The next morning I make my way, as promised, to the cafe early and grab a little sofa downstairs after ordering a latte and scone. I figure I can get some work done, so I also bring my laptop. This, in my head at least, helps in disguising my real reason for being here: the hope that Masen shows up to keep me company. For reasons I’m not prepared to even remotely entertain, I want him here with me...really badly. I think back to last night, and everything that could’ve happened if it weren’t for Mr. Ben Cockblocker. I would’ve totally fucked him again, right there on his piano. Even thinking about this now has me squirming. He’s the first man in years to stir up these kinds of cravings.
One statement from him keeps replaying over and over in my mind:
"Trust me, Swan, by the end of your stay, you're going to want me to claim you as my territory."
He’s wrong though, because I want him to claim me that way already, and I’m still here for another couple weeks.
Dear God, what am I going to do?
I try to take my mind off of last night and everything ‘Masen’ by opening my laptop and checking my work and personal email accounts. I notice an email from mom; I love her, but most of the time, my mother goes on and on about Phil and the team, and the traveling, and never really asks me about how I’m doing. Nothing new there, so I file the email away to reply later. The next one is from my dad. Even though he’s a man of few words, he always manages to give me a much-needed pat on the back. He tells me he’s very proud of me for following my dreams and then goes into a few random details about his day, including going fishing with the Clearwater boys and how Sue’s been asking about me. She’s my dad’s...girlfriend? I always find it weird to use that term for people in their 40s and beyond, it doesn’t really fit what they are. I’d like to think of her more as his companion. She’s a great lady who always looks after my dad, so I can’t complain.
I quickly respond with some of the basics, leaving out, of course, anything to do with Masen, except that I interviewed an important player.
I’m pretty engrossed in my work and research, so I don’t realize I have company until I suddenly feel the wonderful warmth and scent of someone I’d recognize a mile away. He’s sitting down across from me, in his usual cubs cap and white t-shirt, and he’s staring at me with an amused expression.
“I didn’t startle you, did I?” he asks with a grin.
“No, not really, I knew you couldn’t stay away,” I respond smugly with a smirk of my own. I’m secretly kind of happy that he showed. It’s not normal for me to feel unsure, and I definitely feel unsure at the moment.
He smiles and take a sip of his cappuccino, opening the paper in front of him, crossing his leg and resting his ankle on the opposite knee, making himself pretty comfortable. Nothing else is said for a few minutes as I catch a glance of him through my peripheral vision. Strange that most of the time, these silences would be awkward as hell, and yet with Masen, we just ...are.
After a few minutes Masen lowers his paper to look at me, almost like he’s appraising me. I suddenly feel put on display and exposed, and I mentally go through the checklist of what I’m wearing. A dark green tank top and loose-fitting jeans is my basic wardrobe on days where I basically have the day to myself. But now, I wonder if my attire has something to with the way he’s looking at me. Damn it, this insecurity is driving me bananas. I look at him questioningly, and he finally speaks.
“You know, you really are a very beautiful woman.”
Woah. So not what I was expecting.
I feel my cheeks burn up and I instantly know I’m blushing. It’s a terrible problem, and it really doesn’t allow me to lie when I’m put on the spot, and this is a perfect example. No one has ever called me ‘beautiful’ before. I’ve gotten ‘hot’, ‘fuck-hot’, ‘stunning’, ‘sexy’, even ‘gorgeous’, but no one has ever used the word ‘beautiful’ to describe me, and I have to admit...I’m kind of fucking turned on right now.
I guess he can totally see the blush, because The Smirk is on in all its glory.
I attempt to respond with some snarky comeback.
“Really, Masen? How many woman have you used that one on?” I snort, not even looking up from my laptop, because of course, I’m trying to hide the fact that I want to jump his bones (or one bone in particular).
Yes. I snort.
I’m expecting him to throw back some great response, but no. There’s silence. I slowly lift my eyes to see him look, dejected? Hurt? Confused?
No, I’m the one who’s confused. And now, I feel like a total bitch. Not good.
He smiles sadly. “I wasn’t trying to feed you any lines, that’s not my style. And no, I haven’t called anyone ‘beautiful’ in a really long time, so you can consider yourself privileged.” He picks up his newspaper again, and takes another sip of coffee, and I feel like shit.
“Masen, look, uh, I apologize. I shouldn’t have said that. I just assumed...”
“You and your assumptions,” he suddenly interrupts, his dark green orbs boring holes into mine.
“You know, contrary to what you hear, I’m not the man-whore you think I am,” he says with slight irritation.
I don’t know how to respond to that. I’m not very good at having conversations with past fucks, and this is totally new. I look at him apologetically and nod slowly.
“I guess you have a point. I’ve been a little unfair to you. But in my defense, you’ve been with the flirting, and the eye-fuckery, and the lines, and the games, and Barbie, and... and...and you fucked me after meeting me only 24 hours before and...” Ok, I was just making no sense at all. Was that even a sentence? What is it about this guy that makes me all kinds of stupid?
“Swan, I’m not going to lie and say I don’t fuck around, because I’ve been known to do so. I haven’t really had the time to have a proper relationship because of my schedule and stuff, so I spend time with a few women to pass the time- to have somebody there.
“But there’s something about you that I can’t define, and I noticed it the first moment I saw you,” he reveals as he leans forward over the small bistro table until he’s a breath away from me.
