by Ophelia Bell
Nina looks like she wants to argue, but stops and looks past me, her face transforming with a bright smile at the two men walking through the crowd toward us. She seems to catch herself, then rolls her eyes. “Ugh, okay, fine—I admit I have a thing for the suit. Maybe that’s just my kink. Your Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome is something else, though. It’s like he’s doing a slow striptease. If he hadn’t already picked you, I’d probably angle for a three-way.”
I observe the two men striding back toward us from the edge of the room. Wyatt is still as sleek as 007 in his tuxedo, not a hair out of place. By contrast, Mason’s down to his dress shirt, white sleeves rolled up and highlighting muscular, tan forearms. His bow tie has disappeared, and his shirt collar is unbuttoned as if he’s undergoing a gradual transformation back into the rough-looking man I first met in the hospital.
My breath escapes me for a moment at what a striking figure he cuts, the shirt clinging tight to his chest. The fancy clothes do nothing to conceal his raw sex appeal. His gray eyes narrow on me and he licks his lips as his gaze slides down my body. Butterflies erupt in my belly and I feel like I’m fifteen again, gawking at cute boys at the school dance, hoping one comes to ask me to dance with him. Except I’m twice that age and the thoughts going through my head are decidedly naughtier than fifteen-year-old me could have conceived of.
“Damn, girl,” Nina murmurs beside me. “No wonder you nailed him the first chance you got.”
“Eyes on your own man, Nina. Looks like he’s more than happy with his own dance partner.” I glance at Wyatt, who only has eyes for my friend.
She sighs dreamily and nods. “I’m definitely spending the night with him. They’re staying at the Brown, so we won’t have far to go.”
Leave it to her to learn all the important details. But the thought sends a blast of clarity through me. I’d been so caught up in enjoying the evening with Mason. Amid all the talking and the dancing, I hadn’t considered what would happen afterward.
I’m going to spend the night with him. And I don’t really care where; one way or another, I’m getting an encore performance in an actual bed.
He holds my gaze the last few yards to the table, not even looking away when he takes the flute of champagne I hand him right as the countdown begins. It’s as if he’s read my mind and mentally agreed, though I know that’s crazy. I’m breathless, barely whispering along to the count, my need to be done with this party so overwhelming I can taste it.
“Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .” Mason rumbles the words, but they blur together in my mind. I’m only aware of how he crowds a little closer with each one, as if we’re back in that airplane lavatory and there’s nowhere else to go, no more room to move. But nothing about it feels wrong. I want to be closer, to be naked with him, every inch of skin touching, no barriers between us.
His mouth is at my ear, breath hot, tongue grazing my earlobe. “Three . . . two . . .” He brushes his lips along my jaw, feathering them against my own mouth. “One.”
I’m pretty sure I let out an actual whimper when we finally kiss. He’s standing between my knees, one hand on the side of my bare thigh revealed by the slit in my dress. I curl my arms around his neck and hold on as he sweeps his tongue between my lips. He lets out a groan, fingers digging into my thigh, hand sliding higher beneath my dress until it’s splayed around the juncture of my leg and hip, his thumb grazing perilously close to the edge of my panties.
I want him so much I don’t even care how reckless this is, how very public. He curls his fingers, squeezing tighter just as he pulls away, eyes glazed as he stares at my mouth. His lips are parted and he lets out a shuddering breath, then closes his eyes.
“Sweet Jesus,” he mutters, taking a deep breath and reaching for his champagne. He raises it up in a toast. “Happy fucking New Year.”
Nina and Wyatt are still entwined, but manage to peel themselves apart and toast with us. I swallow the bubbly, eyeing Mason over the rim of the glass. He looks at me like he wants to devour me whole, and it sends a wave of pleasure all the way down to my toes.
But it’s nothing compared to the explosion of need when he leans in again and whispers in my ear, “I need to take you upstairs and fuck you. Now.”
