by Ivy Carter
At least I’m admiring the view.
Mason closes his mouth over my nipples and tugs gently with his teeth.
I purr with yearning. “Mason, stop, we have a busy day ahead of us,” I say, running my hand through his hair. He rests his head on my chest and grins at me, which causes an instant tingle between my thighs.
“You don’t want to be late for your meeting,” he says. His hand slides between my legs and pushes my hands apart. Quickly, his thumb finds the tight nub of my throbbing clit. I am powerless under his touch.
But I’m distracted, worrying a little about the meeting with his partners.
Lucas and Holden have requested a meeting, which I’m sure is yet another opportunity for them to berate me for Mason’s “withdrawal” from the company. He’s still one-third owner, but since our engagement, he’s delegated more of his share of the work to other employees. Relinquishing control hasn’t been easy—which is why I don’t mind he retains some in the bedroom.
Gently he rolls me on to my stomach and caresses my butt, still sore from yesterday’s “punishment” for not packing the coffee pot in an easily marked box. My cheeks flush at the memory of Mason bending me over counter of the breakfast nook, and paddling me with a wooden spoon.
He kisses the tender flesh now, moving his mouth expertly across my skin. I spread my legs, inviting his touch. Mason draws delicious circles around each cheek before smacking my ass with a resounding thwack.
But lately his paddles are more love taps than anything.
“For what am I being punished for this morning, Mr. Wood?”
His response is a low growl. “For being incredibly sexy.”
My stomach flutters. “I had no idea that was a sin.”
He spanks me again, harder, a reminder that I haven’t been given permission to speak. I take the punishment without complaint, because I know I could stop it any time—if I wanted. I don’t.
I can feel the tremble in Mason’s hands when he touches me. Feel the desperation—the passion—in each flick of his wrist. He may appear to have control, but beneath his rough exterior, I am the one in power. Knowing that is enough.
My pussy is slick with anticipation, and I savor each swipe of his hand, knowing that soon, he will reward my patience with the delicious expertise of his tongue. He leans in and leaves a trail of kisses across my skin.
When his mouth moves up my spine and nestles behind my ear, I know that my punishment is over, and I welcome the oncoming pleasure. He nibbles on the back of my ear. “You are so incredibly hot.”
A shiver rolls down my spine.
I’m still not used to his blatant compliments, or the smoldering looks he gives whenever I walk into the room. His hands are always on me, possessive. As though he’s afraid I might leave.
I’m not going anywhere.
My eyes flit to the giant diamond on my finger and it almost takes away my breath. I am marrying Mason Wood—and it’s the most incredible feeling in the world.
Mason’s hand slides back between my thighs and he rolls my clit between his fingers.
Correction. This is the most incredible feeling in the world.
I roll over and spread my legs, giving him full access. From this position, I can reach his cock. I wrap my hand around it, pleased to find it erect. He pushes his groin toward me, moaning with desire.
“Jesus, you’re wet,” he whispers.
He inserts two fingers and pulses them in and out while his thumb plays with my clit. My hand grips his cock, twisting around its girth with gentle ease. Impossibly, his erection intensifies.
Mason withdraws his fingers and kisses me softly on the lips. Desire flashes in his eyes, and suddenly he is flipped around on top of me, his cock hovering over my mouth, his mouth breathing hot air onto my pussy. His tongue darts inside and I take him into my mouth.
Our mouths move in tandem. Sucking. Tasting. Exploring.
Mason knows every inch of my body, and he proves it by deftly coaxing me into a fast-building orgasm. His tongue swirls and flicks, and then slides across my slit with slow, rhythmic strokes.
I clench his head between my thighs and grip the base of his penis, sucking it deeper into my mouth. The motions come easy, but I can’t focus, because Mason’s tongue is working its magic on my clit. My mouth stops moving just as my climax crests. My body shudders under the intensity as waves of pleasure roll through me. I dig my fingernails into his ass, thrusting his cock to the back of my throat, muffling the scream that comes with my climax.
