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“I need a shower for that,” I protest, though it sounds meek, even to my ears.
“Stop.”
I never knew how much credence that little word could have until now.
His dark gaze on mine, he dips his head, holding my eyes as he runs his tongue from my opening to my clit.
I gasp at the sensation of his velvety tongue slipping along my folds. He groans as if he’s been dreaming of this moment all his life.
“Fuck,” he rasps, slipping his tongue in and out of me.
A moan escapes me when his fingers find me, sliding through my slick folds. “Mason,” I whimper, arching my back when he seals his lips around my clit.
He flutters his tongue and when he growls in satisfaction, all the shame and humility vanish from my body. This man wants me.
My hand goes to his hair and he eyes me while his tongue circles my clit. His finger pumps in and out of me, matching the rhythm of his tongue as he feasts on me. I’ve never felt so completely open to a man before and after everything I’ve just found out, it should stop me in my tracks.
But . . . it only makes me want him more.
“Mason, please,” I whimper when the first waves of my orgasm start to roll in, full force. His eyes glint in the darkness and a strike of lightning outside paints his face in shades of blue and white.
“So fucking sweet,” he grunts, reaching under me and gripping the backs of my thighs until my knees are by my breasts.
I stammer, clambering for something to grab onto, but all I find is him. I don’t have time to catch a single breath before he slips his tongue back between my folds. A moan claws its way up my throat, and I fist his hair until I’m sure strands break free.
“Fuck, I’ve been craving that sound,” he grits against my skin, swirling his tongue higher until he’s circling my clit.
My back arches off the desk, my hips seeking his mouth while he works me like I’ve never been worked before. Moisture clings to every inch of my skin as the pleasure shoots through me.But . . . because Mason gets off on my pain, he pulls back just before I come.
“Asshole,” I growl, my hand smacking the desk as I’m denied a third time.
My fingers claw at his hair, desperately trying to drag him back to where I need him, but a sharp sting shoots through me that has me bucking under his hold, a strangled moan escaping.
He just bit my clit, again.
“You’ll come when I say you can. Not a second sooner.”
I collapse back with a groan, my eyes rolling so hard I fear they may fall out when his tongue soothes the sting, drawing out a new, unspeakable part of me that I never knew existed until he came along. Heat floods my body and the pain mixes with the pleasure, leaving me a moaning puddle of need underneath him.
“Please, Mason.” I’m beyond caring about begging, at this point. I’d pray at his feet if he let me come right now.
“Fuck, Hannah,” he grits against my skin, sucking in a sharp breath. “This cunt’s so fucking greedy for me.”
I try to focus on anything else other than the orgasm threatening to ruin me as he continues his torture. The price of gasoline. Unwanted religious visitors. Taxes.
None of it helps, though and my legs shake with anticipation as pleasure races through me.
“Come for me, little doe.” Burying his face in my sex like a man starved, he seals his lips around my clit, fluttering his tongue back and forth until I’m writhing underneath him.
That’s all it takes for the orgasm to rip through me, sending me hurtling toward another dimension where I don’t even know my own name. My vision goes blurry, a guttural moan falling from my lips I’m sure sounds more like an exorcism than an orgasm.
“That’s it,” Mason grits, but he doesn’t stop his assault on my body. Not when I’m pushing him back and not when my legs clamp down on his head. He eats me straight into another orgasm, this one leaving my heart racing until I’m sure the Grim Reaper will show up at any moment to set me free.
What a way to go.
I float back to earth, my body shaking with little aftershocks as Mason kisses his way up my stomach, nipping the flesh above my navel and then circling my nipple with his tongue.
Abruptly he stands, tugging his shirt over his head. He lowers the zipper of his jeans and I finally get a chance to ogle him. His tattoos shift over his muscles in the darkness, each one intricately carved out in his skin. I’ve never cared much about tattoos, but now that he’s standing in front of me in all his glory . . . I get it.
