Price of a Kiss (Forbidden Men #1)(89)

My back arched off the tabletop, and I had to clutch the edge with both hands.

“Incredible.” He moaned as he licked the last bit of strawberry off me. “But I know where this would taste even better.”

When he peeled off my panties, I nearly shot off the table. “Mason, oh, my God. You can’t.”

Could he?

Holy shit, he could.

He caught my hip as soon as I sat up. “Shh,” he murmured against my mouth just before he kissed me long and tenderly. His lips had the power to kill brain cells; it didn’t even occur to me to resist after that.

I relaxed onto my back when he urged me down again. Then I opened my thighs when he nudged them apart.

He straightened nonchalantly and stared at me all spread open as his personal feast. He wasn’t in any hurry to begin his meal, however. With a slow, sensual smile, he watched me while he picked up his glass of juice. I tensed, thinking he’d pour it on me and lick that off too. But he just took a long drink, his throat working as he swallowed.

His eyes never left mine as he finally lowered the cup, sighed, and licked a droplet of orange off his full bottom lip.

“Dear God.” I panted, unable to look away.

His stare left my eyes to run over my completely exposed, waiting body. He examined me as if he were mentally mapping out everything he was going to do to me. I was already halfway gone into ecstasy land by the time he picked up the jar of jelly again. When he knelt between my legs and coated me with sugary strawberry wetness, I arched and squirmed, thrashing my head. Then I came hard against his mouth when he licked the glob of jam away.

He didn’t stop there. Oh, no.

Scooping up another finger full, he started all over again, building me back up. This time, he took his mouth off me and fingers out of me just before I could come.

Replacing his tongue with something just as delicious, he pushed inside. My back bowed off the table as my thighs hugged him hard. Straightening to his full height, he hooked his arms under my knees and gazed down at me.

“Christ.” He groaned, his eyes going unfocused. “You are so…”

“Beautiful?” I tossed out the breathless guess. “Amazing? Fun?” I couldn’t come up with a fourth suggestion because I ended up crying out an orgasm instead.

“Yes,” Mason hissed. His stomach muscles tensed as he thrust once more and shuddered inside me. “Yes.”

$

Staring up at the ceiling in a dazed, sticky, satisfied mess, I wondered if one of Mason’s clients had ever taught him how amazing strawberry jam could be.

I told myself it didn’t matter where he’d learned such a neat trick. It felt so good; it shouldn’t bother me. But it did. My heart felt charred and raw.

How many women had he given this exact treatment? How much money had he earned from it? How special did that really make it between us?

I hated how much this ate at me. What he’d been before he’d met me wasn’t significant to what we were building right here and now. But I was so incredibly jealous of every other female who’d ever touched him or wanted to touch him.

Or looked at him.

He landed on the table beside me, pink smears on the corner of his mouth as he beamed with pride. I was grateful my aunt and uncle were not spendthrifts—they had to buy the best of everything—so we didn’t cause the sturdy table to buckle under both our weights. It held us securely, and Mason looked so happy and content, I wanted to cry. Why did I have to have such unhappy thoughts when he was so pleased and satisfied?

“I’ve always wanted to do something like that,” he said, sounding like a little boy who’d finally been allowed to drive the car.

Instant relief consumed me. Oh, thank God. He hadn’t shared this intimacy with another woman.

I rolled toward him and threw my arms around his neck. He snuggled into me with an approving sound and hugged me back.

After kissing him lightly on the mouth, I said, “You know, we should do breakfast together more often.”

His eyes sparkled. “You know, I totally agree.”

$

It ended up, we did do breakfast together the next morning. Mason stayed all through Saturday. Yes, he let his mother know he wouldn’t be home.

Since he’d been suspended from work and wasn’t allowed to go near the Country Club for a week, he stuck around my apartment, and we remained inseparable for the rest of that lazy afternoon. Borrowing my calculus book, he did his math assignment while I worked on Virology. And let me tell you, naked homework sessions are a blast. I sat on one end of the couch and he sat on the other as we kicked our feet up and rested them on each other’s stomachs…until this one time, my heel totally slipped just the teeny tiniest bit. It slid over his junk and kind of pressed against him harder that I probably should have. When I felt some swelling under my arch, well…my toes felt compelled to investigate further.

After that, we didn’t get a whole lot of homework done. We did learn where the most sensitive places were on each other, however.

But as all honeymoons must come to an end, ours did too. Sunday morning, Mason woke me with a full body massage. After stroking every inch of my body until I was a pile of yummy, relaxed mush, he had his wicked way with me. And I have to admit, I really, really liked his wicked ways.

Kissing me as I drifted in a haze of semi-conscious post-coital bliss, he said, “I’ll make you a deal. If you promise not to move from this spot and stay exactly as you are until I get back, I’ll run out and find us some lattes.”