When at last, the quakes ease, Mason withdraws his cock from my mouth and rolls me on top of him. I sit upright, straddling him, and he eases into me. My hips begin to move, grinding my pelvis back and forth.
He reaches up and cups my breasts. “I want you to fuck that cock,” he says, thrusting off the mattress. He pinches my nipples and squeezes. My pussy clenches, and I buck harder. I push down on his chest for purchase and bounce up and down on his cock, gaining speed.
His hands grip my waist, guiding me up and down.
My heart beats fast, and my breath comes in ragged gasps.
Mason’s cock pounds into me like a piston. I rock faster against him, savoring the friction on my clit, surprised to feel another climax building. Our bodies find rhythm. My fingernails scratch against his skin, clawing desperately against the rising pleasure.
“Damn it,” I scream. “You’re going to make me fucking come.”
“Do it,” he commands.
He thrusts hard and the orgasm crests just as I feel his own release. He spasms, and a rush of his come fills my pussy. We claw at each other, thrashing and screaming until the last wave of pleasure finally ends. Our bodies go limp.
I lean forward, pressing my forehead to his. “Fuck me.”
His mouth twists into a smirk. “I believe we just fucked each other.”
I throw back my head and laugh. “So we did, Mr. Wood. So we did.”
My nerves are like livewires, electric with unease.
Mason holds my hand tightly, but the sight of Lucas and Holden at the table makes my stomach clench. Even having Mason at my side isn’t enough to curb my anxiety. I can’t imagine what they could have to say to me.
“Don’t worry,” Mason says, out of the side of his mouth. “At your first signal, we’ll leave.”
If that were true, we’d already be gone. But this meeting is important to Mason, a chance, maybe, to create some goodwill. His partners don’t have to work with me, or even like me—but they do have to accept that I’m in Mason’s life. For good. Soon as his wife.
A bottle of champagne chills in the middle of the table.
Both men stand to greet me, offering tight smiles and stiff handshakes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were as nervous as I am. Mason pulls back my chair and we sit, the four of us, staring at the bottle of champagne like it’s a lifeline.
Lucas clears his throat. “It seems we have something to celebrate.” He gestures to my ring. “Congratulations.” His voice goes quiet. “I believe we did say there was something different about you.”
“Special,” Holden amends. He pops the cork and pours each of us a glass. “To Mason and Olivia,” he says, holding his champagne up in salute.
We clink glasses, and I take a sip, allowing the bubbling liquid to calm some of my anxiety. Is it possible they’re genuinely happy for us?
The waiter brings another bottle of champagne and sets it on the table. I tilt my head. “It’s not even noon, boys.” Surely we can’t keep toasting to my impending wedding to Mason. “And I have another appointment.”
Holden coughs into his hand. “We were hoping to have something else to celebrate.”
“We made a mistake, Liv,” Lucas cuts in. “Me especially. I treated you horribly, and just because Mason can be an insufferable prick sometimes is no excuse for us to behave that way.” There’s a smatter of brotherly chuckling. “But seriously,” he continues, “you’re good at what you do, an impressiv
e day trader.”
“You’re doing great work at Venture,” Lucas goes on. “Don’t think we haven’t been keeping track.”
My chest swells with pride.
Mason squeezes my hand.
Lucas sets his glass down. “Look, I’m just going to cut to the chase. We need you at Daylight Holdings,” he says.
I blink.
“Come work with us,” Holden says. He averts his gaze to Mason, and grins. “The three of us haven’t been right in a few months, and we miss it. We want things to go back to the way they were.”
“But they won’t,” Mason says. “Because I’m not giving up Liv.”
Holden smiles. “Yeah, we know. You crazy SOB.” He lifts his glass toward me. “No offence, Liv, you’re obviously a great girl, but I’m sticking solo.”
