The Sweet Addiction Series Collection: Sweet Addiction, Sweet Possession & Sweet Obsession (94 page)

I slide my hand up her stomach and over her ribs to palm her breast, rolling her nipple between my fingers. She gasps and lifts her hips against my mouth, rocking into me, seeking out her release with gentle, pleading circles.

“Put money in,” I instruct.

Her eyes flash open, dark and cautious, but only for a second. Hurriedly, she grabs a dollar off the bench and leans over me to insert the bill into the slot. With a shaky breath she falls back and grabs my head, guiding me between her legs where I grin against her, moaning at the feel of her heels on my back.

Click.

“Mason,” she whispers through the shyest, sweetest smile, knowing what all is probably being captured right now by the lens behind me; my head between her legs, her hands sliding up her body, over her bare breasts where she lifts and squeezes them, blissfully unashamed.

I add my fingers, two inside, stretching and fucking her, my teeth toying with her clit. She bucks against my face, hands pulling my hair and roughly scraping along my scalp.

Click.

I can’t stop watching her; the smooth line of her body, her flat stomach quivering every time I dip my tongue inside to fuck her with it. Her perfect breasts, and the rapid heave of them as she slips closer to the edge.

Her whimpers turn into frantic words, begging me for more, for faster, to fuck her with my fingers again. To make her come. To tell her how she tastes and if I like it.

Click.

“So good,” I assure her before adding another finger and twisting my wrist.

“I told you I could live here. Die here. I meant it,” I don’t say, for fear she’ll pull back again, but I think it. I whisper it in my head as our eyes lock.

Hers, heavy-lidded and pleading for release.

Mine, so willing to give her this and anything. Everything.

I suck and suck on her skin. Her hands fall away from her body, slapping against the bench, and with a startled cry she falls, sweet and warm and perfectly. Lips parting with a gasp and a beg, one last word.

“Please.”

Click.

Her fingers thread through my hair, pacing me while I go on and roughly devour her. I can’t help it. Oral sex has never felt this intimate with a woman before, this profoundly carnal and I don’t want to let up. I don’t want to pull away and risk Brooke regretting any second of this. The haze of desire lifting and revealing how personal this moment was for her, allowing regrets and bloody protective shields to slip in and taint it.

“Mason,” Brooke whispers, touching my forehead with two fingers.

With a heavy blink, I press one last kiss between her legs, then lean back enough to rest my head on her thigh.

I ready myself for it, the pull away, but the eyes I meet are tender and content.

She smiles lazily. “Holy shit. That was so much fun.”

I suck in a burst of air, trapping it in my throat.

Goddamn. This one is full of surprises.

Tilting her head, Brooke laughs a little; a light, sweet sound.

“You are so fucking pretty.” I reach up and touch her cheek, running the back of my fingers over her flush.

“I thought I was beautiful,” she says, smirking.

“You are. There’s no denying that.” I kiss her thigh once more before standing and helping her to her feet, my hands smoothing down her skirt. I cup her face and bend to kiss her. “But after you come, you’re softer, Brooke. Sweeter even. I can’t explain it well, but I think you’re more pretty in those moments. I like seeing you like that with me.”

She turns and grabs her shirt and bra. “Make me come more often and you’ll see it all the time.”

A laugh rumbles in my chest as I help her, insisting on clasping her bra.

“These gorgeous fucking tits needs to be well secured. Here. Let me. I’m better suited for the job.”

She giggles against my neck, moving her hands over my waist and under my shirt. “Taken a good number of bras off, have you?”

“Don’t you worry about that.”

I look around the booth as she slips her shirt on, tucking the photos she took for me into my pocket and glancing behind her to check the bench. “Where are your undies?”

Her eyes widen with amusement. She smiles. “What undies?”

I feel my mouth fall open.
The little minx
. “You mean to tell me you were naked under that bloody skirt all night and didn’t tell me?”

