Mason didn’t move right away.
He stayed on his knees in front of me, one hand planted on the floor, the other hanging there like his brain had suddenly unplugged from the rest of his body. My kiss had been short, (barely there, really), but the silence it left behind felt loud, heavy, like the moment right after you drop a weight and everyone in the gym turns to look.
The late-afternoon light poured in from the window behind him, hitting his shoulders, the curve of his neck, the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin. From where I was, flat on the floor and completely wrecked from our fuck session, he looked magnificent, like one of those model actors in the 70's shot on technicolor film, with all the vibrant colors.
He was my icon.
Yes, he seemed to be a bit lost, and I was about to stand up (or at least try) when he opened his mouth.
Then closed it again.
My stomach dropped.
I stared up at him, my heart doing that stupid, frantic thing it does when I realize I might have just crossed a line I can’t uncross. I suddenly felt very aware of how tired I was, how exposed, how much that kiss had come straight from somewhere I hadn’t filtered at all.
“I...” I started, then stopped myself, swallowing hard. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have...”
That’s when he finally blinked.
He ran a hand over his face, slow, grounding, like he was coming back down after a max-effort rep. His eyes dropped to the floor between us, then lifted again to meet mine. There was no anger there. No disgust. Just… shock.
“No,” he said quietly. Almost like he was answering his own thoughts. Then, softer, “Just… give me a second.”
His large, rough hand came to rest against my left cheek, holding it firmly. He moved closer to me, slowly, without a word. His eyes took on something I had never seen in him before. Like… yes, fear. Shock had turned into pure dread.
I had never seen Mason afraid like that. It was the very first time that, in his iris, I could make out a sudden, uncontrollable anguish, as if he were hesitating to commit something irreparable. And as he continued to lean over me and my pale, exhausted body, his other hand seized my waist, gripping tightly.
I felt completely his; no matter what he had decided to do, I was at his mercy and no longer wanted to pull away.
He stayed there, close enough that I could still feel his heat, his presence filling the space like it always did. The light shifted as a cloud passed outside.
I waited. Dying to know if this was the end of it all.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my chest loosening just a bit. The fear was still there, buzzing under my skin, but it hadn’t exploded into regret.
"Do that again."
Shit...
I didn’t let myself think.
I just pushed myself up a little from the floor and leaned in, slow enough to give him time to back out.
I kissed him again, soft and careful, like I was touching something fragile I didn’t want to break.
For a split second, he stayed there, absent.
Then his hand on my cheek shifted again (big, warm and a little shaky) and settled behind my head. He pulled me closer, not rough, not rushed, just certain. He tilted his head slightly, instinctive, like his body knew what to do before his brain did, and suddenly our mouths fit together better. Easier. Real.
I felt my whole body melt into that touch, into him, the room fading out until there was just his breath, his warmth, and our mouths connected for good.
He breathed in against me, and I felt the shift before I really understood it: his hesitation melting into something warmer, more urgent. Mason’s lips parted slowly, like he was testing the courage of it, and then I felt the soft pressure of his mouth opening against mine.
His tongue brushed mine in a tentative, almost questioning way, not rushing, just asking for a response. It sent a shiver straight through my spine. I answered without thinking, letting him in, and the kiss deepened naturally, like we were both discovering the same language at the same time. It wasn’t clumsy anymore. It wasn’t careful either. It was hungry and passionate, like it was always meant to be.
Fuck, his mouth tastes so good.
His hand tightened slightly behind my head, grounding me, holding me there as if he was afraid I might disappear if he let go. He started giving slow, sensual strokes of his tongue, like a cat lapping milk in slow motion from a bowl, and my mouth welcomed him more and more openly, letting him go further, deeper. I grabbed his powerful neck with one hand and answered his tongue with mine, taking turns in a wet, muscular dance that almost made me moan with pleasure.
God, kissing him felt so good. Of course he had to be incredibly good at it too.
That guy was definitely the best curse I could have wished for.
