Chapter 11

Nicole

The world wasn’t just black and white. It also contained various shades of gray. And right now, with my lips attached to Mason’s, we were smack-dab in the middle of the gray zone.

What did I know? That Mason was my brother’s friend and I shouldn’t be kissing him. He was leaving tomorrow, which was another reason for not kissing him. But I also knew he wasn’t the dating type, so as long as there were no expectations between us after tonight, there was no harm in this kiss. And judging from the way he was kissing me back, he was fully on board with the plan.

The kiss alternated between slow and delicious, then fast and hot. It was everything you could possibly want in a kiss—except for one thing.

At the sound of my stomach, which put the rumble of a thunderstorm to shame, Mason chuckled. “How about I make us dinner?”

“You sure?” I liked to cook, but from what I’d tasted of Mason’s food, I liked his cooking even more.

“Positive. Why don’t you walk Bernie and I’ll get started after a quick shower?”

“Sounds good to me,” I said, lifting myself off Mason.

Over an hour later, after I’d walked Bernie and soaked my weary body in the shower, we sat down at the kitchen table for the best spaghetti and meatballs I’d ever tasted.

“So, Die Hard with a Vengeance tonight?” Mason asked.

“Naturally.” I popped a meatball into my mouth and closed my eyes as I chewed it. “Mmm. Oh God. This is so amazing.” That was the third time I’d said it, but it was the first time I sounded like I was racing toward an orgasm.

I opened my eyes to find Mason watching me with smoldering eyes. Heat and wetness flooded my core, and I squirmed under the intensity of his gaze.

“Glad you’re enjoying it,” he said, that goddamn sexy smirk of his back to tease me.

“Definitely enjoying it.” I returned my attention to my food. One more night and then he’d be gone, and I would be back to…

To what? To more mindless dates while waiting for Mr. Right to show up? Go me.

After we finished our meal and cleaned up the dishes, we retired to the living room for the last Die Hard movie we’d get to watch together.

The movie started out well—other than the part where I couldn’t focus on it. All I could notice was the man sitting next to me, the way he smelled, the way he filled out his jeans and T-shirt, the way he laughed.

The way my body felt alive when I was around him.

As if unconsciously sensing my dilemma, Mason leaned closer to me. His warm breath brushed against my ear. I turned to him, and before I could say anything, his mouth was on mine. And because I had already proven I had no willpower when it came to Mason’s kisses, my lips immediately parted for him.

Our kisses were rough, hungry, impatient. Sublime. His stubble brushed against my face and I moaned at the delicious sensation of it. He deepened the kiss.

My body took over, not interested in my brain having any say as to what would happen next. Shifting my leg, I straddled his hips, our mouths remaining locked together. If they could have stayed that way for the rest of my life, I would’ve been more than okay with that.

Again, my body ignored what my brain was telling it, and I ground my core against Mason’s hardening length. Good—I wasn’t the only one dealing with a lust-heightened body.

Mason’s lips moved from mine, but before I could tell him not to stop kissing me, his mouth moved to my jaw and the stubble on his face brushed against my skin again. And that made the ache between my legs beg breathlessly for relief.

His mouth continued forward, his warm breath caressing my ear. “Christ, I want to touch you. All of you.” If I burned any hotter at his words, fire trucks would be the only things capable of extinguishing the flames.

I made a sound that was closer to a squeak than a moan. Up until this point, Mason’s hands had been on my hips. Now one trailed along my side, skimming my tank top until it reached my breast. He lightly scraped a thumb against my nipple, and I sucked in a hard breath.

I expected his mouth to return to mine. Instead, his fingers, which had been resting on my hip, slipped under the fabric of my top and slowly slid it up, up, up, revealing my stomach…and then my breasts. A moment later, my bra was open, Mason having easily clicked open the front clasp.

At Mason’s hungry scrutiny, his eyes dark with desire, my panties grew even wetter. Reverently he circled a fingertip around one nipple. The bud tightened greedily with need. “So perfect,” he uttered. “So goddamn perfect.”

