Page 46 of Mason

He stands in the middle of the living room, scanning the area, nodding slightly like he’s mentally checking off a list.

Then his gaze locks on mine.

For a second, neither of us moves.

What happened here yesterday binds us. It probably will for the rest of time.

Mason steps forward.

And something in me breaks.

Because the last time I was in this room, David had me pinned against the wall, choking the life out of me, touching me like he still had a right to do so.

And now Mason is here, standing in the exact same spot—the only man, other than my own brother, who ever fought for me. The only man who ever made me feel like I was worth something.

My throat tightens.

Mason’s gaze flicks to my lips.

And fuck it.

I close the distance, fisting his shirt, dragging him down to me, crashing my mouth against his.

He grunts in surprise, but it only lasts a second before he grabs me, lifts me, walks me backward until my legs hit the couch.

We tumble down together, a tangle of needy hands and frantic mouths, my back arching, pressing, searching.

Mason pulls back just enough to look at me, his breath ragged, his hands tight on my hips.

His voice drops. “You sure about this?”

I hold his face between my hands, my lips brushing against his.

“I want you to fuck me right here.”

His breath catches.

“I want to erase him.”

Something dark flickers in his eyes. Something primal.

And then he’s on me.

Rough. Hard. Unforgiving.

This isn’t gentle.

It’s not sweet.

This is a final fuck you to a dead man’s memory.

And God help my dark, twisted mind, but it feels so damn good.

One second, we’re standing; the next, we’re sitting on the couch and I’m in his lap, straddling his thighs, my hands gripping his shoulders for balance as he yanks me into him.

His mouth crashes into mine, all heat and force, teeth grazing, tongues clashing. There’s no patience, no teasing—just raw, ravenous desperation.

His fingers bite into my hips, dragging me against him, and fuck—he’s hard, thick, pressing against the flimsy fabric of the sweats I’m wearing.

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