"You're beautiful," he murmurs against my skin. "Even with the bruises, even beat to hell, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
"Mason."
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"Stop talking and touch me."
He laughs, the sound vibrating against my chest. "Bossy."
"You like it."
"I do." His hands make quick work of my bra, tossing it aside, and then his mouth's on my breast, tongue circling my nipple before he sucks it into his mouth.
I arch off the bed, hands fisting in his hair, holding him to me. The sensation's overwhelming, pleasure mixed with the slight ache from the bruises still healing on my ribs. He's careful despite his roughness, avoiding the worst of the injuries while making sure every other inch of me's burning for him.
His hand slides down my stomach, popping the button on my jeans. "Lift up."
I do, and he pulls my jeans and underwear down in one smooth motion, leaving me bare beneath him. For a moment, he just looks at me, his dark eyes drinking in every detail, and I fight the urge to cover myself.
"Don't," he says, catching my hands. "Don't hide from me. I want to see all of you."
"You're still dressed."
"Easy fix." He sits back, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion.
Jesus. I knew he was built, but seeing him shirtless is something else entirely. Muscle and ink cover every inch, scars that tell stories of violence survived. There's a particularly nasty one across his ribs, raised and white against his tanned skin.
"What happened?" I ask, tracing it with my finger.
"Knife fight three years ago. The guy got lucky." He catches my hand, bringing it to his mouth. "Don't worry about my scars. Worry about what I'm going to do to you."
Then his mouth's between my legs, and coherent thought becomes impossible. His tongue's relentless, knowing exactly where to touch, how much pressure, alternating between gentle licks and firm strokes that have me gasping his name. He adds his fingers, sliding two inside me, and the combination's devastating.
"Mason, I'm going to..."
"That's it, sweetheart. Let go. I've got you."
I come apart with a cry that I barely manage to muffle against my arm, waves of pleasure crashing over me until I'm shaking with it. He doesn't stop, drawing it out until I'm over-sensitized and pushing at his head.
He pulls back, his mouth glistening, looking entirely too satisfied with himself. "You taste so good, I could do that all night."
"Your turn." I reach for his belt, but he catches my hands.
"Not yet. I want to be inside you when I come."
He stands long enough to shed his jeans and boxer briefs, and oh god, he's perfect. Hard and thick, and I squeeze my thighs together at the sight of him.
"Condom?" I manage.
He reaches into the nightstand, pulling out a foil packet. "Been carrying these around since you got here, hoping I'd get the chance to use one."
"Confident."
"Optimistic." He rolls it on and positions himself between my legs. "You ready?"
I nod, and he pushes inside in one slow, steady thrust that has us both groaning. He's big, stretching me in ways that arejust this side of too much, and he stills once he's fully seated, giving me time to adjust.
"Okay?" he asks, his voice strained.