He leaned down and his tongue replaced his finger. Then he sucked my nipple into his mouth and teased it further. And for a second, I wondered what else his talented tongue could do.

While he was entertaining himself with my breasts, I ran my hands up his solid arms. He worked out, that much I could tell. Every inch of him was taut, pure male muscle. Eager to see his abs again and to finally touch them, I moved my hands to the bottom of his T-shirt and pulled the fabric up, caressing the ridges and valleys of his ripped abs with my fingertips.

Mason paused his teasing of my nipple and released it from his mouth. It pouted at being abandoned, not quite finished with what he’d been doing to it. He grabbed the collar of his T-shirt, yanked the fabric over his head, and tossed the shirt aside. It landed somewhere on the floor near the love seat.

My gaze shifted to the tattoo on the right side of his ribs. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a foreign language, using an alphabet I didn’t recognize. I ran my fingers down the length of it. “What is it?”

“Sanskrit.”

“It’s pretty. What does it say?”

He cringed at my reference that his tattoo was pretty. “Without music life shall be a mistake.”

My mouth tugged up into a full smile. “I like that. It’s very poetic. What about this one?” I traced my fingertip along a similar design around his left biceps, except this one was a lot shorter.

“I am a fighter.”

My eyebrows rose. “You’re a fighter? You mean like in MMA or martial arts?” Which would explain why he was in such great shape.

“You watch MMA?” If there’d been a contest as to which of us was more surprised, he would’ve won the prize.

I shook my head. “No. It’s just I’ve read a few romance novels in which the heroes trained for it.”

He smirked. “Romances, huh? What other kinds of romances have you read?”

“Not Fifty Shades of Grey, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He feigned an innocent expression. “I wasn’t thinking that at all.”

I laughed. “Sure you weren’t. And in case you’re wondering, I’m not into BDSM.”

“Good to know.” The smirk was back on his face. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Because if we’re headed where I believe we’re headed”—and I hoped I wasn’t out to lunch on that—“then I want to make sure our expectations are the same.” God, I sounded like an idiot.

“Don’t worry. When it comes to BDSM, I’m pretty sure we’re on the same page.”

“Good. And just so you know, I realize this is more like a one-night stand. I won’t be expecting you to call me after tonight.” Tomorrow morning he would go back to his life in L.A., and I would go back to mine here…which hopefully didn’t include any more bad dates.

Or better yet, no more blind dates, period.

“And I won’t expect you to give me your number,” I added. “It’s just one night of fun between two consenting adults. I mean, if you want to call me as a friend, that would be cool too. But no expectations beyond tonight.”

“Sounds good.”

With that awkwardness out of the way, I asked, “So when you say you’re a fighter, you mean…?”

“It means I don’t give up, no matter how difficult something seems at the time.”

I gave him a soft smile. “I like that. So, what does this one mean?” I ran my finger over the three short patterns on the inside of his right arm.

“Live. Love. Laugh.” He pointed at each word in turn.

“Good advice. What about this one?” I caressed the Sanskrit words on his right pec. I had never been into tattoos before, which was part of the reason my future husband would be tattoo free, but there was something extremely sexy about Mason’s.

“Each breath is a gift.”

My mother had believed the same, especially while she had been battling her cancer. Unfortunately, her gift had come with an expiration date.

I gently pressed my lips against the tattoo, as though I was kissing her cheek once more.

“Do you have any tattoos I should know about?” he asked.

“Nope, only virgin skin on me.”

That got a raised eyebrow.

“No, I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve had sex before,” I babbled, my mouth now a runaway train, picking up speed. “Just not in a long time.”

Amusement glinted in his eyes. “And why’s that?”

“Do you not remember the part about my recent dating history?”

“What does that have to do with sex?”

“Well, most of the guys I’ve gone out with lately have been boring during the date. I just figured that didn’t bode well for them—or me—when it came to the bedroom.”

Mason barked a laugh. “I guess not. But it just means you’ve been dating the wrong guys.”

I shot him a look that said, You think? Or at least that was the expression I was aiming for.

That only made him laugh harder.

I glared at him. “Glad you find it so funny.”

