Standing behind me, he says, “Corrine…” with that damned heated desire for me practically dripping from his voice. I ignore him.
I tug the ribbon at the back of my head, removing the mask and slapping it on the table.
I’m only just standing here, but I’m breathing hard and shallow. His breaths are coming hard too, but still he doesn’t move. He crossed half the country to get to me, but he won’t close the final one-foot gap.
I want to say that I wish he’d never come, but it’d be a big, fat lie. Even though it would’ve been so much easier, even though I’m hurt and angry about the situation we’re in now—which I know isn’t even his fault—my heart still clings to every second I’ve had with him, wishing so hard for more.
I hear his mask drop on the table next to me.
“Why did you even bother coming?” I spin to face him. And there he is. All him. No mask. No hiding. Only Mason. Just looking at him consumes me.
He doesn’t answer. His eyes grip me and his breath comes out in hard, little puffs. The intensity of his stare halts my own breath. God, he looks like he’s going to attack.
Then he does. He rushes me, cupping my face and backing me against the wall. I let out a gasp.
“I know this is a bad fucking idea,” he says heatedly, “but I’m so tired of fighting it. The whole flight over, I kept asking myself what the fuck I’m doing, but I have no idea. I only know I can’t take this any longer.”
Having this much testosterone aimed in my direction is making my ovaries pop. He’s so fucking male. I’m pinned, the wall behind me and nothing but Mason in front. He dominates everything I see. All I know is his hard body against mine, his hot breath on my lips, his gaze seizing me. I can’t look away. I can hardly breathe.
“I can’t resist you. I have to have you.” His eyes lock on my mouth. “I have to taste you.”
Stripped of the ability to speak, I can only part my lips in invitation. Begging him to give in at last.