The Mercenary Next Door (Rogues and Rescuers Book 2), page 6
Heartbeat thrumming in time with her quickened breaths, Laila clenched her inner thighs, climbing Mason like a tree.
His breath grew ragged in response. Shifting to support her weight with one arm, he used his free hand to pull the straps of her tank top, tugging them down until they hit her elbows.
Cool air hit her exposed breasts, making her gasp. Nipples hardening, she tried to tug the top the rest of the way down, but Mason stopped her. His right hand caught the cloth against at her lower back. Wrapping the material around his fist, he used it to restrain her arms at her sides.
The feeling of being bound and helpless in Mason’s arms damn near made her pass out.
“Please,” she rasped. Laila didn’t care that she was begging. She needed his touch.
His eyes met hers, and she almost swallowed her tongue. Mason’s blue eyes were so light and intense they gleamed almost silver in the low light. Laila wasn’t very experienced, but she recognized the hunger in them.
Then his gaze dipped down, feasting on her bare skin. Mason dragged her tighter against his body, raising her breasts to the level of his mouth. His lips closed over her nipple, his tongue rasping over the tight bud before he drew on it hard, suckling before biting down.
The nip was gentle, but it was enough to send a bolt of electricity down her body. Crying out, she threw her head back, accidentally whacking it against the hard wood.
Mason made a low, commiserating sound in the base of his throat, the noise suspiciously close to a purr. He cupped the back of her head, and the world spun as he carried her deeper into the room.
Her apartment was a cramped one-room studio. It didn’t leave him much room to maneuver. When Mason bumped the lightweight paper screen that separated her bed from the rest of the room, the rickety assemblage fell over with a loud whack.
Mason didn’t react at all. His single-minded focus was on making her pant and moan. His mouth moved from one breast to another, licking, sucking, teeth grazing one nipple before shifting to the other.
Her eyes opened when her back hit the mattress. Mason towered over her, his gaze hot enough to blister. With quick work, he tugged her leggings and panties down, then tossed them away while she lay completely bared to him with only her tank top wrapped around her waist.
Too awed to speak, Laila watched as Mason stripped his shirt off. Dark sweatpants swiftly followed it. Unable to stop herself, she sat up, her hand reaching out to stroke the glorious work of art that was his muscled chest. His eyes closed as her hands roamed, but when she strayed too low, he caught her wrist. Pushing her back on the bed, he came down on top of her, naked skin pressing against naked skin. But that wasn’t enough for him. Mason pulled away long enough to tug the tank top down, working it over her body until it slipped over her feet, nudging it off the bed with his foot. His boxer briefs followed suit.
Heated steel pressed against her thigh as he settled between her legs.
Laila pressed hot kisses to every part of Mason that she could reach until he took her mouth again. His tongue stroked hers aggressively while his hands roamed all over her body. His touch left a hot tingling trail on the surface of her skin.
Mason pressed his face into her neck, inhaling deeply. “You smell so good. Like vanilla and sugar.” His tongue licked up and down, sending her temperature skyrocketing. “Tastes like sugar, too.”
His voice didn’t sound normal. It had picked up this panty-melting drawl that was all the more disarming because she’d never heard it before. She doubted many people had. This is his Tennessee coming out.
Laila squirmed, arching up in a silent plea for more contact. When Mason broke the kiss, she protested. He turned aside, reaching for something. When she heard the crinkle of plastic tearing, she glanced down to see him rolling a condom over the head of his cock.
Oh my God, this is happening. This is really happening.
“Laila?” Mason’s beautiful face hovered over hers. “Are you checking out on me?”
“No!” She reached up, grabbing the nape of his neck and pulling him down. “Never.”
Laila put everything into that kiss—the first time she’d ever seen him outside their building while he’d been stretching for a run like a sun-kissed Greek god, all those times she intentionally brushed his fingers with hers when he handed over his keys…and every time she touched herself while thinking about him, alone in this very bed.
