Page 93 of Gin and Lava

“You want the fancy girl with her fancy diamonds?” Mason asks with a hint of disapproval in his tone. It makes me think he doesn’t like that woman. Of course, he’s Mason, the King of Kitsch. His ideal client is the woman enticing strangers to do tequila shots off her tits.

“Not exactly,” I reply. “I don’t mean the fancy woman with that bitchy upper-crustI own the world and you’re a peonvibe. The woman who wears my jewelry is elegant, artistic, human. She’s sexy and confident and young at heart. She isn’t about the money or the status or even the fashion. She’s about beauty and uniqueness, about being her own person. I want to make an original piece of jewelry for an original, beautiful, confident woman—who also happens to be stylish as fuck. That’s who I want to wear my work.”

“Mmmmm,” Mason murmurs in agreement, and I turn my head. Mason’s looking at me again with those quiet introspective eyes. A shiver runs through me, because it’s like he’s looking at me likeI’mthat woman. Only, I’m not. He knows I’m not. I just told him about my mother back in Texas. I’m not the woman I’m designing for, even if I want to be.

“What?” I ask defensively, and Mason runs a hand up my waist to my breast, caressing it softly before leaning over and giving me a kiss on the mouth. It’s gentle and patient, without any of the heat from earlier. “Are you telling me that got you hot?” I ask when we separate.

“You naked is always going to get me hot,” Mason states, teasing my nipple tenderly. “That was just—” Mason’s cheeks color for a second. “Let’s just say you’re sexy when you talk about what you want. And see, you just did the hardest part of running a business in less than five minutes.”

“What?” I frown at him, letting him keep his hand softly stroking my chest. “Running a business? I was daydreaming,” I resist. “That wasn’t—”

“The vision you have for your work?” Mason interrupts. “Your brand? Your ideal clientele?” He spears me with a skeptical eyebrow. “Running a business is really simple if you know who you’re selling to—which you do.”

“You’re oversimplifying this.”

“No, I’m not.” He kisses my shoulder. “Think of that beautiful”—kiss—“confident”—kiss—“original woman, and make every decision in your business so she’ll fall in love with it. Your website, photography, social media, packaging.”

Every word comes with a kiss.

“Display cases, stationary, invoices,” he continues, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me toward him. “That’s it. That’s running a business.” Our bodies pressed together is electric. “How would this beautiful, confident woman want it? Make it, and give it to her.”

“Is that what you did?”

Mason kisses my neck. “I built a bar that an asshole like me would jizz in his pants for, so yes.”

“That’s gross,” I say, playfully trying to push him away, but he hugs me tighter.

“Oh no,” he counters, raking his teeth across my chin. “You know exactly what will make your stylish-as-fuck ideal client come in her thousand-dollar panties, so … make her come.”

“No one is coming in relation to my jewelry!”

“Liar.” Mason’s hand drops to the golden charms hugging my hip. “We both just came with you wearing this. I’m not saying you have to use sex to sell it, but fuck, you could.”

He kisses me hotly, and I let him, my mind swirling.

“You make this sound so easy,” I complain between kisses and breaths.

“Itiseasy, Naomi,” Mason replies, bruising my lips. “But you’ve got to stop fighting it. You’d be surprised how easy a lot of things are if you commit to your vision and go all in.” His mouth opens, and his tongue claims me. My body responds and my mind warms. I’m caught between the friction of our skin and all the ways my brain is swarming.

I want running a business to be that easy. I want to believe him. I want to push all my fears aside, but I don’t think I can pull it off.

Mason’s hands cup my ass greedily, and I wish running a business was like this—that my ideal client would want my designs with the unfettered passion that Mason wants me.

Mason rolls on top of me and I moan at his weight. I know missionary is supposed to be boring, but the gravity of him on top of me pushes all doubts from my lungs.

He makes me ache.

“Are we about to fuck again?” I ask, hungrily kissing him.

I want to wrap my legs around his hips and invite that incredible cock to fuck me from above. Oh God, suddenly missionary sounds amazing. But my legs are pinned under him, and I can’t move.

“As crazy as this is going to sound,” Mason says, pulling back from my lips. “I’m not going to fuck you again tonight.”

I frown at him, and he nips at my pouting lip.

“Tempting, Tate,” he scolds. “But I’m kissing you goodbye, and then you’re going to sit down and do some business homework.”

“What?” I shake my head. “Mason is sayingnoto sex?”

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