Fighting: Fighting for Forever Part 18

"This is where you live, huh?" I scoot forward to peer out the front window at the rows of two and three-story condos, each boasting their own private garage. "These are really nice." They just don't seem like him. I don't know what I was expecting, but these places look uptown. I expected Mason to live somewhere with a big backyard, a garage full of tools, and a dog.

"Best the UFL has to offer." He turns down one of the winding roads and hits a b.u.t.ton on his visor. A garage opens and he pulls the truck in. "Home sweet home."

I hook the straps of my shoes and grab my purse while Mason manages the food. He opens the door that leads to a staircase so narrow I wonder if he has to turn sideways to walk through it.

The top of the stairs opens to a sprawling living s.p.a.ce, open kitchen and living room combo, and more stairs off to the side.

He drops a kiss on my head as he pa.s.ses me. "Sit. I'll grab some plates."

I drop my shoes and purse by the stairs and sit on the large overstuffed couch. On the coffee table, there's an elongated tray that's covered in different-colored polished rocks. It's like something I'd see at one of those fancy decor stores in the mall or some doctor's office display that's meant to calm. None of this seems at all like the Mason I know.

"It came with the place." He watches me poke at the shiny stones. "I didn't pick out any of this." His hand motions to some framed art and a decorative mirror on the wall.

"How long have you lived here?" I call out to Mason, who's busy pulling plates and napkins out of the cupboards.

"It's been a year. I made enough from my last fight to get a place of my own, just haven't had the time to look." He's unwrapping burgers, and my chest swells with warmth.

It's such a simple gesture, plating up my food, but it communicates something so much more. He balances two plates in one hand and grabs my drink with the other.

"Need some help?"

"No, I got it." He slides down beside me on the couch, and I relieve him of my chocolate shake so he can set down our food.

I eyeball the burgers, stuffed with lettuce and tomato and dripping special sauce. My mouth waters. "Mm, this looks really good. Thank you."

"You gonna say grace for us, Miss Trixy?" He winks, and a playful grin pulls at his lips.

"I'd love to." I reach over and grab his hand then bow my head and close my eyes. "Dear Father in heaven, thank you for tonight, for Mason, and for this bounty of food you've provided for us. I pray, G.o.d, that you'll bless this food for our bodies. It's in your name we pray. Amen."

Mason squeezes my hand, and when I open my eyes, the look on his face would've knocked me off my feet if I'd been standing. It's as if he's seeing me for the first time or maybe seeing past this sh.e.l.l of a human body and into my soul. Like he's reading my thoughts, my secrets, even my heart.

I blink and focus on the food, hoping to shake this sudden vulnerability. "Please, don't look at me like that. Whatever it is that you think you see, it's . . . don't."

"What do you think I see, Beatriks?" His voice is thick and heavy with an emotion I can't name.

"You look at me like I'm bigger and more important than I am."

"Who's to say you're not?"

"I'm not."

"I'm pretty sure that's my call to make, not yours."

I peek up at him, and his lips are curved in a lazy smile. The moment has seemed to pa.s.s, and I relax and pop a few fries in my mouth, almost moaning at the greasy salty combo. In-N-Out fries might run a close second to lobster.

We eat and share childhood stories about Cowell Beach. I tell him about the time I was in high school and lost my bikini top while dipping under a wave. I had to sit out there in chest deep water until I got Lana's attention. When she'd finally realized what had happened, she'd laughed so hard I thought she'd bust. She was always so serious; it was rare to see her completely overtaken with laughter. The day she laughed so hard she cried is one of my fondest memories of her.

He countered my topless beach story with a similar one where Drake was depantsed in front of a group of girls he was trying to impress. I guess it was cold that day, and needless to say, the guy didn't impress them as he'd hoped.

I slurp down the last of my milkshake, still grinning. "It's hard to believe we'd both spent time on the same sand but it took us moving to Vegas to actually meet."

He grabs our plates and takes them to the kitchen. "Guess Fate had plans for us, yeah?"

"Hm." Fate. I'm not sure I believe in that anymore.

As a child, it's easy to trust that there's something bigger than yourself. That G.o.d is leading you on a path through life with your best interests in mind. Being adopted by American parents and rescued from the life of an orphan only proved that belief.

But my sister being brutally murdered squashed all that. After all, G.o.d could've saved her if he'd wanted to, right? If my best interests were of any concern to him at all, she'd still be alive today.

Guilt presses down on me, and I slump deep into Mason's couch.

"You tired?" He plops down on the couch next to me, his powerful arms spread wide across the back of the couch, and eyebrows lowered in concern.

"Not really. You?"

His gaze sweeps over my body. "No." He blinks and reaches for the television remote. "You up for a movie?"

The screen lights with a movie rental company that displays multiple movie options and a search box.

"Sure." I shift on the couch, trying to get comfortable despite my short dress.

"Wait." He hops from the couch and takes two stairs at a time up to a second floor loft.

