I leaned forward and brushed a light caress across his cheek, stroking my thumb across his cheek, along his face, gliding my fingers across his closed eyelids, feeling the brush of his eyelashes like butterfly kisses on my skin.
“Mason, May I… kiss your neck?” I whispered.
He groaned, his eyes half-lidded as he lay on the bed watching me, his throat moving almost convulsively as he swallowed.
“You may,” he whispered.
My lips brushed along his jaw, sucking gently at his earlobe before moving down to a little hollow along his neck, a spot right above his collarbone. My tongue flicked out and tasted his skin.Imoaned this time, exulting in the salty taste of his fevered flesh against my tongue.
“Mason, May I… unbutton your pants?” I asked, starting to move down the bed.
He watched me as I crept down his body and this time he didn’t answer, simply nodded. I saw some of the tension he had exhibited earlier was back, and I felt a small tremor go through him as my face moved closer to his crotch.
I stopped moving.
“Ah! Ah! Ah!” I said, waving a finger at him like a naughty child. “That’s not in the rules… What are the magic words?”
“Ass,” he groaned again, but this time a gritted, “You may” escaped his lips.
I continued down his body, nuzzling his skin as I lazily made my way down to his crotch. I could see the way the denim strained with his erection, a wet spot darkening the front of his jeans, and I waspractically salivating to be able to flick my tongue out and taste him, but I hadn’t asked yet. God, this game was going to kill both of us.
I paused as I reached my destination, making sure his eyes were locked on mine as I reached a finger out to the straining denim. I watched his throat work again, as if he was having trouble swallowing.
Flick. My nail flicked at the top button of his jeans, the fabric springing open.Fuck… they were button fly jeans… Flick. Flick. Flick. The denim opened eagerly, stressed against the swell of his erection. I could just make out the bulge of his cock straining behind the waistband of his underwear, long and thick and mouthwateringly close. Mason must have been able to feel my breath brush across his skin, hot and wet.
I realized Mason and I were both breathing heavily now as I looked up at him from the bottom of the bed. I hadn't done much more than kiss him, but I had a feeling he was almost ready to come.
“Mason, May I…” I paused, overwhelmed at the depth of what I was feeling for this man right now as I knelt between his legs.
“…What? Fuck,what?” he asked, through gritted teeth. His desperation made me smile.
“Mason, May I… touch your cock?” I asked. I tensed.
Time froze, hanging on his response. For a moment, I thought he was going to say it was too much, that he needed to stop. Oddly, I was okay with that. No,really. Just kissing him tonight had been more than I'd dared hope to have from him after yesterday. Everything else was just delicious, mouthwatering icing on this gorgeous, beautiful cake.
He nodded jerkily once, then he nodded a second time, this time with more certainty.
“I need you—” I started to speak, suddenly realizing I was pretty worked up myself by the look on his face. I paused, took a deep breath to center myself, then cleared my throat and continued. “I need you to say it,” I said, my eyes lost in his gaze, my own heart galloping. “I need you to give me permission,” I urged, my hands stroking his sides gently.
“Yes. Oh god, yes you may…” He moaned.
I reached my hand out to gently trace the outline of his cock beneath his briefs. He shuddered as my hands stroked over his erection, teasing gently along its head, down along its sides and gently stroking his balls through the fabric. He moaned again as I touched him, his hips twitching unconsciously as he strained toward my hand.
“Oh, my fucking zebra gods…” he gasped. I slowly slid my hand away from his crotch.
“Congratulations! You’ve reached Level Two of ‘Mason May I’…” I announced in my best game show host voice, hooting and throwing in a few fake cheers.
“Level… what?” Mason spluttered, looking at me as my hand retreated. “Who said anything about levels? I didnotagree to levels,” he growled at me, complaining. “There was a distinctlackof leveling when discussing this game.”
“But levels make itsomuch more fun to advance, my neophyte,” I purred, placing more kisses along his chest and abdomen. They seemed to mollify him somewhat, but he looked at me suspiciously.
“Hrmph,” he said, his mock outrage fizzling beneath my tongue. “I guess it’s not that bad…” he muttered. “Rules?” he barked at me.
“Level Two of ‘Mason May I’ is going to require a few more words than that, sweetie,” I said, sitting up. “In Level Two, instead of me asking you what I may do to you,youtellmewhat you want me to do.” I could feel the devilish gleam in my eye as I sat up and smirked at him, his face nonplussed for a moment.
“I… wait, what…? No, no fair—” he began, but my lips stopped his complaints.
“Is it really that hard, baby?” I asked, nipping at his swollen lips. “Just tell Lee what you want. What you like. What feels good to you.”
