The Sweet Addiction Series Collection: Sweet Addiction, Sweet Possession & Sweet Obsession (97 page)

Mason groans through a clenched jaw, his breathing growing louder, exploding into the air as his arm moves furiously against his side.

“Fuck, baby. Let me see. Show me. Put the phone between your legs. God, my dick is so fucking hard.”

With a gasp, I drop the phone against my shirt. “Shit! Sorry,” I apologize through a nervous giggle, waving at the screen. “I need to get undressed. I’m in panties. Hold on. I’m putting this down.”

Holy shit! This is exhilarating and nerve wracking and crazy and CRAZY. But fuck, there is nothing holding me back from giving him everything he’s asking for.

I want this. I want him. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.

I shimmy my panties down my legs and pick up my phone. Holding it above me, I watch Mason’s mouth twitch when I appear in the small square.

“Hey. Okay, I’m going to do it now.”

He nods, his chest heaving. “Good. Make me come.”

Good fucking God.

I prop myself up with two pillows behind my back. Bending my knees, I let my legs fall open and hold the phone between them.

“Fuck. Look at you. So good, baby.” His face appears larger on my screen. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Closer. Spread your legs more. I want to see everything.”

“Okay,” I softly reply, my voice breathy and thick as I open wider and slide the phone closer to my body. “Like that? Can you see? I’m so wet. I’m dripping. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this turned on before.”

Mason growls my name, “Brooke.”

He tells me how hot his dick feels in his hand. How sensitive it is. How he can’t stop thinking about my mouth and my tits and how tight I’ll feel around him when he finally takes me. He snarls like an animal when I slip a finger into my pussy, and then he tells me to fuck myself, to think about his cock and to beg for it.

“Please,” I gasp, writhing against my sheets, sliding further down the bed with my legs pulling higher and spreading wider.

“Look,” he orders through a strained voice, and I glance down my body at the phone in my hand and moan at the image on the screen.

His cock.

His long, thick cock, dripping at the head as he strokes it almost brutally.

I bring the phone closer to my face and slide my fingers over my clit, staring, gasping, telling him I’m close and to come and to show me what I do to him.

With a strangled cry, we fall, words and moans blending into the night. It’s hot and filthy, and so profoundly intimate, and again I find myself smiling and so strangely happy, and I wonder if what I’m feeling has anything to do with the climax pulling me apart.

My legs fall heavy against the bed and I lift the phone off my chest. A lazy smile fills the screen.

“Well?” I ask, lifting my hair off my neck and falling back onto the pillow. I laugh at the peculiar look Mason gives me. “Don’t you have something to ask me, now that I’m sated from orgasm and willing to agree to even the most ridiculous requests?”

He grins, perking up. “Right. This weekend . . . can I have you?”

I blow him a kiss and end the call. My phone buzzes almost immediately with a message.

Mason
: I’ll take that as a yes.

MASON

The shrill sound of a phone ringing jolts me awake, dragging me out of one hell of a dream.

Brooke on her knees, her skilled hands cupping my balls as she laps at my cock.

I groan into the pillow.

God, I love dream Brooke. Who the fuck is calling me this early?

Lifting my head, I glance around the dark room.

The faintest amount of sunlight pushes across the floor by the window, breaking through the small gap in the curtain. Searching for my cell amongst the sheets I’m tangled in, I find the menacing thing halfway down the bed near my left calf.

Last night . . . shit, I don’t even remember hanging up after that spectacular conversation. Best solo session of my life. I will never look at that function on my phone the same again.

Facetiming my mum is now out of the question. Maybe I can convince her to Skype.

I accept the call and place it to my ear, letting my eyes fall closed again.

“You,” I mumble, picturing Brooke’s face against the backdrop of her lavender pillow. Her hair messy from sleep. “Morning, sweet girl.”

A breathy laugh pulls through the phone. “Oh, my God. You’re still in bed, aren’t you?”

