by Ivy Carter
Mason drags a chair across the cream-colored carpet and lets it go at my feet. He sits, curls his lip into a sneer, and pulls on my wrists, deftly manipulating my body so that I am draped across his lap, my breasts and pelvis flat against his legs. My bare flesh chafes against his slacks, but it’s nothing compared to the stinging sensation of his hand across my backside.
I cry out, and then cover my mouth.
Mason caresses each vibrating buttock, drawing slow circles with his palm, tickling lightly with his fingertips. I flatten my chest against his thigh and brace for the impending second thwack. Every muscle in my body tenses and then releases when his firm hand comes down across my flesh.
Jesus. Fuck.
“Oh shit,” I moan, as my pussy clenches and thrums.
He grunts, almost as if he’s fucking me. It’s beyond sexual.
I dig my nails into the wooden chair legs and arch my back, pushing my pelvis harder into his muscular thighs. My bikini bottoms shift to expose my throbbing clit.
“You’ve been a naughty girl again,” Mason says. His hand circles each cheek before dipping between my thighs, lightly grazing my clitoris. Embarrassingly, impossibly, I feel the first twinges of a mounting climax. My pussy fills with my juices.
Mason lets out a low groan. “Good god. You’re so fucking wet.”
My breath hitches.
He chuckles lightly. “I think you like being punished, don’t you?”
I exhale slowly, debating how—if—to answer. My flesh stings and throbs, but there’s no denying that Mason turns me on. The musky scent of my sex is potent in the air. I am transparent, lucid, beneath his touch. “Yes,” I whimper.
The response earns me another slap across the ass, and I cry out, this time far more from pleasure than any kind of pain. My buttocks clench. Mason’s fingertips dance across my skin, easing the burn, preparing it for the next spank like an artist readying his canvas. I hold my breath, remain very still, tingling with anticipation.
But to my surprise, he doesn’t paddle me again. Instead, he gently pushes me off his lap so that I am kneeling before him. My face—my mouth—is eye level to his crotch, and through his trousers, I can see that he’s hard. Every inch of me wants to touch his erect cock, taste it between my lips. But I wait for his consent, nearly desperate for his permission, knowing without it, he is out of bounds.
Mason unbuckles his belt. I glance up, and in his eyes, I find unabashed lust. A delicious thrill runs through my body. He undoes the top buttons of his slacks, gently pulls down the zipper, and shoves his hand down into his underwear to pull out his impressive dick.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip.
Let me touch you.
As though reading my mind, Mason grips the base of his cock and points it toward me like a thick dagger. “Put your mouth on me, Olivia.”
My pulse skips a beat. I shift closer, and spread his legs further apart so that I can wedge my body between them. With one hand, I reach back to hold my hair, and then lower my mouth, hovering it over his erect penis, lightly blowing my hot breath against his flesh. My body trembles with need.
His hips lift, ever so slightly, and my lips touch his cock, gently at first. His low moan offers encouragement, causing me to take more of him into my mouth, loping my tongue around the ridge of his cock in slow, lazy circles.
Mason grasps my head for purchase and pushes himself deeper.
The tip of his penis almost reaches the back of my throat, but I still manage to draw him tighter against my lips and suck my way up his length. He gasps, softly, taking in a sharp breath that makes my pussy clench. In this moment, I am in control, and there is no greater turn on.
I feel proud that I can handle this.
Handle him.
He’s very big, but I find I like it quite a lot.
I grip the base of his cock with one hand while the other works in tandem with my mouth, twisting and licking and sucking. My head bobs in a steady rhythm, keeping time with my movements. It’s as though I’ve suddenly found my groove.
Mason rolls his hips, grinding his cock in and out of my mouth, while his hand nestles into the hair at the base of my neck and pulls hard enough to make me gasp. In retaliation, I reach between his thighs, grab his scrotum and squeeze.
“Christ, Olivia,” he growls. “You’re fucking driving me insane.”
My chest swells with pride. The praise makes me work harder to please him. I fondle his balls and run my tongue up and down his shaft. My teeth nip against the ridge of his cock, and then drag down to the base, scraping against his tender skin.
