“None of what?”
“Wherever you went just there.”
“I—” But the protest gets cut off as he thrusts the massager back inside me. I howl this time when it hits my prostate. My toes curl, and all of me clenches as he works it, stimulating me inside and out. “Mason. Oh my God.”
“Good. That’s it.” His praise is low and soft as he continues to pump it gently, finding all the places that make my brain fritz out, so that all the thoughts, the worries, they all retreat back behind the overwhelming pleasure of being taken care of by Mason.
“Mason.”
“Yes?”
My hands are bunched in the sheets, and it’s hard to find words. “Can I touch myself?”
Even with my eyes closed, I can hear his smile as he says, “No.”
“Please?”
“Why do you want to do that? Do you want to come?” He pulls the toy free again, and it’s like losing a part of me.
“Yes.”
“Now?”
I have to drop a foot to the bed, because I feel like I’m going to fly away.
“Please, Mason.” I pitch my voice up higher. Gavin always liked it when I begged.
But he only brushes a few strands of hair off my forehead before he slides a finger inside me, stroking where the toy reached before. The sensation is different. Softer. He can’t quite reach as far, but when he crooks the finger just so, he hits nerve endings that haven’t joined the party yet, and all I can do is let out an incoherent yelp as my dick pulses and leaks slowly.
“What do you want?” he asks.
“Mason.” I can’t imagine making a full sentence right now.
“Okay.” He continues to use his finger when in fact I want the toy. I want this to be over, because the pressure building in my groin is nothing compared to the feelings building in my chest and my head.
“No. Mason.” My voice cracks.
“It’s okay, good boy. I’ve got you.”
I’m not his boy. I don’t need to be taken care of. Not if he’s going to tease me like this.
“Please.” I gasp. “Please I want to come. I need it.”
Gavin never made me wait. He liked to make himself wait. Liked to extend his orgasm until I was raw and aching.
But Mason just keeps shushing me and pressing at my prostate with that infuriating finger, and the more I buck against him, trying to find the edge that will let me fall all the way down, the more he slows, telling me to be patient.
“Were you always planning to torture me?” I mutter, nudging him with the foot I’ve planted back on his shoulder.
“If that’s what it takes.”
“If what’s what it takes?”
“You talk a lot for someone who says he’s on the verge of coming.”
I glare at him. In fact, I can’t look away. He’s deep inside me, and I’m slowly tangling myself in his sheets and the longer I’m here, the more wrapped around Mason I’m feeling, from top to bottom, inside and out, and all he’s done is get up close and personal with my prostate.
Fine. We’ll have it his way. I glance to the side with an aggrieved sigh then back at him, and when I do, he grins lazily.
