His thighs jump. His chest rising and falling swiftly. I look up into his eyes and gasp around his length. He looks wracked. His eyes are electric, round with shock. The blue irises swelling and blackening with desire.
He told me his body was mine and this is what he meant. I own him right now. He isn’t fighting his pleasure. He isn’t holding back his reaction to me and what I’m doing to him. I ask Mason what he likes and he curses while staring, mesmerized, marveling in the wet seal of my flesh with his.
He’s giving me this. Trusting me with this part of him. With every part. Knowing I’ll care and adore him in the way he deserves, or at least hoping I will.
I will. God, I will. I want him overwhelmed. As far gone as he makes me feel. And I won’t stop until I get him there.
I gently press my teeth into his length. He thrusts off the mattress.
“Fuck!”
“You like that?” I teasingly ask, wrapping my hand around his cock and slapping it against my tongue. “What about this?” I lean over his body and rub his slick head over my nipple. The hardened peak shimmers with saliva. The soft skin between my legs grows wet. My breath catches. “Oh, God, Mason, do you like this?”
He fists my hair and growls. “Baby.”
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” I whisper, kissing his shaft. Licking it. “You want to come? I know you do. Let’s see what we can do about that.”
I drop back down and swallow him, raking my nails up his stomach to his ribs while I bob my head. I work fast, then faster, sucking hard and taking him deep. His thick member swells in my mouth, hitting the back of my throat. I gasp when he tugs my hair and smile when his hips begin jerking in tiny movements off the bed.
“Brooke,” he groans, thrusting more boldly now. His cock fucking my mouth in earnest.
I reach between my legs and brush my clit. My quiet moans don’t go undetected.
“Fuck, yeah. God, do it, baby. Look at you. Rub that pretty little * for me.”
Mason’s filthy mouth, the throbbing of his cock against my tongue, and the hoarse way he says my name gets me there in record time. My desire drips down my hand. Releasing his shaft with my other, I stroke over his balls and press my finger against the smooth skin just below.
He inhales a sharp breath. His body arches off the bed. “Ah, God . . . fuck! Fuck, I’m gonna come. Baby, I’m gonna come.”
I move my fingers against my clit until my legs shake and my climax burns up my spine. Mason pulls my hair and floods my mouth. I swallow between moans and whimpers, sucking on his head.
Holy fuck, I think.
“Holy fuck,” he says, breathing heavily and rubbing my scalp.
With a heavy sigh, I collapse on top of him, my head lifeless on his thigh and my body half sprawled across his legs and half tangled up in the sheets. I close my eyes, sighing when he wraps me up and pulls me to his chest, cradling me there.
“Filthy girl,” he whispers, pressing gentle kisses to my mouth and cheek. “My filthy fucking girl. I’ll go to dinner with you. I’ll go anywhere, yeah? You don’t need to ask.”
I squeeze his neck. I bury my face there and smile. “It’s ‘cause I can suck a good dick, right?”
Laughing, he pulls the covers over us, tucking me close.
Mason never argues my lighthearted reasoning. Or maybe he does and I’m too drunk with happiness to hear him.
So drunk I feel dizzy, spinning more and more out of control. Falling further into this blind madness where, as long as he holds on to me, I feel safe and steady.
Our usual coffee time together is skipped the next morning. For good reason.
Every time I attempt to get dressed, Mason bites my neck or pinches my nipple, stripping off my clothes and entering me in one hard thrust. We fuck on the bed, in the chair, against the wall by the window. Minutes turn into an hour, and after he leisurely fingers me against the shower wall and comes on my ass, we stumble out together and frantically scramble into our clothes.
Him, loose shorts and a fitted gray tee.
Me, my jeans and blouse from yesterday.