35. Hannah

Hannah

I ’m falling for Mason Carpenter.

As much as I hate it. As much as I try to fight it . . . I know it’s true.

Underneath his cold, hard exterior, is a man who cares. Who wants to see the people around him happy. Who wants to save his family so much, he’s willing to go to family therapy to make his mother happy.

Some distant part of me feels like I’ve known him my entire life. Or maybe in a previous one. Either way, there’s a connection there that’s as deep as it is troubling.

I must drift off to sleep on the couch after I’m brought home because it’s not until after one in the morning when the door closes that I wake up with a start. I jump from the soft click of the lock, sitting bolt upright on the couch and meeting Mason’s gaze.

He stares at me for a moment in the dim lighting, his eyes impossible to read. It’s not indifference, this time, but something else. Acceptance?

My stomach flutters when his jaw ticks and suddenly, our fight means nothing to me anymore.

I miss him.

“It’s late,” he murmurs, voice rougher than usual and I nod. I can tell he took a shower. His clothes are changed and he smells clean.

Not like he’s been torturing someone all evening.

“Can we talk?”

It’s a stupid question, I know. What is there to say? We laid it all out earlier. Well . . . he did, at least. I know I’m setting myself up for rejection when his jaw clenches, eyes flaring darkly.

“I don’t want to talk.”

Oh . . .

His eyes coast the length of my body, over the pajama shorts on my legs to the thin tank top. Heat sears my skin and a shiver rolls through me.

“Bed.”

Oh . . .

He must realize I understand because that’s all he says before he turns around and disappears into his room.

Carefully, I extract myself from the blanket and stand on shaky legs. This is either a really bad idea or exactly what we need, judging by the pressure building between my thighs.

Slowly, I follow him to his room, like I’m coming to meet the executioner and not the man watching me like I’m the only woman in the world.

Like I’m his.

I shut the door softly behind me, locking it with a deafening click, and then watch as he tugs his shirt over his head. Thick bands of muscles ripple under the movement of his tattoos and that ache inside me turns to a full-on throb. Quietly, he leans back against the dresser, his eyes boring into my freaking soul.

I spent the rest of the day wondering how we would navigate this. Going over the terrible things I’d said in my head because I was angry and hurt.

Shame feels heavy when it’s staring you in the face.

Especially when it’s got hurricane eyes and a jawline that could slice through your jugular.

Mason’s silence is palpable. His gaze dark and hot. Everything in my body stirs until a shiver ghosts up my spine. Slowly, I make my way toward him, like a lamb approaching a seriously pissed-off lion.

His hand raises and for a second, I flinch. I guess old habits die hard. But instead of pain, his rough palm caresses my cheek.

My heart melts into a puddle at his feet.

Tears burn in the backs of my eyes and instinctively, I step into him. It’s more intimate than we’ve ever been. Mason doesn’t hold me, but with a quiet growl, he tugs me closer until my face is pressed into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe, sucking in a shaky breath and he makes a rough sound of satisfaction, his fingers sliding from my cheek and back into my hair.

He lets out a breath of amusement and disbelief. “And finally, the sweet side comes out.”

He’s so warm, his body folding into mine perfectly. Like we’re two puzzle pieces meant to fit. I can’t help but sink into him, wrap my arms around him and steal his warmth. Maybe hide it away for a time when he’s not here. When I’m alone with nothing but the memories.

“Thank you,” I whisper, because I feel like it needs to be said. “For the flowers. And for helping me. And for every—”

“Stop.”

The words hang on my tongue, but I can’t figure out what to say. Thank you for protecting me. For saving me. For everything. But he doesn’t want to talk and I’m in no state to profess my feelings.

So, I carefully extract myself from him, even when his hand tightens in my hair painfully to tug my head back.

“Hannah.”

I shake my head, pulling on the strands as I attempt to drop to my knees.

“I don’t want to talk either.”

His gaze goes from hard to hungry and hot in the blink of an eye. He keeps his grip on my hair for a moment as if he’s reading my thoughts and trying to decide if this is a trap.

