Page 40 of Mason

I open wider, inviting his lips, his tongue. With my hands still bound, I push down on his head, shoving his mouth closer to my sex. His breath is hot, not quite touching. My clit swells with anticipation. Hurry. I press my lips together to ensure I don’t speak aloud—Mason hasn’t given me permission to talk.

But the first swipe of his tongue along my slit makes me cry out, louder than I intend. He grips my hips and licks me hard, his tongue rough and aggressive. I hear him groan against my wetness, and it’s almost my undoing.

My clit throbs with the need to be sucked and licked. I arch my back in invitation.

He grips my thighs and dives in. His tongues glides along my pussy, making me wetter, hotter, more desperate for his touch. I throw back my head and close my eyes, giving in to this—to him. Mason is like a drug, and I can’t fucking get enough.

“You taste so damn good, baby.”

His voice is low, rough. I have never felt so wanted and sexy. And wet. My God, I’m fucking wet. “Don’t stop,” I whisper.

I lift my hips, pushing his tongue into the folds of my slit. He draws circles around the tiny nub of my sex, licking, and sucking, and flicking with just the right amount of pressure to increase the speed of my mounting orgasm. My teeth sink into my lip as I struggle not scream, aware anyone could walk into his office at any moment.

The pressure mounts.

He licks, sucks, flicks his tongue across my swollen pussy. Jesus, fuck. He’s going to make me come.

I writhe under him, desperate for release.

I’m beginning to pant.

“Don’t you dare come,” he says. “Not yet.”

I feel the orgasm surging so close and focus so as not to give in. “Please.” Sweat beads across my brow. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Patience,” he whispers.

His tongue moves like lightening between my thighs. Flicking, sucking, licking.

But just as I feel my orgasm about to hit, Mason—

Stops.

I am right on the verge. It would take one lick, one feather of hot breath across my pussy to push me over the edge. I lift my head and watch, awe-struck, as Mason draws his tongue seductively across his bottom lip. He wipes his mouth—glistening from my juices—with the back of his hand and stands.

My body is electric, pulsing with longing so intense it hurts.

“What the fuck,” I gasp.

I expect Mason to drop his trousers and devour me with his cock, but my assumption is so wrong. Painfully wrong. Carefully he unbinds my wrists, gently kissing the welts caused by my struggle.

My pussy throbs.

Aches.

Dear God, I have never been in so much torment, wanting to climax so badly and being denied it.

Taking my hands, Mason lifts me to a sitting position and kisses my forehead with such sweet tenderness he’s like a whole other person. A Jekyll and Hyde, one minute punishing me, the next turning my insides to mush.

“That’s it?” I say, breathless, aghast. He can’t fucking leave me like this!

I can feel the dread unfurling in my chest. My stomach twists.

“For now,” he says, smirking. “Consider this a lesson in patience.”

Chapter 22

We’re in a luxurious wine bar near the office, and it’s well past lunchtime. A few stragglers hang out at tables, but in our private corner only the quiet hum of classical music in the background distracts us. I study my glass, aware I’ve drunk half a bottle of Merlot and already feeling the buzz.