Page 52 of The Real Mason
“You wouldn’t.” Her voice wavers.
“You’ll just have to bide your time and find out, now won’t you?” I harden my expression. “For now, hike that skirt over your hips.”
With a happy, giddy laugh, she shimmies so the skirt dips down her thighs.
Before she gets any more ideas, I shake my head. “And Anna, I’d recommend you reconsider your cocktease strategy.”
Excitement dances in her eyes. “Or what?”
Little brat.
I’m going to have so much fun taming her. Not completely, though. I like this sassy girl too much for that, and I can’t help feeling it’s something she needs. And ultimately, that’s what I want—to give her what she needs and empower her to her full, glorious potential.
I shrug. “Or I’ll make you do a proper striptease later. Complete with music, a pole, and lap dances.”
“Ack!” She blanches and yanks her skirt over her hips in record speed.
I chuckle and nod my approval. “Very nice.”
The description is woefully inadequate. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of her in black boots and black lace panties. Never, since I’ve known her, has she worn black lace. It matches this girl standing in front of me, all fierce and determined but ultimately compliant.
“Turn around,” I say.
She does a slow swivel to reveal the smooth curve of her ass.
I swallow hard, the ache in my cock growing demanding. Voice low, I say, “I was wrong.”
Her shoulders stiffen.
“Take the skirt off.” I don’t want anything obstructing my view of her looking sexy and wicked and ready to be used.
She moves to face me, but I stop her. “No, stay like that. And work quick, girl. I’m not in the mood for a long, slow fuck.”
She peers over her shoulder and flashes a carnal smile. “What are you in the mood for, Mason?”
I give her a stern look. “I’m in the mood to be obeyed. Lose the sweater too.”
She makes fast work of the zipper and lets the skirt fall to the floor before she kicks it away. The sweater comes next, revealing a matching bra.
The lines of her back are beautiful. The expanse of her shoulders, the line of her spine, the slope of her waist. I could look at her for hours, and another day, I will.
But after a month of agony, that isn’t an option. I need to touch her. Mark her in the most primal way possible.
I stand and take three steps to press against her.
She shudders, leans her head back until it rests on my shoulder.
“Christ, I love you.” I slip my arms around her waist and dip my nose in her neck. She smells like soap and sunshine—just as she always has. I bite her neck, licking the pulse thudding a rapid beat under her soft, smooth skin. “You’re mine. Always.”
“Yes, Mason.” Her tone is the very essence of submission.
Dizzy with her proximity and the lust roaring through my veins, I say, “You will be bound to me in every way possible. In whatever manner I want. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Stay here and don’t move,” I order and slap her ass.
I need one more thing to make her mine.
