
Effing hel !
How creepy!
“Why?” I asked.
“Because he’s an asshole.”
It occurred to me that Mace was talking about his Dad but I didn’t go there mainly because I agreed with him. His Dad was The Supreme Asshole of Al Time.
“If he’s watching, he’l see you come in,” I pointed out.
“No he won’t.”
“Yeah he wil . Swen and Ulrika have motion sensor lights outside and –”
“He won’t see me.”
“Mace –”
His arm gave me a squeeze. “Babe. Trust me. He won’t see me.”
The way he said it, I trusted him. I decided not to go there later. I didn’t want to know how Mace learned how to get into houses without being seen.
He moved us into the bed, flicking the covers over us.
We settled in, he pul ed me so our fronts were touching, my hands against his chest, his arm resting at my waist and his fingers started to move whisper-soft of my back. I decided this felt real y nice when Juno joined us, the bed rocked with her movements before she col apsed at our feet.
“You know about your Mom bein’ sick and the mortgage, don’t you? That’s what he got you with, isn’t it?” he asked quietly.
I didn’t ask how he knew that. He was a private investigator, the question would be stupid and whatever Preston Mason thought of me and my grade point average, I wasn’t stupid.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“How much did he share? About your Mom?”
“Not much. Just that she had cancer and they were behind on their mortgage, which he owns, by the way.” Mace sighed then he said, “They were. Today they became current.”
My body froze. I had a mind to protest, to scream and yel , not at him, but at the world and maybe his effing asshole father.