Page 107 of House of Payne

I swallow and hesitate.

Slowly, my fingers move to my blouse, and I unfasten one button after the other, a kernel of desire building within me. When my blouse falls to the floor, my fingers move to the button on my jeans. Mason’s expression doesn’t change as he watches me, his breathing low and even. Once I’m in my bra and underwear, I resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest.

He’s looking at me like he’s going to devour me whole.

“Touch yourself,” Mason says thickly. “Don’t stop until I tell you to.”

It feels weird to stand in my childhood room in my underwear with a man like Mason.

I’ve been in here with Noah, but it always felt different. Familiar.

Having Mason here shines a spotlight on how different we are, and I don’t like it.

But this is what I need, whether I want to admit it or not.

It’s been on my mind since our night at the mansion.

I need him to touch me.

I have no idea why Mason is acting like this, but I don’t care, because it’s affecting me too.

I want to forget about Noah and everything else that led me here.

With trembling hands, I unhook my bra and let my breasts spill forward. Then, I hook a thumb into my underwear and pull them down. Mason pulls out my dresser chair and without breaking eye contact, sits down and crosses his legs. I look directly at him as I push my breasts together and exhale.

What is it about this wild and rough man that makes me go weak in the knees?

Why does being around him make me forget everything about who I am and what I thought I wanted?

I run a finger down my sides and move to my navel.

When I roll my nipples between my fingers, Mason’s expression shifts. “Keep going.”

I stop when my nipples are as hard as pebbles and my heart is thundering in my throat. Breathlessly, I push one finger between my wet folds and stare at him through lowered lashes. Then I push another finger in, and my breath hitches. Wordlessly, Mason removes his clothes and sits back down, every bit of his powerful, taut body on display.

Why do I want to lick every inch of him?

Why do I want to lay at his feet and beg for the release only he can give me?

I’m like an addict itching for her next fix.

My tongue darts out to lick my lips as my fingers move back and forth, and my other hand glides over my skin. The pressure builds within me, low and urgent, and I lean toward Mason, craving his touch.

I want what only he can give me.

I want ecstasy and pleasure without restrictions or rational thought.

I want to be consumed by him.

I swallow, and my mouth parts as I near the edge, and my fingers move faster. Before I can throw my head back and ride out my high, I stop. Without warning, Mason stands up, and we stumble and fall onto my bed. He pins my arms over my head. His mouth is hot and searing when he touches his lips to mine.

Mason kicks apart my legs and settles between them, rubbing himself against me.

Fuck.

We’ve barely started, and I’m already ready to combust.

This is more than I could’ve imagined.