Page 87 of Shattered Promise

My breath stutters a little. Lust swoops low in my belly, greedy and lazy at the same time.

Mason kisses me—quick and hot, like he can’t help himself—then leans back in the chair, arms slack over the rests, watching me with hooded, satisfied eyes.

“Mind if I use your shower?” I ask, pulling my dress down and smoothing it with both hands. “I don’t really want to go home.”

Mason tilts his head, smug and shameless. “Mi casa is su casa, baby.” His palm lands on my ass, a firm, playful swat that makes me jump and narrow my eyes.

He grins. “For motivation.”

I roll my eyes, lips twitching. “You’re lucky I’m too blissed out to retaliate.”

I saunter toward the door, Mason’s gaze heavy on my back, and the sound of his low whistle follows me out of the garage.

33

MASON

The smellof her is still on my skin.

Sunshine and cherries. Sweat and sex.

I haven’t even put my belt back on—just tugged my jeans up and sat there for a second, elbows on my knees, chest still heaving like I ran ten miles instead of just sinking inside of the woman of my dreams.

I blow out a breath.

Jesus.

I tug the zipper up and lean back against the garage wall. The wooden panel thuds dully under my spine.

I can still hear her laugh. That soft, breathless one that gets under my skin and stays there.

Everything’s still warm. Loose. My muscles feel like overcooked pasta. She kissed the hell out of me before she left for my shower, all pretty and smug and a little dazed from coming around me twice? Three times? I lost count, but it seems like something I should keep track of. For future reference.

And maybe future record-breaking.

I can’t stop grinning.

Until I do.

Because suddenly I’m thinking about the way she looked riding me. How tight she was. How wet. How I didn’t even stop to grab a condom.

My heart stutters. Not from panic, not at first. At first it’s this low, dark thrill that ripples down my back and lands, sharp and hot, in my gut. The idea of tying her to me like that—of making it irreversible, inescapable—should scare me. And it does, a little. But it’s the kind of fear that makes you want to do it anyway, just to see what happens.

Fuck.

I press both palms to my face, dragging down until my skin feels raw. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I wasn’t, obviously. She had me so turned inside out I couldn’t have spelled my own name, let alone reach for protection.

It’s not rational. It’s not responsible.

It’s just that being with her is the only thing that’s ever made me forget the part of myself that keeps a spreadsheet of every possible way things can go wrong. And for a minute there, I liked it. I liked not thinking about the consequences.

But now the consequences are thinking about me.

I swallow, hard. The metallic tang of panic starts to bleed into the afterglow. I glance down at my hands—they’re shaking. Not a lot, just enough to make the calluses on my palms itch. I flex my fingers and try to slow my breathing. It doesn’t work.

It’s not that I don’t want her. It’s just that I know she’s gonna leave at some point.

This is a vacation for her, an escape. But for me, it’s my life.