Page 25 of Justice for Puck Bunnies

It’s only fair he gets repaid in kind.

“Hands on the counter,” Mason demands, and I slap my palms onto the surface. Mason squeezes the clip twisting my hair up, and my locks cascade over my shoulders. He threads his fingers in and uses the roots to tilt my face up. When I open my eyes, Vin has his phone out, focused on me.

“Mason,” I whimper.

“Damn, bunny. Say my name like that again.”

“Please, Mason,” I whisper huskily.

Brad’s going to burn this house down with us in it.

Mason’s hand shifts beneath the apron and my pants. He looms behind me, his body flush with mine as he inhales hard at my exposed neck.

“There’s something about your scent,” he murmurs in my ear. “Something I can’t put my finger on. It’s intoxicating, like everything else about you.”

One long, thick finger slides through the slick soaking my pussy. I’m so aroused already that his finger slides easily over my skin. I considered wearing a scent pad, knowing I’d be having dinner with all three of them, but I’m grateful I decided against it.

On the other side of the counter, Vin gives us a thumbs-up and mouths it’s “very realistic.”

If only he knew.

Welp, in for a penny, in for a pound. I bow my spine to push my breasts against the apron. My tank top and bralette emphasize the curves of my body.

Mason finds my clit and flicks at it with his thumb. My muscles tense and pop while I work so hard to hold still.

“Such a good little toy for us,” he murmurs. His fingers return to pushing through my pussy with an energizing speed.

My heart races, and I have to tamp down my reactions. It can’t be too realistic or Vin will figure it out and then won’t send the video. I’m going to soak through the crotch of these sweats. At least the apron will disguise it.

I moan Mason’s name again and let my head fall forward.

He sinks a single finger into my pussy, and my whole body shutters.

Mason fucks me with his finger while his palm rubs against my clit in a maddening rhythm that’s quickly pushing me to the very real peak of a climax.

His own breathing is labored, and he nuzzles the side of my head like he needs more skin contact.

An insidious idea pops into my brain, so I grip his chin and kiss the split on his upper lip and the bruised cheekbone.

“Make me come, Mason,” I insist. “You earned this. Make me come so you can lick my orgasm from your fingers.”

His hand picks up then. He’s fully looming over me, his breaths in my ear, his arms as tense as steel and his forearm steady, directing the hand between my legs.

I sway my ass to grind against where I know his hard-on is. Horny alphas let their scents run away, too, and right now lemon overrides even the dinner cooking. Vin’s earthy, nutty scent threads into it and my body spirals.

My chest heaves as the climax streams to the apex.

But then Vin swings the camera around and toward himself.

“Hurry the fuck home, old man. Your new girl needs you,” he informs the camera, then shuts off the recording.

Mason and I freeze.

I’d completely forgotten why we’d done this.

The orgasm that’d been building dies an agonizing death. Mason withdraws, and the quick retreat leaves me shaking and weak.

“That was really good, guys,” Vin says. “Very believable. You wanna see it?”

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