Page 23 of Tides of Redemption
My heart expanded in my chest, almost painful in its fullness. I rubbed my cheek against his, our stubble rasping together in that distinctly masculine sound that always sent shivers down my spine. The familiar scent of his citrusy body wash enveloped me, grounding and intoxicating all at once.
“I love you, too,” I said, my voice thick. “I couldn’t stand to live without you. I’m so glad I came back to the US.” I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, seeing my future reflected there. “To you.”
With reverent tenderness, I took his hand in mine, our fingers intertwining naturally, and led him toward his bedroom where we would finally, truly, begin again.
Beside the bed, I unwrapped Mason like the precious gift he was, my heart thundering against my ribs as lightning coursed through my veins. With trembling fingers, I slid my hands under his T-shirt, savoring the warm skin beneath my palms as I slowly lifted the fabric over his head and let it fall forgotten to the floor. His chest, now bare in the afternoon light, rose and fell with quickened breaths that matched my own. I lowered my lips to his pecs, then traced a reverent path of featherlight kisses down his torso. Beneath my touch, his abs tightened and twitched, a small, breathless laugh escaping him at the tickling sensation—a sound that filled me with tenderness and desire in equal measure.
I dropped to my knees.
I reached for his waistband, opened his jeans, and mouthed his hard cock through the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. He sucked in a breath. I slipped his briefs down and took his hot erection into my mouth. He moaned into the quiet stillness of the room, his gaze on mine.
The intense connection made my belly swoop. But it wasn’t enough. I needed to drive him wild.
I tugged his pants and underwear off completely and tossed them somewhere in the direction of his T-shirt, to be found later. I licked a stripe up the length of his dick and then worshipped his balls. His thighs trembled, and whimpers escaped him as if he were close to the edge. I immediately pulled off, not wanting this to end too soon.
“Please,” he choked out, though I wasn’t sure exactly what he was asking for.
I reached into the nightstand drawer, my fingers finding the bottle of lube while my gaze never left Mason’s. With unhurried movements that hid my inner urgency, I shed my clothing piece by piece, each garment falling away like the years that had separated us. Mason climbed backward onto the bed, his weight making the mattress dip as he settled against the pillows. His gaze tracked my every movement, hunger and tenderness mingling in his expression, the heat in his eyes making me even harder. I stroked my sensitive shaft, root to tip.
“None of that,” he said, his voice husky, hands behind his head. “Wait for me.”
I opened the lube with aclickand slicked my fingers. Slowly, carefully, I opened Mason, massaging his prostate, until he was a writhing, begging mess.
“Now. I need you inside me,” he panted. He pulled his legs to his chest in invitation.
And I ached with the need to be inside him.
I freed my fingers, my heart pounding. I was going to cherish him with my body, give him as much pleasure as possible. I donned a condom, bathed myself with more lube, and notched myself against his opening.
He nodded, the warmth of his brown eyes drawing me in. I pressed forward, Mason breathed through the initial breech, and I slid home.
Where I belonged.
We both moaned when I was balls deep inside him, and I set up a slow, gentle pace. The leisurely rhythm didn’t last long as I tagged his prostate with every thrust.
“Faster. Harder,” he begged. “I’m…so…close.”
I pounded into him while his dick leaked onto his stomach. He reached for himself, tugged just three times, and came in long ropes onto his abs.
His muscles pulsed around me, and I followed him over the edge, my vision blacking out and his name on my lips.
Mon coeur.
I slid out of him, collapsed onto my elbows, and dropped my perspiring head onto his heaving chest, trying to catch my breath. His arms wrapped around me and pulled me close, trapping his sticky cum between us.
I raised my head from where it rested on his chest, reluctant to break the perfect stillness between us but unable to ignore the practical reality. “I love you,” I whispered, the words still new and precious on my tongue despite having thought them for so many years, “but we need to shower.” My voice held equal parts adoration and amused resignation.
His shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, the vibration traveling through both our bodies.
After a shower of gliding, soapy hands and hot, wet kisses, we ended up nestled together on the couch. My arm curled around his shoulders, and he lay his head against my chest, directly over the steady rhythm of my heartbeat. A heart beating for him. The scent of his body wash wrapped around me, dear and comforting. Outside, the hum of late Monday afternoon traffic provided a soothing backdrop to our conversation.
“When do you officially take over?” he asked, tracing lazy patterns on my stomach.
“Two weeks. Mary Anne’s staying on through the transition, then she and Joe are taking a round-the-world trip they’ve been talking about for decades.” My gut clenched with a mix of excitement and nervousness. “I already know which artists I want to approach.”
“You’re going to be amazing,” Mason said with sincerity. “I’ve seen your passion and vision for the gallery from the very beginning.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, the weight of the moment settling around us. It wasn’t just about the gallery—it was about permanence, commitment, a future together that had seemed impossible just weeks ago.