“You wrecked me last night. I slept like the dead.” I peek an eye open and spot the clock on the wall. “My alarm doesn’t go off for another thirty minutes.”

“Really? Mm, that’s funny.”

A car horn sounds through the phone, followed by the distant noise of a busy street. Light chatter, heels striking the ground. Birds.

Is Brooke outside this early in the day?

“Is it?” I roll to the side and slide my arm beneath the pillow to build my head up. “My alarm set for ten to eight is funny to you?”

“Yes,” she chuckles. “Considering how adamant you were about getting me to agree to another breakfast with you. I give you Tuesdays and you stand me up. What the fuck, dude?”

My hand tightens around the phone. The cloud of content encasing me as I listen to Brooke’s warm morning voice quickly rips away, along with any ounce of lethargy keeping me pinned to the bed.

It’s Tuesday. I’m supposed to meet Brooke for breakfast on Tuesdays.

“Fucking hell.” I throw myself out of bed and dart across the room to grab some clothes. “Brooke, fuck, I’m sorry. I was so bloody out of it last night after we talked, I forgot to change my alarm. I’m up now. Just hang on, all right? Did you order?”

I step into a pair of boxers and some running shorts, fisting a shirt as my eyes scan the floor for my shoes.

“No, I gave up our table.”

“What?”

She laughs again, and for the second time during this conversation I take notice of the outside world quietly buzzing around her through the line. She’s calling me
after
waiting for God knows how long inside that café. It’s twenty past seven now. If she didn’t arrive early, that’s twenty fucking minutes of her sitting alone, wondering where the fuck I am after I practically begged her for this.

Brilliant, mate. You’re such a fucking wanker.

“Mason, relax. Jesus. It’s not a big deal. I’m just giving you a hard time because it’s funny and I can. Go back to sleep.”

I step into my runners and pull my shirt on. “Fuck that. I’m on my way out now. I’ll meet you there.”

“Can’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Wow,” she giggles. “Listen to you. You’re really pissed about this.”

“You gave me a day, Brooke. I want that day.”

My hand pushes through my hair as I step inside the bathroom. The light flickers on, pulsing against the white walls. I switch to speaker phone and hurriedly brush my teeth, glaring at my well-rested reflection.

She clears her throat. “I gave you
breakfast
, not a day. And it doesn’t matter. Dylan called me while I was waiting for you and asked if I could come in early to help her with something. So, you see? No big deal. I would’ve ended up cutting our time short anyway.”

I spit into the sink, dragging the back of my hand across my mouth.

She sounds fine, teasing me and brushing this fuck-up off as if it’s nothing. But I know this woman. I know she likes to hide behind a tough voice. I know you get more honesty from Brooke by slowing down and
watching
her, which is why I’m hesitant to believe her reassurance right now.

“Where are you?”

A quiet chime breaks through the phone. “The bakery.”

“Good.”

I move through the room and take to the stairs, walking across the empty studio. After unlocking the door, I jog across the street between traffic. Brooke says something, a greeting directed at Dylan, I assume. It sounds muted as if she’s moved her mouth away from the phone.

“Hey, Mason. I need to get off here.”

“All right,” I reply, ending the call and stepping inside the bakery.

“We’re not open yet,” a voice, not Brooke, yells from the back.

I move across the room and stop in the doorway opening up to the kitchen, leaning my shoulder against the frame.

Dylan notices me first, a coy smile twisting across her mouth. “Oh, hey. It’s you.”

Brooke raises her head from the large mixing bowl she’s staring down into.

She looks beautiful. Her hair is down, a tiny braid gathering some of it back and out of her round hazel eyes.

With parted red lips, she looks at the phone sitting on the large wood surface, then pins her gaze to me again.

“What are you doing, stalker?” she asks, her voice lifting sweetly. She shakes her head slowly through a tight lipped grin.

“I came to apologize, and to see if I can possibly take you to lunch today, instead of breakfast.” I straighten in the doorway and take a step closer, halting before I take another. “Is it okay that I’m back here?” I ask Dylan.

