What am I doing?
I don’t know what I’m doing. I want to think that I just want to shut him up, but I want so much more than that.
Then I look up into Mason’s midnight eyes and see it all right there—the veracity of his words, the focus on his intentions, his restraint despite his obvious desire, evident when I glance down at his groin.
Common sense screams for me to run. I’ve known big violent men—there’s no trusting them.
But Mason isn’t grabbing me. I can see how badly he wants me, but he isn’t cornering me or demanding anything. He’s waiting, letting me decide what I want.
I let my gaze drop to his mouth. I want to kiss him.
Pretty girl. When he calls me that, my body reacts before my brain can remember all the reasons it shouldn’t.
If I kiss him, does that greenlight things I don’t want? Will he let me decide how far I feel comfortable going?
There’s only one way to find out. And if he tries anything, I’ll gut him with my knives.
So I take one more step, stopping directly in front of him. My hands shake as I fist them in his shirt, and for one second neither of us breathes.
Then I rise onto my toes and press my mouth to his.
36
MASON
The second her lips touch mine, every instinct I have snaps tight.
Mine.
37
LILY
I'm kissing him.
I'm kissing him.
The shock of it nearly makes me pull back. But I don't—I can't. This ismine. This choice. This moment. This man.
I've never done this before. I’ve never initiated contact, never chosen to touch someone like this. For thirteen years, my body has been a fortress—locked down, defended, untouchable. And now I'm standing on my tiptoes with my mouth pressed against Mason Rivera's, and I feel like I'm reclaiming territory that was stolen from me.
His lips are warm. Firm. He's not moving—he doesn’t touch me. He's letting me lead and set the pace. The power of that awareness floods through me like liquid heat, spreading from my mouth down through my chest, pooling low in my belly.
I'm in control.
My hands release his shirt and I move my palms over his chest—tentative at first, then bolder. I can feel his heart hammering beneath my palms, feel the tension coiled in every muscle. The fabric of his shirt is rough under my fingertips, warm from his body heat. He's holding himself completely still.Not just restraining himself—frozen. Waiting for me to decide what happens next.
He’s showing me I’m safe with him.
I press closer, tilting my head slightly, and his mouth opens beneath mine. The sensation is overwhelming—heat and texture and the taste of him, faint mint and something darker, something purelyhim. My breath catches. My fingers curl into his shirt, gripping hard, and I feel his chest expand as he inhales sharply. The sound he makes—low and rough and barely controlled—sends electricity racing down my spine, through my limbs, all the way to my fingertips and toes.
I've spent thirteen years afraid of being touched. Afraid of hands that take without asking. Afraid of my own body and what it might betray. Keeping myself walled off from men because I was afraid of how much they’d take from me.
Butthisis nothing like that. Mason isn’t taking—he’s accepting what I’m giving him. This is me choosing, me deciding. Me reclaiming what was stolen and making it mine again.
My soul feels like it soars. I kiss him harder, deeper. The heat spreads everywhere—through my chest, down my arms, pooling between my thighs. I feel myself getting wet, even wetter than I usually do around him. My body shakes with need for him, responding in ways it never has, in ways I thought were broken. Ways I thought I'd never feel.
But I feel them now. God, I feeleverything.