Page 131 of Letting Go at 40

“What we said earlier . . .” He glances down at our joined fingers. Standing before him in only my underwear, I’d feel anxious if I didn’t sense his vulnerability. He looks up at me once more. “I just want you to know how much I love you. And I don’t want to lose you.”

“I think I know,” I whisper, combing through his hair and cupping the back of his neck. “And I love you, too.”

“This isn’t just some wedding thing, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“You . . . we aren’t just caught up in your brother and our friend getting married.”

I stare at him, understanding what he’s saying but not interested in talking. Not yet. “Mason.” I smile. “Shut up and kiss me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He cups my face and kisses me but the tenderness in his lips hints that tonight is different. It isn’t the wedding, but the location tonight. We’re in my room and I’m making a statement. I’m ready for us to move forward.

Mason stands and spins us, so I sit on the bed. “Scoot back.” He watches me move up the bed while he unbuttons his shirt and tugs it down his arms, giving me a striptease act like none other. I’ve never been to a male review show, but the guys on a stage taking off their clothes would have nothing on Mason. His socks and shoes were removed on the beach, so he only needs to slip down his pants, taking his boxer briefs with them. He pauses, standing before me a second so I can take in the glory of him.

Then, he drops his knees on the bed and crawls toward me like a predator. Only I’m willing prey, ready to be devoured by him. Somehow, I sense tonight won’t be like that. Mason doesn’t need to hunt me. He has me and his next kiss proves it.

The kiss is fierce and forces me back to the pillows. His hand coasts down my body, covering every curve and dip while his lips never leave mine. Then his fingers find where I need him most. I moan into his mouth, and he pulls back to glance where he touches me.

“This will never get old. Some days I’m still amazed I’m touching you. Pleasing you.”

“You do please me,” I assure him.

“I want to do everything for you, anything for you.” He lazily looks up at me while scooting his body lower. Those blue eyes spark in the dim light of my room, and he doesn’t lose focus as he settles between my thighs. He licks across my slit.

“I love the taste of you.”

“I love you,” I say to him, combing my fingers through his hair again.

“God, Anna.” The phrase is like a switch, turning him into a savage, feasting on me. I have to bite my tongue not to cry out in a house full of people. This is one reason why I’ve enjoyed sneaking into the apartment bedroom. My children aren’t in the other rooms. No guests to hear how much this man drives me wild.

Still, I writhe and groan until stars speckle the ceiling in my vision. Then, he’s climbing up over me. His length is hard and throbbing, as he kisses me hard again. The gentleness of his hand on my jaw is in opposition to the kiss.

“You asked me on the boat to make love to you, and I didn’t think I knew how.” He murmurs at my mouth. “But tonight. I want you to feel how much I love you.”

“I do,” I whisper. “Every single time.” Every time he looks at me, touches me, enters me, I know he feels what I feel.

With his tip at my entrance, he eases in, taking time like he hasn’t before. Our coming together is often done in an eager rush and hard thrusts, with time constraints and anxiety that we’ll be caught. But there’s no fear tonight.

“Fuck. You feel incredible.”

With my knees bent, and our hips touching, I wrap my arm around him and hold him to me. “I’ve never felt anything like this.”

I mean it. Mason is different. Or maybe I’m different. Age. Experience. Desire. It has all turned me into this woman. The one beneath him. The one continually surprised at how he makes me feel. That he’s touching me, tasting me, entering me.

“You feel amazing, too,” I whisper to his ear as his head buries in my neck a second. Then, he’s pulling back and stroking fingers over my face as his hips rock. Forward and back. Slow and easy. Time ticks in a new beat.

Mason. Mason. Mason.

He fills me up and teases me as he draws back. Suddenly, the tender pace isn’t enough, and our bodies react needing more. A little faster. A touch rougher. A bit out of sync as the rush begins. The build climbs.

“Anna.” Mason holds one hip, surging forward. In. Out. In. Out.

“I’m right here,” I tell him, clutching at his shoulder blades, wrapping a leg over his hip. Begging him with my body to stay connected, to stay as one.

His hand slips between us and he glances down where his fingers stroke me while his thickness enters me.

“God, I love you.” His head snaps up, gaze latching onto my eyes. “I fucking love you.” He says it like it’s a wonder. Like he almost can’t believe it. Or maybe he can’t believe he’s telling me. Opening himself up and giving me all his truths.