by Lucy Auburn
He clears his throat. "Got it." Licking his lips, he murmurs, "Just checking."
Pressing against him, I feel the warmth of his body against mine, and an undeniable hardness beneath the loose fit of his pajama bottoms. "Do I have to check in with you too, or are you—"
"Oh, I'm more than willing."
He swoops down to press his mouth against mine again, this time his lips parted and hungry. His left hand comes up to cradle the side of my face and guide my mouth up towards his, while his right hand strokes a strip of my skin at the edge of my shirt, his warm and calloused fingers moving slowly upwards. We sink together in the kiss, his lips pressing and sucking at mine until every inch of them is sensitive and tingling.
Walking me backwards, he puts his hand on the curve of my hip and guides me down into the warmth of the arena sand. At first I'm not sure where he's going with this, but then his mouth parts from mine and joins his hands at the skin just beneath my belly button. He slowly teases his mouth against me and pulls the edge of my shirt up, then with my help yanks it off me.
I'm wearing nothing beneath my sleep shirt, which means I'm suddenly half naked under Mason's gaze. He studies me slowly, deliberately, his hips pressing downward as his arousal grows. I squirm beneath his study, the sand soft and warm at my back, wondering what he sees. He parts his lips and licks them, and I hope that it's desire I see on his face, feeling exposed and vulnerable.
Banked heat in his eyes, he looks up at me and asks, "Are your nipples sensitive?"
I swallow. This is something new, uncharted territory. I've only ever been with one man, and he never asked me what I liked—just showed me what he wanted, which was almost always a crude one act play based on whatever degrading porn he'd jerked off to recently.
Squirming, I confess, "They are, but it takes some time for them to really... wake up. And patience. You don't have to—"
"I want to," he says, voice husky, and I get the sense that Mason Kincaide is willing to draw me to the pinnacle of pleasure no matter how long it takes. "Just tell me what works and what doesn't."
"Okay."
I feel like a schoolgirl getting her first kiss, or a shy virgin, not a hardened killer who many claim killed her boyfriend out of jealousy and spite. Mason makes me feel fresh and new again, even though that's the furthest thing from who I am.
Trailing his mouth up my stomach, Mason finds the underside of my modest breast and breathes warm air along the curve. He reaches up with his hand and carefully tweaks my other nipple; I gasp at the sensation of someone touching me there, slowly and teasingly, as if I'm precious and breakable.
"That feels good," I tell him, blushing at how wanton I sound. It's like I've peeled a bandage off a wound, and I'm just hoping he doesn't poke at it. "Do it again."
He does, then adds his mouth to the nipple he tweaked, sucking lightly. Then he works on my other breast, going back and forth, hand on one and mouth on the other until I'm arching beneath his touch. His cock is hard against my thigh the whole time, his arousal never going away even as he spends several long minutes on just one part of my body.
By the time he moves on from my breasts and trails his mouth up towards the dip of my clavicle, then the sensitive skin of my neck, I'm red and flushed with desire. The heat and need of my arousal, pulsing and hungry between my thighs, is enough to make me part my legs and draw one up until his body is nestled between their splay.
Mason stares down at me, the length of his braid falling over one shoulder. His eyes roam my face for a moment, spending special attention on my mouth, then he braces his arms on either side of me and draws down to kiss my mouth. I lean upwards to meet the kiss, mouth hungry, nerve endings on fire.
There's a skill to the way he draws my lips into his mouth and flicks his tongue sensually inside me. This isn't the kiss of a teenage boy just learning how to do it, or a bored boyfriend who wants to move on to getting his dick wet without bothering with foreplay. It's a kiss I've never had before, one that makes me put a hand on the back of his neck to draw him close and deepen the eager heat of his mouth on mine.
As we kiss, he places one hand on my stomach, then brings it down to play with the waistband of my sweatpants. Fingers teasing beneath the edge of the fabric, he draws back from the kiss and lightly nips my mouth until I'm panting and squirming with the desire for more.
"Just touch me already," I tell him, part begging, part cross. "We both know what we're here for."
