"So beautiful," he breathes, caging me in again to kiss me. His lips are soft against mine, his kiss achingly sweet. "So fucking perfect, Rebel."
"Mason," I whisper. "Please."
"You want more?"
I want everything.
"Yes."
He tears at his jeans, dragging them down just enough to free himself. He's so hard and thick, so damn beautiful, my mouth waters.
He lifts my leg, bending it back until my knee nearly touches my own ear, then surges forward, slamming inside with a force that rips every thought from my mind.
"Mason!"
He's deep—so deep he's in my heart, my ribs, my lungs. I can't breathe, but I never want him to stop.
"Goddamn, baby," he groans. "You're so fucking tight."
I sob his name, already reeling from the pleasure of it, from the stretch and fullness and the perfection of him inside me.
He fucks me with long, relentless strokes, holding my leg high, his other hand on my jaw to keep our eyes locked.
Every time he bottoms out, I see stars. I feel myself shattering apart and rebuilding, only to start all over again on the next thrust.
He kisses me while he fucks me, stealing my cries and my sanity. All I can do is cling to his arms, my nails digging so deep I'm sure I'll leave marks.
"I'm never letting you go, Olive," he growls, and then he's kissing me again, all tongue and teeth and heat. "You're mine now. Say it."
"I'm yours," I gasp, the words breaking on a sob of pleasure. "I'm yours, Mason. Please—"
He fucks thepleaseout of me, his pace brutal and beautiful. This kind of pleasure isn't supposed to exist. We weren't built to withstand it. And yet, he keeps going.
He grinds hard against me, then pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in, knocking my breath clear out of my lungs.
I choke on a sound that's half gasp, half sob, clawing at him.
My leg slips from his grip, but he just grabs my hips and yanks me down beneath him, using my body like it belongs to him.
It does.
His hand finds my clit, rough and shameless. The coil inside me snaps again, pleasure wracking me in white-hot waves. I come with a scream, thrown into an orgasm so intense it's the only thing that exists.
He never breaks eye contact, not even when he snarls my name and slams himself deep, shaking apart inside me.
"Olive," he groans, his cock pulsing inside me. "Christ, Olive."
We collapse together, tangled and gasping. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to feel in this moment—panic perhaps, or the overwhelming certainty that he's going to break my heart. But I feel neither of those things. I just feel…spent and used and so damn perfect it hurts in the best way possible.
"I meant what I said," he whispers, nuzzling his face against me. "I'm not letting you go."
God help me, but I think I believe him.
Chapter Nine
Olive
"Ineed help," I announce early the following morning, flinging my stuff down on the counter in the bookstore.