18
Callie
Mason keeps his hand against my back the entire ride in the elevator, his fingers lightly grazing my spine. Every stroke sends a fresh spike of arousal straight between my thighs. The only thing keeping me from plastering myself to his body is the presence of Nina and Wyatt, who are showing less restraint. The pair of them are making out like horny teens, Nina’s hands steadily dismantling Wyatt’s picture-perfect look.
Why I feel the need to hold back now, I’m not sure, but I like the buzz of anticipation that builds deep inside me, the slow, steady pulse between my thighs with each hot slide of Mason’s fingertips up my spine. He leans a little closer, sliding his hand farther around my hip and up beneath the fabric of my dress. Then he tilts his head, pressing his lips to the side of my throat as his hand roams higher, grazing bare skin.
My dress’ built-in support gives way to his probing fingers and I gasp when he finds my nipple, caressing it once before grasping the sensitive nub between his thumb and forefinger and pinching gently. He teases me until I can’t see straight, barely aware when the elevator stops and the doors open.
Nina and Wyatt are out the door like a shot. Mason releases me and moves to block the doors, holding out his hand to me. It takes me a moment to reclaim control of my legs, but I put my hand in his and let him lead me down the hall. He swipes a card at a door just as the next door down clicks shut, muffled thumps and moans echoing from behind it. It’s what I’d expect from Nina, and here I am about to take a page from her book.
Before the door even shuts, Mason pins me to the wall of the shadowy entry, his mouth tight against mine, tongue plundering within. With one hand he tugs at the tie at my nape holding up my bodice. The other slides down my side to grab my thigh, hiking it up over his hip. His hard length presses against my core, his pelvis grinding precisely where I’m most sensitive.
I cry out, startled yet again by how good he feels, how every place we make contact burns with the simple pleasure of his touch. The bodice of my dress slips down and he palms my breast, finally releasing my mouth to take me in. He doesn’t give me time to feel self-conscious about my body. He descends on my breast like he’s starving, taking my nipple between his lips and sucking. Then he switches to the other, laving with his tongue until I’m gasping for breath while he drops to his knees, pushing up beneath my skirt to grasp my panties and tear them down my legs.
There’s a bed not five feet from us, but I’m not about to interrupt the momentum we have going. I want it all—whatever he wants to give me. I obey his nudge to lift my foot out of the leg of my panties, but he holds onto my calf, pushing my leg wide and hooking it over his shoulder. The next thing I know he buries his face between my legs, and I’m done. With the first sure stroke of his tongue, I lose my mind.
The entire world drops away, leaving nothing but the pleasure of his mouth against my core, his fingers spreading me open so his tongue can probe and lick and flick. I tilt closer, aching for more, and he gives it, eagerly licking and sucking while he reaches up to tweak my nipple lightly with his free hand.
My orgasm rocks through me so suddenly I cry out, head banging back against the wall, fingers clawing through his short hair.
I don’t think I’ve ever come so fast, but he doesn’t give me a chance to come down. He’s on his feet again in a blink, yanking his trousers open to release his hard cock. I grab hold of his shoulders, all too ready for round two, and when he thrusts in, our eyes meet.
“Callie. Christ you’re perfect.”
I can only moan in reply because his cock has somehow short-circuited my brain. He grips both my thighs, my legs wrapped tight around him, hooked beneath his tuxedo jacket. I’m practically naked but he’s still mostly dressed. Needing to fe
el more of his skin, I paw at the buttons of his shirt, but the pleasure makes me clumsy.
“Fucking rip it off if you want. I don’t care.”
So I do. I grip both sides and yank. The buttons ping off the door beside us and he emits a sexy chuckle, then kisses me hard. I moan into the kiss, in sensory overload now that I can feel more of his hot skin.
He’s hard and tight all over, and I stroke my hands up his sides, over his brawny, hair-dusted chest and across his broad shoulders. I push his shirt and jacket off his shoulders, but stall my roaming hands, the pleasure of his thrusts overwhelming me again. Ecstasy barrels through me and I cling hard, nails digging in as I hold on for dear life.
