I hastily exit the shop and cross the street. Peering through the large studio window, I can see a class is in session, but that doesn’t stop me from barging in with baked goods and a pissy attitude.
“We need to talk,” I exclaim, stopping just inside the door and glaring at the twenty-plus pairs of eyes on me. I focus in on one set in particular, crystal blue and softened with curiosity.
Mason steps between mats to see me better, his faded, sleeveless tee darkened with sweat. “Can you give me five minutes, Brooke?”
I look at him, at the crowd of women and their irritated expressions. With a quiet sigh, I slip past the elongated table covered in brochures and vitamin supplements and perch myself against the wall. I hold the box against my belly, letting my eyes wander the studio.
“Whatever.”
Class resumes. Mason goes through various positions and breathing techniques, offering assistance when some women struggle to hold a pose.
I reach into the box and bite into a strawberry ganache cupcake, smirking when a nosy chick in front of me scowls in my direction.
Fuck off, I think. You have no idea what that man is putting me through.
After the last attendee leaves and I swallow my last bite, Mason pulls the door closed behind him and stalks toward me. He tugs his shirt off with one hand and wipes it across his face.
“You wanted to talk?”
I take in his perfectly sculpted torso, from his lean hips to the muscles thickening his shoulders, every inch of him damp with perspiration.
“Yeah.” I set the box on the table and lick the frosting off my lip. “What the hell is your problem?”
His steps falter. “My problem?”
“Don’t do that.” I point a finger at him, advancing closer. “Don’t act like you have no idea what I’m talking about. I’m not allowed to touch you? I can’t . . . do anything to you? Why not?”
“Brooke.” He tosses his shirt on the table, reaching for me.
I step back to avoid his touch. “Answer my question first.” He takes in a deep breath, and my next words slip out before I can stop them. “Is it me?”
Other women have touched him. Other women have done everything with him. Why can’t I?
His eyes widen and he closes the space between us. “No. Fuck no, it’s not you. Jesus. How can you think that?” He slides his hand to my hip, his eyes following his finger as he runs it along my jaw. “It’s overwhelming how you affect me. Can’t you see it? How I look at you? I’m a bloody wreck here, Brooke. I want to take my time with you, but fucking hell if I don’t want everything you were offering last night.”
“Then take it.” I squeeze his hips, pressing us closer.
Take me. Stop torturing yourself.
“I won’t be able to stop,” he confesses, bending to kiss the corner of my mouth. “I’m not a God, Brooke. I only have so much restraint, and you on your knees sucking my cock would smash it all to shit.”
“So you’re just going to jerk off alone after you leave me? Come on, Mason. That’s ridiculous. You could at least let me watch.”
A small laugh erupting past his lips has me pulling away and out of his reach.
“This isn’t funny,” I snap, turning my body when he tries to grab me again.
I need distance anyway. He’s half naked and those loose shorts he’s wearing do a piss poor job at concealing every perfect inch of him.
He slowly advances on me with his hands raised between us, with that cocky smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Are you not enjoying what I’m giving you, Brooke? Because if I’m remembering correctly, you seemed pretty fucking happy grinding that sweet * against my face last night. There’s pictures to prove it.”
Warmth surges between my hips. I narrow my eyes and silently curse my lower region for reacting to that reminder. “You know what? I’m going to go.”
His eyes snap up to mine. “Why?”
“Because I have work to do and you’re making my brain hurt.”