A warm, amused sound leaves his mouth, and he obliges me. His fingers draw beneath my pants, then my underwear, finding the warmth of my apex, where every inch of me desperately wants to be touched, teased, pressed against, and penetrated. I don't have to draw Mason a map; his fingers unerringly find my clit, and the gasp of pleasure, the arch of my hips up towards him, tells him he's gotten what he wants.
Braced above me, he watches my face as he teases at the nerve endings he's found, finger rubbing back and forth, around it in circles, dipping lower only to come back up again. I pant and moan, hair splayed in the sand beneath us, and grab his wrist to urge him to do more. He smirks, confident and aware of everything he's doing to me, then draws his hand back like the fucking bastard he is.
"You're going to get sand in every crevice," he tells me, as I try to take my sweatpants off and make him keep going. "I think there's a reason why we saw that stretch of wall over there when we were in the arena. Here—let me."
With an uncanny strength, he puts his arms beneath me and lifts me out of the sand. His muscles flex against my skin, warming my back as he carries me over the outer bounds of the circle and towards the edge of the arena. I loop my hands behind his neck, playing with the hair at his nape, appreciating the view of his chiseled jawline from down here. He doesn't even strain as he places me delicately near the wall, and I lean back, already anticipating what's about to come—and who is about to come.
Glancing once into my eyes, his gaze searing and full of arousal, Mason takes the waistband of my sweatpants in his fingers and pulls them down to my ankles. I kick them off, careless of the dirt and sand, watching him kneel before me with his face near my thighs. The top of his head is shiny where his black hair has been tightly braided and oiled, and I want nothing more than to grab the bottom of the braid and begin undoing it.
I quickly forget my hair-related fantasies when he presses his mouth to my abdomen, delicately peels my underwear off, and moves south like a heat-seeking missile. A brief flash of embarrassment goes through me at the reminder of how long it's been since I shaved—prisons and mausoleums aren't really great places to go bushwhacking, and I wasn't exactly expecting this momentous future to come so soon. But he shows nothing but enthusiasm as he pushes my thighs wide and presses his mouth against me.
Hands moving to my ass cheeks, he pulls me away from the wall and angles me better, his tongue finding my lower lips and running back and forth along them. Lifting my right leg over his shoulder, he takes my weight as I press against him, mouth opening as a low moan leaves my tongue. I rock against his body, his nose pressed firmly against me, grabbing the top of his head and shifting my weight onto his face. Mason makes a low, pleased sound, his arousal tenting his pajama pants as he takes my pussy in his mouth and works it until I'm whimpering.
When he finds my clit with the tip of his tongue, sparks of pleasure move warmly from his touch, and I cry out as he works it. His mouth is covered in late night stubble that rubs my skin raw in a pleasant way. Urging me forward, hands digging into my ass, he looks up at me with those warm brown eyes of his, and I feel myself falling towards the cliff of orgasm.
It feels so good to grind against him, his mouth warm and wet against me, his tongue finding my most pleasurable parts. I shudder as my orgasm comes and whites out everything: all thought, all unpleasantness, every moment of stress and sad memory. He holds me through it, taking my weight and lengthening the timing of my orgasm by pulsing his tongue against me. The way he looks up at me makes it clear that he's looking
forward to his turn.
I whimper and moan as I finish against his mouth, warmth turning my body liquid. Pulling back, I'm barely able to stay on my feet, and his hands are all that hold me up. He lifts my legs into the air as he stands between my knees, and I wrap them around him, reaching down to desperately pull off his shirt.
"Get naked," I tell him, still breathing fast. "That was... amazing."
"Thanks."
He smirks and kisses me lightly on my cheek. Growling, I yank his chin over to kiss his mouth, tasting me on him, feeling raunchy and daring. When he pulls back from the kiss he has a surprised look on his face—and his shirt is nowhere to be found, dropped somewhere in the dirt, his naked chest rippling with muscles beneath brown skin and black tattoos that swirl over his chest.
"Pants," I pant unintelligibly, and he manages to shift my weight up to his waist, freeing his hips. I push down on the waistband of his pajamas with my heels, dragging them down until he's able to step around them. I don't want to part from him for a second—just having him hold me up like this, legs around his waist, weight falling into his hands with ease, is indescribably erotic.
