Page 70 of Making It Burn

“Mason,” I said, not sure what I was trying to say, just needing to say his name.

“I know.”He kissed me again, slower this time.“I feel it too.”

And then we weren’t talking anymore.We were just feeling—hands and mouths and skin, the slide of bodies together, the gasp of breath and whispered names.It was different from New Orleans.Like we were learning each other, memorizing every sound and touch and reaction.

I moved over him, settling between his thighs, and Mason’s hands came up to cup my face.His eyes were so blue, so open, and I could see everything in them—the trust, the vulnerability, the hope that this was real.

“You sure?”I asked, even though we’d already crossed this line.Even though I knew the answer.

“I’m sure.”His thumb traced my lower lip.“I want this.I want you.”

I kissed him then, slow and deep, pouring everything I couldn’t say into that kiss.And when I finally pushed inside him, when his body opened for me and his breath hitched and his fingers dug into my shoulders, I had to stop and just breathe.

“Okay?”I managed, my voice barely steady.

“More than okay.”Mason’s legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper.“Perfect.You’re perfect.”

We moved together slowly, finding a rhythm that was less about urgency and more about connection.Every thrust was deliberate, and every touch meant something.I watched his face—the way his eyes fluttered closed, the way his lips parted, the flush spreading across his cheeks—and committed it all to memory.

“Look at me,” I whispered, and when his eyes opened, I saw everything I was feeling reflected back at me.The desire, and need.The terrifying, exhilarating realization that this wasn’t just sex.

“Beau,” Mason breathed, and the way he said my name—like it was sacred, like it meant something—made my chest ache.

I leaned down, pressing my forehead to his, our breath mingling as we moved together.“Mason, I’ve got you,” I whispered.“I’m right here.”

“Don’t stop,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.“Please don’t stop.”

“Never,” I promised.

We built slowly toward something bigger than just release, something that felt like it was rewiring my entire nervous system.And when we finally fell over that edge together, with Mason’s name on my lips and mine on his, I felt something click into place.

Something that felt a lot like coming home.

We lay tangled together afterward, our breathing slowly returning to normal, and I pressed soft kisses to his temple, his cheek, his jaw.

“You okay?”I asked.

“Yeah.”Mason’s hand found mine, lacing our fingers together.“Better than okay.”

I rolled to the side, pulling him with me so we were facing each other.There was a softness in his expression I’d never seen before.

“We should talk,” he breathed.“About what this means.About work.”

“Later,” I said, pressing a kiss to his chest.“Right now, I just want to be with you.”

“Okay.”His arms tightened around me.“Later.”

I closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of him.This wasn’t just chemistry or lust or the thrill of something forbidden.This was the kind of thing that kept you up at night, or the stuff poets wrote about and people spent lifetimes searching for.

And it scared the hell out of me.

Because tomorrow we’d have to walk into that office and pretend this hadn’t changed everything.We’d have to sit across from each other in meetings and act like colleagues when all I’d want to do is reach across the table and touch him.

We’d have to figure out how to keep this secret, assuming that’s what we wanted to do.

And I wasn’t sure I did.

ChapterFourteen