Page 64 of Making It Burn

He laughed, but it came out strangled when I bit down gently on his collarbone.“You’re terrible at first impressions.”

“And you’re terrible at admitting what you want.”I pulled back to look at him.His pupils were wide, his lips were swollen from kissing, and my hands had completely wrecked his carefully styled hair.He looked undone, and I’d barely started.“But you want this.Don’t you?”

“Yes.”The word came out rough.“God, yes.”

“Then stop thinking.”I grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, buttons be damned.“Stop analyzing.Just feel.”

Mason’s hands went to my shirt, yanking it off with more force than I expected, and suddenly we were skin to skin.His chest was firm against mine, warm, and I could feel his heart pounding as fast as my own.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his forehead resting against mine.

“Do what?”

“Not be in control.”

I cupped his face, forcing him to look at me.“Then let me be in control.Just for tonight.”

Something flickered in his eyes—uncertainty, then heat.“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I kissed him again, slower this time, savoring it.His mouth opened under mine, our tongues sliding together, and I poured everything I’d been holding back into that kiss.Every moment of frustration, every night lying awake thinking about him, every ounce of want I’d tried to suppress.

My hands traced down his chest, over his abs—defined, because of course they were—to the waistband of his jeans.I flicked open the button, slid down the zipper, and Mason’s breath hitched.

“Beau—”

“Shh.I’ve got you.”

I pushed his jeans down, taking his boxer briefs with them, and Mason stepped out of them, kicking them aside.And then he was standing there completely naked, completely vulnerable, and absolutely gorgeous.

“You’re staring,” he said, but there was no self-consciousness in his voice.Just heat.

“I’m appreciating.”I took a step back, letting my eyes travel over every inch of him.“Give me a second.I’ve been fantasizing about this.”

“Only a second?”

“Don’t get cocky, Price.”

“Too late.”He reached for me, pulling me against him, and I could feel exactly how affected he was.“Your turn.”

His hands went to my jeans, and unlike his earlier fumbling, these movements were confident, practiced.He had my jeans and underwear off in seconds, and then we were both naked, pressed together, and the feeling of skin on skin was almost too much.

“Bed,” I managed.“Now.”

Mason grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the king-size bed.We fell onto it together, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses.His hands were everywhere—my back, my ass, threading through my hair—and I couldn’t get enough.

I rolled us so I was on top, straddling his hips, and looked down at him.Mason Price, always so controlled, so careful, was completely undone beneath me.His chest was heaving, his hands gripping my thighs, his eyes dark with want.

“You’re beautiful,” I said.

“I’m not—”

“You are.”I leaned down and kissed him, cutting off whatever protest he was about to make.“And I’m going to prove it to you.”

I kissed down his neck, across his collarbone, down his chest.Every gasp, every shudder, every time his fingers tightened in my hair made me want him more.By the time I reached his hip bone, he was practically vibrating with need.