Laughing, she draws the curtain back and steps out of the booth, retrieving the photos.

“Maybe.”

I scratch my jaw, moving to her. “Fucking hell, Brooke. Had I have known, I wouldn’t have shown that much restraint at the table. I probably would’ve gotten you off before our entrees were brought out. Why didn’t you tell me?”

I nearly curse for keeping my wits about myself earlier on the drive to the restaurant. She was trying to show me she wasn’t wearing anything underneath, hiking up her skirt like that, seeking my hand. I was too determined to keep her waiting and wanting.

Good on you, mate. Really fucked yourself with that one.

I touch her hip. She doesn’t respond, not with a look or a word. With parted lips she studies the photos in her hand for several silent seconds. I can feel the slow drag of air pulling into her lungs and I slide my hand up her back. She releases it quickly and bites her lip.

“Look at you,” I say against her temple, bending lower to see. I point at the shot of her coming. “Fucking perfect right there. Did you like it?”

She hesitates, then quietly replies. “Yes. I just . . . I wasn’t expecting to look like that.”

“Like what?” I can’t read her face, the implication she’s making. I step in front of her and run my hands down her arms, ducking to see her eyes.

She keeps them lowered for another few seconds, studying. With a flighty laugh, she brings the photo down between us and gazes up at me. “I don’t know. Pretty, I guess? You were right. I do look different.” She shakes her head, blinking several times, as if she can’t believe what she’s saying, or admitting. “It’s strange.”

I smile, wanting to kiss her, to talk to her more about what she’s seeing, but I don’t. Instead, I step beside her, my hand sliding to her back as I guide us through the room and toward the exit.

“Come on. Let’s get you home and into some undies.”

She laughs, curling against my side, giving me the okay to pull her closer.

And I do.

BROOKE

I press the number seven on the elevator panel a second before greedy hands tug me backwards and into Mason’s arms.

I go willingly with a squeak, tilting my head as his lips suck gently on my neck, as he whispers just beneath my ear how tight I am, “so fucking tight,” and how he nearly lost his mind in that photo booth. His fingers squeeze my hips, pinning me to him, to his rock-hard cock that’s pressing against my ass.

Fuck, I want to see it. Touch it. Drop to my knees and feel his hands in my hair. This elevator ride is driving me crazy.

I glare at the numbers slowly rising to my floor.

Two. Ridiculously long pause. Three.

I nearly pout.
Could this shit take any longer?

“What are you doing next weekend?” Mason asks me, breaking my attention off the electronic panel, sliding his hand to my breast and pinching my nipple through my shirt.

I gasp, rolling my head back as he twists my hardened peak. “
Jesus
.”

His laugh rumbles against my back, sweet and cruel. He knows what he’s doing.

“Are you going to be attending church, Brooke? I honestly can’t imagine going to confess my sins and seeing you there. I think I’d end up just dragging you into the confessional with me and saying, ‘Here. She’s it. Give me my penance’.” He releases my breast and slides his hand back to my hip.

I’m his only sin?

Whoa . . . that might be the best compliment of my life.

I resume staring at the numbers above me as the ache in my breast slowly subsides. I bite back a smile, saying, “I haven’t attended church since I was a kid. Well, not regularly anyway. I go every Easter to appease my Nana but that’s it.”

“So, you’re free next weekend?”

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to steal you away if you’ll let me. Weather permitting.”

The elevator finally comes to a stop and I pull away, peering back at Mason over my shoulder as I step out onto the floor.

He looks content, and so sure of himself, like he already knows I’m going to say yes to this.

“For the entire weekend? What exactly do you have in mind?”

With a cocky smile, he steps off the elevator. “It’s a surprise.”

I spin around, staring at the man slowly advancing on me, and it all clicks in an instant as our conversation from the restaurant trips my subconscious.

“Oh, no you don’t.” I hold my free hand up as I continue my slow retreat backwards. “
Weather permitting
? Busted. I told you. I don’t do camping.”

