Page 47 of Mason

I grind against him, chasing friction, chasing relief, and the growl he lets out is pure sin.

Mason doesn’t ease me into it. His hands slide up, fingers curling around my jaw, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. Then one hand drops, fisting into my shirt—his shirt—before tearing it over my head.

I gasp at the loss of warmth, at the chill against my skin, but then he’s on me, his mouth tracing down my throat, his teeth scraping the delicate skin there before he bites me.

I whimper, arching into him, heat licking down my spine like a match to gasoline.

Mason’s breathing is ragged, his hands moving fast and impatient.

He curses under his breath, and then he’s lifting me, standing in one swift motion before slamming me against the nearest wall.

The impact knocks the air from my lungs, but I don’t care—don’t even have time to process it—before his hands are everywhere. Gripping my waist. Shoving his sweats down my thighs. Exposing bare skin to cool air.

I barely have time to gasp before his fingers slide between my legs, parting me, testing how ready I am.

His chest rumbles with satisfaction.

My fingers tangle in his hair, my head tipping back against the wall as he presses a single teasing stroke where I need him most.

I bite back a moan.

He smirks, dragging his lips along my throat, brushing but not kissing. Teasing, just to make me writhe.

I clench my thighs around his hips, forcing him closer. “Mason?—”

“I got you, princess.”

Then he yanks down his own sweats, freeing himself.

I don’t get a chance to see him before he lifts me higher, guiding himself to my entrance.

One second of stillness.

Then he thrusts inside.

Fuck.

I cry out, clinging to his shoulders, my nails digging into skin.

He fills me in one brutal, perfect stroke, stretching me wide, stealing every breath from my lungs.

He groans, his forehead dropping to mine, his body rigid against me. “You feel?—”

I don’t let him finish.

I rock my hips, tightening around him, needing more, needing everything. I need to feel.

Mason snaps.

He grips my thighs hard enough to bruise and starts pounding into me.

No slow build. No gentle easing in. Just raw, unrestrained fucking.

The wall shakes behind me with each thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the quiet house, mingling with our sharp gasps, the desperate drag of our breaths.

He devours me, takes what he wants and gives me exactly what I need.

Every stroke sends white-hot pleasure curling low in my stomach, the pressure building fast—overwhelming, almost too much.

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