Chapter Nineteen

~ FREYA ~

Something’s happened to Mason. I can see the change in him as he kisses me tenderly on my breasts, my arms, my palms, my forehead, as though he’s marking every square inch of me as his own. He’s possessing me now, and when he presses his lips so close to my heart, I know that it belongs to him as well. And I’m not sure if I’ll ever get it back.

A part of me mourns this, even as he pulls my shorts and panties from me so slowly it makes my body ache with need. I’m mourning because for all the spontaneity last night, and the exhilarated frenzy this afternoon, this feels as though he’s making love to me, to every part of me, body and soul. And after tonight, he’ll leave and things will revert to normal.

I want a new normal with Mason. I want all the friendship we’ve had together and… this.

His lips touch my calf, then my inner thigh, making a slow and tortuous path to where I need him the most. His fingers part the soft curls protecting my clit and the tip of his tongue touches me—not a tease like last night—but a tentative exploration as though he’s committing to memory each gasp and purr I make in response as he discovers my body. I can very nearly see him tucking away the knowledge, I hope for future reference so that we can do this again some day—one day when the Navy brings him back to Annapolis or when I drive down to see him.

But it won’t be like that. I know him well enough to know that. Relationships are fleeting for Mason—our friendship probably the longest association he’s had with the same woman outside of relatives. This affair won’t be repeated, and while my heart aches inside my chest, already wanting more, I try to savor it for what it is now.

He makes that easy when his tongue journeys downward, tasting me, murmuring heated words against me with the vibration of them shooting me up a slick spiral of passion. I want him inside me. Any part of him will do. But this time, he withholds the invasion and when I’m close to bursting, he pulls his mouth from me and sheaths himself.

“I want to be inside you for the first time you come tonight,” he whispers so seductively. “Is that all right with you, beautiful?”

I nod, not overlooking that it’s the first time he’s called me beautiful, and the simple word somehow seems reverent on his lips, the way he says it. As though it’s more than something a man says right before he enters you, more than just a meaningless compliment, but something he truly sees in me for the first time.

He’s called me cute before, funny, adorable, and even hot once when I was dressed up for a date with someone else.

With someone else… I can’t fathom that at the moment. Can’t possibly imagine letting another man slide inside of me other than Mason right now as the tip of him is poised at my entry. And when he fills me, my soul seems complete.

The climax that had me standing on the precipice when his mouth took me in, finally pushes me right over the edge and I’m in a freefall, my body quaking beneath him.

His eyes watch me intently as I come, reading me, fusing with my mind so that he’ll know the exact point I’m ready for him to thrust again. Knowing instinctively, it seems, how deep I want it, how fast, how slow, as if he’s a hero I created in a novel, come to life only to please me for the night.

Moving me to my side, he slides my thigh high up on his hip and my body recovers from the long and leisurely orgasm with an angle that seems to penetrate me even deeper.

My hands stroke his skin, loving the sensation of his firm muscles beneath my fingertips. The ripples of them are taut, as though he is holding himself back from ravaging me completely.

He kisses me as he thrusts—my lips, my neck, my shoulder, anywhere he can reach. And the trail of moisture he leaves catches a gust of cold air from the AC, making a chill cascade over my body.

I move to nudge him onto his back, to ride him the way I know men like it. But he shakes his head, pushing me onto my back instead, murmuring quietly, “Tonight is about you, beautiful.”

Then, as if to show me what’s in store, he plunges inside of me so that his groin rubs against my clit and the sensation makes my toes and fingertips tingle, that thrill you get right before that first hill on a rollercoaster.

Ever so slowly, he moves his cock outward, the slick slide of him heightening my awareness, and then he thrusts deep in me again, taking his time at the end to rub against me once more. He keeps up the rhythm for longer than I think I can bear.

His mouth moves to my breast as the pattern of our lovemaking continues, tender at first, and then harsh with his teeth nipping me and lips sucking me in, making my arousal build.

My core tightens around him with each motion, and my fingers rake against his back, then upward, threading themselves through his short, cropped hair. I love the feel of his hair in between my fingers. I love the sensation of his skin slapping against me. I love the look of us joined together, fused as though we were meant for each other and no one else.

I love him.

I want to cry it out. I want to scream it as my climax shatters through me, radiating from my center, up through my spine and reaching out its tentacles all the way to my fingertips.

My body shudders and rocks as I milk the sensation. And when he grabs my hands, holding me fast to the bed and thrusts into me one last time, I have to bite my lip to keep myself from saying it.

I love you, Mason. I always have.