Chapter Ten

 

- MASON -

 

“On the sofa?” I swear my voice cracks as I say it.

Adorably, she tilts her head. “Yeah, that thing over there with the soft pillows on it.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I know what a sofa is. I’ve logged a few hundred hours on that sofa,” I mutter as I rise from my hard seat and wander toward it. I should stay at the table. Tables are safe. Sofas? Not so much. Not after I’ve had a little too much to drink and she looks so damn cute in her t-shirt dress that hugs her curves in the most sinful way.

I sink into the worn-down couch.

It’s a bit itchy, I notice for the first time as my fingers brush against it. Not a good sofa to roll around on buck naked. And why am I thinking about getting naked right now?

Her smile unknowingly drips of seduction as she hands me a beer and a bag of chips. “It’s all I’ve got to offer you,” she says, not realizing just how much more she could offer me right now.

Kicking off her flip-flops, the warmth of her body touches my side as she sits next to me, inches closer than her usual distance. Then she reaches clear across me to grab the remote on the side table, one of her tits brushing up against me as she does.

Oh, shit.

“I could have gotten that for you,” I say.

She only grins in reply, handing me the remote. “Here. I know you like to be the one in control.”

I try to take her words as a reminder. She’s right. I do like to be in control. And I’m experiencing anything but control right now as my hand closes over hers when I take the remote from her. “I’m not really in the mood for TV.”

She sucks in her lower lip and then releases it, leaving it glistening with moisture. “Me neither,” she says.

My eyes fix on her warily as she turns, stretching her legs out over mine. We’ve sat like this once before when we took the train up to New York for the day and she wanted to stretch her legs out and rest her head against the window for a nap on the way home. I hadn’t minded at the time. Looking back, maybe I should have. But I was dating someone back then—someone who had an aversion to the spontaneous trips that Freya and I always enjoy—and it hadn’t even crossed my mind to get aroused when I felt the warmth of her legs resting on top of me. There are those who say I go through women like some guys go through socks, but when I’m in a relationship, I don’t veer off course. Ever.

But tonight, with no girlfriend to rely on for a good fuck, Freya’s legs on top of me feel anything but comfortable, especially with her thigh pressing up against my hard cock.

I open my mouth about to tell her that it might be smarter for her to sit facing the TV, when I see the knowing look in her eyes. She can feel how much I want her right now, and it doesn’t have her running for cover like it should. She meets my gaze directly, even raises her eyebrows a touch, just enough to tell me that a raging hard-on was exactly what she was hoping she’d feel pressing against her thigh.

“Freya, how much did you drink tonight?” I know it’s not what she’s hoping I’ll ask. Sounds too big-brotherly for a guy sporting a colossal woody.

“Not much,” she answers coyly.

“Then why aren’t you turning on one of those real estate shows?” I can’t help asking. Usually if she’s sitting on this sofa and Game of Thrones isn’t on, she’s flicked on one of those TV shows that follows couples buying fixer uppers with waterfront views, or yurts in the jungles of Belize, or some damn place or another.

She eases her face slightly closer to mine. “Because you’re what I want to turn on.”

My breath catches slightly. I should stop her. This can only end badly. My record with women is pretty objectionable and she’s the last person on the planet I want to disappoint with my aversion to anything long-term.

But I remember the taste of those lips of hers from the other night, and my body leans in uncontrollably.

Her fingers reach up, touching both sides of my face as she pulls my mouth to hers. I silence the warning bells I hear and blind myself against the red flags waving in my head right now.

I let myself kiss her. It’s me kissing her this time, not some character in her book; I want her to know that. Her mouth opens to me and I savor her slightly salty taste, hinting of beer and the free peanuts they have at the bar at O’Toole’s. God, she is decadent to me, and I can’t help wondering what she tastes like elsewhere as my tongue slides along her teeth.

I dare to pull my mouth from hers. “What are we doing, Freya?”

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

“Do you know where this will lead?”

“I hope I do.” Her words are hushed against my lips and my hands slide from her arms to her chest. When I cup her breasts in my hands, it nearly spells my undoing. A gasp escapes her, entering my mouth as my thumbs flick against her nipples. They are pebble-hard, yet seem to find the ability to tighten even more.

I curse under my breath, yielding to the desire to feel her bare skin against my palms. My hands search for the bottom of her dress and she lets me slide my fingers upward, past the silk panties and up further to her breasts, with my body moving instinctively above hers.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she breathes out the word. I should leave it at that, but because she’s my friend, I simply can’t.

“Freya, I want you so badly. But I don’t want you to regret this.”

A curse escapes her, the tone of it biting. “For God’s sake, Mason. I can’t handle any more rejection tonight. Don’t stop this.”

“What do you—?” Her statement confuses me only for an instant when I’m distracted by the sensation of her hands at my uniform pants, fumbling with their top clasp. And then when her fingers slip past my fly and into my briefs, whatever question I was about to ask her soars out the window on lust-fueled wings.

She doesn’t even bother to pull my pants completely off me before she’s got her fingers wrapped around my cock, working me from the base up to the tip. Holy shit, she’s got an impressive grip, and as amazing as it feels to have my shaft encased by her fingers, there’s someplace else I’d rather it be right now.

“Freya,” I moan, suddenly realizing just how seductive her name sounds to me right now, like a gasp right before a climax. My hands lift her dress, with my brain still half-expecting to awaken from this crazy ass dream I’m in, and the other half expecting her to come to her senses and tell me to stop.