But finally, he relents, and I drop down in front of him.

I’ll admit, the prospect of having to fit Mason in my mouth again is daunting, to say the least. It hurt to have him inside me. What if my jaw gets stuck wide open or what if I choke to death?

But when I undo the button of his jeans and pull him out and find he’s harder than I’ve ever felt him, I find I don’t much care.

“I take it you’ve decided,” he murmurs, cocking a brow at me as if he’s testing me. Still, I can feel the way his abs tighten when I stroke him from root to tip. His gaze sears.

“It was never a question.”

Nerves twist my stomach, my knees shaking as I force all the thoughts out of my head but the man in front of me.

Somehow, I think that’s more terrifying.

Leaning forward, I run the tip of my tongue over the underside of his shaft, from his balls to the very tip.

Mason’s jaw clenches tightly as he watches. He looks like a king, standing before me, demanding my loyalty with a touch of his gaze.

I bend my neck, running his cock over my lips, and circling his heavy sac with my tongue. I feel his muscles tighten underneath my hands and his hands grip the dresser so hard, his knuckles turn white.

“Hannah.” I flick my gaze up to his, sucking his sac between my lips. His eyes flare, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a heavy swallow.

And just like last time, power consumes me at my effect on this dark god of a man.

“Suck my cock.”

My legs press together, the throbbing in my core begging for me to release some of the pressure. Lifting my head, I tongue my way up his shaft, stopping to swirl my tongue around the head. And when he’s about to say something else, I slip him in my mouth.

“ Fucking hell ,” he hisses through his teeth, his head falling back and his eyes clenching shut. I hum my approval at the taste of him and he pulls in a strained breath. “That’s it, little doe. Show me how sweet you can be.”

His voice is rough and unhinged, his hand resting on top of my head, guiding me. I’ll admit, Mason Carpenter growling out curse words under his breath because of something I’m doing to him is an aphrodisiac. Heat travels from my stomach down to my pussy and I can feel my own wetness coating my thighs.

And I’ve barely gotten my hands on him.

I slide him down halfway, using my fist to pump him in and out of my mouth slowly, savoring him. When I pull back and lathe my tongue around the tip, his eyes grow dark and hazy.

His hand tightens in my hair and I suck him further, tears streaming from my eyes and I choke when he hits the back of my throat, pulling back.

“Are you done?” he challenges, his eyes full of twisted amusement. He fists my hair, tugging my head back to meet his gaze roughly. He’s testing me and while it should turn me off, it only makes me more determined to watch him come from what I can do to him.

So, I shake my head, running my tongue over him from his heavy sac all the way to the tip.

“Fuck, Hannah,” he grits, his hand coming down to grip my chin. “Open your mouth.”

I do and he leans down, spitting on my tongue. Heat consumes me as my pussy clenches with need at the dark violence in his gaze. Then that hand is sliding into my hair as well, only instead of fucking my face like I think he’s going to, his thumb caresses my cheek. “I want to fuck your mouth.”

I nod, my heart fluttering in my chest, but the fire burning between us keeps me going, sucking him. I want to see this god crumble underneath my fingers, just as he’d done to me.

Holding my face, he slowly slides in deeper, his cock pressing past the constrictions of my throat until I’m gagging for breath.

“All of it, baby,” he rasps, slipping back, allowing me to suck in a breath before sliding back in. My heartbeat pulses in my clit when I choke, having more of him in my mouth than room to breathe. “Fuck, you sound so pretty when you’re choking on my cock.”

This is what it feels like to be completely owned by Mason Carpenter. Fully and completely possessed. My head spins at the thought of giving my everything to this man.

Or maybe it’s the lack of oxygen.

Either way, I don’t want him to stop.

He pulls back, fucking my face and watching me with an air of angry adoration. Like he’s obsessed with me, but he fucking hates it and for some reason, that makes me warm all over.

Tears stream down my face, my cheeks growing red from the lack of oxygen, but I still don’t ask him to stop because I’m too lost in him now.