Mason groans and grunts, slamming one hand against the wall as his mouth covers mine, tongue thrusting in and muffling my cries as I hurtle over the edge a second time, taking him with me.
We’re both panting and sweaty when he stops moving, still holding tight as he rests his forehead against mine. One hand is braced against the wall by my head, the other gripping my ass.
“Jesus, I feel out of control with you,” he says, finally looking into my eyes. His face is shadowed, but the awe in his gaze is clear enough. “When I saw you across the room earlier, my first thought was how I needed to take my time, because God knows we didn’t get a chance to do it right the first time. Not that I’m complaining. But you fucking do things to my head, Callie.”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you all week. I wish I’d been less of a chicken. If I’d just faced you . . .”
He shakes his head, his brows twitching. “Tonight’s perfect. I don’t think I could’ve focused before. We have all night now, so I intend to make up for it.”
I heave a satisfied sigh, squeezing my inner muscles around his cock where he’s still lodged deep inside me. He shudders, then wraps both arms around me, holding me tight against him as he turns us and closes the distance to the bed.
Climbing on, he sets me down against the pillows, hovering over me for a slow kiss before easing back, hands on both my knees as he finally slips out of me. It’s too dark to see more than his silhouette in the scant light of the alarm clock on the nightstand. He slides his palms down my inner thighs, exploring slowly when he reaches the apex and his fingers glide through the wetness remaining from both our orgasms. His teasing makes my breath hitch, and I can’t help but tilt my hips into his touch.
“Don’t move,” he says, then slips off the bed to flip on the bathroom light. It’s just enough to cast his frame in starker shadow, highlighting the strong lines of his face. He shrugs out of his jacket and shirt, revealing a heavily tattooed chest and shoulders, but I can’t make out the actual designs in the dim light.
He sheds his pants, too, then returns to me, climbing onto the bed and returning between my spread knees. He slides his hands up my sides and grips the fabric of the dress bunched around my waist. I lift my hips so he can pull it off, leaving me just as naked as he is. All I can see is his face and his ink-covered torso, his gaze dark with fresh lust as he stares between my legs.
“I made a mess of you, didn’t I?” he says, lips quirking. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to see you again or I’d have come prepared.”
“This is becoming a habit,” I say huskily. “But that look on your face suggests you like it.”
“Sweetness, I don’t usually fuck without a condom. It’s been a year for trying new things, though. But it’s not just how it feels. I like this—my cum all over your pretty snatch.”
His deep voice is thick with desire, his expression intent as he teases me with the copious wetness he left behind. It’s new to me too, but surprisingly arousing.
“Is it the risk that turns you on?” I ask, slowly losing coherence again as he continues stroking me. His cock hangs loose between his thighs but twitches, hardening just a little again.
“You said the other night that you have an IUD. You weren’t lying, were you?”
“No, and you said you were clean, and I believe you. Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”
“I’ve been tested twice in the past year and a half, and only had sex once in the same span of time. So no, there’s not a damn thing wrong with my spunk, sweetness. If you weren’t on birth control, we’d have a problem, because I know for a fact my swimmers are rockstars.”
I laugh and arch my back, moaning as he lowers himself beside me and takes my nipple into his mouth.
“Sperm bank?” I ask, weirdly turned on by talk of his virility. As if it wasn’t clear from his raw masculinity. He dips his fingers deep inside me and fucks me, thumbing my clit until I squirm, then lifts his hand and begins tracing a pattern across my belly. A word, I realize, looking down to try to make it out.
“Something like that,” he says. I think I see a shadow of pain drift across his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears.
“Are you marking me? Did you just write your name on me in your own semen?”
He smirks. “Figure it’s only fair. You marked me with your claws. You’re a fucking wildcat, you know that? And a screamer.”
I stare at him in shock. “I am not a screamer! I’ve just never had orgasms that good.”
“Baby, you were screaming in that airplane bathroom so loud I had to shove my tongue down your throat to keep you quiet.”