The kiss was all the answer he needed. His body moved over hers, breaking over her like a wave. His pecs started low, brushing her stomach and gliding up until they abraded the sensitive tips of her breasts.
“Holy God,” she said, a squeak escaping. Mason’s sudden grin was deliciously naughty. Bending his head, he bit her lower lip, sucking it into his mouth as he settled between her legs, his thighs flexing to push them open wider.
Then she felt his long, thick length, the tip of his cock running back and forth over her slick folds.
Wet and aching, Laila hissed as her channel pulsed and clenched down on nothing. Understanding her need, Mason shushed her, soothing her with a hot, open-mouthed kiss. But his hands weren’t so gentle. He took both her wrists in one of his, pinning them over her head.
“I’m going to take you now,” he whispered in her ear. Laila gulped, nodding in wordless agreement when he paused, hovering.
Mason muttered something that sounded like ‘Thank Christ’ before flexing his hips, driving his cock past the threshold of her aching sheath. But it wasn’t an easy breaching. Her core wasn’t precisely untried. A slim vibrator was lying in a shoebox under the bed, but her little toy was just that—a toy. At least it was when compared to the thick reality pulsing against her skin. So, despite her almost-desperate welcome, her body resisted him.
Laila could feel Mason hesitate. Determined not to let him stop, she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him close. A whimper escaped as the broad head of his cock pushed past the tight entrance of her channel.
Mason sucked in a breath, freezing with predatory stillness. Laila’s heart nosedived in her chest. For a split second, she worried he was going to withdraw, leaving her alone and cold.
Apparently, though, she misread his intentions. Whatever internal battle Mason’s brain waged, he’d already lost. “Sugar, look at my cock. Watch me take you.”
Whimpering at that testosterone-filled order, Laila glanced down, her eyes fixed on his shaft, which was slowly disappearing into virgin territory. “Oh God, please, please,” she cried out incoherently as his hips pressed flush against her.
“I’m going to give you what you want, sugar. Never doubt that,” he said roughly.
Crying out in relief, she clutched at him as he began to thrust, sinking deeper and deeper. Whatever pain she felt began to fade with each slippery glide.
Mason was too tall to kiss her lips in this position, but that didn’t stop her from kissing him. Laila opened her mouth against his chest, grazing his collarbone with her teeth.
Even though Laila still hurt, her hunger was stronger than the pain. She had been in love with this man for the better part of a year. If she could have, she would have taken a bite of him, consumed him whole.
Her small show of aggression seemed to inflame Mason. He picked up the pace, pumping faster. His rhythm wasn’t easy or gentle, but she didn’t care. Laila had waited too long for his. She was too hungry. Acting on instinct, she tightened her inner walls experimentally, squeezing hardest when he was deepest. Mason swore, his head thrown back.
“Be careful what you wish for, baby,” he warned with a hiss, his eyes molten silver. Hitching her legs tighter around him, Mason started to thrust, one hand holding her wrists pinned to the bed.
Frantic now, Laila threw her hips at him, meeting him thrust for thrust. Bliss fizzed in her veins as she rocked with him, greedily absorbing every surge and stroke until she, too, was moaning, pulsing and fluttering all around him.
He let go of her wrists, maneuvering her knees a little higher.
“Are you close?” he breathed in her ear. “Or do you need me to fuck you harder?”
Laila cried out as Mason ground against her, pelvis stroking her clit in time with his thrusts. Blindly bucking against him, she gasped as the knot of pleasure in her core began to tighten like a spring winding tight.
“That’s it,” Mason breathed, his hips driving into her relentlessly. “That pink pretty pussy needs it deep. It needs my thick cock to fuck it hard, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, yes,” she pleaded, her nails digging into his back.
The tight coursing pleasure splintered, breaking her open as she screamed out Mason’s name.
It was nothing like the brief climaxes she’d experienced on her own. This was nothing less than rapture, a paroxysm of pleasure. And it went on and on because Mason kept pushing, grinding and stroking with his hands and cock until she collapsed underneath him in a sweaty, boneless mess.
