Page 50 of I Choose You

“Oh.”

Slowly, he moves my lithe frame back until I bump against the island. I squeal when his hands barely skim over my ass, and he lifts me to sit. My legs part, creating the perfect space for him to slip between them.

It makes me forget about food altogether.

Who needs dinner when they could have Mason?

Hands rest on the tops of my thighs, and his head falls to my shoulder. He digs his fingers into me like he’s been deprived, massaging my legs as his breath tickles my neck. “It’s difficult being at work when I’d rather be doing this.” He squeezes my thighs. “My self-control is withering, but I don’t know how to approach this, Kenz.” A stressed breath comes next. “Tell me what this is, so I know what I should be doing. What I can be doing.”

I wish there were an answer for him. Wish I could tell him precisely what’s going on between us, but I can’t because I have no freaking clue. Two months ago, I wouldn’t have dared to look at him like I wanted to jump his bones. I wouldn’t have acknowledged the strands of muscles in his forearms that jump each time he reaches for me. My heart wasn’t craving his gentle touch. It was his job promotion, the news of him moving half a country away that pushed us closer.

My hand shifts to the back of his neck, and I lean into him. His strong muscles tighten under my fingertips, so I move my hands underneath his shirt and skim my nails across his skin. He groans with pleasure and moves closer to pull my heat against his stomach. Deliberate hands move from my thighs to the hem of my shirt. Thumbs sneak underneath and rub at my skin. I hitch in a breath, trying my best to steady the irregular pace of my heart.

“To be honest…” his entire hand moves under my baggy top and curls against my side, “I just know that I’m lucky as shit to be me.”

I’m breathy. “Why is that?”

He lifts his head and turns, his mouth facing my exposed neck. “If I weren’t me,” his mouth encounters my skin, starting near my pulse and moving toward my earlobe, “I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

My stomach sucks in every time his lips pinch my skin, igniting warmth to spread across my body. My confession comes out in a whisper, but it’s the absolute truth. A truth I want him to know. “I wouldn’t want you to be anyone else.”

Teeth graze my earlobe. A needy whimper reaches the back of my throat. His hand comes to hold my head in place, pressing against my opposite ear so he can kiss and nip at my ear, neck and cheek without the threat of me pulling away. Not that I would. That’d be crazy. His other hand moves higher up my shirt, leaving a fire trailing across my skin. My eyes fall shut. Is there anything better than this?

My flimsy made-for-comfort bra covers my sensitive parts but requires very little effort for a thumb to push up and break past it. Arousal pools south as I silently beg him to go a bit higher. So I know what it’s like to have his fingers brush along my nipple, along the peak of my breast.

Show me what it’s like to be touched by you, Mason.

His nose presses into my cheek, his lips wet from kissing and biting me. “Can I touch you?” His words turn pained, like he’s been struggling with the idea of keeping his hands to himself. “Fuck, I want to touch you, but I’ll stop if you want me to.”

My skin prickles with need. My heart hammers in my chest, chugging blood in and out faster than normal. He takes over all my senses, and soon my body will buckle from the pressure. I would never deny him—or myself—this. Not after that kiss or those moments in the bathroom after my fall. It may have only turned out to be a bruise, but I would go through that pain ten times over if it meant Mason would be there to assist.

“I don’t want you to stop,” I whisper.

His thumb traces higher and drags across my skin as if he is imprinting it in his mind. I moan the instant it moves over my peaked nipple. Slowly, he swipes back and forth before his index finger joins in to pinch at the aroused bud.

His breaths come out more ragged than the last as he coaxes delicate sounds from me. My back arches on its own, pressing my chest out, and his entire hand blankets me. It’s better than the candy apples at the fair. Better than getting a full night of uninterrupted sleep. Better than sinking down into a warm bath after running five miles. Mason skimming his hands over my body rivals all the other bests in the world.

Then, the stove beeps three times, stealing my attention and indicating the bread is ready. “Crap.”

He lifts his head quickly in panic and pulls his hand out from under my shirt as I pull away. “What is it?”

I jump off the counter and grab the closest oven mitt I can find. “The bread and noodles.”

He relaxes against the counter and watches as I frantically place the tray of bread on the stovetop. I grab for the strainer next and dump the noodles in without checking to see if they’re done. The strained noodles get set on top of the pot, which I place back on the stove. If one more minute passed, we’d be eating burnt bread for dinner.

When I look back at Mason, his lips are pinker than normal, and the thought of them moving over my skin causes goosebumps along my arms. “Who needs noodles?”

I smile at his attempt to calm me, even though I still don’t know if the noodles are worth eating. I lift one out of the pot and dangle it in front of my face before slurping it into my mouth. “We do.”

He crosses the short distance, closing in on me again. “Spaghetti doesn’t need noodles.” He pinches the noodle hanging out of my mouth, tearing it in two, and shoves a piece into his.

“You can’t have spaghetti without them.”

“We would have survived.” His eyes settle on my lips, then return to my eyes. “I’m going to do something I’ve been trying really damn hard to hold back on, but I can’t control the urge anymore. I’m spent, Kenz.” He leans down before I can argue, and his lips graze mine. They’re featherlight, soft, and fill a hole inside me I didn’t even know existed. He breaks the connection, only to kiss me again. He’s needier the second time around, nudging his tongue along the slit of my mouth. It’s a welcome intrusion, and I moan softly.

We definitely do not need noodles for dinner.

Who needs pasta for spaghetti?

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