My head tips back as he pushes his fingers into me slowly, watching the way I squirm.
“You love it, don’t you?” He thumbs my clit with just enough pressure to make me jolt. “Love when I push it back in.”
I can’t even speak, all I can do is moan, arms straining in the tinsel above as he works me open again. His fingers are slick, and his mouth’s so close I can feel the heat of his breath on my skin.
“So pretty when you’ve been fucked so good.” His mouth brushes the inside of my thigh. “You’re perfect for me.”
Something soft and wanting bubbles in me. His words land low in my stomach, deeper than where his fingers still are, deeper than I’m ready to admit.
My breath stutters, wrists straining in the tinsel above, and suddenly the heat in me blurs into something else.
Mason feels it, because his hand stills, gaze flicking up to mine with a focus that strips me bare.
“Hey.” His voice gentles. “Too much?”
I shake my head, breath stuttering. “Not too much. Just… intense.”
“Good.” The corner of his mouth lifts. His fingers slowly ease from me, withdrawing with a drag that makes my whole body shiver. “But we’re done for now.”
A palm glides up my thigh, warm and steady, grounding me as the aftershocks fade.
Then he rises, unclamping the snowflake on my nipple, and then untying my wrists from the light fixture with careful fingers, making sure it doesn’t snag.
My arms drop bonelessly to his shoulders and he catches them, steadying me with one big palm against my lower back.
Then, ridiculously effortlessly, he scoops me up.
“Jesus,” I breathe, startled but arms still looping around his neck. “Are you carrying me like some kinda fire rescue right now?”
His mouth curves. “You were in a dangerous situation.”
“Oh yeah? Which part? The orgasm or the tinsel?”
“Both.” He shifts me higher against him, his hands strong under my thighs. “Lucky for you, I’m trained for emergency extractions.”
I snort, burying my face in his throat as he walks us toward the bedroom. “If you start narrating steps like a fire drill, I swear to God—”
“Baby,” he says, voice deep and amused, “you can’t even walk.”
Heat rushes through me again, embarrassing and thrilling and stupidly tender.
He steps into the bedroom and lowers me onto the bed, setting me down with slow, careful hands. Then he climbs in after me, tugging the blankets up and pulling me into his chest.
I melt against him, tucking my leg between his as he presses a kiss into my hairline.
His hand drags lazily up my spine. “You don’t have to decorate the tree, you know,” he murmurs. “Not if it still hurts.”
My eyes slip shut. “I know.”
“But I think we made a pretty damn good start on a new memory.”
A small smile curves my mouth. “One involving tinsel bondage?”
He huffs a quiet laugh, thumb drawing slow circles on my hip.
“I like the idea of new memories that go with the old ones. They don’t replace anything, just make room beside them.” His voice drops lower. “And I like making those with you.”
My chest tightens with pain, with hope, with something unbearably soft.
