by Leah Wilde
Tall, dark, handsome. Hair thick and dark, almost black in the dark outside. His jaw strong, his muscles cut from granite and displayed beneath the plain t-shirt he was wearing today. His pants were dark denim and hung just so off of his trim hips. His eyes were dark as they looked at me, drawing me in even when I knew it was stupid.
Clearing my throat to bring myself back to the here and now—and to remind myself that he was a creep that wanted to use me as bait—I folded my arms across my chest. Instantly, I remembered that I was only wearing my large gray nightshirt, no bra, with panties underneath. “What do you want?” I managed to get out, keeping my tone cool and calm.
He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut with a click of his teeth. He stood there silently, for once at a loss for words. I might have enjoyed the moment if I weren’t so angry with him still. And so hurt.
“Well?” I prompted.
“Can I come in?” he finally asked.
I raised my eyebrows at the question. He never asked for permission and it weirded me out a little that he was doing so now. Who the hell is this guy and what has he done with Mason? I blamed my shock for leaving the door open for him to come in.
“What do you want, Mason?” I asked him again, closing the door automatically once he was inside. I should have left it open, I thought, glancing at it. But I thought it would look too fearful if I opened it back up now, so I left it as it was.
He turned to face me, stuffing his hands into his front pockets. “I’ve asked a lot of you.”
Propping up one hip and folding my arms over my chest again, I raised an eyebrow at him. “Asked?”
He gave me a rueful smile. “Okay, demanded.”
“Forced,” I spit out.
If I expected him to flinch at the word, he didn’t. He just shrugged. “You would have come around either way. I was just expediting the process.”
I barked out a laugh. “Come around? To what, being your mistress? Your personal whore?”
His full mouth pulled down into a frown, his brow furrowing over his dark eyes. “Is that what you think?” he asked calmly. “That you’re my whore?”
“Aren’t I?”
He stepped closer to me and I had the urge to step back, to keep some distance between us, because I still remembered that he was dangerous. And he was dangerous for a lot of reasons, most of them having to do with the hurt I was experiencing in my chest.
“No,” he told me flatly. “You’re not. Sasha…A whore will sleep with anyone for money. You did it because I left you no choice, but I like to think that that wasn’t the only reason.”
I swallowed heavily and looked away, because his expression was making me feel vulnerable. It looked earnest, genuine. And I wanted to believe that it was. “What other reason could there be?”
When he took another step towards me, it put him right next to my body. His hand reached out to slide down my shoulder and for a blissful second, I let it. Because he still felt good, even as I tried to deny it. Then I jerked out of his grip.
“Damnit, Sasha, we’re good together,” he said, his tone annoyed. Like he’d expected me to just melt from his words just because he said I wasn’t a whore.
Still an asshole, I thought. “Good together? How do you figure that?”
“Tell me you’ve come like you have with me for any other man.”
Pursing my lips, I was silent for a long moment because of course I hadn’t. But I didn’t tell him that. Instead, I said, “Good sex doesn’t mean anything.”
“Of course it does.”
“Not to me.”
He narrowed his eyes at me and this time when he grabbed hold of my upper arm, he held tightly. I couldn’t shake him off. “Don’t give me that crap. The sex is good because what’s between us is good.”
“Between us? And what is between us?” I demanded. “A payment plan? Drugs? What?”
He paused, whatever he wanted to say lingering on the tip of his tongue. Then finally, it slipped out. “Love.”
Chapter Fourteen
I blinked at him. “What?”
“Love is between us. Or affection or whatever the hell you want to call it. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it, because I know you do. This connection. I didn’t expect it, sure as hell didn’t want it, but it’s here.” He tapped on his chest above where his heart was. “We’re good together, Sasha, and I think it’s pretty clear that this isn’t about payments or deals or anything like that anymore.”
Love. He…he thought he was in love with me. It was ridiculous. Utterly and completely. How could he be in love with me?
I told myself that he was an asshole. That he was just standing there trying to manipulate me again, just like he always did. Play on my fears with Nick and going to prison. Play to my desires with my need to be wanted by a man.
But even as I reminded myself of all of this, I couldn’t ignore the pressure in my chest. The hope and the need there. Because I did care about Mason. I wasn’t sure if it was love—I didn’t think he was sure either—but it was real.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked him finally, my tone soft and quiet.
His other hand moved to slide over my other arm, though his grip had softened. His fingers warmed along my bare skin and a little shiver ran through me. It wasn’t disgust anymore, not even a little bit. It was desire and comfort.
“Because it’s what I should have told you when I took you to dinner that night,” he answered. His voice had dropped lower, volume matching my own. “I’m not doing all of this just for my business. I’m doing this because I want you in my life, and I’m okay putting in a little extra effort if that’s what I get for it.”
