Page 21 of Gin and Lava

Already.

There are things I shouldn’t fight … like the chemicals and pheromones that are zipping and setting me on fire. I don’t know what Mason has that every guy I’ve been with in the last few months doesn’t, but I don’t want to question it.

I kiss him again, pressing my chest against his body and drinking in the taste of our tongues stroking each other. When I pull back to get some air, Mason looks up at me, panting. His delicious hands slide down to my hips, and he looks up at me in awe like he can’t believe it.

“Jesus, Naomi,” he says with an air of reverence. “Areyoudrunk?”

That question is sincere. He looks at me like he can’t imagine this happening without alcohol in my system.

“No,” I laugh, settling into the feeling of our bodies pressed together. “I drove you here, didn't I?”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But, this—” His eyes drop to my lips hungrily before catching my gaze again with genuine concern. “You on my lap, kissing me? That’s questionable, Tate.”

“I had one glass of champagne about four hours ago,” I clarify.

“So, you’re telling me, you're doing this completely sober?”

“Doingthis?” I angle my hips and drag my ass across his lap.

“Fuck,” he growls, digging his hands into my sides. I smile at his reaction, even though the motion was just as intense for me. The ache between my legs is as brutal as the rate in which my heart is hammering.

“Do you want me to stop?” I ask, dropping my mouth to his ear and nibbling the skin below his earlobe softly. “Because consent matters, Mason, and I don’t want to be taking advantage of you in your inebriated state.”

“I’m still not sure if you’re messing with me or not,” he says, gripping my hips hotly. “I’m not Connor. Women don’t climb in my lap and act like they want to fuck me.”

“You’re hot, Mason, in your own way,” I say, biting his earlobe, then sucking on it gingerly. He growls, his hands sliding back to cover my ass. He kneads my cheeks, grinding my body against his pelvis with the motion.

I moan—the heat between my legs turning primal.

I need this to move faster. I want it to be naughty and hot and all the things I’m normally afraid to ask for. Mason might claim that he’s all talk, but his hands sure know how to tease me into a frenzy.

I purr in his ear. “I don’t believe you haven’t hooked up with your fair share of women, Mason. I bet you have many more talents than you’d admit.”

“I brag about those talents all the time,” he says cockily, referencing all the dirty things he always says. “But usually that results in dirty looks and women telling me I’m the scum of the planet.”

“That’s probably the phallic Hawaiian shirts,” I say, pulling back and running my hands over his chest. In the dark, I can’t see the tiny penises that I know are all over his button-up shirt.

“Those are part of who I am,” he says without apologizing.

I have to admit, I respect that. I’ve spent way too much of my life apologizing for who I am.

“Well, you’d probably get laid more often if you didn’t wear them,” I say, undoing his tie and throwing it into the darkness of the seat behind him. “They give off a creepy vibe.”

“Maybe they just get me the kinky girls,” he says with a crooked smile, his eyes lighting on me as if to say I’ve graduated to a whole new level of dirty in his mind. He cups my ass and grinds my pussy against his erection. My mouth drops open, and I don’t know why being kinky and dirty feels so exciting, but it does.

We are definitely wearing way too much clothing for what my body wants.

I bite my lip and peel Mason’s shirt open, taking in the sight of his skin as the soft moonlight illuminates him. His smooth muscles are more impressive than I would’ve thought. He isn’t movie-star ripped, but he’s toned. He definitely works out.

“Wait.” Mason puts a hand on top of mine, stopping me from pushing his shirt off his shoulders. “Are you seriously doing this?”

“Do you want me to stop?” I ask again, nervous I’m misreading this situation. My palm presses against his bare chest. It’s warm and firm, with the soft bramble of his chest hair tangling against my fingertips.

“Idon’t want you to stop,” Mason says clearly, but then he shakes his head. “I just don't wantyouto regret this in the morning.”

His eyes look up at me so earnestly—it does something to my body. Something naughty. My sex pulses, and a streak of desire aches through my pussy so intensely I have to bite back a whimper.

When did Mason decide to become a gentleman?

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