“That’s it, little doe . . .” he grunts, his cock slipping between my lips and over my tongue. His chest heaves with heavy pants, his forehead shining in the light from the exertion. “You going to swallow my come like a good girl?”

I moan, sealing my lips around him and he curses under his breath, his fingers tightening in my hair. Biting back on a growl, he comes, shooting thick loads down my throat until I’m sputtering and so desperate for him to touch me, I’d sell my firstborn.

“So fucking perfect,” he murmurs, his hands still shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm. “Now, strip.”

He pulls me to my feet, tugging my shirt over my head. My breasts fall out, heavy and tight, but he doesn’t touch me anymore, standing back to watch as I slip my cotton pajama shorts down my legs.

His gaze flares and his eyes travel the length of my body, from my nipples to my glistening sex.

Eyes like midnight, he nods to the bed.

I go, sitting on the end, but he shakes his head.

“On your stomach.”

My chest tightens, but I do, laying on my stomach and kicking my feet up in the air behind me.

He takes his time, stalking behind me like a predator, on the hunt for blood. His heavy bootfalls fill the room, and my heartbeat mimics each one as he steps behind me.

Oh, no . . .

Somehow, I have a feeling I might not make it out of this in one piece.

Sex in the garage was one thing. We were limited as to what we could do. Sex in his soft, comfortable, oversized bed?

I might have a permanent stutter by the time this is over.

“Are you still angry with me?” I ask and he pauses behind me. I move to turn around, but he steps out of my line of view.

“And if I am?”

My heart drops. I should just get up and leave, right now. Finish myself off with my vibrator, but something keeps me here. Maybe it’s the way his voice is dripping in lust. Or maybe it’s because I know, no matter what I use, it’ll be nothing compared to the man behind me.

I’m giving myself to him. And whether that’s good or bad, I don’t think the outcome will be any different.

“You think you can walk away?” he murmurs darkly, his voice caressing my bare back and bringing goosebumps to the surface. “As if I wouldn’t hunt you down.”

“I don’t want to leave,” I breathe, my breath hitching when his finger softly glides up my calf.

“You push me to the point I don’t know whether I want to fuck you or hate you. Unfortunately, your hatred is so fucking sweet, I’m addicted to it as much as I am your sweetness.”

“I don’t hate you.” I want to. I want to despise him because it would be safer than allowing myself to fall into his darkness.

“This ass . . .” he murmurs quietly, his hands light as a feather and the slip over my curves. “Is fucking perfection.”

I let out a breathy sigh, closing my eyes and surrendering to his touch.

Then he bites my ass.

The fucking bastard bit me.

I jerk on the bed and his palm comes out, resting at the center of my back. His tongue soothes the sting from his teeth and he chuckles darkly.

“I’m not angry, little doe.” I hear shuffling and then both his hands are reaching under me, gripping my hips and pulling me to kneel on the bed in front of him. He pushes my front down until my ass and pussy are completely exposed to him, God, or anyone else who might walk in the room. “But fuck if punishing you isn’t going to feel good.”

Thank God for modern door locks.

He presses each of his hands to the backs of my thighs, using his thumbs to spread my pussy open.

“Try not to scream.”

Then, he’s running his tongue through my folds.

I gasp, choking on the sound and burying my head in the comforter to let out a heavy breath. “You’re soaked. Is this from getting me off?”

I nod, anticipating the next stroke of his tongue.

“Words, Hannah.”

“Yes,” I breathe.

“Good girl.”

Then he’s slipping his tongue inside me. I need him on my clit, but his tongue inside me feels so good, I don’t want him to stop.

“So goddamned sweet,” he grits like it pisses him off as he nips and sucks a line from my pussy to my clit. Only he stops, right before he reaches the sensitive bundle of nerves practically begging for his attention. “Are you going to be my good little whore?”

“Yes,” I pant, my clit throbbing even as he avoids it completely. “Yes.”

This is his revenge. His vengeance on me for all the nasty things I said earlier. Call me crazy, but I’d be committing a lot more crimes if Mason Carpenter was the one doling out punishments.

