Licking at his lips, he starts on his belt buckle. “On the bed.”
I. Am. Not. Fucking. Ready.
Crawling up the bed, I lie on my back and watch as he lowers his boxers. He moves himself up the bed and my eyes drop to his cock, heavy and thick. “It’s been too fucking long, Angel.” He pumps himself three times, his throat working as he swallows.
“When was the last time?” I ask, frowning.
“It doesn’t matter.”
It matters to me. I stop him as he climbs over me. “Mase.”
“Nina,” he warns. His cock brushes my stomach, leaving a trail of precum in its wake.
“How long ago?—”
“I didn’t,” he snaps, nudging the head inside of me. He looks down at where our bodies meet, and I clench around him.
“What do you mean?” I moan.
“I haven’t. Not… Jesus Christ, Nina.” He pinches his eyes tight. “Are we really doing this now?”
I nod.
He pauses, his jaw ticcing as he slowly slides into me, making my walls ache as they stretch around him. “This is the only pussy I’ve been inside of since the night I took you in my bed.” He rolls his hips, putting himself right down to the hilt and brushing my pelvis.
My eyes flutter close. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I only ever had anal sex, Nina.”
My eyes snap open.
“Because the thought of being inside someone else in any other way was never going to be an option unless it was you.”
He sits back on his knees, pulling out of me. “I’m sorry.”He climbs from the bed and leans against the dresser, dropping his head.
Is he ashamed? Because he shouldn’t be. I mean, I’m a little shocked, and it hurts, but I’m the one who should be ashamed.
I left him.
“Mase,” I soothe, “come here.”
When he doesn’t budge, I go to him, slipping my arms around him so I can cuddle his back. “Mase, please. Turn around.”
He turns in my arms and I slide a hand up into his hair, pushing it back off his face.
“I’m sorry I left you, and I promise I won’t ever leave you again.”
He shakes his head. “I’m weak.”
“No, you’re?—”
“How many men did you sleep with?”
“I was heavily pregnant,” I defend.
He shakes his head, looking away from me, and I regret pushing it and making him feel like this.
“Mase, I need you to make love to me.” His chest deflates, his shoulders sagging. “I’ve needed you to make love to me since you cornered me in my laundry room. I’ve only ever needed you to love me and in every way that mattered, you did. You always have—even when we fought it. I need you more than anything right now and I need it to be real. Us. But first.” I take his hand, sliding it deep between my legs, teasing the tips of his fingers on my puckered hole. “First, I need you to take me here.”