“Right there, Liv,” he says, breathless, panting. “Right. Fucking. There.”
The rhythm of my sucking and stroking picks up speed. I flick my tongue across the head of his cock. Suck. Flick. Suck. My movements are almost mechanical, robotic, as I focus on making this all about him.
“Fuck,” he grunts.
I take him deeper into my mouth, preparing for his climax.
Wanting to take it all, feeling frenzied and free for the first time…perhaps ever.
His balls are tight, his cock engorged—but just as I think he’s going to spasm into an orgasm, he pulls out abruptly. I feel the loss as sharply as if he cut me off from oxygen.
My heart beats with worry. “Is something wrong?”
His mouth twists into a wicked grin. “Not a damn thing.”
I’m so relieved to hear the lust in his voice that it takes me by surprise when he grabs my wrists, lifts me to a standing position and guides me to the bed, his still erect cock poking against my ass. Gently, he turns me around, palms my breast, and then bends to take my nipple between his lips. My body ignites.
He suckles each of my breasts, alternating between his mouth and his fingertips, sending ripples of pleasure to my core. With his free hand, he traces a path from my hips, across my stomach, and between my thighs. He rubs my pussy, knowing exactly how to touch me, firm and confident but not overly aggressive.
With every touch, my orgasm begins to build, the battle to control it, derail it, becoming more difficult to fight.
Mason gently pushes me back onto the mattress and spreads my legs. His hands wrap around my ankles, pinning me in place. “The sweet scent of your pussy has been teasing me since yesterday.” His tongue darts across his bottom lip. “I dreamed about it. About you. I need to know if you taste as good as I imagine you do.”
Fuck, yes. I want this so badly.
The only thing I desire more than his tongue on me, is his hard, thick cock pushing into me and going as deep as it can go.
He kneels on the floor and dips his head between my thighs. My entire body vibrates with lust and a yearning so intense, it makes my head spin. His tongue trails up along my calf, and circles my knee. Every nerve ending snaps awake. I arch into the mattress and curl my fingers into the bedding, squeezing tight to ease the ache in my pussy. The anticipation is so intense, my orgasm builds with alarming speed.
Mason’s teeth nip at my inner thighs and then suddenly, without warning, his tongue plunges into my cleft. I gasp out loud.
“I was right about the sweetness,” he says, voice muffled against my pussy. He licks again, twice more, each time dragging his tongue through my wet slit with delicious skill.
He takes my clit between his lips. I begin to pant, and then almost grunt. He sucks harder, drawing the tiny, sensitive nub into his mouth, mashing his face against my swollen vulva.
The stimulation is too much, too soon, and too fierce. My knees go weak and I suffer a sudden, juddering climax that is so sharp and unexpected it almost hurts. I grab Mason’s head, meaning to yank him off, but my hands pull him closer instead.
Even though my flesh feels like it’s on fire, I’m acutely aware of how his hair feels on my fingers, the herbal scent of his shampoo.
“It’s too much,” I cry out, wriggling frantically as the suction on my clit increases.
But instead of letting go, he slides his hands around
my hips to clutch my butt and plunges his tongue deeper. My body jerks and bucks, but he hangs on like a lifeline, digging his fingers into my flesh, pressing and probing with his tongue until at last, I can no longer hold it.
As waves of pleasure undulate through me, I thrust my hips, pushing my pussy to his face, and bite hard to temper my scream.
Chapter 14
Angry voices cut through the hazy remnants of my dream. I lift one eyelid, squinting into the sunlight which streams through the open curtains. For a second, I’m not sure where I am, but when I roll onto my back, my backside ignites as if on fire, and the evening’s events come flooding back.
A lazy smile curls my lips up as I remember with vivid detail the feel of Mason’s agile tongue between my thighs. My pussy, sore from being devoured, clenches with the memory. I curl the pillow to my chest, and burrow my face into it, as though to trap my smile. I’m practically giddy.