“You make me so fucking insane.” He slips higher, sucking the flesh around my clit until I’m whimpering on the bed. “Sometimes you piss me off so bad, I want to fuck you until you can’t run off.”

“Mason,” I groan, my head spinning when he denies me again. I try to move my hips against him and position him exactly where I need but his fingers tighten to near-bruising strength.

“My own little brand of poison,” he hisses, nipping my inner thigh. I jerk up the bed, but he just chuckles darkly, soothing the sting with his tongue and not allowing me to run away. “You keep running, but like a sick fuck, I keep coming back whenever you want me. What does that make me, little doe?”

I can’t form words into a sentence. I can’t even form a coherent thought. My arousal drips down my thighs, his words sending electric shocks straight through my body.

“Show me how it looks when you stay . . .” he murmurs, biting the globe of my ass again. His fingers slide underneath me, toying with my nipple and my pussy clenches on nothing.

“Mason, I need you.”

He lets out a dry, unamused laugh. “Do you need me, Hannah? Or do you just want me because I make this tight cunt feel better than it’s ever felt?”

Holy shit.

I wrack my mind for an answer, all number of thoughts careening through my head like a pinball machine.

“I need you,” I admit, finally. “For sex and for . . . everything else. I l—”

His hand slaps my ass hard and the sting liquifies in my veins.

“Don’t finish that sentence, Hannah,” he rasps. “Not until you’re ready to prove it.”

His voice is darker than I’ve ever heard it before. Menacing. World-ending. Like he’s prepared to rip civilizations down if I’m lying to him.

In my chest, I know I’m not.

I’m falling in love with Mason Carpenter and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.

“I’ll stay,” I breathe, arching my hips when his tongue slips into the tight ring of muscles above my entrance. I gasp, my eyes screwed shut as a sensation I’ve never felt before surfaces.

I feel dirty. Used. Cherished. Fucking adored. All at the same time.

“I don’t believe you,” he murmurs and my heart threatens to shatter like glass. “Don’t scream,” he reminds me.

Then his lips seal over my clit and his tongue flutters across me, sending me into the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had. I bury my head into the comforter, biting the material to keep from screaming. My body shakes with the force of the waves, but I don’t have time to react before he’s grabs me and flips me over. He drags my hips to the edge of the bed, tonguing me straight through into another orgasm while I bite my own palm to stay quiet.

“I need inside you,” he grits, voice huskier than usual when he flips me over. He stands, wiping my arousal on the back of his hand and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

He removes the rest of his clothes, his body rippling in the light from his bedside lamp. I watch him walk to the dresser, his ass as devastating as the rest of him.

Mason’s butt could end a war.

He opens the top drawer and pulls something out, before coming back to the bed and holding it up in the light.

A condom.

My stomach clenches when he hands it to me.

“I’ve never . . . put one of these on,” I whisper, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

He doesn’t let me back out that easily.

“Guess it’s time to learn.”

He’s challenging me. Pride wells inside me and I rip the packet open and pull the condom out. His eyes flare when I place it over him, sliding it down his length and making sure to stroke him in the process until his jaw tenses.

Two can play at that game.

Mason looks like a man possessed when he climbs on the mattress above me.

“While knocking you up would have its fucking day, I agree we aren’t bringing a child into this mess. Not yet.” My stomach dips at his words and when his hand runs over my stomach. The dark glint in his eyes as he looks up my body at me sends a shiver down my spine. “But make no mistake. I will be fucking you raw again.”

I shiver, the darkness seeping off him palpable when his hands come to my hips, but he doesn’t waste any time pushing inside me in one full roll.

I bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming and he curses under his breath, eyes wild.

“Oh my god . . .” I pant, my head falling back and my eyes screwing shut from the pain and pleasure of having him so deep, so fast. My nails dig into his shoulders, but he doesn’t pull back. “Please, Mason. Move.”

“Too much for you, little doe?” he sneers, but then he reaches up, brushing the hair out of my face with a soft caress. “You can always tell me to stop, Hannah. Give me a word.”