But Mason hadn’t come yet.
Laila hadn’t known if she would be aware of the moment Mason orgasmed. Rosamie had frequently complained about her ex’s stealth climaxes. Most of the porn videos she’d watched on lonely solo nights also seemed to corroborate the fact men didn’t do big finishes. But there was no doubt with Mason. He didn’t come—he exploded.
Swearing a blue streak, Mason buried his hands in her hair as his thick shaft jerked and pulsed inside her, setting her throbbing again. His arms and chest went rigid before he buried himself to the hilt once, twice, and three times before he let gasped out, ‘Fuck,’ and collapsed on top of her.
Still trembling, Laila wrapped her arms around Mason’s chest, her legs jerkily rubbing over his muscled calves and thighs.
Belatedly, she realized he was talking to her.
“Hmm?” she asked drowsily.
Mason rolled over, taking her with him. She ended up plastered across his chest and arm. “I asked if you were okay, sugar?”
His usually mild accent was thicker than molasses.
Loving the Southern drawl more than words could say, she moved her head to kiss whatever she could reach without having to move her useless limbs—in this case, his shoulder. His cock was soft and sated now, but still substantial enough to fill her. It moved deeper inside her, a teasing echo of the night’s activities.
“I’m good,” she murmured. But all too soon, her neurons began to fire again. “I should get off you. I must be heavy.”
“You’re about as heavy as a feather, sugar. Stay just a minute longer,” he drawled, pressing a hand right above her ass.
It felt as if he’d reached into her chest and squeezed her heart. Glowing, she rested her cheek on his chest, drifting off with a smile.
Chapter Nine
Laila had positioned her bed where the early morning light would hit her face. She was a heavy sleeper, and she worked long hours, both in the store and at her classes. Burning the candle at both ends, she always needed a little help getting up, and the sun was the one thing that never failed to rouse her.
Mason, however, didn’t even stir when the rays hit his face. But Laila didn’t mind. It gave her a perfect chance to study him in repose.
His face was lit up, the fine down next to his ear sparkling like pure gold. It almost hurt to look at him. He was too beautiful to be real—like an archangel, complete with scars earned in battle.
There was a long gash down his side, a scar she hadn’t noticed the first time she saw him shirtless. Below that, there was a round puckered mark on his abdomen. It was bigger than a cigarette burn would have been, although it could have been from a cigar. But she didn’t think that was likely, given his occupation. Laila suspected it was a healed gunshot wound.
There were other marks scattered over his body, including an inch-long burn scar below his wrist. Sympathy welled up in her, but she resisted the impulse to reach out and stroke the marks with her finger.
Despite the events of the previous night, Laila had a hard time believing Masson was lying there next to her—well, crammed-in. Her full-sized mattress had always been more than enough for her short ass, but Mason hadn’t been kidding about being too tall for most beds.
His head wasn’t hanging over the end because he was lying at an angle, his knees bent with his feet pressed against the wall.
Damn, even his toes are perfect. As was the rest of him.
Mason was gloriously naked—although her sheets hid the best parts. He couldn’t have displayed that gorgeous body more effectively if she’d posed him herself.
And she couldn’t have asked for a more sensual, special night for her first time.
Laila was a practical modern woman. She hadn’t been waiting for true love, and she also didn’t ascribe to archaic gender norms. Virginity wasn’t a true medical condition, or so she’d learned in her women’s studies class. Given her determined efforts at self-pleasure—her vibrator was top of the line—she wasn’t even sure she’d met the technical definition of a virgin before last night. Her stepmother would have said she wasn’t one. That last would have been pronounced with a scowl, but Laila tried not to think about that part.
Regardless, these details hadn’t mattered before. She’d simply been too shy around men to act on her desires. Also, after seeing how they behaved on Fraternity Row, she was cautious around the boys on campus. She’d seen first-hand how a perfectly behaved study partner could turn into a raging ass with a little alcohol in him.
