TWELVE
Nina
This is how every Monday morning should start—cocooned in the strong arms of Mason Lowell. I smile into his chest, thankful he turned up last night, right when I needed him.
Sleep came fast and hard, the sexcapades of the weekend catching up with us both. He held me all night, and the thought of moving right now seems insane, but I made a promise to myself last night, and it starts with him.
Lucy was right. I’ve known Mason a week, and if I’m honest, I’m in deeper than I should be. I should be able to walk away. Our time together so far has been chaos—toxic even.
It’s time I moved forward. I won’t let my mother’s story control my own. It may be where mine began, but it won’t be how it ends.
Strong arms squeeze me tight, making me feel safe. I smile wide as I try to move closer.
“What are you smiling at? You know what it gets you,” he says, his voice deep and rough from sleep.
“What does it get me, Mase?” I hum.
He lifts my chin, planting a soft kiss on my lips. “It gets you fucked, angel,” he says, moving to kiss my neck, then dipping lower, sucking down my throat until his mouth wraps around my puckered nipple through the thin cotton fabric. My back bows off the bed, demanding more, craving more.
“Mase?” I purr.
His head lifts from my chest in answer, the light streaming in through the window illuminating his face. My heart physically aches. He is so beautiful, his dark hair a tousled mess, his jaw sporting a light coating of stubble. I trace his crooked nose with my index finger, trying my best to memorise every inch of him and this tender moment between us—both sated from sleep and lost in nothing but each other.
My finger moves to the seam of his full lips, gently tracing along the dark edges.
He kisses the tip of my finger fondly, his eyes lazy and locked on mine. “Well, now I can’t fuck you,” he moans, rolling his eyes and completely ruining the moment.
He climbs above me, arranging my legs accordingly.
“What?” I giggle. “What are you doing?”
He settles himself between my legs, his body blanketing my own. He takes my hands in his, locking them together and lifting them above my head.
“I don’t know, but I can’t fuck you right now,” he says, his eyes darkening.
“Mase?” I smile nervously, goosebumps coating my body.
He doesn’t wait, swooping down and taking my lips in a deep kiss as he slides into me in the same moment. His mouth falls open as he stretches me, stilling inside me.
“Fuck,” he groans, his nose dusting across my own. “Baby, you feel so good.”
He’s too much, too big, too gentle, too beautiful. He overwhelms me in every possible way, but instead of allowing the panic that threatens to push him away and break the connection, I let him in, giving him my eyes.
He begins to move inside of me, slowly, tenderly, with deep rolls of his hips.
Mason has only ever been dominant with me. Pulling and pushing me in a way I have grown to crave in such a short space of time. But instead of my head flying back to the mattress, my body fighting its way to a release, I hold his eyes.
Each thrust, each kiss, it’s all an afterthought, insignificant compared to the look in our eyes. It’s petrifying. He isn’t a part of my outline, he’s just a subplot. In the end he will be gone, barely remembered in the story.
So why is he taking the ink and seeping himself into my soul?
Mase sits with his back against my headboard. A coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. His head pops up when I walk into the room, fresh from a shower and still in my towel.
“Come here,” he demands.
I go to him, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, but he grabs me by the hips and pulls me to straddle him.
“I’m going to be late. You’re going to be late,” I complain, but make no move to get up.