“What?” I stammer, my pussy still pulsing around him from my last orgasm.

“Give me a word and that will be your safe word. Whatever you want to say to let me know you’ve had enough.”

I roll the words around in my head, but only one comes to mind. “Hurricane.”

He pauses for a moment, but he doesn’t bother asking.

“Hurricane,” he reminds me. “Now, fight me or fuck me, little doe. Your choice.”

He pulls back before slamming inside me and he doesn’t stop. He fucks me hard, grinding his hips into mine like he’s trying to carve out his spot on my body. Like he’s trying to imprint himself on my soul so that everyone will know I’m his.

I mean, at this point, I’d shout it from the rooftops.

His hands come up, capturing mine and holding them above my head. I’m sure I’ve left marks on his shoulder, but he also bit my ass, and for that, he deserves it, no matter how hot it was.

“This pussy was made for my cock, Hannah,” he murmurs, voice low and quiet. “You feel how you’re squeezing me, begging for more?”

I whimper, my eyes rolling back in my head. My body tightens to a near fever pitch, but the orgasm remains just out of reach.

The asshole is keeping it from me.

“Does it scare you that I would torture for you?” he grinds out, voice rough and animalistic in my ear. “Kill for you?”

“Yes,” I breathe because it’s true.

“And yet, you want me anyway?”

“Yes. Mason ,” I grit through my teeth and he chuckles darkly, shifting and stretching my arms all the way out above me before centering himself between my legs.

At this angle, his groin brushes against my clit and I swear I go cross-eyed from the sharp bite of pleasure that shoots through me.

“He tried to kill me when he tried to murder you . I don’t take lightly to that, little doe, because whatever’s good in me rests in your hands.” He enunciates each word with a thrust of his hips until everything in me seizes. His lips crash against mine and my heart feels like it’s going to explode.

“You’re such a fucking good girl,” he growls against my lips. I arch into him, my body on the brink of either breaking in half from the size of him above me, covering me, or coming. At this point, maybe both. “You look so fucking pretty taking all of me, sweetheart.”

My tongue glides against his and he sucks on the tip, sending shivers through me until I think I’m going to pass out.

“Mason, I’m going to come,” I whimper, rolling my hips to meet his.

“Did I say you could come?” He changes his angle, fucking me until the sound of skin on skin fills the space between us. The head of his cock brushes the most sensitive spot inside me.

“Please?”

“Fuck, Hannah,” he rasps, a tremor rolling through him. He’s on the edge, too, and the list of things I’d do to see him come undone from me is longer than the list of things I wouldn’t do.

“Your cock feels so good,” I whisper and his nostrils flare. He fucks me harder, punishing me for my dirty words. I bite back at the cries that threaten to leave my lips, but I don’t stop. “Harder, Mason. Please, I need you.”

He growls between his teeth, his hand coming up to wrap around my throat. He squeezes, just enough to shut me up, but the combination of what he’s doing to me and the unsteady beat of my heart drown out the need for oxygen anyway.

“Come for me, little doe.”

And I explode. My body goes rigid, wrapping as tightly around him as I can while his hand comes up and clamps over my mouth. I bite his palm, tasting blood in the process of not screaming to God. The devil. The men outside. Whoever will hear my prayer because I swear this orgasm will be my last.

He lets out an animalistic growl, burying his face in my neck when he comes. He pulls me so tightly against him, I think I might break, his body shuddering over mine in the most delicious way.

“Fuck,” he pants, rolling his neck. “Fuck.”

He brushes the hair out of my face, absentmindedly moving his hips as our bodies tremble with aftershocks from our orgasms.

“You’re going to fucking kill me,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against my damp forehead. “No more running.”

I open my mouth to argue, but when I catch sight of the sincerity in his gaze, something in me crumbles.

I’ve been running from my problems my entire life. Yet, every time I’ve tried since I met him, he’s always there to catch me and put me back together again.

God, save me if he ever doesn’t.

“No more running,” I repeat and this time I mean it.