But the grin fades when I recognize the voice outside the door. It’s Lucas, and he sounds mad as hell. I sit upright, straining to hear the loud conversation in the hall.
“What the fuck is she doing in your bed?”
“What the hell does it matter to you?” Mason’s tone is tight with tension, and it makes my heart thump a little louder. “I don’t question who you fuck.”
I pull my knees up to my chest and hold my breath.
“There’s a difference between fucking her in her bed, and sleeping with her,” Lucas fires back. Unease nestles at the base of my neck, making the hair stand upright. I shift closer to the headboard, and draw the pillow tight against my chest. “You don’t do intimacy, Mason. That’s not who you are”
“Agreed. There’s something different about this girl.”
Holden.
Though his tone is softer, more reasonable, it’s still leaden with tension. I’d thought at first that Mason’s partners just didn’t like me, but I’m starting to understand the root of the problem begins with an issue that is much deeper than their instant distaste—the simply don’t want him to get attached.
“This is highly uncharacteristic,” Lucas says.
My chest fills with ridiculous hope. I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t over analyze the past twenty-four hours, would just give in to the pleasure, to the moment. But in this morning’s afterglow, I can’t help but wonder if maybe—impossibly—Mason might be developing feelings for me. Is it wrong to think that I am different somehow? A fresh alternative to the dozens of models and actresses and pop stars he’s taken to his bed?
“You guys are making a bigger deal out of this than it needs to be,” Mason says, gruffly.
His response stings, but I cling to hope. It’s not as if I think we’re heading down the aisle and into wedded bliss—yet—but our chemistry is undeniable. And more to the point, he hasn’t denied that to his partners.
“She isn’t right for you,” Lucas continues.
Okay, now I’m getting pissed. My fingers dig into the pillow and I grit my teeth. Who the hell are they to decide whether I’m right for Mason? What does that even mean? They don’t even know me, for fuck’s sake.
“Girls like her…” Holden’s voice trails off, leaving my hyper-sensitive imagination to fill in the blanks. Like me how? Plain and boring? Maybe I’ll never make the cover of Sports Illustrated but I didn’t hear Mason complaining when his lips were clamped around my clit.
Do they think I’m a gold digger?
My stomach twists. Screw them. I plan to carve out my own success, without Mason’s pocketbook to fund the journey, thank you very much.
Their collective voices drop to a murmur. I lean toward the door, straining to hear what’s being said.
My chest grows heavy with regret.
How dumb can I be?
“We should continue this conversation over breakfast,” Mason says, not quite quiet enough for me not to hear.
But his partners are relentless. They poke and prod, needle and mock. Snippets of their insults float through the thin walls. Naïve. Young. Inexperienced. Only after one thing.
They tell Mason he’s going soft.
He assures them they’ve got the wrong idea.
With each degrading comment, I wait for Mason to defend me. To stand up for us—whatever us is. His friends have no business butting into his personal life… Do they? I shrink back under the covers, pulling the blanket up over my ears.
The argument has drawn out my self-doubt, and I begin to question my motives and actions. What is it about Mason that has allowed me to let down my guard and compromise my morals?
Emotions swirl in my stomach like a tornado.
God, I’m about to get sick. I’m no damn different than my mother, desperately clinging to something that isn’t there. Was never there.
I lean over the edge of the bed and freeze at the sounds of Mason’s voice, loud and clear, leaving no room for debate or misinterpretation. “That’s enough. I don’t fucking have feelings for her. Now let’s get on with it, okay? It’s business as usual.”
My heart squeezes with unexpected pain and my whole body goes numb. I close my eyes, blinking back the tears that hover just under my eyelids, threatening to crash down in a waterfall of self-pity. I keep them closed even as the door opens and I hear the soft tread of Mason’s feet on the carpet. He goes to the bathroom, to the closet and back, staying silent so as not to wake me. He shaves, brushes his teeth, gets dressed—I hear the swoosh of his pants sliding up his thighs—and then the scratch scratch scratch of pen against paper. Is he leaving me a note?