I grab the abandoned remote and flip through screen pages of movies. A guy like Mason probably prefers something with blood and explosions; I'm more of a romantic comedy kind of girl. I chew my lip and flip to the horror movies. Would it be too obvious to pick something that would force me to curl close and bury my face in his chest?

"Here." He hands me two folded-up pieces of clothing, and I resist the urge to rub my face in them and inhale. "Thought you might want to get more comfortable."

I shake out the soft white T-shirt and light blue boxers. "Huh." I lift an eyebrow. "I didn't take you for a boxer man."

He shrugs one shoulder. "I'm not, but I have a few pairs lying around."

"Thank you. These are perfect." I scoot to the edge of the couch and pull off my bangle bracelets, earrings, and necklace to set them on the coffee table. Ah, I already feel lighter. I stand to pull my dress over my head and figure, while I'm at it, axing the strapless bra would restart proper circulation to my arms. I hate these d.a.m.n things. Tossing it all to the table, I reach for the shirt only to have Mason grip my wrist.

"Trix . . ." The guttural sound of his voice calls my eyes. He's peeking up at me from beneath heavy eyelids, his eyebrows low and hunger radiating from his gaze. "What're you doing?"

I shake my head, not fully understanding his question. "I'm . . . I thought-"

He yanks my arm and grabs my hips, pulling me over to straddle his lap. "You thought you could strip naked and I'd just sit back and admire?"

Heat floods my cheeks. "I didn't realize-"

He flexes his hips, and a low groan falls from his lips. I gasp at the feeling of him hard between my legs.

"Realize it now?"

I nod quickly. "I'm sorry?" I've gotten naked in front of countless men and women, and never have I felt so exposed.

He cups the side of my neck, his thumb brushing against my jawline. "Don't apologize." He drops his hand slowly so the backs of his knuckles skate along the side of my breast. "You have nothing to be sorry about."

"I think . . ." G.o.d, what do I think? Feel? My head swirls with conflicting emotions, part of me wanting to hold on and the other terrified of acknowledging too much. "I'm so used to being naked."

"Mm, I get that." His hands make long and gentle pa.s.ses up my sides, around my back and over my shoulders, avoiding my b.r.e.a.s.t.s completely.

I ache all over for him, wanting his touch to be firmer, secretly hoping he'll lose control and get rough. I want him to take from me because then I won't have to feel. I won't have to think and second guess. If he were like all the others, after me for one thing, this would be so much easier. But this tenderness, his touch against the inside of my elbow, the flare of my hips, and my collarbone, it's all too much.

"Mason, I-"

"I wanted to kill him," he says so softly I wonder if I misheard. "The night at the hotel room you were straddling Jayden like this, and he touched you." His eyes flash to mine with steely resolve as his hands continue to move over my skin. "I wanted to rip his arms off his body."

"Why? You hated me."

"I never hated you, baby." His fingers fork into my hair, and his lips are so close I can feel his heated breath. "I was a goner the second I laid eyes on you."

I push him back and tilt my head, lowering my mouth to his. He opens to me with a low growl that jacks my hips forward. His fingers dig into my scalp as his tongue lashes against mine.

My heart races with a desperation I've never felt before. The burning urge to get beneath him, to feel the weight of his body between my legs as he fills me, is overwhelming. I'll ask for it, beg for it, because in this moment, I need it more than air.

He takes control of the kiss, tilting my head in the opposite direction as if he wants to taste me from every angle, explore every inch of my mouth. He nips and sucks at my lips, as if doing so will produce more of what he wants as we drink from each other's mouths with gluttony.

I arch my back, pressing my b.r.e.a.s.t.s into his chest, searching for the friction that will surely detonate me. He moves, pushing me to my back on the couch and taking position between my legs. His hips move in a slow rolling rhythm that mimics love-making. Hard and long he rubs against me, the sc.r.a.pe of denim against my lace panties so good and yet so mind-numbingly frustrating.

He runs the tip of his hot tongue down my neck to my breast, sucking one nipple deep into his throat. A zap of pleasure shoots down my torso, and I cry out for more. More of him, more of everything.

I reach down and unb.u.t.ton his shirt, my fingers fumbling as nerves and excitement race through my veins. He helps by sliding his arms from the sleeves and sitting up only long enough to rip his undershirt off over his head.

My mouth instantly floods as I adjust to the sight. Mason drops back down on top of me.

"Wait."

His body freezes, and his lips still at my neck. "What? Did I-?"

"Get up." I wiggle to get out from under him, but it doesn't take much because he pushes back with his hands held up and sits back on his heels.

His chest is rising and falling faster than I've ever seen it and his blue eyes are dark with l.u.s.t. "I'm sorry, is this too fast?"

Ha! If he only knew, not fast enough. "No, not at all. I just . . ." I push up to my knees on the couch and move to him. I place my palm flat over his heart and soak in the furious pounding of his heart behind warm smooth skin. "I just want to take a second to see you."

