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)
His face flushes, sweat drops off his brow, and the muscles in his neck tighten as he grits his teeth. “I need …” He grunts.
“I know what you need.” I lean over him and suck the head of his cock into my mouth.
His hips jackknife off the bed, and then I’m knuckle-deep inside him.
“Holy shit,” he whispers.
I suck him while I continue to work him over, going in stages. One finger and then two. When I get to three, it’s like a synchronized dance as my free hand joins in. I stroke him while finger fucking him, and every light press of his prostate only makes him beg for more.
And Mason panting and chanting, “More,” over and over again sends a thrill through me.
But when I move my mouth to his balls, sucking, licking, teasing, his body trembles in the way it always does right before he comes.
As if on cue, Mason says, “Stop. Stop or I’m going to come.”
I lift my head. “Is there something wrong with that?”
“I don’t want to until you’re inside me.”
There is literally no argument for that. “Fair enough. Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Yes. I need something to bring me back from the damn edge.”
The weight of goodbye tries to press down on me as I lube my cock, but I push it away.
Whether it’s in twenty minutes, twenty hours, or two days, Mason will leave me, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Pushing inside him, I resist the urge to fight for him. To ask him to stay even though it would be guilting him into it. I want to beg and plead. I want to ask for more than he can give me.
But this? This I can do for him. I can fuck him until he can’t think, until he can barely breathe, until the only thought running through his head is that he could never leave me.
I want someone who’s compelled to tell me how their day was. Who needs to cuddle on the couch because they miss my touch. Someone who will be there for me no matter what happens, who dies, or whatever obstacles get thrown in our way.
I was beginning to think that person was Mason, but it’s not. No matter how much I want it to be.
And as I make love to him, cherish his body, and try to take this for what it is—a goodbye fuck—it will be hard to look back on tonight and see it as anything more than my heart breaking.
It’s only when we both come that I let myself collapse on top of him and release the tears I’ve been trying to hold back.
We don’t talk when it’s done. He doesn’t acknowledge the tears.
All he does is wipe one away with his thumb, kiss another, and then he disappears into the bathroom to clean up.
I should probably do that too, but like everything else going on with us, I’m leaving it in future Denny’s hands to deal with.
Hopefully, I’ll wake up stronger than I am right now so I can handle it, but when I wake to an empty bed, I just know.
Mason’s gone.
I thought last night might have convinced him to stay even if only a few more days. I thought I had time to persuade him that Hollywood still has things to offer him. Like … me.
It’s the story of my life.
I’m talented enough to maintain a career in Hollywood, but I’m not phenomenal enough to come out on top.
I’m available enough to be used for party promoters and up-and-comers in the industry, but not enough to actually be friends with.
My mom loved me enough to have me but not enough to keep me.
I’ve never been enough for anyone.
I’m torn between fighting for Mason and letting him go, but two and a half years ago, I let us fall apart. He tried to fight for me. He called and texted. He put in the effort, but I let him go.
Even though I know deep down he’s gone, I check the house anyway. He’s not in the kitchen, the living rooms—either one—any of the guest rooms or out by the pool. The last place to look is the guesthouse, but I can’t bring myself to go out there. Because then it will be real.
I stare across the pool at the tiny square hut and fold my arms. My feet itch to go out there, but my brain tells me it will only hurt.
“What are we looking at?”
For some stupid reason, my heart flutters with hope even though Blake sounds nothing like Mason.
Blake steps up next to me, looking a little hungover. He rubs his eyes. “Is Mason not up yet?”
“He’s gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“My guess is back to Montana.”
Blake frowns. “Already? He talked about it yesterday, but I thought he meant eventually.”