Squinting through blurred vision, I pretend to remain asleep as he puts on his shoes, grabs his wallet and briefcase, and slips out the door without so much as a backward glance.
I exhale a sigh I’ve been holding too long, and it releases a teardrop that trickles down my cheek. My skin is numb with shock. What an idiot to believe I could be different.
Whatever tenderness Mason showed me last night was just part of some elaborate act, and maybe I don’t understand my role in all of this, but I’m fucking done with this game. Anger cuts through the blur of my throbbing heartache.
I toss off the blankets and sit upright. My gaze lands on the note from Mason, a reminder of the meeting at 9 a.m. sharp—it’s been underlined twice—and a list of things to bring—folders, spreadsheets, my legal pad of notes. It’s cold and impersonal, just like I should expect.
The glowing red numbers on the bedside alarm clock let me know I have one hour to make myself presentable, but I already know I won’t be attending that meeting. Like hell I’ll walk into that room and act like everything’s okay, that I didn’t overhear Mason and his partners talk about me like I’m some two-bit gold digging trailer trash.
Fuck that.
And fuck them.
My spine stiffens. Pride be damned, not even I need the job this bad. I’d rather be a damn barista at Starbucks than subject myself to ridicule at the hands of this trio of ego maniacs. I can hardly stomach the thought of seeing Mason again, let alone his damn friends.
Clearly, I have no choice but to leave.
Forget Hawaii, the beach and the sun. Forget Mason and the way he made me feel last night. Screw the steady income and the security of a job. I deserve better than to be treated like this.
I pull my hair into a loose ponytail, and put on my robe. Leaving my discarded bikini on the floor, I put on a robe and peer into the hall. Not seeing anyone, I slip from Mason’s suite and into mine across the hall.
My heart beats fast, as though it’s racing against the clock. My eyes flit to the time. I can’t be in this hotel when the meeting starts or Mason will come looking for me. And right now, I couldn’t give two shits if I ever see him again.
I don’t bother to pack, and leave only with the clothes on my back. It doesn’t even matter what he bought—I have no need for his charity. In fact, I have no use for Mason Wood at all.
My stomach twists as I tell myself this. The truth is, my body longs for his touch again.
I yearn for the closeness and chemistry I feel when I’m with him.
But I tell myself to be strong.
Hand on the doorknob, I glance back into the room. An incredible sadness hovers over me like a black cloud. Damn it. I wasn’t expecting fairytale bliss. I’m not that naïve. But I know that being alone can’t hurt any more than this.
Or can it?
In the lobby, I check out of my room and ask the concierge to call me a cab. On the journey to the airport, I max out of my credit card to book the first flight out of Hawaii. At the airport, it hits me how much I’m giving up—my job, maybe my only chance at becoming a day trader.
I ask myself if I can really turn my back on all of this.
Turn my back on him so easily.
And in the end, I decide that it won’t be easy—but I can. And I will.
Chapter 15
I have five dollars to my name. Correction, had. After buying a coffee and a bagel, I’m down to two bucks, and I might use that to pay for a pillow during my impromptu flight back to New York.
Ten hours crammed on a plane with strangers.
Ten hours to punish myself for falling under Mason Wood’s powerful spell.
Ten hours to come up with a plan.
My cell phone vibrates for what must be the fifth time in the last twenty minutes. I know without looking that it’s Mason, but I refuse to answer. Even to tell him off. My heart feels like it’s lodged in my throat and I don’t trust myself not to lose my shit—or cave.
Because if I’m being honest, I really thought Mason liked me and that we had a chance.
I turn off my phone mid vibration and toss it into my purse. I’ve got fifteen minutes before pre-boarding, and I’m too restless to sit. I use the restroom first, using the mirror to wipe away the mascara smudges from my pale complexion and apply a thin layer of pink gloss. My skin is pasty—I’m practically a ghost. But this time, I almost wish I could become invisible, slide right off the face of the earth.
I smudge lipstick onto my cheeks and rub it in, smoothing out the make-shift blush to at least give some color to my face. Anyone who knows me will see through the mask.
