Page 75 of Sin

“Yes,” I say. “I know.”

His hand lifts. Slowly. He gives me time to pull away but I don’t. His knuckles brush the side of my face. A touch so small it should be nothing.

It’s not nothing.

My eyes flutter closed, and the sound that leaves me is embarrassing. Too soft. Too needy. Too honest. Mason inhales sharply. Then his hand slides to the back of my neck and his mouth is on mine. He kisses me like restraint has been starving him. Like every red light, every hotel-room silence, every night on the other side of the pillow wall has been leading to this exact second.

I kiss him back just as desperately.

My free hand flies to his shirt, fisting in the fabric, pulling him closer. He groans into my mouth, and that sound does something catastrophic to my body. Something hot and helpless and greedy. He tastes like wine and every terrible decision I’ve ever wanted to make.

The blanket slips and cool air hits my bare chest. Mason breaks the kiss and looks down. His whole body goes still. For one second, I want to cover myself and hide all my flaws from him. Then I see his face.

“Christ, Laurel.” His gaze drags over me, slow enough to feel like touch, and by the time his eyes return to mine, I am shaking harder. “You’re beautiful.”

The words hit somewhere too deep, so I pull him down and kiss him again. He comes willingly this time, one hand braced beside my head, the other at my waist, warm and broad and finally touching me. His palm slides over my skin like he’s memorizing the shape of me. Like he has thought about this as much as I have.

The toy shifts inside me.

I gasp against his mouth and Mason freezes. For half a second, neither of us breathes. Then his gaze drops beneath the blanket. His hand flexes at my waist.

“Is it still⁠—”

“Yes,” I whisper.

His eyes close. “Fuck.”

The word is low and raw.

Mason lifts his head and looks at me. “Show me.”

My pulse stops. Then goes wild.

“What?”

His gaze holds mine. “Show me what you were doing before I came in.”

I should shove him off the bed and tell him he has lost his mind. Instead, my hand moves beneath the blanket. His eyes drop.

I watch his face as I move slowly, just enough to make my body tighten. His jaw clenches. His breathing changes. His hand grips the sheet beside me so hard his knuckles go pale.

“That’s it,” he says quietly.

My entire body clenches.

“Mason.”

His gaze snaps back to mine.

“No.” His voice is rough. “Don’t say my name like that unless you want me to lose what’s left of my mind.”

“I do.”

The words leave me before fear can stop them. His expression changes and the last thread breaks. Mason pulls the blanket away. The air hits my skin, and then his eyes are on me, all of me, including where my hand is wrapped around the base of the toy between my thighs.

For one suspended second, I am too exposed to breathe.

Then Mason leans down and kisses the inside of my knee. He moves higher, mouth brushing my thigh, his breath warm against my skin. He doesn’t touch the toy yet. Doesn’t rush. Just kisses me like he has all night, like the rest of the world doesn’t exist, like there is no presentation tomorrow and no wife back home and no line left to pretend we haven’t crossed.