I’ve never stepped foot inside a professional kitchen before. I have no idea what the rules are for commoners here.

Dylan nods, her eyes shifting curiously between Brooke and myself. She smiles. “It’s fine.”

Brooke focuses on the containers of baking supplies in front of her as I loom closer. “I only get thirty minutes for lunch. That’s not enough time to go out anywhere. Sorry.”

“You can have an hour today.”

I grin at Dylan. “Brilliant.”

Brooke’s head snaps up. She looks astonished, maybe a bit annoyed. Her one hand closes into a fist against the wood while the other moves to her hip. “Are you kidding me right now? How many times have I asked you for an extended lunch, and never once were you keen on the idea. Just last week I wanted an additional fifteen minutes and you refused to budge.”

“So?” Dylan dumps some flour into a bowl and brushes her hands off. She stares evenly at Brooke. “This is my bakery, my fucking name is on it, and I don’t have to explain to you why I’m allowing this today.”

“Oh, I know exactly why you’re allowing it.” Brooke points a finger at my face. “That mouth right there. It makes people stupid.”

I keep my laugh muffled as I bring my arms across my chest, looking between the two of them.

Dylan removes her apron and lays it on the stool. “I’ll give you two a minute.” She hits me with a smile before moving across the room and climbing the stairs.

A door closes.

Stepping behind Brooke, I drop my head and kiss her shoulder. Her hands relax against the wood, while mine snake around her trim waist and pull her back against my chest.

“Think she’ll notice if I duck under this table and stay between your legs the rest of the day?” I ask, running my nose along her skin.

“Probably. Dylan doesn’t miss much.”

I smile. “Shame. I know I’d feel a lot better about fucking up this morning if I spend the next eight hours getting you off.”

“Mason.” Brooke spins around and tilts her head to look at me.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her before she can get another word out, my hands gently squeezing her hips as I fight the urge to inch closer and kiss my way through this.

She stares at me, silently absorbing my apology. Her shoulders drop with a quiet sigh, her eyes lowering to a spot on my shirt, and
that
, fuck, that right there is the reason why I’m here and not relying on her casual brush-off.

She isn’t fine. She’s disappointed, or hurt, or
something
. Definitely not fine.

“Now would be the perfect time to call me a wanker, Brooke. Or a tosser. I know how much you like slipping those words into our conversations. Feel free to let me have it.”

Her eyes flick to mine. She narrows them, draws her fingers into a fist, then knocks it gently against my chest. “What the fuck, dude?” she whispers, repeating her words from earlier, fighting back a smile as she stands on her toes to get closer. “You forgot? How could you forget?”

“It was that hot as fuck phone call last night. I think I lost some brain cells with that emission.”

“Aw, are you dumb and pretty now?” she chuckles, lifting a hand to my cheek. “It’s okay, sweet boy. I’ll still play with you. Do you like shiny things? Here. Let me get my keys.”

I grab her waist when she tries to dart away.

Fuck, I love her playful like this. Completely unaware of how open she is to me. It’s beautiful, her unguarded heart. I like to imagine it’s untouched as well.

She laughs against my neck, her hands sliding under my shirt.

“So,” she whispers, her lips pressing to my skin.

“So.”

“Last night was fun.”

I kiss her hair. “Mm. Maybe I’ll bring two tents with us this weekend and we can reenact it in the wilderness. I think your moans will sound lovely in an open field.”

She leans back to look at me. “Two tents? You’re delusional if you think I’m separating from you at any point during this absurd camp-out. I told you I didn’t want to do this. Now you’re trying to suggest we sleep apart? Fuck that. Haven’t you ever seen
Deliverance
? I know that wasn’t set in Chicago, but there are freaks everywhere. You’re stuck with me. One tent. One sleeping bag. Get ready for stage-five clinger status, buddy. I’m going to be on you like a hobo on a muffin.”