Relentless (Mason Family 4)

I unfasten the buttons on his shirt. With every one that pops free, an urgency increases to get this man naked now. I fumble with his belt; struggle with his pants. While I attempt to disrobe him, his kisses grow more frenzied. Hotter. More intentional.

He nibbles my lips. Kisses across my jaw. Plants a trail of kisses down my neck and over my clavicle.

My head falls back, my hair sweeping against my bottom as I give him complete access to me. He takes advantage of the moment as if he might not get it again.

His pants fall to the floor. He kicks off his shoes and socks and rids himself of his boxers. He shrugs off his shirt and tosses his tie on the bed and stands in front of me in all of his glory.

“Damn,” I moan, trying to catch my breath.

His chest is sculpted, and his shoulders are thick and muscled. There is a distinct V in his abdomen that makes my head spin. His thighs are hard, and his cock is standing at attention, desperate for my touch.

He’s too perfect, too fucking perfect to really process. Instead of reveling in the moment, my brain immediately starts to wonder what he sees when he sees me.

I look down, only to have his finger immediately touch my chin. He lifts my gaze to his and steps toward me.

“Not here.” That’s all he says. Two words that I don’t understand.

“You don’t want me here?” I ask, fighting off a wave of defeat.

“No, pretty lady. You aren’t doing that here.”

I stare into his eyes and let his adoration seep into me.

“You’re always waiting for something to go wrong,” he whispers. “Looking for a way out.”

You would too if you had walked a day in my shoes.

“Nothing is going to go wrong. There isn’t a need for a way out,” he says, taking my hand. “You are here because you are the woman I choose to be here. You are the one I want.”

His brows raise as if he’s as surprised as I am that he’s saying this to me.

“You are a hundred things, Shaye Brewer. And while being beautiful is not one of the most important, nor is it the reason I’m fascinated by you, you are spectacularly gorgeous. If you’re going to be in my bedroom, you’re going to have to believe that.” He presses a kiss to the tip of my nose. “It’s a rule.”

“A rule, huh?” I try to keep myself from beaming, but it’s hard under the circumstances. “Thank you for saying all of that.”

He smiles. “Thank you for being here.” He walks toward the fireplace and flips a button. The flames dance slower, more methodically.

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Thank you for coming,” he teases.

I smirk. “I haven’t. Yet.”

He stalks toward me, making me walk backward until the backs of my legs hit the bed. His eyes are filled with seductive possibilities.

“Come here,” he growls, cinching my waist with his hands. He lifts me and tosses me on the bed.

The mattress sinks with my weight. Pillows topple, spilling away from the headboard.

He climbs on the bed and hovers over me. Everything about the moment is dominated by Oliver. The scent of his cologne. The taste of his lips. The feel of his smooth skin and the heat rippling off it. The sound of his voice as he commands me to look at him.

I do. I rip my gaze from his delicious body and settle it on his eyes. The look he gives me melts me to the core.

He’s as hungry for me as I am him, but there’s something else. Something I can’t quite explain. Reverence, maybe, or respect. Something that hits me so deep, so completely that I reach up and bring his face to mine.

He kisses me, as I ask, but breaks it sooner than I want him to.

Oliver rolls onto his side and places a kiss against my shoulder. His fingers trail over my chest, freeing my breasts from the white fabric of my bra. They sit on top of the lace—nipples beaded, and he takes his time caressing each one.

I lift my hips, my body begging for contact. He sees my reaction and grins.

“Impatient,” he teases, letting his hand explore further south.

“Frustrated.”

“I like you sexually frustrated.”

I narrow my eyes.

“Let me enjoy you,” he whispers against my mouth.

I lick him along his bottom lip, eliciting a growl.

“Let me enjoy you,” I whisper back.

Over my belly, along each side, he strokes every piece of me like it’s a mission not to let a shred of my skin go without his touch. I can’t complain … yet I do.

“Oliver …” I moan as he makes it to the apex of my thighs.

“Let’s see how wet you are.”

“Oh, like that’s a question.”

He chuckles, dragging a finger through my slit. The contact against my overstimulated flesh is enough to make me yelp.