"You're so strong." I kiss him messily, rubbing against the tent of his cock in his briefs, enjoying the moan and hitch of his hips. "Get naked."
A pained expression crosses his face. "I don't have a condom."
There's a part of me that thinks: go upstairs, tear Eve's room apart, find her stash somewhere. But my brain isn't in charge anymore. I already saw this moment, as inevitable as the future ever is. So instead I tell him, "Eve has Plan B in her bathroom cabinet. I saw it."
He groans, head falling forward against the wall by my shoulder, hips pressing his clothed erection against my thighs. In a tight voice he says, "That doesn't seem responsible."
I'm starting to resign myself to either humping him half-clothed like a teenager, or cooling myself down and going on a condom run, when a little muffled meow gets my attention. I'd forgotten all about Penny, but here she is, standing by Mason's ankle with an entire roll of foil-wrapped condoms in her mouth. A bark of incredulous laughter leaves my lips, and I stare at her as she puts her paws up on his bare legs, bringing the condoms close enough that I can yoink them out of her mouth.
Mason has the most confused expression on his face. "Did that just..."
"I guess she felt what I wanted. Smart little kitty."
Penny scampers away, looking scandalized and affronted by our naked bodies, and disappears to the darkness beneath the arena seats. I'm already tearing one of the condoms off the roll and opening the foil packet, while Mason is juggling my ass in one hand and tearing his briefs off, revealing the hard cock leaking precum just beneath.
He's big. Bigger than I could see in our embarrassing shared vision of the future. Jack wasn't big—that was an issue of contention with him, a reason why he was sure I was cheating on him, even though I wasn't. Mason definitely has the kind of length and size that makes me glad he just spent several minutes getting me wet and ready, because otherwise, this would be difficult.
I roll the condom on better than I thought would be possible after such a long dry spell, and stroke his impressive girth with my hand, enjoying the way his eyes droop closed and his mouth goes slack. He squeezes my ass cheeks, reaching inward to rub his fingertips against my wet lower lips, parting them for his cock.
We kiss as he strokes inside of me, just the head at first. The shock of penetration is so pleasurable that I moan, stretched by his fingers and his cock head. Grabbing onto his shoulders and digging my fingers in, I urge him inward as he carefully pulls out and back in, going slowly, no doubt aware of his size.
It takes a few agonizing, pleasurable thrusts before he bottoms out inside me. A flicker of self-control makes his jaw clench. Licking my lips, I try a trick I've heard of, and squeeze with the sides of my pussy until he twitches with pleasure.
"Let go and fuck me," I tell him, watching him struggle. "I can take it."
Mason pants, kisses me, and murmurs against my lips. "If you say so."
Then he adjusts my weight on his hands and strokes inside me with all his strength. I moan, gasp, and cry with each strong thrust, his shoulders flexing beneath my fingers, my body pressed against the wall. He digs his hands into my ass and fucks me until I'm barely even aware of the world around me anymore.
The grunts and moans that leave his mouth as he finds pleasure in my body make me want to see more, so I grab tightly onto his cock as it bottoms out inside me, enjoying the way his mouth goes slack. He pulls me down onto his length and digs his toes into the dirt, getting a good grip to fuck me as hard as possible. The length and girth of his erection makes me feel stretched in a good way, filled completely. Each time he thrusts all the way inside me, his abdomen rubs against my clit, and I adjust until I'm panting and crying out twice as loud as him.
I can feel my body crest with pleasure as I head towards another orgasm. Mason feels it too, and as my body tightens on his he puts his mouth on my neck and sucks hard. Moaning, I come on his cock, clenching in waves of pleasure that make his fingers twitch on my ass cheeks. He follows me soon after, digging in deep, bottoming out as he comes in several long waves. His deep thrusts push me against the wall hard, our bodies pressed tightly together, twitching and groaning through the ends of our shared orgasms.
I've never had sex like that before. Never felt so proud of making a man spill himself inside me, helpless and overcome. He leaves little kisses in a trail along my neck as he pulls out and cleans up, and together we breath until we're steady again.
