Page 44 of Mason

The kind of sex that leaves an imprint. That steals the air from your lungs and scorches every nerve ending on the way down.

And yet…

There’s something gnawing at me.

I shift on my stool, staring at the ceiling, my body still aching from the way he took me—hard, relentless, like he needed to ruin me.

Like he wanted to erase everything that came before.

And he succeeded.

I let out a slow breath, my fingers ghosting over the faint bruises on my hips—the places where Mason held me down, pinned me, owned me.

I asked for that.

Begged for it.

I wanted him to erase David’s touch, his voice, his control.

And Mason did exactly that.

But now, in the quiet, in the stillness of the morning, I’m left with something else.

Something I don’t know how to process.

Because David never touched me like that.

It was never about me—only what I could give him, what I could prove to him, what I could sacrifice for him.

Sex was a transaction, an obligation, something I had to earn by being good, agreeable, smaller.

But Mason?

Mason didn’t just take from me—he gave.

He pulled things from me I didn’t know were there.

Things dark, hungry, primal.

And the way he looked at me while doing it? Like I was his. Like I already belonged to him.

I shiver, my skin still sensitive, still buzzing from the weight of him, the feel of his hands, his mouth, the way he broke me apart and put me back together again.

And the worst part?

I want more.

I glance over at him, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way the morning light traces the sharp angles of his jaw, the lines of his body.

He looks untouchable.

Unstoppable.

Like nothing in this world could ever break him.

But something tells me I could.

And he could break me, too.

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