Page 35 of Beautiful Disaster

I want to say I won’t get triggered, but I can’t make that promise after what happened earlier today. No matter how much control I try to have over my life, it proves that the brain does whatever it fucking wants.

Mason nudges his tip against my ass and pushes in. My hands are on my head, gripping my hair, my eyes closed through the stretch and burn. He was right. The body remembers. I bear down and breathe through the sting, but he worked me open well. Still, I’m panting, pushing years of mental and emotional pain aside. My mind keeps trying to go back to my past like some fucking cruel bully. It takes everything I have to stay in the present.

Once he’s halfway inside, he grips my face under my jaw. “Talk to me.”

My eyes blink open to a face so concerned and caring about my well-being. It’s an expression I can’t ever recall seeing before, except for Aleks, but we never fucked.

“I’m fine.”

“Jinx,” he says, his tone a warning.

“I’m fighting a bit. Just… keep going. Please.”

He doesn’t let go of my face, watching me for a second. Deciding that I’m okay, he sinks all the way in. My eyes slam closed, breathing heavily, heart racing. It hurts like fuck. I knew it would after all this time.

Mason holds still, waiting for me until I give him the green light.

Once the pressure is gone, I nod. “Go.”

I expect him to go to town on my ass. Instead, he lies heavily on me, draping over my body like one of those weighted therapy blankets, which I have at home. His body is warm and comforting. Though he’s heavy, I can take it.

His cock stretches me, fills me. It’s nestled there, still unmoving, but pulsing. His face is pressed against my throat, hot breath on my skin. I’m surrounded by Mason, inside and out. Instead of panicking because I can hardly move, I relax under his weight, like he knows exactly how to keep me calm.

I finally let go of my hair as my brain clears again. I reach around him and dig my nails into his back.

“How are you?” he whispers.

For some fucking reason, my eyes water, and I don’t know why. I’m not in a bad place right now. Not one bit. “I’m good,” I whisper back.

Weirdly, I feel loved, which is fucking impossible. We’ve barely known each other for a week. Is this what it feels like? How do you measure something you’ve never experienced?

“I’m going to move now, okay?”

“Okay.”

Mason doesn’t lift himself off me as he pulls out and pushes back in. It’s slow, intentional. He doesn’t just take what he wants. He’s giving back in equal measure, rolling over my prostate.

One hand is pressed to my cheek, the other is under me, my head cradled in his palm. It turns us into one being.

Though I feel safe and comfortable, emotions are fucking warring inside. Not the traumatizing ones, but those that are trying to fight the happiness I’m feeling, taunting me, telling me this isn’t real. It goes against all the practicality I’ve tried to live by.

“Never forget you’re precious,” he says softly in my ear.

A tear slides down my face, but I’m pinned down, unable to wipe it away. I’m not precious. Never have been. Never will be. Not to anyone.

As Mason moves faster, my mind is redirected back to him.

“More,” I demand. “Faster. Harder.”

He does as I ask, but he still holds tightly to me. He kisses my cheek, and I wince because I’m sure he can tell I have stupid fucking tears on my face.

While my hard dick can’t move, being pinned down, his movements roll over it, stimulating it. Between that and him constantly hitting that spot, my body starts to burn, and the pressure slowly builds. I get lost in it. Yes. Give me this. More.

Mason continues to thrust, peppering my face with kisses. He hasn’t lost his rhythm. He’s methodical in everything he does. Every kiss is intentional.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” he says.

I simply nod, my fingers digging deeply into him to hold on to this feeling before the inevitable crash.