"I hope the future is always this promising," he says, before kissing me one last time, an expression of shyness coming over his face. "You know, maybe tomorrow we could—"
"Be fuck buddies," I interrupt, cringing at how lame I sound. "I mean, let's just... keep it casual. Late night romps and secret rendezvous. My history with love isn't the best."
"Right." He licks his lips, not looking at me as he shakes the sand off his clothes and pulls them on, then hands me mine. "Casual. Got it."
I feel like I stepped on a puppy, but it's the only way.
Killers don't date. That way lies complications and bad decisions—right?
The only killer I can truly love with my whole heart right now is the one scampering out from under the arena seats to twine between my legs and purr at my ankles.
I just hope that the next visions, of an older and scarred Grayson limping in the rain, doesn't turn out to be quite this dramatic.
Chapter 25
I'm woken at the ass crack of dawn, not by a purring cat begging for food or an alarm, but by Eve full-on thwacking me over the head with a bamboo sword.
"Get up! Headmaster Shu wants to see you. Now, apparently."
Ungluing my eyelids, I stare up at her. Penny is curled up in the center of my back, conveniently holding me down. "Can't. Cat in the way. Give my apologies to the lady in charge."
Just as I'm closing my eyes, Eve points the bamboo training sword at Penny instead, and the traitorous cat leaps off my bed and onto the floor, stretching lazily like she intended to get up all along. I scowl at her, but she pretends not to see me, sitting up and licking her dainty little paw.
Apparently, outside of condom-fetching, she doesn't always do what I want.
"I'm dragging you to the headmaster's office with or without your pants, so if you want to show up looking like something your cat just dragged in, be my guest. I'll fireman carry you pantless."
"How romantic."
"Where are your pants, anyway?"
I'm about to tell her that they're covered in sand, so I threw them in the apartment-sized washing machine downstairs, when good sense returns to me and I remember I shouldn't tell Eve about that glorious hookup. I mean, sure, I could tell her. Maybe she'd be happy for me. But I don't even know how I feel about Mason and the hookup yet, as toe-curling as it was. If Eve comes in with her strong opinions about things and bulldozes all over me, I won't have the c
hance to figure it out for myself.
"Cat puked on my pants," I lie. Penny cuts her eyes in my direction, and if I didn't know better, I'd swear she's putting a hex on me. Cats don't speak English, right? "I'll get dressed, just give me a sec to find something to pull on. Bernard barely got anything from the guest house for me."
"Did you talk to him when he gave you your clothes?"
I shake my head, pulling on a pair of skinny jeans that's gotten just a bit too skinny. Let's hope Headmaster Shu doesn't expect me to do any yoga poses like downward facing dog, because with the way these pants are fitting, it'd be more like upward facing ass crack. "He just said 'here's your stuff,' put the bag at my feet, and walked away. But he was acting all shifty and guilty and stuff. I guess whatever you said to him to get him to recant his testimony, it worked, because he's acting like he falsely accused me of murder."
"Who isn't falsely accusing you of murder these days?" Eve watches me as I change shirts, pull an old bra on underneath, and run my fingers through my hair. "You'll have to look more presentable than that. Here—follow me."
In her bathroom, she goes through the lines of expensive things I've been too afraid to touch, and puts me through what feels like a twenty step routine. Silky oils are rubbed on my face, then washed off, followed by a gentle cleanser, something called an essence, a toner that smells like the herbs they put on pizza, another essence, a thick moisturizer that has no right to sink into my skin after all the other things that have soaked in already, and a little dab of eye cream. Then she sprays my hair with dry shampoo, brushes it carefully, and fluffs it at the roots. By the time Eve is done, I look like someone with her shit at least halfway together, which is saying something given that last night I fucked a guy I barely knew in a bunch of sand that's probably used to soak up blood spills.
"There. You were so dry and flaky, I could see into your soul between the cracks in your skin. Do you even own a moisturizer?"
"Uh."
She shakes her head at me. "Honestly, as soon as you get a job and your first paycheck, I'm taking you shopping. You're lucky you're cute, because your whole situation is out of control. Now, let's go see the lady about why you're in trouble."
