Page 79 of Mason

Because maybe she’s already mine.

Shelby clings to me, her breath warm against my neck, her lips pressing tentative, heated kisses along my jaw. She’s fire.

And I want to burn in her.

We reach my room, and the second I kick the door shut, I press her against it. Hard. Her back meets wood, and her breath stutters—half a gasp, half a plea—before she fists her hands in my shirt, pulling me down to her mouth.

And when we kiss, it’s not sweet. It’s not careful.

It’s a collision, an explosion, a claim.

My hands slide up her thighs, gripping, kneading, feeling the way she trembles against me. She’s soft everywhere I’m hard, warm everywhere I’m burning, and when she moans into my mouth, I nearly lose it.

“Bed,” she breathes against my lips. “Now.”

I tear myself away from the door and take us to the bed in three long strides, lowering her onto the mattress like she’s something fragile—but the way she looks at me? Like she wants me to ruin her?

I know fragility has nothing to do with this.

I brace myself over her, my hands framing her face, thumbs stroking the delicate line of her jaw as I take her in. Her eyes are dark, dazed, her lips swollen from my kiss.

And still—she waits.

Like she’s giving me the chance to slow this down.

To make this something soft.

But she should know by now...

There’s nothing soft about the way I want her.

“Mason,” she whispers, arching up against me. “Please.”

I groan, dragging my lips down her throat, tasting her skin, feeling the frantic beat of her pulse beneath my tongue. My hands move to her shirt, slipping beneath it, feeling the bare, heated skin of her waist, the perfect curve of her hips.

She’s so fucking responsive.

Every touch electrifies her.

Every kiss undoes her.

And when I pull her shirt off and toss it aside, my breath catches.

She’s beautiful.

All soft curves and flushed skin, her body writhing beneath mine, her fingers tangling in my hair as I kiss my way down, down, down...

She gasps, arching into me, and I murmur against her skin, voice dark, possessive.

“Shelby, you’re mine.”

She shatters beneath me.

And I don’t stop.

Not until she knows it.

Not until I prove it.

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