However, last night had been a revelation. Her first sexual encounter had been quickly followed by her second, when she’d drifted awake to sparks of pleasure to find Mason stroking her ass, dipping his fingers between her legs to brush over the lips of her sex and clit.
She didn’t know if Mason had realized the true extent of her inexperience, but she suspected he’d been aware on some level. He’d been too attentive after the first round, asking if she was too sore for more. Laila had wanted him too much care, so she’d told a little white lie. But when Mason took her again, he’d been gentle, his touch tender but sure. The heat had built languorously, sweet but not overwhelming—up until he brought her to another screaming orgasm.
Laila was a novice, but her heart told her that they had shared something more special than sex. It had felt like lovemaking.
Now what do I do? She was naked, lying in bed with the man of her dreams. Nothing in her short life had prepared her for this experience.
What were people supposed to do the morning after?
Breakfast. I should make him breakfast. But Laila couldn’t bring herself to move just yet. She was afraid of breaking the spell. Then Mason sighed and turned around, flipping over on his stomach. His arm moved up, putting his watch closer to his face.
Laila held her breath, waiting for him to open his eyes and say something. But he didn’t do that. His arms and leg, which had been relaxed in sleep against her, turned to corded steel. His entire body stiffened, transmitting his uneasiness as he realized where he was.
Stung, Laila pulled in her limbs. Heart sinking, she tried to decide whether to bolt out of bed or pretend to be asleep.
Just face the consequences like a big girl. This didn’t need to be a painful ordeal. She would just wait for Mason to turn around and make some excuse to leave.
But he stayed put, his head turned away while his body screamed with unspoken tension. When he didn’t shift, she began to edge away, preparing to run to the bathroom to hide until he left.
Mason’s arm shot out, grabbing her by the wrist. His silver-blue eyes ensnared her, stopping her more effectively than his restraining hand. “Do you have to go to work?”
His voice was rough with sleep, but the expression in his eyes was clear, calm. Then his gaze moved down, skimming over her naked body.
“N-no,” she whispered.
“Good.”
Shifting his hold, Mason stroked down, his large hands wrapping around her hips. A squeak escaped as she slid toward him. When he had her where he wanted her, Mason pushed her knees up, wrapping his arms around them to pin her to the bed.
Then he dived in.
Laila gasped as his lips settled between her thighs. His mouth closed over her clit like it was candy. Grazing the nub of flesh with his teeth, he licked and probed with his tongue, alternately lathing and sucking as his fingers clenched into the flesh of her hips.
Stunned, Laila writhed, moaning and gasping from the sensual onslaught. Could pleasure make people blind…because she was pretty damn close to it.
Laila had always thought descriptions of sex in print were overwrought. She should have known better after last night. Her body was engulfed with a pure squirmy sensation.
Waves of pleasure coursed through her, too intense and powerful for her to stay still. Her instinct was to get away, but Mason wouldn’t let her. He had her exactly where he wanted her—exposed and at his mercy.
“Holy shit,” she cried, bucking when his teeth closed over her clit. Mason chuckled, the sound buzzing her sensitive flesh with a deep vibration.
“I can’t stand it,” she confessed in a ragged gasp, whipping her head from side to side. “It’s too much. I can’t—”
Mason lifted his head. “Shh…” He soothed her with a hand, stroking lightly over her stomach, hips, and ass before he returned to his feast, fucking her in earnest with his tongue.
Laila’s hips rose and fell in time with the rhythm he set. Lost in the pulsing pleasure, she made sounds she never had before. Broken gasps and low moans filled the room. But her noises seemed to please Mason.
“Louder,” he urged after particularly vocal whimper. Redoubling his efforts, he moved his fingers to her clit, stroking in circles as his tongue penetrated her, working in and out.
Twisting and convulsing, Laila hurtled off the edge with a keening cry. Mason continued to stroke and lick her through the bone-rattling pulses, stopping only when she collapsed on the mattress, too weak to do anything but lie there and try to catch her breath.
