This time, he doesn’t need to tell what to do; with an exhausted grin on my face, I swallow, Mason’s seed burning its way down my raw throat. Spent, exhausted, and barely able to think straight, I lean back, supporting myself on my elbows, and look into Mason’s eyes. He’s looking at me in a way that makes my heart tighten up, and I realize that, somewhere along the way, we crossed one forbidden line from where there’s no going back. We are no longer just fooling around or succumbing to desire… No, this is something more. Something that I can no longer control… Something that I no longer want to control.
“You’re mine, baby girl,” Mason whispers, looking down at me with more than just passion flickering in his eyes. Fully knowing that I’m signing my death sentence, I respond in kind.
“I’m yours.”
17
Mason
"I'm yours."
Becca's words are tumbling through my brain as I travel back to my apartment. They nestle in my throat at every red light, and they sit in the pit of my stomach as the elevator to my apartment travels up to the top floor.
I told her that she was mine as well.
I know it doesn't make sense. I don't expect you to understand it. There's a considerable age difference between us, and she's my stepdaughter, which I have a hard time wrapping my head around … and I'm technically married … but we have an undeniable chemistry, Becca and I.
I'm falling for this girl. I have to be honest with myself.
This is new territory for me. I don't fall for women. Ever. Not Mason fucking Kane, the King of Wall Street.
But this is different.
I walk into my apartment and stand in front of the windows overlooking the city. My housekeeper called in sick today, and I notice a few used scotch glasses sitting on top of the table. I realize I better pick up the place a bit.
Becca mentioned that she was going to come over tonight after she finished up with her work. And after what just happened back at her office, I wouldn't object to a second round with her.
I press my forehead to the cool glass of the window, allowing the city lights to dance across my field of vision, and I recount my evening at the office. My hands on the small of Becca's back, and on her hips. Breathing in her scent as deep as my lungs would allow me to like a kid in a candy shop. My lips on her neck, nibbling her soft flesh. Hiking her skirt up above her thighs, and parting her legs. Firmly squeezing her perfect breasts and then feeling the wetness of her thong against the palm of my hand. Gently grabbing the rosy tip of her nipple in between my teeth and watching them grow hard under my touch. Her firm ass.
Just thinking about this is causing my cock to stir alive in my pants again. It's straining against my zipper and threatening to bust free.
Then I feel my cell phone vibrate in the pocket of my pants and it breaks my thoughts, bringing me back into the present.
It's Lorna. I let it ring a few times and then decide to answer it right before it goes to voice mail.
Hello dear, are you home?" she asks. She won't give up. It's like she doesn't understand that I want nothing to do with her.
I debate as to whether or not be truthful with her. Do I ad
mit I'm home, or do I say I took a late client meeting? I figure lying takes too much energy, so I decide to tell her the truth.
"I just walked in the door," I reply.
"Good, I'd like to come over," she says, and I can almost hear her lips curl into a smile.
"Truthfully, I'm pretty tired tonight," I say. It's the best I can muster.
"Nonsense," she demands. "I'll bring a nice bottle of Pinot Noir, and we can unwind together. How does that sound?"
That sounds like my worst nightmare.
"I can't," I continue. "I'm tired enough; the wine will put me over the edge."
Her voice now assumes a hard edge to it.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to avoid me, Mason."
"Well, there's clearly no avoiding you."