But she says nothing, letting her only communication come from her eyes which are half-shrouded as I reveal her skin inch by inch. I know this body, I remind myself, trying to not lose control. I’ve seen her in a two-piece bathing suit just as revealing as the bra and panties she’s in right now. Yet back then, I hadn’t been able to touch her.

My hands trace a path from her neck down to her breasts and I push back the fabric of her bra. I take a nipple into my mouth and suckle lightly, savoring the moans of pleasure I receive from her in return.

One hand slides down the soft skin of her belly and disappears into her panties. I part the tiny curls that hide her nub and rub circles around her clit, then letting one finger ease further downward to where moisture greets me. My mouth waters, wanting to taste her there. Needing to taste her there.

And so of course, I have to.

I ease her bottom downward as I kneel on the floor now, sliding off her panties as she tosses her bra to the ground. I glance upward, looking for any signs of hesitation, but her eyes are shut, mouth partly open before I hear two tiny words escape her lips.

“Don’t stop.”

I bury my face in her at her urging then, letting the scent and the taste of her overwhelm me. My tongue moves from the center of her desire, down to the slit that weeps with delicious moisture. And I moan—I moan not just to express my desire but to let the vibration of it intensify her pleasure.

Feeling her muscles draw tight against my mouth, I focus on the tiny pebble of nerves that beg for my attention. My finger slides into her, as deep as I can, and she shatters, her body convulsing and moisture spilling against my mouth. I lick her gently now, letting the shudders slowly dissipate, but my finger stays deep inside her, enjoying the feel of her channel still seizing up around me.

“Oh God,” she breathes out as her body melts into the sofa cushions.

I somehow manage to pull my eyes from her only to discover that I’m still fully clothed. I tug off my pants and the briefs that are half askew thanks to the ramrod she created when she pulled me out. My fingers then work the tiny infernal buttons on my shirt, thinking how much easier it would be to get laid if I could pull this uniform off me with one swift tug.

She leans forward, reaching for my shirt and fumbling with the buttons like I am, her moving from the bottom upward and I from the top down, until finally I’m free of it only to curse the Navy for the undershirt I wear with my uniform.

That next layer peels over my head easily enough, and I’m rewarded with her fingers splaying against my naked skin.

“How the hell is it that you can eat a half pan of chicken parmigiana at one sitting and still look like this?” she ponders aloud as her fingers drag against my skin downward.

“When I work out, I do it thoroughly.”

“Care to prove that tonight?” she challenges, taking me in her firm grip.

“If only to prove that I’d never lie to you.”

“You don’t need to prove that,” she barely whispers against my lips, taking my mouth with hers as we find ourselves horizontal again, the itchy fabric of the sofa suddenly the furthest thing from my mind.

I could lie here for hours with her, just tasting her, letting my tongue scrape against her teeth and tangle with her own. The feel of her beneath me could satisfy me completely, just knowing she is here in my hold where nothing could harm her. I’d swear it is enough until she bends her knees, opening to me, an invitation I can’t seem to turn down.

Reaching for the wallet in the pile of clothes at arm’s reach, I pray I have a condom in there. Then I want to praise whatever god yields fortune on desperate SEALs when my fingers feel the foil wrapping.

“Hurry,” she urges as I sheath myself.

Hurry, I urge myself. Hurry, before my brain compels me to think rather than—Oh, fuuuuuck...

I slide into her slowly, savoring the feel of her encompassing me in a way that seems surreal. It’s as though I’ve never had this before, this level of joining with someone, as if her soul and mine have somehow fused.

Looking at her beneath me, her eyes wide, nearly startled, I know she feels it, too. I take her more deeply and she inhales sharply.

“Am I too deep, baby?” I ask, commanding my body to slow itself.

“No. It’s perfect. Perfect.”

The word is murmured on her lips almost reverently, echoing the way I feel inside right now, as I pump gently inside of her.

Perfect.

I’m a guy. I don’t think much during sex. Usually, I’m pretty much on auto-pilot by now. But right now, feeling her murmur against my neck as she kisses me while my body takes her, I can’t do anything but think. My neurons are on fire, sending impulses to my brain as if I need to memorize every intricacy of this moment, because nothing in life will ever compare.

I hear her parakeet chirp in the kitchen. Then again, a while later—my only reminder that there is a world that exists outside of our two joined bodies. The clock ticks on her wall above her TV and I don’t care for the sound of it, because I’d rather stay in this moment forever rather than acknowledge the passing of time. I thrust inside of her again and again, savoring each shudder of her breath beneath me, each muted gasp, each whimper begging me to fill her completely once more.

At some point, we’ve become lost in a tangle of throw pillows and discarded clothes after we tumbled to the ground, with me still pulsating inside of her. I like it on the floor with her more, able to maneuver her in ways that I know will bring her more sensation.

“God, baby, you feel so good,” I breathe out as I feel her tightening up around me, her breath coming in sharp pants.

“More, Mason,” she orders me. And I know how to take an order. I plunge deep inside her, angling my body so that I strike against her innermost core. She cries out, and I feel her spasms gripping my cock and her nails dig into my back.

“More.” Her voice is barely audible now as a climax consumes her. I thrust eagerly into her, chasing my own need, achieving my own satisfaction, haunted by that word she whispered as she came.

More is exactly what I want now. And I’m not sure if tonight will ever be enough.