He lets out a long breath and drops his chin, his hand coming over mine. "f.u.c.k, I thought I'd done something wrong and you were about to bolt."

Relief washes over his face as I run my hand over the swollen muscles of his abdomen and chest. So soft and yet incredibly powerful. "I've never seen you with your shirt off. I wanted to get the hands-on experience."

He c.o.c.ks his head, and a tiny grin tilts his lips. "If you let me take you to bed, I'll give you the all-night experience."

I sc.r.a.pe a nail over his nipple, and he groans then scoops me up off the couch. My arms hold tight around his neck as he crosses the living s.p.a.ce to the stairs and carries me up as though I weigh nothing. Once there, he lays me on the bed then clicks on the lamp at his nightstand.

The single light in the dark room plays against his ma.s.sive form, making him look dangerous. Even when I know he's anything but.

Seventeen.

Mason She's here. Trix, my woman, is sprawled out on my bed in nothing but a pair of panties and smiling at me like I own every f.u.c.king inch of her body and she's begging me to take it.

I want, more than anything, to lose myself inside her, burrow so deep into her soul she'll never be able to get rid of me. I told myself I'd take it slow: prove to her that I'm not like Lane and f.u.c.king Talon. She's so much more than a piece of a.s.s, and her body is a d.a.m.n treasure. Any man lucky enough to have it should have to spend a lifetime searching, slowly digging away with patience for the pleasure of making love to her.

She pushes up to her knees and scoots to the end of the bed. I don't have to think as my feet carry me to her on instinct; the basest most primal need to claim her rides me hard. Her hands go to my waistband, but her violet eyes are on me. She pops the b.u.t.ton on my jeans, and the heat of her fingers runs the length of my d.i.c.k as she slides down the zipper.

I grip her by the hair, pulling her mouth to mine roughly for a quick deep kiss. My forehead rests against hers, and I hold on to barely controlled restraint. "Trix, I want this, you, right now."

Her hand dips beneath my boxer briefs, and my legs almost give. "Me too. More than anything." She strokes me, and I grind my teeth together to keep from pumping my hips into her hand.

"Are you sure? I don't want to push you." And there're other reasons why we should slow down, but f.u.c.k if I can think of a single one.

Her other hand runs along my hip, around to my a.s.s, and she slides my pants and briefs down my legs. "Then let me push you."

"Done." I put a knee on the bed, she falls back with a giggle, and I take my place between her legs. "I want to go easy, but I'm barely hanging on as it is."

"I don't want you to go easy, Mase." She rips her fingers through my hair and pulls my mouth to hers.

We kiss long and hard until I drop to an elbow to free up my hand. Her skin is like silk beneath my fingers as they trace down her belly. I run them slowly back and forth along the hem of her panties, and she nips at my lip in frustration.

A low chuckle vibrates in my throat. "Patience, Beatriks."

"I've never been good at delayed gratification." Her hips jack up off the bed with a whimper. "Please."

"Shh . . . I've got you." I tug her panties down, and she makes quick work of kicking them to the floor. The air in my lungs leaves on a whoosh as I take in her naked body. "f.u.c.kin' h.e.l.l."

I run a hand up her thigh, between her legs and-s.h.i.t, I'm never gonna make it to s.e.x at this rate. She grips my wrist and holds my hand to her, biting her lip. Her desperation is addicting. I bring her to the edge, playing with her just enough to have her quivering beneath me and rocking against my palm. Warm, wet, and delicate. What I wouldn't do to feel her against my tongue.

"Hold on." I reach over to the bedside table and pull a condom from the drawer. Since I moved to Vegas, I've only had two women in my bed: drunken one-night stands that left nothing more than hazy memories and guilt in their wake.

Trix watches with wide eyes and parted lips as I roll on the condom, and I hope she's not thinking about why I have condoms on hand. I want her to feel like she's the only woman I've ever had.

She crawls to her hands and knees, giving me a visual that I know I'll carry to my grave. "Lie back." She throws a leg over my hips and straddles me, all her long bi-colored hair falling to brush the tips of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

With a lift of her a.s.s, she takes me into her body. A low groan slides from her parted lips as she slowly and deliberately welcomes me inch by inch. A vise grip of heat wraps me tight and my abdomen flexes in response.

"Never seen anything so beautiful in my life." I force myself to loosen my hold on her thighs, will my muscles to relax, and avoid being too rough.

Her palms flatten on my pecs, and she rolls her hips just as I've seen her do on stage. Tingles shoot from my d.i.c.k straight up my spine and make my head swim. She moves again, this time leaning to one side then the other. Like some kind of s.e.xual G.o.ddess, she hits every angle with the swivel of her narrow hips.

"f.u.c.k, baby . . ." I want her to stop. The sensations are too much, everything hypersensitive and jacked-up on overdrive. "You need to slow that s.h.i.t down or-"

"Or what?" She grinds down hard, groaning and tossing her head back.