He leaned forward and when he pressed his lips against mine, I let him. My eyes fluttered closed and I realized how seldom he kissed me. His lips were soft, his mouth equal parts insistent and coaxing. When his tongue trailed over the seam of my mouth, I opened for him, letting him inside.
He tasted of mint and something heavier, richer. His tongue explored, touching and coaxing my own until we were dueling. The kiss intensified, becoming deep and needy, full of passion where it had begun with sweetness.
My arms moved on their own until they were wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to me. I wanted him closer. His hands were at the small of my back, holding me against him, and I didn’t care that my shirt was riding up to my hips. I wanted him. Not because I had to or because the alternative was terrifying, but because he was here and he was kissing me. Because what sparked between us was real.
When he broke the kiss and pulled away slightly, I leaned towards him automatically. I wanted more. My chest heaved as I pulled in oxygen like I was drowning. I felt the thumping of his heart in his hard chest.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t feel that,” he murmured huskily.
I swallowed and nodded. “I did. I shouldn’t, but I want you Mason. I want whatever this is.”
His mouth returned and we kissed again. I clutched at his body, his shoulders, his neck. Then my hands roamed up, fingers sliding through his dark hair. I tugged on his thick strands, then felt him grin against my mouth.
His hands were at my hips, moving up beneath my nightshirt to find the pale flesh beneath. He caressed my navel and slid along the curves of my waist, then up higher. My breath hitched when I felt his large hands moving against my ribcage to find the undercurves of my breasts.
I waited for him to cup them, to weigh them in his palms, and finally to fondle them just as he always did. But tonight, he didn’t. His hands and mouth pulled away at the same time, though he continued to hold me close.
I arched towards him, trying to kiss him again, but he resisted. “Don’t you want me?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yes. As a business partner and as my partner.”
I tried to kiss him again, but he dodged me. Letting out a frustrated noise, I demanded, “Then what the hell?”
He laughed, the sound genuine and sexy. “I didn’t come here for sex. I don’t
want you to think that every time I call you, it’s for sex.”
I raised an eyebrow at him, my mouth twitching towards a smile. “Um, but it is. That’s what your phone calls mean, remember?”
Rolling his eyes, he admitted it. “Okay, yes. But that’s only because I was trying to keep my name away from yours. Now that that’s no longer an option, there’s no point in staying apart.”
I considered that. “So you’re saying that this was to protect the business—and me—and that’s why it’s only been about the sex?”
His hand came up to my face, gently brushing away a strand of blonde hair as he looked down at me. “Yes. At least…that’s what it’s become.”
I nodded. That last addition, that’s what it’s become, made all the difference because it rang true. Feelings had grown, unbidden, and now we were in a hell of a mess. Sighing, I let my head fall to his shoulder in a strangely intimate moment. “Okay,” I said.
“Okay?”
“Okay, I’ll be your bait.”
There was a long pause. I couldn’t see his face, so I couldn’t tell what expressions were flickering across it. Finally, he spoke. “No.”
Pulling away, I looked him in the eyes. His expression was determined and maybe a little grim. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re not going to be my bait.”
“But the plan—”
“It’s changed. We’ll move the stash tonight. I’ve got Clay on call. Tomorrow, we’ll work out another way to lure in Jimmy. I’ll take care of him.”
My heart leapt in my chest. Was he serious? Was this a gesture that told me he really meant what he said, and I was important to him as more than just a sex toy or a drug storage place?
“But—”
“I’ll handle it.”
He kissed me then, silencing any further protests. It was short and sweet. When he pulled away, I left my mouth parted, but the kiss did the trick. I had absolutely nothing to say. Through a haze of powerful lust, I saw his eyes dart down to my lips. He seemed to be considering me, debating something in his head. A second later, he leaned forward again and kissed me again.
This one wasn’t sweet or short.
His hands found my hips again, jerking me to him. My chest pressed into his. The kiss became insistent, needy. His hands moved up beneath my shirt, but this time instead of traveling to my breasts, his fingers hooked into the waistband of my panties. I broke the kiss, taking in quick breaths as I struggled to speak.
“I thought you weren’t here for sex.”
He made a low, groaning sound in his throat that was closer to a growl than anything else. “I wasn’t. But since I’m here and you’ve got so little on anyway…” He trailed off so that he could kiss along the column of my neck. Then he paused. “Unless you don’t want to.”
I let out a laugh that was supposed to be mocking, but came out more breathless. “Is this an optional payment?”
He nipped at my skin with his teeth, causing me to gasp. Then he said in a low, deep voice, “No. Payments aren’t optional. But this is only what you want it to be.”
I swallowed. It was the first time I’d really been given an out. If I didn’t want to sleep with him, I didn’t have to. I could walk away and be done. But I didn’t need the out this time. I wasn’t resisting the way my body reacted to him anymore. Instead, I wanted to embrace it.
