Page 36 of Kings Have No Mercy
Instead I’m slammed into the wall. I collide with it and find myself trapped in place by a seething, raggedly breathing Mason. His muscled, tattooed chest heaves up and down in his wifebeater shirt, and his equally strong and defined arms block any attempt at an exit.
I’m trapped. I’m a goner.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask. “Don’t you ever put your hands on—”
He shuts me up by doing just that. His hand clenches around my throat and forces my mouth to his.
It’s a dominating kiss. Deep and primal.
Animalistic.
I’d expect nothing less from a man like Mason Cutler. He’s seeking to establish dominance by the way he holds me against the wall and takes my mouth.
I’m marked. Nobody else gets to lay a finger on me.
Somewhere in the back of my foggy mind, I know this as I match him. As I taste his lips and kiss him back.
He tastes like whiskey and smoke. He smells like it too. All wrapped up in his warm masculine scent that I caught note of earlier during the fundraiser. He’d leaned over me on the bike, and I’d been dizzied by how fucking good he smelled.
Now, it’s everywhere. It surrounds me and overwhelms my senses as Mason plunders my mouth.
His tongue and my tongue play games. We grip each other, aggressive and rough, feeding off each other’s energy.
He sucks hard on my neck, and I grind into him, then reach between us and grope his crotch.
His pelvis jerks and he grunts. The sound is so natural, so impulsive and spur-of-the-moment, it’s one of the hottest sounds I’ve ever heard.
My effect on him. A simple touch, even through his jeans, gets him going.
“You want some fucking dick, Syd?” he asks throatily. “Is that it? That pussy’s hungry?”
I release a frustrated, strangled noise I’m not even sure how to explain. I don’t know what it means or what I meant to say. Just that I’m fucking hot and bothered, my pussy’s tingling, and Mason’s hands squeezing and groping me all over my body isn’t helping.
I try to push back on him. My hands come up to his chest and I try to put up a fight.
He’s not having it. He pins me where I am and comes in close, licking at the shell of my ear. “Guess what, Syd baby? I’m the only fucking dick around here you’re allowed to have. You want to get fucked, you come to me. Got it?”
“Mason… ohhh! FUCK!”
I scream as he shoves his hand down the front of my denim cutoffs and fondles my pussy.
She responds to his touch at once, tingling and throbbing.
What can I say? It’s been a while. Waaay too long.
He grins at the discovery I’m slick and hot and ready for him. “Mmm, Syd, this pussy’s so damn wet. You turned on right now, baby?”
‘Baby’ is spoken tauntingly. Almost more of an insult than anything else he’s ever said to me.
Coming to my senses, I growl like a feral cat and fight him on it. I don’t give a fuck how turned on I am right now. If my pussy’s soaked and begging to be filled by his dick.
I refuse to let him.
I push at him. I slap his chest. Even his face. Hard.
To an outsider passing in the hall, it probably sounds like we’re roughing each other up.
That’s basically what’s happening. As I launch my attack, he takes it. Then he dishes it right back. He catches my wrists and he slams me back into place against the wall.