“Lie down. You’re going to want to be on your back for this.” I sit up and strip off my shirt, tossing it off the bed.

Mason slides his hand possessively over my breasts as we switch positions. He settles on his back, feet crossed at the ankles, his arms tucked beneath his head, and his cock lying heavy on his stomach.

I fist him at the base, spreading his legs wide with my knees. “How do you like it? Rough? A little teeth? Do you like your balls played with?” I take him into my mouth as much as I can. I cup his balls and fondle them.

If he doesn’t like it, he will by the end of this.

“Fuck,” Mason hisses through a groan, his body tensing.

He runs his hand along my cheek, pressing his thumb to the corner of my mouth and sliding it inside, feeling his cock against my tongue. His lips part.

I lick the underside of his shaft, swirling my tongue around the head and wetting him fully. I slide my hand up and down his glistening cock as I lap at his balls.

“Ah . . . God, Brooke.”

“Mm,” I moan, taking him into my mouth again and sucking vigorously.

He hits the back of my throat, again and again, cursing with his hands fisting my hair. Tugging gently.

I suckle at the head and smear a drop of precum on my lips, slowly licking it off.

His thighs jump. His chest rising and falling swiftly. I look up into his eyes and gasp around his length. He looks wracked. His eyes are electric, round with shock. The blue irises swelling and blackening with desire.

He told me his body was mine and this is what he meant. I own him right now. He isn’t fighting his pleasure. He isn’t holding back his reaction to me and what I’m doing to him. I ask Mason what he likes and he curses while staring, mesmerized, marveling in the wet seal of my flesh with his.

He’s giving me this. Trusting me with this part of him. With every part. Knowing I’ll care and adore him in the way he deserves, or at least hoping I will.

I will. God, I will. I want him overwhelmed. As far gone as he makes me feel. And I won’t stop until I get him there.

I gently press my teeth into his length. He thrusts off the mattress.

“Fuck!”

“You like that?” I teasingly ask, wrapping my hand around his cock and slapping it against my tongue. “What about this?” I lean over his body and rub his slick head over my nipple. The hardened peak shimmers with saliva. The soft skin between my legs grows wet. My breath catches. “Oh, God, Mason, do you like this?”

He fists my hair and growls. “Baby.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” I whisper, kissing his shaft. Licking it. “You want to come? I know you do. Let’s see what we can do about that.”

I drop back down and swallow him, raking my nails up his stomach to his ribs while I bob my head. I work fast, then faster, sucking hard and taking him deep. His thick member swells in my mouth, hitting the back of my throat. I gasp when he tugs my hair and smile when his hips begin jerking in tiny movements off the bed.

“Brooke,” he groans, thrusting more boldly now. His cock fucking my mouth in earnest.

I reach between my legs and brush my clit. My quiet moans don’t go undetected.

“Fuck, yeah. God, do it, baby. Look at you. Rub that pretty little pussy for me.”

Mason’s filthy mouth, the throbbing of his cock against my tongue, and the hoarse way he says my name gets me there in record time. My desire drips down my hand. Releasing his shaft with my other, I stroke over his balls and press my finger against the smooth skin just below.

He inhales a sharp breath. His body arches off the bed. “Ah, God . . . fuck! Fuck, I’m gonna come. Baby, I’m gonna come.”

I move my fingers against my clit until my legs shake and my climax burns up my spine. Mason pulls my hair and floods my mouth. I swallow between moans and whimpers, sucking on his head.

Holy fuck, I think.

“Holy fuck,” he says, breathing heavily and rubbing my scalp.

With a heavy sigh, I collapse on top of him, my head lifeless on his thigh and my body half sprawled across his legs and half tangled up in the sheets. I close my eyes, sighing when he wraps me up and pulls me to his chest, cradling me there.

“Filthy girl,” he whispers, pressing gentle kisses to my mouth and cheek. “My filthy fucking girl. I’ll go to dinner with you. I’ll go anywhere, yeah? You don’t need to ask.”

I squeeze his neck. I bury my face there and smile. “It’s ‘cause I can suck a good dick, right?”

Laughing, he pulls the covers over us, tucking me close.

Mason never argues my lighthearted reasoning. Or maybe he does and I’m too drunk with happiness to hear him.

So drunk I feel dizzy, spinning more and more out of control. Falling further into this blind madness where, as long as he holds on to me, I feel safe and steady.

Our usual coffee time together is skipped the next morning. For good reason.

Every time I attempt to get dressed, Mason bites my neck or pinches my nipple, stripping off my clothes and entering me in one hard thrust. We fuck on the bed, in the chair, against the wall by the window. Minutes turn into an hour, and after he leisurely fingers me against the shower wall and comes on my ass, we stumble out together and frantically scramble into our clothes.

Him, loose shorts and a fitted gray tee.

Me, my jeans and blouse from yesterday.

Nothing screams wild sex all night like the repeat of an outfit. At least I wear it well.

After kissing Mason goodbye, and then really kissing Mason goodbye, with frantic mouths and greedy hands pulling at clothes, again, I cross the street and enter the bakery just before it’s time to open.

Joey looks up from behind the display case. He grins at my attire. “Ah, you know, I miss the days of a good hoe stroll. I used to rock those back in my early twenties.”

I roll my eyes and move through the shop. “Did you deliver?”

He holds up a pink cinch bag.

Sweet. My clothes.

“Thank you so, sooo much. You brought me panties, right?”

Joey hands me the bag. He lifts an eyebrow. “Yes, I brought you panties. There are jeans in there. Freeballin’ and denim doesn’t mix. Trust me.”

“Tell me about it.”

I shift on my feet, wincing at the odd sensation between my legs. Joey laughs quietly beside me.

“I’m going to go upstairs and change. Where’s Dylan?”

I roam into the kitchen and look around the room, expecting to see her sitting at the worktop since she’s not up front like she usually is in the mornings. I haven’t seen her since before she left for her doctor’s appointment yesterday.

Joey trails behind me. “She’s upstairs. She’s been waiting on you to get here so she can talk to us.”

I glance back over my shoulder. “What? Why?”

“Fuck if I know. I tried getting it out of her when I got here this morning but she wouldn’t open the door for me up there. Can you believe that? She sent me a text saying she’s only saying this once, whatever it is. Shouty capping me and shit. Girl, please. I don’t need that kind of attitude before seven A.M. .”

I climb the stairs with Joey following, my mind trying to come up with a scenario that would explain Dylan not being present in her bakery.

I remember when she was pregnant with Drew and it was nearing her delivery date. She was exhausted all the time, mean to everyone, walking around here like a slap-happy zombie. Joey and I convinced her to sleep in a couple days a week and leave the morning baking to me. I thought she was going to fire us both for that suggestion, but she must’ve been past her breaking point and too tired to argue. With little convincing needed, she agreed and soon became much more pleasurable. Everyone was happy.