Page 17 of My Secret Santa Mason

“You’re trouble, Cami,” he finally said in a low drawl. “I can feel it. And I don’t like things I can’t control.”

“Newsflash, Mason,” I snapped, stepping closer until I was almost toe-to-toe with him. “I’m not here for your approval, and I sure as hell don’t need your permission to live my life. You don’t get to control me. You’re just another guy with a bad attitude.”

His eyes darkened. He was so close now that I could feel his breath on my skin, warm and ragged, and the space between us was shrinking with every heavy second that passed. I should have been scared, or angry, or something that wasn’t this burning, aching need to close the gap between us.

“You’re reckless,” he said, his voice low and rough, like gravel under boots. “And it’s gonna get you hurt.”

“Maybe,” I whispered, my voice betraying me with the tremble that slipped in. “But playing it safe never got anyone anything.” I wasn’t talking about work anymore.

And neither was he.

His hand moved, just a fraction, like he was fighting the urge to touch me. And God, I wanted him to. I wanted him to stop fighting, to give in to whatever this was that was pulling us together like magnets. I wanted to feel his hands on my skin, his mouth on mine, to see if he tasted as rough and wild as he looked.

“Cami…” His voice was a warning, but it was also a plea, and I could see the conflict in his eyes. He wanted this—whatever this was between us—just as much as I did, but he was holding back, and I couldn’t figure out why.

I reached up, my fingers brushing against his chest, feeling the hard, solid beat of his heart beneath my touch. His hand covered mine, trapping it against him, and the heat of his skin burned through my palm like fire.

The tension between us was suffocating, and all I could think about was how easy it would be to close the distance.

He must have thought the same because suddenly his lips crashed onto mine and my thoughts splintered apart. The kiss was rough and fierce and so damn hot I thought the air around us would catch fire. My heart thudded in my chest, and the blood roared in my ears as I gripped the front of his shirt, tugging him closer as his hand tangled in my hair.

I gasped into his mouth, and he took advantage, sliding his tongue over mine. He tasted like coffee and cinnamon and sin, and it was intoxicating. He kissed me like a man possessed, and I felt drunk on his taste and his touch and his scent, which surrounded me in a cloud of smoke and leather.

When we finally broke apart, gasping for air, I could still feel the burn of his lips on mine, and the world was spinning. He rested his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy.

His hands were still tangled in my hair, and the gentle scrape of his nails against my scalp sent a shiver down my spine. He smelled so damn good, and I couldn’t help myself. I pressed my lips to the side of his neck, tasting his skin. He groaned, the sound rumbling in his chest, and I felt it in every inch of my body. He grinded his hips against mine, and his cock was hard in his pants. He wanted me just as much as I wanted him.

I kissed him again, trailing my lips over the sharp edge of his jaw, and he tilted his head back, giving me better access. His pulse was pounding under my touch, and I could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

I slid my hand down his chest, over the hard ridges of his abs, until I found the bulge in his jeans. I stroked him through the denim, feeling his cock twitch beneath my touch.

He growled, his hand fisting in my hair, and I couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped my lips. He pulled my head back,forcing me to look up at him. His eyes were dark with desire, and his gaze was hungry.

“Tell me you want this,” he rasped, his voice raw and strained.

“I want this,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath.

“Fuck, Cami,” he groaned, and then his mouth was on mine again, hot and insistent. His hand slid onto my breast, kneading, massaging.

His tongue swept into my mouth, and I could taste his desire. He kissed me like he was drowning and I was the only thing keeping him afloat. He held onto my breast and his touch made me ache for more.

My coat was thick and in the way, and Mason thought it the same time I did. He let go of me, letting me fumble with the buttons to undo it, and when the jacket fell open, he tugged up my shirt. His rough hands were everywhere, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

My bra came undone—the man was a magician, getting me out of my underwear without taking my clothes off—and then his hands were cupping my breasts, his thumbs grazing over my nipples.

I couldn’t help the soft moans and whimpers that spilled from my lips. The sound seemed to drive him wild, and he kissed me harder, his fingers pinching and teasing my nipples.

“Fuck, Cami,” he murmured against my lips, and the raw hunger in his voice sent a bolt of desire straight to my core.

He kissed me again, and I melted against him, lost in the sensation. He was everywhere, surrounding me, overwhelming me. His scent, his touch, his taste, all of it was consuming me.

He broke the kiss, his mouth moving lower, trailing over my jaw and down the column of my neck. He nipped at my skin, his teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh, and the pleasure-pain made me gasp.

“Mason,” I gasped. “Don’t stop.”

He growled, his fingers pinching my nipple again, but then he straightened. His eyes, still intense and filled with need, had something else in them, too. We both breathed hard.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he said.

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