as much as he does, but I want to remember what it’s like for Mason to take his time with me and to do it with love rather than hate.
His hands slide through my hair and he brings my face to his so he can kiss me. Slow and deep, he gives me exactly what I’ve requested.
He then spends hours kissing every inch of my body.
Touching me.
Slow fucking me.
Showing me the love he still feels deeply for me.
Mason’s preferred way of showing his love is with physical action, whether that be sex, or fighting for those he loves, or doing things for loved ones. Tonight, he shows me unequivocally how much he loves me, and I wonder how we’ll go on from here.
26
Gunnar
Chelsea was right: spending a night with her was a bad fucking idea. I woke just after 5:00 a.m. and spent an hour watching her sleep before leaving the bed more fucked up than when I arrived at Alexa’s last night. I didn’t wake her even though fucking her was all I wanted to do, because each time I have her makes it fucking harder to walk away again.
I don’t know what the fuck we’re doing here; all I know is I’m not going to survive it.
“Mason.” Chelsea’s voice cuts through my thoughts as I shower.
Turning, I find her joining me. Her hands are on my waist before I can stop her. Fuck, not that I want to stop her. That’s fucking evident in the way my hands automatically go to her body too.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she says right before her lips find mine.
Our kiss quickly grows urgent, and I push her up against the shower tiles as I begin to take what I need from her. When I finally drag my mouth away, I rest my forehead against hers and say, “The only thing I’m thinking is that this is a fucked up mess.”
Her fingers dig into my waist and she nods. She doesn’t say anything, though. There’s nothing fucking to say, because I said it all.
Fucked. Up. Mess.
And yet, I know I’m going to keep taking every stolen moment she offers because I only want her, and I’ll take her any way I can get her.
Fuck.
Too much fucking thinking about shit I can’t change.
I just need to fuck her.
Lifting my head, I growl, “Turn around.” When she frowns, I take hold of her hips and turn her myself. Then, sliding a hand between her legs, I say, “I need to fuck you, Mayfair, and then I need to get the fuck out of here.”
“Mason,” she starts, but I cut her off. I don’t want to hear anything she has to say today.
“No,” I throw down between us, harshly, “We’re not fucking talking anymore. We did enough of that last night.” Fuck, we talked for fucking hours, and while I want decades more of talking with her, I’m not going to get that, so I don’t fucking want scraps of it from her.
I push two fingers inside her. She’s already wet for me, and while I usually like to take my time with her, I don’t have that in me this morning.
I fucking need to be inside her, and I fucking need that now.
“Fuck!” I roar as I slam my dick as far as I can in her. “Fucking hell.”
Chelsea presses her hands to the tiles and takes every thrust, every ounce of fury, every shred of hate I give. I love her so fucking much, but she’s not mine to give that to.
This is all I have left to offer.
After, I pull out of her and exit the shower without looking back. I find my clothes, dress, and get the fuck out of Alexa’s apartment, wondering how many days it’ll be before I’m back looking for more. Back begging her to dig around some more in the fucking hole in my chest she put there.
“You look like shit,” J says at lunch when he takes the stool next to me at the clubhouse bar.
I drink some of my beer. “I feel it, too.”
“What’s going on, brother?”
I look at him. “Should we call Madison and the girls? Maybe have a fucking sewing circle with them.”
He arches his brows. “You’re a moody motherfucker lately, Gunnar.”
“Yeah, and I don’t see that coming to an end any-fucking-time soon.”
“Fuck, how long since you’ve been laid?”
I suck back some more beer. “That’s the problem, brother. I had some this morning and I fucking shouldn’t have.”
“What shouldn’t you have had this