Crashed (Mason Brothers 2)

Andrew had said, this morning, that he thought he could make it good. He was right.

He kissed me for a long time first. A long time. Even though I was impatient, those kisses were like a drug, a balm. As he lay next to me, braced over me as he’d been last night, his mouth trailing warmly along my neck and up behind my ear, how did he know that was what I wanted? Someone to touch me like I mattered. I didn’t matter to anyone in my life: not my mother, not the shallow people at the modeling gig, not my boss who saw me as a piece of ass he could fire. To Andrew, I fucking mattered. How had I been without him for this long?

He ran his hands—his big, warm, wonderful hands—over me, and I closed my eyes. Everything disappeared. There was just the two of us, in this room, right now. I was hot and giddy at the same time. I get Andrew all to myself! Just me! Part of me couldn’t quite believe it was happening.

His hand slipped down between my legs, and I tangled my fingers in his hair. It was soft and clean and awesome. “I want to do this all night,” I said as he kissed my jaw.

“That doesn’t give me anxiety or anything,” Andrew growled against my skin.

I reached down between us and rubbed my palm on his cock, smooth and hot in my hand. “No anxiety needed,” I said.

His body tensed as I rubbed him. “Just let me get through one time, first, and then I’ll see what I can do.”

“Fine.” I put a hand on his chest and gently pushed him back, climbing on top of him as he rolled on his back. Now I could see his fine abs, the vee of the muscles over his hips, his perfect chest with its dusting of dark hair. Even his collarbones were sexy. He was looking at me, too, as I sat atop him, his dark eyes traveling me up and down.

I only wanted Andrew looking at me anymore. His was the only gaze that mattered.

I adjusted myself on his hips. “See, this isn’t so hard.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Yes, it is.”

I leaned forward, braced my hands on either side of him, letting my breasts brush his chest. “Difficult, I mean. It isn’t so difficult.”

I brushed my mouth over his, and he kissed me back. Breaking the kiss, he opened the drawer of his nightstand and took out a condom. I kissed down his neck and his collarbones as he rolled it on.

I was glad we’d had our little dress rehearsal last night. Our bodies were already familiar with each other; I knew his scent and the way his hands felt. He put his palms on my hips and guided me as I lowered myself down on him. We both moaned.

“God, that feels good,” I said as I lowered all the way down.

His hands tightened on my hips. “Don’t talk dirty,” he growled. “Don’t moan like that. I’ll fucking lose it.”

I licked the lobe of his ear. “I can’t help it. You’re hot.”

“Tessa—Jesus.” He tensed again as I started moving on him, rolling my hips. I let my head fall forward to the side of his neck and I closed my eyes because it felt so, so freaking good. It was heaven. I moved my knees, taking him deeper, and he growled again.

This was definitely not awkward, or weird, or difficult. It was amazing.

Andrew moved his hand up under my hair, gently gripping the back of my head. “Tessa, I want to throw you down and fuck you,” he said. “You know I do. I want to fuck you until you can’t move.”

Now he was the one talking dirty. “I don’t care,” I said. “Just make me feel good.”

His hand slid between us, his finger stroking my clit as I moved, and I gasped as a shock of pleasure moved through me. I rocked my hips, hitting his finger again and again, and every time the pleasure built higher. I kept my eyes closed and let it happen.

The orgasm was the most natural thing in the world, pulsing through me and making me cry out. I bit my lip and buried my face in Andrew’s neck as his hands gripped my hips again and his own hips flexed up into me. And I felt every muscle as he came, his head tilted back and his eyes closed, as if he hadn’t felt pleasure like this for seven long years.

Twenty-Six

Andrew

* * *

“It was a bad year, I guess,” Tessa said.

It was night. I was sitting up in bed, relaxed against the pillows propped against the headboard, the blanket pulled up to my waist. Tessa was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, wearing my T-shirt. She’d found ice cream in my freezer and sprinkled it with nuts, and she was digging in.

She’d offered me a bowl, but I wasn’t hungry. I was happy just to watch her, the way her eyes went unfocused with pleasure as she took a spoonful. I was starting to get the idea that in her life outside my house, her life as a model, Tessa didn’t eat very much. Here, she was happy to clean out my fridge and my cupboards, which was fine with me.

“A bad year?” I said.