“Definitely,” Lucas says. “But we acknowledge that you belong on our team. Not as a junior day trader, but in a senior position.”
“You’ll make millions a year,” Holden says.
I stay silent for a minute, processing the offer. I make good money at Venture, and it’s true, my work is appreciated. But for as hard as I work, I’m missing the drive. The belly fire. And if I’m honest, I miss working alongside Mason.
“And you guys would be okay with that, for real?”
Lucas blushes. “We trust you, Liv. You’ve earned our respect.” He winks. “And more than that, we like you.”
My throat swells with emotion.
Mason leans in close. “So,” he says. “What do you say?”
I grin so wide my cheeks nearly split. “I say, let’s open another bottle of champagne, boys.”
I’d spot Renee anywhere in a crowd, but today, she especially stands out in a leopard print jumper with a gaping neckline that shows off her generous breasts. A pair of giant sunglasses cover half her face, in stark contrast to her ruby lips. She’s a raven in a flock of sparrows—dark, mysterious, and dangerous.
Particularly when she smiles.
“It’s about time you got here,” she says, standing to give me a hug. With her pumps, she’s almost a foot taller than me. Another trait she got from her mom. “I’ve polished off a glass of Pinot and just ordered a second.”
“I’ve had far too much champagne already,” I say, my head fuzzy with a light buzz.
Her response is cut off by a sharp gasp. She lifts my hand and points to the giant diamond on my finger. “Fuck me, Liv. That’s a boulder.”
My cheeks go warm. I tried to talk Mason out of buying such an extravagant piece of jewelry, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Anything less than two carats would be an insult, he said.
“Thank you for agreeing to be my maid of honor.”
Renee lifts her sunglasses onto her hair. There are tears in her eyes, and my stomach flutters a little. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She reaches into her enormous purse and pulls out a sketchbook. “We haven’t talked about it, but I was hoping you’d let me design your dress…”
My eyes get misty. “Yes,” I manage to choke out.
She brushes her eyes to stop the waterfall of tears, and sets the book in front of me. “I’ve started some sketches.”
Before Renee and I talked, Mason was trying to convince me to order a custom designed Vera Wang, but it didn’t feel right. Without my sister’s input, the whole wedding felt off. Not quite right. I reached out first, relieved when Renee responded with a confession that she missed me just as much as I missed her. Looking at her now, I can’t believe we ever let anything come between us.
Some food arrives just as I’ve finished skimming through her designs. I linger on my favorite, imagining myself standing next to Mason, exchanging vows. A thrill runs up and down my spine.
“That would look beautiful on you,” says a voice that is definitely not my sister’s.
I follow Renee’s wide-eyes gaze, and turn to find Mason hovering over my shoulder, staring at my perfect wedding gown. He puts his hand on my shoulder and leans in to kiss my cheek. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says to Renee, whose jaw has gone slack.
“So, you’re the Mason Wood,” she says. Her eyes dance with mischief.
“I hope your sister hasn’t spoiled your opinion of me,” he says, a touch of amusement in his voice.
She shakes her head. “Quite the opposite, actually.”
Mason twirls my hair in his fingers. “I’m sorry to interrupt…I was hoping we could catch a movie.”
My eyebrow lifts. “Now?”
He bites his lip. “I miss you.”
“You just saw me,” I say laughing.
His expression goes serious, and my heart feels like it’s falling through my chest. “I almost lost you once,” he says, and kisses the tip of my nose. “I never want to lose you again.”
And the best part?
I know he won’t.
THE END
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Bonus Content: SMITH (The Beckett Boys, Book One) by Olivia Chase
Aubrey
The moment I walk into Outlaws, I instantly realize how much I stick out. Worse than a sore thumb. More like a sore limb, or a sore whole body. Silly me, I thought my skinny jeans and slim-fitting T-shirt would be appropriate for a bar, but many of the women in here are wearing tiny, skin-hugging skirts and sexy shirts that make me look like a nun in comparison.