“Then take me, Mason,” I told him, clinging to his hard body.
That was the only encouragement he needed. He ripped my panties from me, throwing them to land somewhere nearby and out of sight. I groaned, my mind flashing to that first dream I’d had of him. He’d tied me up then, dominated me and that had been the first in a series of orgasms that rocked my world.
But this was the real him and it was so much better than any dream I’d had.
His large hands slid up my thighs, his thumbs skimming along the inside of them. I ran my hands through his hair, my breaths coming out short and fast as I waited for what seemed like forever. “Please, just touch me,” I begged him when his thumbs lingered just out of reach of my slick opening.
Mason grinned at me. “I always knew you wanted me. You’ve always been such a dirty, hot little momma.”
If I was going to argue with him, that argument died as soon as his hands moved up just a little higher to find me already swollen and wet. I let out a moan when his thumbs moved along the outside of my entrance, sliding against the inside of my labia. They pulled me open, exposing me.
“Should I finger you, Sasha?” he asked me, his tone almost casual, like he wasn’t holding me open, his thumbs coated in my own natural lubrication.
“Bastard,” I got out, but it was halfhearted.
“That’s not an answer.”
I swallowed, my face burning. I didn’t even know if it was from embarrassment or need. “Yes, you should definitely finger me,” I ground out.
He smirked at me. “That’s what I want to hear.” And finally, he let one of his thumbs slide over and dip into my opening.
“Christ!” I called out.
“He won’t save you now,” he told me as he let his thumb pump in and out of me. “But if you want to beg me, I might be able to.”
It was a lie. No one could save me now. I was completely lost to sensation and to this wicked man in front of me. I groaned, my hips jerking towards his hand as his thumb continued to slide into me.
“Beg,” he told me, his voice low and gravelly.
I whimpered when his thumb left my entrance. “Please, Mason, touch me.”
“Touch you where?” he asked innocently, but I could see the wicked glint in his eyes. “C’mon, baby, tell me where to touch you.”
I bit my lip, both turned on and embarrassed by the way he insisted I say it. “Between my legs,” I managed, but that wasn’t enough for him. I tried again. “My pussy. Please, touch my pussy.”
And he did. He slid three fingers into me at my request and caressed my inner walls like they were velvet. His thumb found my clit then, and started to rub over it. I felt pressure inside of me build already.
“You’re gonna come for me, Sasha,” he murmured against my lips, not quite kissing them.
I swallowed and admitted, “I always do.” A moment later, I fell over the edge and found my release over his hand. Falling forward, I used his firm body to keep myself up. It took me a moment to register that we were moving, but when he whispered in my ear, I came back a little.
“Where’s the bedroom?”
I pointed to a room down the hall and he led me there. As soon as we were in my little room, he shoved me down on the bed and began to undress. Now that I’d had my first orgasm of the night—my body trembled with the promise of more to come—he was eager to get his. He took of his clothes quickly, his shirt disappearing and his pants undone in seconds.
I watched as he exposed more and more of his scarred, wonderful skin. I loved that stripe of gnarled pink skin down his chest and that slash over his bicep. And I loved that trail of dark hair that dipped into his pants, leading to his hardness within.
The pants were gone just as quickly as the shirt, revealing that he was rock hard and practically vibrating with need.
He crawled on top of me, kissing up my body and rucking up my shirt at the same time. I mewled as his soft lips pressed hot spots against my skin until I was on fire all over again. He settled on his knees between my legs and smiled at me. His shaft was rigid, the head swollen.
“Take off your shirt,” he told me.
I obliged, sitting up awkwardly to pull it up and off between us. It reminded me of that first time in his office, but I marveled at how things had changed. And not just the fact that we were doing it in a bed.
“Beautiful,” he murmured and I flushed.
He grabbed my legs and hooked them over his shoulders, my knees bent just slightly. His erection slid along my folds, collecting the moisture there, before his head poised at my entrance.
I took a deep, shuddering bre
ath and waited.
A second later, he plunged his entire length inside of me until I was so full I could feel him at the very back of me. We groaned in unison at the connection. “Fuck,” he murmured and then he began to move.
His strokes were slow and easy at first, full of trembling and anticipation, but I knew him well at this point. He couldn’t maintain this achingly slow pace for long.
Reaching my hands up, I placed them palms flat against his chest. Slowly, I trailed my fingers over his hard muscles, enjoying the way they tensed beneath my fingertips. “Please,” was all I said to him and it was enough.
His pace increased, his thrusts becoming hard and fast as his turgid length moved within me. My hips bucked up to try and meet him, our bodies falling into a helpless rhythm dictated by lust and need and something more delicate.
