Page 38 of A Little More Hope

“Yes,” he shuddered out, voice tortured, as if admitting the truth not only to me, but to himself as well.

I took hold of his hand, placing his palm on my pectoral, directly over my heart, letting him feel how hard the muscle beat for him. “What about now? Do you like it now?”

He didn’t answer, just curled his firm fingers into my chest, raking over the skin, forcing me to release a strangled groan his touch so arousing.

He ran his fingers across my chest again, this time rubbing his thumb over my nipple. The roughness of his skin a testament to the work we’d done over the last couple of days. His pad moved teasingly back and forth, ripples of pleasure radiating out from the spot to encompass every part of me.

“Mason,” I whined as his other hand landed on my right pec and his thumb mirrored the action. Darts of charged energy cascaded down my body right to the tips of my toes, involuntarily curling them into the thick bathmat under my feet.

“Do you like that?” he asked me, turning the tables.

“Mase, I…I…” All my thoughts scattered to the wind as he kept up his ministrations, continually rubbing over my hard nipples.

“Do you?” he repeated his question, the gravel in his tone making me quiver.

“Yes, I…I…” I tried to say more but struggled to form a coherent sentence, moaning in complaint when his fingers moved away, easing the pressure. His deep chuckle reverberated through me as his hands lowered to the front of my shorts, pulling on the cord, loosening them so leisurely he might never get the job done.

“Y-you don’t have to,” I stammered, my eyes locked with his, trying for one last moment of clarity before we went too far. The dark gleam he returned and the wicked smile on his lips told me he did have to. Hot hands disappeared below the waistband of my shorts, his fingers lightly caressing my already painfully hard cock through the single layer of material remaining. Barely there touches, designed to stoke the fire, got me hotter but did not allow any type of relief.

A strangled groan erupted from the back of my throat, my frustration becoming a living entity, until finally, finally, he slipped beneath my briefs, and his fingers wrapped around my shaft.

I started to shake.

Chapter Thirteen

Mason

Arousal, hot and heavy, rushed through my veins as I gripped Ash’s bare cock. He trembled hard but didn’t move, letting me get used to holding him, another man’s penis, in my hand. His pupils dilated, turning his eyes darker, his lungs panting unevenly, his stomach moving rapidly in and out.

He was the most beautiful being I’d ever seen, and raw desire licked at my insides, burning me up, demanding to be set free.

No matter how insane me together with a man might be, I didn’t care anymore. Since I’d met Ash, I’d become hooked, spending my time each day trying to figure out what these wayward feelings meant—looking at the scenario from every angle, trying to figure out what about him kept reeling me in, giving a hundred reasons why he wasn’t for me and why I shouldn’t want him.

I’m straight.

I’m only attracted to women.

The gunshot wound to my head must have changed me in some way. Altered my brain patterns or whatever the fuck had happened to make me want him, need him, as much as I did.

Lies. All of it. Lies.

When out on the walk along the beach, he’d been so patient with me, taking his time to ensure my comfort and safety. Instinctively knowing when to hold my arm and when to give me the space I required to keep my anxiety in check. He continually scanned the beach for any signs of people or threats, looking out for me, protecting me.

Plus, seeing him naked in the guest bedroom, and my reaction to his body, sent a kick of lust I failed to hide.

I loved working together, having fun, enjoying his company, laughing like a teenager, for fuck’s sake. Him dressed in those indecently tight clothes, his muscles so lithe, yet defined, made me stare, daring me on, tempting me. The way his eyes twinkled when he worked out the potential of what he’d achieve on his home, in his life, filled me with such want, such craving. I couldn’t deny the truth any longer, couldn’t deny my attraction to him.

I felt.

For the first time in years, I felt.

And though I was ashamed, after him witnessing my total breakdown, he didn’t abandon me. Instead, he held me tight, giving me the security to release all the pain, all the hate, all the hurt, all the humiliating feelings of weakness I’d carried around for so many months. I’d clung to him, my lifeline, and refused to let go as unraveling emotions—feelings I’d kept locked up way down deep since the attack—bubbled up through the cracks and fissures he’d created in my towering high walls.

I’d already laid out my emotions for this man. He’d seen me at my worst, and despite all I recognized about myself, what I’d always regarded as the truth, everything had now been turned on its head. I needed him, I needed Ash, the one man able to rescue me from the darkness, to bring light into my life and make me whole.

“I do have to,” I answered him, raising my hand to caress his cheek tenderly while the other continued to grip him through his underwear. “How can I not?”

He leaned his head into my palm, and I had his confirmation.

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