My face burns when several burly, greasy-looking men turn and stare my way, their gazes raking me up and down for a moment before visually dismissing me, but I make myself continue walking through the propped-open front door into the bar.
The floor crunches underneath my ballerina flats. I think it’s peanut shells I’m walking on but I can’t say for sure, and I’m kinda too scared to look at what it is. Instead, I find a space at the end of the beat-up wooden slab of a bar and slide onto the rickety bar stool.
Some kind of rock with a heavy thudding beat throbs through the large room, which is dimly lit. I hear the crack of a pool cue hitting a ball, dozens of people laughing and talking. The air in here smells like beer and warm sweat—there’s no air conditioning, but thankfully there’s a fresh breeze wafting in through the open door.
I suck in a deep breath, pressing my hand to my lower belly, and steady myself. Today, I begin again.
This is my new life. My new hometown. The place where I can leave my shitty past behind and start over. Rock Bridge, Michigan, a town chosen completely at random. A town that includes the seediest bar I’ve ever seen in my life. I didn’t think joints like this existed outside of movies.
I was totally wrong.
I study the beer to see what’s on tap. Most are the usual offerings, but there are a couple of brands I don’t recognize. Maybe local? I should try one out to help me acclimate myself even more to my new town, my new state.
I peek down the length of the bar but don’t see a bartender. No one else at the bar seems to care, though. They’re all caught up in talking to each other, waving hands in the air, yelling over the music. Their voices mingle around me.
Minutes pass. Nothing happens—I’m completely ignored by everyone, and behind the bar is still empty.
I shift nervously, second-guessing my impulsive decision to stop in here. Maybe this wasn’t my best idea after all. But I spent all day moving into my cheap but furnished apartment, unpacking my meager belongings and getting settled in. I passed the bar on my way to my new place and saw it’s within walking distance.
For whatever reason, I didn’t want to stay in that apartment by myself. Not tonight. I needed to be around other people. To remind myself that I’m safe.
So here I am, sitting by myself at the dirtiest, grittiest bar I’ve ever seen. Like a fucking loser, I think, then correct myself. No, not like a loser. Like a new girl in town—there’s no shame in that. I’m not letting his voice insinuate itself inside my head anymore. He can�
��t control me, can’t tell me how I should feel about myself. My chest lightens with the realization that finally, finally, I’m out of his grasp.
I take my first real deep breath in what feels like months, and my shoulders relax of their own volition. So what if I’m alone here? I don’t care. I don’t want anyone talking to me right now anyway. I just want to drink a beer and relax. Be around people, but not necessarily worry about integrating myself.
Besides, how would someone “integrate” herself in a bar like this, anyway? Offer blowjobs in the bathroom? The thought makes me laugh.
“Uh, hello,” a deep voice says from behind the bar, clearly irritated.
I blink, realizing I’ve been staring blindly at the nocked bar surface, and peer up into the sky-blue eyes of the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life. His dark blond hair is clipped short on the sides and pushed up in the front, and his black T-shirt barely fits over his well-formed chest. His curvy lips are pressed together in a thin line, surrounded by a red-blond close-clipped mustache and beard, and he has one brow arched at me.
He doesn’t look happy to see me. So much for customer service, I think.
“Um. Sorry. Yeah, hi,” I stumble. Something about the intensity of his gaze makes me clench, unnerves me. He’s raw sexuality personified.
He quirks his brow even higher. “I don’t recognize you.”
“I’m new to town,” I reply. “Just moved in today, actually. I came from upper New York.” Why in the hell am I telling him all of this? Something about him makes me really nervous. And when I’m nervous, I ramble.
“So, did you come from upper New York to just stare at the bar, or do you actually want something to drink?” His voice is flat.
My cheeks burn, and I tilt my chin up. “I would like a beer.”
He just stares at me like I’m a total moron, not speaking.
