Page 13 of Gin and Lava

He finishes hooking the clasp, but his hands linger on my neck. I don’t say anything, allowing them to idle, wondering if he’ll have the courage to lean forward and start kissing it.

It’s out of character—wanting Mason to touch me—but the thought of that gentle mouth, as soft as his hands, has the pulse between my legs thrumming.

Weddings really do get me horny.

“Um …” Mason’s voice is low, shooting heat across my skin. “There you go.” He brushes the chain one last time before dropping his hands, and I’m practically breathless as I release my hair.

“Thank you,” I say softly, resisting the urge to lean back against him.

“So,” Mason starts, with a hitch of flirtation returning to his voice. “Do you want to tell me more about that secret butt plug?”

He matches the crassness of his words by grabbing my hips and pulling my ass back against his crotch. It’s a joke. I know this. But the zip of heat that shoots through my core is feral, and it makes me want to gyrate my ass against him like we’re out clubbing.

Seriously, the wedding romantics are going to my head.

“What did you say earlier about consent, Mason?” I tease, trying to ignore the heat building between my legs.

Mason immediately lets go of me and steps back.

“Shit, sorry,” he says, genuinely. “I’ve had a few drinks. That’s not an excuse, obviously. Just tell me to piss off if I’m crossing a line and—”

I turn around and face him. “It’s fine, Mason, really.” I touch the necklace at my throat. “Thank you.”

Mason’s surprisingly close. The humidity in the air plays on my shoulders, dancing down the front of my dress. This moment is charged. It’s all chemicals and pheromones, sure, but it’s also something else, something more intimate, or romantic, or—

Or nothing.

I’m just a girl who hasn’t gotten laid in several months. That’s all.

I laugh and look away.

Mason’s drunk and I shouldn’t take advantage of him. Not that I want to take advantage of him. Or that—I—I—I’m just confused.

And I’m stone cold sober.

Horny, but sober. If I kissed Mason, I’d have no excuse. It’s easier to blame alcohol for an indiscretion, versus sexual need. I’m supposed to be more discerning.

“I made this,” I say, distracting myself by lifting up the necklace Mason’s just fastened. “That’s my secret.”

His eyes flick to the golden chain like it’s the most interesting thing in front of him, even though I know he’s avoiding the moment that just passed between us.

“That’s impressive.” He nods. “You’d have to cut the metal and attach those stones.”

“I took a jewelry making class a couple years ago,” I explain. “I mean, I used to make wire wrapped jewelry in high school, and enamel pins. I was really into all the crafty stuff you can get at a hobby shop. But it wasn’t until I took the jewelry class that I learned how to do the high-end work: source gems, solder metal, use real gold.”

“Wait,” Mason looks up at me with a frown. “Don’t you work at the Mandara Spa? Are you also a jeweler?”

“No, it’s just a hobby. The Mandara is my actual job. Hobbies don’t pay rent. This,”—I lift up the necklace and admire it—“this is just for fun.”

“Good with your hands,” Mason jokes with a lift to his eyebrow, and I smile, letting that one roll off.

“I don’t make jewelry professionally,” I say softly. “That’s why it’s a secret. No one knows about it.”

“No one?”

“Well, I guess you know about it now.”

“Huh.” Mason’s eyes narrow like he’s surprised by the intimacy of knowing this, then he covers it with a playful expression. “And you thinkIcan keep a secret?”

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