Mason smirks, then lowers his eyes to my attire, focusing on the crisscross of fabric over my breasts. His chest moves with a deep inhale. “Yeah? No dinner?”
I shrug. “Well, no meal with my family. We can eat something here. Or go out.”
“Mm.” He reaches for the door and turns the lock. His eyes darken.
Oh. Ohhhh. Eat something here. Right. Excellent choice.
“Anyone else home, sweetheart?”
I watch Mason’s hands lower to his belt. My neck warms.
“No,” I answer, shaking my head as he steps closer. “No, they went out. They won’t be back for a while.”
“Good. I’ve been hard all day.”
My gaze flicks up to his. “You have?”
The sound of the belt loosening draws my attention back down. The sharp whip of leather.
Mason grabs my hand and presses it against his cock through the fabric of his pants. He moans. The stiff organ twitches in my palm.
“Oh,” I gasp, molding my hand to him. “God . . .”
“Ever since this morning, Brooke.”
He tips my chin up, looking at me while he uses my hand to stroke his length. The front of his pants becomes restrictive. My pulse quickens to a galloping pace.
“I keep hearing your voice telling me you’re with me, and I get so fucking hard.”
I grip his shirt, reaching for a kiss. “I’m with you.”
His breath bursts across my mouth. “Brooke.”
“Take me. Here. Right here.”
He grabs my breast roughly and squeezes, giving me the briefest of kisses before my head rolls to the side with a moan.
“I want you wet,” he says, kissing the line of my neck. Moving his breath over my skin. I shudder when I feel teeth. “So wet that when I bend down and lick that sweet * you drip down the back of my throat.”
“Mason, Jesus.” My hand goes stagnant against his cock. My other squeezing his waist. “That won’t be a problem.”
God, what his filthy mouth does to me. I’m worried my legs might give out soon.
He backs me against the bar counter, his thumb rubbing mercilessly over my nipple through the thin fabric of my dress.
I make quiet little noises against his shirt when he tugs on the hardened peak.
“I want you to milk my cock with these.” He runs his hand between my breasts. “And this.” He smooths his thumb over my mouth, then slides his hand beneath my dress and cups my throbbing sex.
His eyes flicker. I nearly shoot off the ground.
“Mm. Think I might start with this.”
“Fuck. Please.”
I grab his face and kiss him, and it becomes a battle of who can kiss harder, firmer, who can steal the other’s breath away faster as both of our hands fumble between us, him popping the button on his pants and my fingers tugging on the zipper. He frees his cock. I hike up my dress. My thong stays in place, Mason slipping his finger under the wet fabric and tugging it aside. He runs his digit through my slit.
“Jesus,” he moans. His eyes lowering as mine threaten to roll back in my head. “Tits out, gorgeous.”
I pull the neckline of my dress down.
Bossy Mason. Yummy.
My breasts pop free, the cool air of the condo assaulting my nipples. I squeak when he grips the back of my thighs and lifts me, bringing us chest to chest, my hands gripping his hair and his palming my ass and squeezing.
He buries his face in my neck. “Want you. Want you so fucking bad I can’t think.”