Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
A little seed of resentment plants itself in my gut because I think the answer to my career problem is Eleven getting back together. But I can’t ask Mason to suck it up and take one for the team when I can’t bring myself to even contemplate moving to Montana with Mason. My heart’s not there, and his isn’t here.
It’s a no-win situation, but I’m going to try to turn it into one.
At least a temporary one where we both win.
I roll on top of him and push my tongue into his mouth. He groans in response and grips my ass, forcing me to grind on top of him.
This is the end, so I go slow, wanting to make it last. A small part of me actually believes if I can keep doing this forever, he won’t leave me.
If my hands grip hard enough, they could brand his body. If I kiss him gently, his heart could know I’m his. And if I love him long enough, his head could tell him to stay.
But deep down, I know he won’t.
I sit up, straddling his waist, and I run my hands over his torso, committing every curve to memory.
Then I reach into my boxer briefs and pull out my cock, stroking it slowly as my imagination gets away from me. “I want to mark your skin. I want to come on you so I can remember what you looked like covered in me.”
Mason doesn’t react, so I take that as an affirmative. I lean over him, my free hand on the pillow next to his head, but as I dip down to kiss him, his big hands land on my chest to stop me. “Or you could come inside me.”
His words take me off guard, and my hand on my dick falters. “Are you sure?”
He nods.
I ignore the voice inside my head saying if we take this step, it really will be goodbye, and I half want to hold out so I can give him a reason to come back to me, but the other half of me doesn’t want to give up this chance. It might be the only one I get.
I kiss him hard but make it brief because I have work to do.
I reach for the lube in the bedside drawer and shuffle my way down his body and settle between his legs. His hands tremble as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and shoves them down. I help him out of his before taking mine off.
Then we’re both naked, together, which is something I’m still getting used to. My eyes rake over his sexy body, and unlike the other times where I’ve been worried about making him feel self-conscious about his weight, I let myself really look.
He puts his hands on his knees and lifts them, exposing his hole. Mason lying there, bare and waiting for me to make my move, it might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
It makes me want things that aren’t possible.
I contemplate what a relationship with Mason would look like, but it consists of long months in between brief visits. He might come back to LA to see me occasionally, fuck me for a couple of days, tell me how much he misses me, but he’ll always get back on that plane and fly home.
It will tear me apart, and I can’t do it. Even if it’s only a three-hour flight.
It could be doable, no doubt, but how long will it take to become too hard? Too much?
What will I do when I get that itchy sense of failure and throw Hollywood parties to forget I’m fading into the background? How long will it take for me to bed someone to feel validated?
“I have a confession to make,” Mason rasps, and I’m brought back to the present. To what’s important. Making Mason feel good is the only thing I should be focusing on. My gaze flicks to his.
“I, umm …” He averts his eyes from mine. “While you’ve been working, I’ve been … experimenting.”
Heat pools in my gut. “Tell me more.”
“You don’t have to worry about going slow. Wait, no, go slow, please, but you don’t have to wait for me to get used to the sensation of your fingers.”
A shudder runs through me. “I kind of want to be mad because I totally could’ve helped you experiment, but at the same time, I’m thankful, because it means this should go a lot easier.”
And it does. When I press a lubed finger to his hole, teasing his rim to try to work my way in, he relaxes and accepts it easily.
“Damn, that’s tight,” I mutter.
“I’m good. Work me open.” Mason’s chest rises and falls in long, controlled breaths, but as I slip my finger inside deeper and then move it in and out slowly for him to adjust, his breathing becomes faster.