Sex would have been a lot easier.
“I want to know about you, Hannah Whelan.” He kissed me. Harder this time. “In between other things.”
Then his fingers were in my hair again, buried deep. His mouth on mine. I moaned, his tongue sweeping between my lips. He was tasting me. Devouring me.
My hands ran up and down his broad back. There was so much to touch. So much to feel.
“What’s your favorite color?” he asked, kissing the underside of my jaw. Trailing hot, wet lips along the column of my throat.
I laughed.
“Why don’t you guess?” I suggested with a gasp. I leaned back into his couch, arching my neck, giving him complete access. I was throbbing between my legs. An ache that needed tending. I parted my thighs. I wanted him to feel how wet I was.
For him.
Becauseof him.
He slowly unbuttoned my shirt and looked down at me, his eyes on fire. “Blue,” he said, his finger tracing the pale aqua lace along the edge of my bra.
“Nice try. It’s orange,” I offered, giving him something little. Something seemingly insignificant.
Mason kissed my bare shoulder, lingering. “Orange? Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
I ran my hands over the well-defined muscles of his back. “I’d guess you’re into working out. Religiously. You probably run five miles before work, don’t you?”
Mason propped himself up on his elbows and grinned down at me. “Not even a little bit. I’m allergic to physical activity.” He rubbed against me. “Well, most physical activity,” he conceded slyly.
“Those muscles are natural?” I asked incredulously.
“Just good genes.” He cupped my breast, squeezing, rubbing. Damn, he was good at this.
I pulled his shirt free from his pants, fumbling with the buttons. I didn’t have a lot of practice at this sort of thing. I worried I would do it all very badly.
Mason took pity on me and yanked the shirt up and over his head, dropping it on the green-patterned carpet.
His lips and hands were everywhere.
I was on fire.
“Where did you go to college?” Mason asked, breaking his sensual assault long enough to pepper me with further questions.
“Does it matter?” I breathed.
Too much. Too fast.
Too close…
“Okay, tell me about your friends. Your family. What do you like to do in your free time?”
He wouldn’t stop.
I knew it was in his nature to look for information.
But I was starting to chafe under the inquisition. Even if I really liked how he was making my body feel.
“Hannah?” He made my name a question; his shaking fingers paused on the zipper of my skirt.
He wanted to know me.