He feigns seriousness. “Who said anything about camping?”

“I’m not going! I’m busy anyway.”

“No, you’re not.” Quickening his strides, he reaches out for me and grabs my arm. We both come to a stop inches from my door. “You just said you weren’t doing anything.”

“I said I
think
I’m free, but now that I really think about it, I remember I have plans. Ones that don’t involve nature or mosquitos carrying the West Nile virus.”

I wrench my arm away, ignoring his quiet laugh, and open my clutch to rustle out my keys.

Seriously? He is completely insane. You couldn’t pay me to go spend the night out in the wilderness. Naked sleeping bag sharing, or not. There is no fucking way I am agreeing to this.

When I look back up to give him more shit, Mason is watching me, his scorching gaze torn between my lips and everything lower.

I forget about camping, or suggestions of camping. I forget about bugs and wild animals as I slowly drink him in, from his unruly hair, still disheveled from my fingers to his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

He’s holding back.

Why? There’s no need. Doesn’t he know how badly I want this?

Anticipation plucks in my belly as I stare at the erection pressing hard against his zipper. As I remember what it felt like minutes ago, sliding between the cheeks of my ass.

Well, if he’s not going to give it to me, I’ll just take it. No problems there.

I drop my keys back into my clutch and fist his shirt, urgently pulling him until my back hits the wall just beside the door and his body has no other choice but to crowd against mine.

He moves willingly with a moan, his hands bracing himself on either side of my head, boxing me in.

I arch my back and press my hips out away from the wall, grinding into his stiff length. “Mm. You know I never got to properly thank you for what you did earlier with that wicked mouth of yours. I’m also very sad to admit I can hardly remember what your cock looks like. Care to whip it out and kill two birds with one very hard stone?”

With shaky hands, he grabs my waist and drops his head beside mine. “Brooke,” he whispers, so faintly it’s as if he’s trying to resist everything at this moment, including words.

“My turn.” I slide my hand between us and cup his length.

He hisses a curse against my ear.

“God, I forgot how big you are. You might actually kill me.”

Turning my head, I claim his mouth, sucking on his lips, his tongue, pressing gentle kisses between ones that somehow feel more important or greater than any act of desperation. I lose my mind for a second, a stillness takes over and I allow myself to get lost in this kiss, forgetting about everything I want to come after and just giving in and giving up.

How does he do it? How does he make me want to just do
this
for hours and hours and hours? Sweetly surrender myself over to him and everything he makes me feel.

Shit. Snap out of it, Brooke. Remember why you reached for him.

I break away, panting against his mouth, watching him suck my taste off his bottom lip.

“Come inside, Mason, before I drop to my knees right here in this hallway. I want you on my bed while I suck your dick, but I’m not picky. Here is fine too.”

I press harder against his jeans and he groans, his fingers digging into my skin, his arms locking up and trembling.

I go in for the kill, planting a kiss to his jaw and whispering, “think how good it’ll feel fucking this pretty little mouth.”

“Jesus Christ.” He pushes against my waist and leans back, blue eyes blazing as he stares at me. His other hand comes around and grabs my wrist. “Baby, stop.”

“Why?”

“Because . . .” he trails off, pinching his eyes shut as he gently removes my hand, forcing it against my side. He exhales a rigid breath. “Because, I want this to be about you.” His eyes flash open, and there it is again, that struggle so obvious it’s as if it’s vibrating across his skin or flashing in neon letters above his head.

Please, Brooke. You’re killing me.

I stare up at him, confused.
Why are you fighting this? I don’t understand.

His free hand glides up my arm, stopping just above my elbow where his thumb begins moving softly across my skin. “What I did earlier, it wasn’t just so you’d return the favor. I would never think like that, Brooke. When I touch you in any way, it’s because I
want
to touch you. Or I fucking need to. I’m not trying to get something in return.”