The laughter died away, and he ran his thumb against my lower lip. The skin tingled at his touch. “So, what do you say we end your dry spell, if that’s what you still want?”

“That’s what I still want,” I whispered. “And I have condoms in my bedroom. They should still be good. And I’m on the pill.” Not that it had been necessary for the past many months.

His mouth returned to mine and he teased me once more with a brief kiss. “How about we take this to your room?”

“Okay.” I led him upstairs and switched on my bedroom light. Two of the three bulbs in the light fixture had burned out, resulting in the fixture casting nothing more than a soft glow.

Unsure what to do next, I just stood there. I’d never had a one-night stand before—which was what Mason technically was, even if we had spent the last few days together hanging out. The last time I’d had sex was with my boyfriend back in college—so, almost two years ago.

Mason’s arms encircled me from behind, and he pulled me against his hard body. “Relax,” he murmured against my ear. His deep, rich voice did all kinds of crazy things to my legs. Good thing he was holding on to me. This was further confirmed when he nibbled the shell of my ear. I moaned, positive I would be a melted mess before we even got to the main event.

“That’s better.” He turned me around and his mouth was back to devouring mine. I was doomed. After this, after the incredible way he kissed, no other guys could compare. Not even close.

His hands knotted in my hair. At some point he started walking me backward until the backs of my legs hit the mattress. I lost my balance, taking Mason down with me.

“Patience is a virtue, you know,” he said with a wink.

I laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” I’d said it casually, without thinking much about it, so it took a second for me to realize how it might’ve sounded. Oh God. The last thing I wanted was for him to think that I was expecting a next time with him—even though I had made it clear I had no expectations after tonight.

Before I could clarify what I’d meant, he pushed my tank top up again and went back to teasing my nipples with his tongue. Clearly not wishing to miss out on the action, his fingers drifted down my stomach and disappeared under the waistband of my denim skirt. They continued south, over the top of my underwear, until he found what he was looking for.

My body jerked at his touch.

His head moved away from entertaining my breasts and he looked up at me. “Like that, huh?”

“Very much.” Wow, did my voice just sound bedroom sexy?

A wicked grin slid onto his face. “I wonder what else you like.”

He didn’t give me a chance to answer—not that I had an answer. He peeled the waistband of my skirt over my hips and down my legs. It ended up on the floor somewhere. My non-sexy white cotton underwear got the same fate, as did my tank top.

“I think I’m at a disadvantage here,” I said, fighting the urge to cover myself with my hands.

“How so?”

“I’m naked and you’re not.” I pushed myself to sit and reached for the waistband of his jeans, then yanked him closer. I slipped the button out of the hole and slid the zipper down, purposefully rubbing my hand against his hard length.

“I’m liking where you’re going with this,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. As if he didn’t already know where this was headed.

I tugged down on his jeans, revealing his black boxer briefs and a cock straining to be freed. “Someone’s happy to see me,” I said, feeling a little smug that I was having this effect on him.

Mason practically ripped his jeans off the rest of the way, and they joined the clothes on the floor. Then, before I could say or do anything, he hooked his hands between my legs and spread them wide, my feet dangling above the floor. “I think it’s about time I taste you, Nicole. Lean back.”

At his demand, wetness flooded between my legs. I did as he requested, propping myself on my elbows so I could watch him. Somehow I couldn’t imagine Mr. Boring Accountant from the other day being this way in the bedroom. Not that I wanted to imagine him right now. Or ever.

My last boyfriend had never gone down on me, but I had read about it in the romance novels I’d enjoyed. That didn’t come close to preparing me for how it felt when Mason’s tongue lashed against my core. Heaven of all things holy. As much as I tried to stay still, I writhed on the bed. I grabbed a fistful of the sheets, although I had no idea why I believed it would make a difference.

And just when I thought I could handle it, Mason proved me wrong. He slipped a finger inside me and then another. He alternated between plunging them inside me and pressing against my heat. The sensation was too much. “I’m going to come,” I warned, figuring if he aimed to be inside me, he’d better do that now, before it was too late.

“Good. I want to feel you come against my face. I want to taste you as you fall apart.”