I clung to his neck, to his tongue, to his whole body, not knowing where else I could ever find a cure for my hunger. I wanted only one thing now: to be by his side every moment of this short life, just to know the joy of kissing him again and again like that.
As I was losing myself in the ballet of our hungry mouths, Mason lifted me by grabbing my ass and, slowly but surely, carried me to his bed, before laying me down with a very controlled, gentle rocking motion.
We didn't a word. Everything was already decided.
His body collapsed above me fully devoted to being my partner tonight. There was no longer any fear or anxiety left to read in his eyes, only the powerful desire that had driven him earlier as he was plowing me against the wall. And all the strength he had poured into me felt as though he had already reclaimed it, as if that kiss had brought him back to his full capacity. Never drained or exhausted, his powerful arms lifting him back to my level, mouth to mouth, ready to resume our kissing training.
The light of the setting sun turned his skin into a blazing landscape of fire and flowing lava, every drop and trail of sweat reflecting the golden hues of a dying sun.
We stayed like that on the bed for hours, the world reduced to soft breaths and the quiet weight of each other, darkness eventually engulfing our bodies fully.
Our kisses slowed, losing their hunger, turning warmer and lazier, mouths brushing more than searching. Mason’s hands kept moving on me, not roaming, just reassuring and massaging me, discovering places that would make me moan higher.
I ended up settling on top of him naturally, my head tucked against his shoulder, one leg draped over his thigh.
His body was still a living furnace, solid and steady beneath me, his chest rising slowly under my cheek. He wrapped his arms around me without thinking, strong and protective, pulling me closer as if that was simply where I belonged now.
I never want to leave this bed again.
Exhaustion finally caught up with us. A real, honest exhaustion, you know... the kind that comes after giving too much of yourself and feeling full of complex emotions instead of being empty. It was exactly like that.
My thoughts blurred, my muscles went heavy, and I let myself sink into him completely, safe in the cradle of his strength.
The last thing I remember was Mason pressing his cheek against my hair, breathing me in, his arms tightening just a little before sleep took him too.
We fell asleep.
I was walking through a city I didn’t recognize, built entirely of warm stone and glowing metal, like everything had been left in the sun all day. The air itself felt thick, comforting, almost heavy, wrapping around me in tight.
Every surface I touched was warm: not burning, just alive. And when I leaned against a wall, it pulsed softly, steady and reassuring, like a heartbeat.
Somewhere nearby, I could hear laughter.
Not loud, not clear, but familiar. It echoed off the buildings and made the ground vibrate under my feet. I followed it without thinking and found myself in a vast open space, something between a gym and a cathedral, with enormous columns that flexed slightly when the light shifted, as if they were breathing.
The light moved constantly, gold and amber, sliding over everything like sweat under the sun.
Mason was there, but not quite him.
He was taller, broader, outlined rather than detailed, like a statue that refused to stay still. His presence bent the space around him. Gravity felt stronger near him, pulling me closer with every step.
He smiled, that same cocky, effortless smile, and when he did, the light brightened, as if it approved. I didn’t hear what he said, but I knew it was something teasing, something confident and kind at the same time.
I tried to answer, but my voice came out as warmth instead: waves of heat rolling outward, meeting his and blending with it.
The floor shifted beneath us, tilting gently, like being carried without moving.
His arms appeared around me, not visually, but as pressure, as safety. I felt supported from every side, lifted without ever leaving the ground.
Then the space changed again.
The city softened into something organic, hills that rose and fell with breath, paths that curved like muscles under skin. I rested there, suspended, weightless and heavy at the same time, knowing exactly where I was supposed to be without needing to see it.
The warmth never left. It held me, guided me, promised something without spelling it out.
When I finally drifted deeper into sleep, the dream didn’t end, it simply slowed, settling into a steady glow.
And I saw myself in his strong arms, as if I was levitating over the bed, I saw myself being held against Mason and loving every second of it.
I love you Mason.
I could hear me think.
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