“Yeah, but I’m okay,” I add quickly. “I’m just glad I went.”
Something settles between us, understood, held. “Good. Me too.”
Then his eyes shift, warmth creeping back in. He leans against the frame, eyes skimming over me. There’s a smug little smile tugging at his mouth.
“You really ovulating?” he asks, “or were you just messing with me earlier?”
“No, I am.” I laugh.
His eyebrows lift, slow and playful.
“Oh yeah?”
I nod once. “Round two, baby.”
His smile breaks fully. “Alright then…” he murmurs, pushing off the doorframe. “Give me five minutes.” He nods toward the bathroom.
Five minutes suddenly feels like an hour. Especially when my thoughts on Karissa are spiraling. I can’t get her voice out of my head, what she was saying to me.
I turn the TV down and adjust the pillow behind me when I finally hear the shower turn off. A few seconds later the door opens and Mason steps out.
His hair is wet, and he’s got a towel hanging around his waist. His biceps are darker than his chest from all the sun he got today.
“Should I get dressed?” he asks with a laugh.
“No. That’s pointless.”
His smirk grows and he eyes the blanket covering me up to my stomach. “You’re dressed.”
“Am I?” I tease, lifting my brows.
He laughs again—that warm, boyish kind. He drops the towel and climbs into bed beside me. The mattress dips under his weight, and his hand finds my leg, sliding slowly, deliberately, feeling for fabric.
“Just doing standard procedure here, ma’am. Hold still,” he says in a low cop voice.
“I hope it’s not standard procedure to search everyone like this,” I tease, breath catching when he gets a little higher.
His grin is pure trouble as he leans in. “Only you, my dear.”
He kisses me softly at first, and when I nip at his bottom lip, he breaks away with a quiet breath, eyes darkening.
“You’re not messing around tonight,” he murmurs.
“No, I’m not.” I laugh, breathless already.
It’s crazy how much ovulation changes my hormones. I’m not usually this…feral.
I reach for him when he leans in, my hands slipping around the back of his neck. He smells like our soap, like summer, like him. His forehead rests against mine.
He presses me back onto the pillows, his body hovering over mine without all the weight, and our kiss deepens. The kind of kiss that makes my fingers curl into his hair just to keep myself grounded.
His lips move along my jaw, slow and warm, down my neck then back to my mouth.
There’s a moment where he looks down at me…like,reallylooks at me as he traces his thumb down the side of my face to tuck the stray strands of my hair back.
“I love you,” he says, voice low and thick.
“I love you too.”
