The reverence in his voice actually makes me sigh with how sweet it is. I drape my arms around his shoulders again and press my forehead to his. “Mason, I hate to break it to you, but being that into making a baby is a pretty damn alpha male emotion to have, if you ask me. It also proves what fatherhood means to you.”
“It doesn’t spook you? The fact that I have a kid, I mean. Not to mention how fucking complicated the whole scenario is right now. A lot of women might run, especially any focused on careers or whatnot.” He lets out a shaky laugh and rolls his eyes. “Jesus, listen to me. I have you for one goddamn day and I’m starting to sound like I want to have that talk.”
“You mean about a relationship,” I say in a subdued tone, though my belly is erupting with nerves all of a sudden.
His voice is hoarse but hopeful when he says, “Yeah. Too soon?”
Be rational, I tell myself before I can blurt out a denial. I just look into his eyes, then take a deep breath. Before I can get the words out, his shoulders settle and he sighs.
“I want to say no, trust me,” I say. “I want to dive right in, but this is all happening really fast. You said yourself that you can’t make any promises. Can we enjoy this weekend without any more complicated conversations and see what happens?”
“I’d like that,” he says, then leans in and kisses me.
The next thing I know, he’s lifting me in his arms as he stands, then heads toward the stairs up to the second floor and my bedroom. Outside a heavy snow has begun to fall, fat, fluffy flakes sticking against the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Beyond those windows, the world has already been rendered soft and white, giving me the sense of being snowbound alone with him. But the true wonderland is happening inside our little bubble as he takes me to bed and makes love to me over and over for most of the night.
And I know—even though I said I wanted to take it slow, even though we’ve barely spent twenty-four hours together—that my heart is already well beyond the point of no return.
23 Mason
I could get used to this—waking up with Callie’s lithe body pressed against me, warm and soft and apple-scented. The sensory input does a better job than coffee at rousing my sluggish brain, and I’m hard before I even open my eyes.
Never in my life have I had it this bad for a woman. Before my discharge from the Navy, I was a bit of a man-whore. After my discharge, I gave new meaning to the word promiscuous, at least until Gustavo tried to kill me. During those few months back in LA, I didn’t sleep in the same woman’s bed twice. I just never had the urge for repeats, and there was no shortage of offers, so I also rarely slept alone.
But now I don’t think I ever want to leave this bed, as long as she’s in it. My proposition when we first met three years ago had just been idle shit-talk to distract myself from the ordeal of going through surgery. Sure, I’d found her gorgeous, but I didn’t have any illusions at the time that she’d say yes. It didn’t take much for me to recognize she was out of my league. I was a fucking criminal. She was a surgeon, and my usual dates were women of a far lesser caliber.
Something about her pretty face just stuck in my head after that, though. The trauma probably imprinted her on my memory, because over the past three years, she’s appeared in my fantasies, in my dreams, on numerous occasions. And now . . . now, as I pull her tight against me and her soft backside presses into my erection, two, or even three nights are never going to be enough.
Her body stiffens a little as sleep dissipates, then she sighs and bumps her ass back against me again.
“This can’t be real,” she murmurs in a husky voice. “I have to be dreaming.”
“If it is, I don’t want to wake up,” I say, gliding my hand up her naked belly and splaying my fingers across her chest to tease both her pert nipples at the same time.
She moans, turning her face into the pillow and grinding her ass back against my hard-on. It’s too much so early, but everything about this has been too much from the start. Too good. I hate to say that I agree with her sentiment. It can’t be real, but I don’t want go back to reality if it isn’t.
I refuse to dwell on it now, though, especially not when she twists her hips again, this time lifting her leg and draping it over mine. The opening allows my cock to slip between her thighs, the head grazing through her hot wetness.
I dip close to her ear and whisper, “Put me inside you, baby. I need to be inside you.”
We’re nothing but a writhing mass of limbs after that. Once she wraps her hand around me to place me inside her, I spear her from behind and she moans and bucks against me. I rise, twisting slightly and bracing myself on both arms for a better angle, jacking into her from behind. She angles her torso so she can look at me while I hold her legs hostage, one lifted to allow for entry, the other bent and pressed to the bed. This vantage allows