He’s grinning now, and I huff, curling a hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer. “I think it’s your dick that’s the rock star, and I’m pretty damn close to becoming his biggest fan.”
I shift onto my side and cup his balls with my other hand, a shiver sliding up through my arm as I grab hold of his cock next and stroke the full, impressive length. He’s heavy in my hand, the skin hot and smooth, a delicious, uniform girth that curves in just the right way to hit me where it counts when he’s inside me. I explore all the way to his tip where I trace my fingertips around the ridge at his head, teasing a little harder at the slick wetness just at the peak of his frenulum.
A growl rumbles up from inside his chest, hot breath gusting out between his lips in a rush as our mouths meet. A hand job evidently isn’t good enough, though. When we part, he pushes me onto my belly and moves behind me, grabbing my hips and hauling me up. I yelp at the abrupt change, but the surprise turns into pure pleasure when he spears me again with his cock.
This time he moves slower, rocking against me at a leisurely pace as he strokes his hands up and down my back, then around to cup my breasts. He wraps his arms around me and hauls me up against his chest, mouth to my ear.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he rumbles. “So fucking glad I found you again. You were in my dreams this whole time, like some gorgeous, elusive angel. I never even got to say goodbye. But here we are, and you . . . Goddamn, Callie, you fit me like a fucking glove.”
“Mason . . .” I whisper before he drops one hand between my thighs to stroke my clit. He pushes me right up to the edge before he stops and pulls out, leaving me breathless and off-balance. I twist around to see what’s wrong.
“Turn around, sweetness. I want to see you when you come for me.” He remains kneeling in the center of the bed when I turn fully, then takes my hands and places them at the back of his neck. Following his lead, I straddle his hips, rising just enough so he can position himself before I slowly slide back down.
A satisfied moan escapes me and I bite my lip, realizing how loud the sound actually was.
Mason laughs. “That’s how it starts.”
“But you feel so amazing, how can I not scream?”
I start to move, and he rocks his hips up to meet me. I have more leverage to move in this position, but he guides the rhythm with a hand on my hip, the same as when we were dancing, and I let him lead. When the pleasure spikes, I cry out again, hyperaware of my own voice, yet not caring one bit. I hold on tighter, digging my fingers into his back.
He hisses and murmurs, “Easy, wildcat.”
I realize in the midst of my lust-filled haze that my nails are scoring his sk
in.
“S-sorry,” I stutter, my apology barely coherent because I’m already barreling toward another epic orgasm.
He laughs again. “Baby, do what makes you feel good. I want your marks on me. Just find a spot that isn’t already damaged from last time.”
I try to move my hands, to not dig in, but I don’t try as hard after his encouragement. He wants me to mark him because that’s exactly what he intends to do to me, and the idea is so primal it sends me over the edge, screaming into the abyss of pleasure.
The world tilts and I find myself on my back, staring up at his broad, shadowed frame. My orgasm has barely subsided when he pulls out and strokes himself to his own end, his creamy spend painting stripes across my tender pussy, the sight of it only seeming to draw out his climax.
He finally releases himself, then gives my splayed center a teasing stroke with his thumb, smearing his mess around.
“You going to add your last name now?” I ask, raising an eyebrow teasingly.
He gives me a satisfied, drunken smile before lowering to the bed beside me. I turn on my side to face him and he does the same, looking into my eyes.
“I can’t stop looking at you,” he says, raising a hand to my cheek, pushing a tangled strand of hair behind my ear. I don’t even mind that his fingers are still wet and sticky and leave a small streak against my temple.
My insides twist at the raw emotion in his words because I feel them too. It’s an alien, yet wonderful sensation to want someone so much I’d fuck him all night if I believed we both had it in us—that I’m happy to let him use his own essence to paint words on my body. But my energy is flagging, and I don’t have enough ambition at the moment, so I just scoot close and slide a hand across his shoulders.
My hand hits more wetness than I expect and I frown, then pull back and look at my fingers. A red streak coats my fingertips and I jolt upright.
“Shit, Mason! You’re bleeding!”