Those words and the husky way he said them were enough to send me over the edge. I cried out as a powerful orgasm detonated low in my belly and spread through me, like a volcano erupting after being dormant for hundreds of years. I couldn’t remember the last time it had been like this. Clearly I had been missing out.

It took me a few seconds to regain awareness, my body still floating around the heavens.

Mason stood over me, a smug expression on his face. “I take it you approved?”

I eyed him from under half-lowered eyelids. “You’re not one of those guys who lets his ability to make a woman come hard go to his ego, are you?”

He laughed. “So I made you come hard, did I?”

The corner of my mouth quirked up. “As if you didn’t know.” I pushed myself to sit and reached for his boxer briefs.

“You said you have condoms?” he asked.

“Yes, in my bedside drawer.” I reached over and pulled out the sealed box. A quick check of the expiration date told me they were good to go…except for one thing. “I think these are for regular-sized penises.” I glanced at his cock. “And I have a feeling you aren’t exactly regular size. I wouldn’t want to cut off your circulation. Your penis might fall off.” Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but I had no idea what would happen. I just figured it wouldn’t be a good thing.

Mason burst out laughing. “You’re the first person who’s actually made me laugh during sex.”

“And you’re the first person who I’ve made laugh during sex. Go me.”

Still laughing, he removed his wallet from the nightstand. “Don’t worry about the condoms. I have a couple here that will fit.”

He handed me a foil square.

I traced my finger around the tip, spreading the pre-cum, then wrapped my fingers around his length. Mason groaned, but his eyes remained on me, trusting me, challenging me. I cupped his balls with my other hand. Another groan.

I moved my hand up and down his length a few more times, then reached for the foil package and opened it. “I’ve never put one on a guy before,” I said, my face heating at the confession.

“There’s a first for everything.”

“You mean other than making you laugh during sex?”

He snickered. “You’re on a roll with the firsts tonight, aren’t you?”

Concentrating as if I were doing brain surgery, I repeated what I’d seen my last boyfriend do when he had put on a condom. It went on more easily than I’d expected. Once finished, I scooted back on the bed.

Mason climbed onto it, positioned himself between my legs, and slowly pushed inside me. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and soothing and doing all kinds of amazing things to my body just from the sound of it.

“Yes,” I breathed while my body begged for more of him.

He continued his slow plunge forward, allowing my soft heat to stretch and pull him further in. I moaned, unable to hold back how incredible it felt with him inside me.

“Christ, Nicole. You’re so fucking hot and tight.” Based on his erotic groan, I took this to be a good thing.

Once he was fully seated in me, he asked me one more time if I was okay, and then he began thrusting in and out…until another orgasm crashed over me.

“Oh God,” I cried out, a little louder than last time. Mason joined me a moment later in happy land, with a guttural grunt. He half collapsed on me, kissed me long and hard one final time, then pulled out of me.

He climbed off the bed and disposed of the condom. Then he returned and snuggled under the covers with me, pulling me against him so my back was pressed against his torso.

“So I was thinking,” Mason said a minute later, “that maybe I could stick around one more day and paint the walls. You’re busy with the flower shop, and who knows how long it will be before you can get around to doing it yourself.”

I shifted around to face him. “You really don’t have to do that, Mason. You were only expected to check on me, not help me renovate the house. Not that I don’t appreciate it.” I gave him a soft, brief kiss, my girlie parts already excited again to have more of him. “You have a life waiting for you back in L.A. A more exciting life compared to spending your days here removing wallpaper, painting walls, and fixing faulty doors.”

Although after what we just did, it wouldn’t be that big a sacrifice on my part to have him stay another day…or ten. I could get my fill of sex before returning to drought status again.

“I really don’t mind. It’s been fun. Plus then I can replace those lightbulbs.” He pointed to the ceiling light.

“It has been fun.” My fingers drifted up his inner thigh, toward one very happy part of him. “Okay. If you want to stick around one more day, I’m definitely not going to argue against that.”

And then I showed him just how much I wasn’t going to argue against him sticking around for another day—until he was left groaning out my name.