“I don’t know what it is, but I’d like the opportunity to get to know you a little more. Now normally, it’s not something I do, and apparently, you don’t either. So why don’t you and I just be? I enjoy your company. You and I are very similar, in more ways than one. Let’s just be.” He finishes the sentence with a sigh, running his hands through his hair, as if satisfied he was able to get all that out of his system.
I, of course, am once again speechless (which he has a tendency to do to me), and I open and close my mouth several times. I must look like a dying fish.
What’s he trying to tell me here? He enjoys my...company? He wants to get to know me? Didn’t he ‘get to know’ me plenty the other night? I think we got to know each other pretty damn well, if you ask me.
It must be that the section of my brain that’s connected to nurturing relationships has has been so long-dormant it’s atrophied, because ‘getting to know’ a guy is a foreign language to me. I’ve shut myself off from out anything that could potentially hurt me, since getting hurt again would certainly be detrimental to my success, both personal and professional. I don’t know if I can do this.
But, on the other hand, he’s verbalizing what I now realize I am feeling but didn’t know how to recognize. I do want to get to know him; I certainly want to fuck him again, and the feeling is mutual if last night was any indication. But, yesterday’s interactions had been eye-opening, and I got a little taste of who Masen really might be.
And I kind of liked it.
I shake my head, clearing it of all my inner dialogue and look at him directly in the eye, and with all the strength I can muster, I say the only thing I can.
“Okay.”
He relaxes back into his seat, swagger returning, and smiles. That smile is going to kill me. I know it.
~*~*~*~EtS~*~*~*~
These cafe mornings continue throughout the week, except on the two or three days he has to practice and complete drills. There’s another game coming up and this time it’s a regular season game. But on the days we can meet, it’s the same comfortable bubble. We talk about pretty much everything. I talk about my time with my mother in LA, learning the game through Phil and his team, and the two weeks we’d spend visiting my grandma in Phoenix every summer. He tells me more about growing up with the Cullens, getting a soccer scholarship to Wake Forrest along with his cousin, Jasper. Of course, Jasper isn’t his blood cousin, but they apparently have had a very close relationship since since childhood, when Edward’s family would spend summers with Jasper’s in North Carolina. I talk about how I was a total social outcast in high school, sticking my nose in my books so I could get the hell out of Forks, Washington, where I lived with my dad. I talk about my time at Columbia, about meeting my best friend Alice, getting my first gig at that online entertainment magazine, and finally getting my big break at The Post. And all the while, he seems sincerely interested in everything I have to say. I never allowed myself to get this close to any man since Mike, and now that seems like another lifetime ago.
Of course, there’s also the flirting and some kissing and touching, which we shamelessly participate in; our banter creating sexual tension so fierce, I have to go back to the hotel and take care of my “problem” before getting to work with Rose. But it’s nice, it feels right, and like Masen said that day, we can just be.
Slowly, the animosity I felt for him starts to dissipate, and I even find myself laughing at some of the stories he tells, and he laughs along with me. His laugh turns my insides to jelly and his face brightens up the entire room.
I also get the chance to see him practice, since Rose and I have to interview some of the MLS scouts that are checking out some of the players, Masen specifically. He’s an animal on the field, and everyone is in total awe of his skills. It’s clear he’s the star. I can’t help but feel a teensy bit proud of him, which is weird because I shouldn’t feel anything for this guy who was supposed to be a one-time fuck.
I try to concentrate on what the scouts are telling us, but I can’t control the urge to stare at Masen: his body moving swiftly through drills, the way his hair sways every time he executes a header, his leg muscles flexing and contracting while his feet move so fast with the ball. His feet make quick movements with the ball, sending it in any direction he deems necessary. It’s like a well-choreographed dance.
Sometimes he catches me staring, and gives me The Smirk, which I’m starting to actually kind of like. I smile shyly, expecting Rose to smack me or something, until I see that she’s also looking in the direction of the field, where a certain player by the name of Emmett McCarty is practicing his goal-keeping skills. In my Masen-induced high this week, I haven’t even asked her about Emmett. So as soon as we’re done interviewing, I take her aside.
“So what’s going on with you two?”
Rose blushes, like full-on red. “Oh, B, what the hell am I gonna do? He’s really great, I think there might be something there, but I just don’t know how it’s gonna play out. I mean, we’re leaving in another week, and he doesn’t know if he’s going to be picked up by an MLS club. And even then, how can we keep this up once we go back to real life?”
She looks really flustered and sad. I can’t help but feel bad for her. I give her a supportive hug and tell her just to take one day at a time, suddenly realizing that if I let my emotions get the better of me, I might end up like her, attaching myself to someone I can’t be with physically, mentally, or emotionally. I remember this is the reason why I stay away, why I choose to detach myself from men after I’ve gotten what I need from them.
I’ll be leaving London in another week, and then Masen and I will go our separate ways. I can’t allow there to be more. I just can’t.
We spend about another thirty minutes checking out the guys on the field, when I catch a glimpse of Alec, who’s glaring at me a little funny. What the hell is up with him? He can’t still be upset about hooking up again, is he? I look back at him with raised eyebrows in question, and he shakes his head and looks away, back to the drills at hand. They’re all huddled up listening to their coaches and again I see Alec giving the stink eye, this time towards Masen. What the fuck? I chalk it up to their normal pissing contests and keep watching and chatting with Rose.
Afterwards, Rose and I head towards the sideline of the field to get closer to the players, maybe get some quotes, and I see Alec approach. This can’t be good.
“Well hey there, Miss Bella, looking delicious as usual,” he says, kind of snarkily if you ask me. I can see Masen out of the corner of my eye glaring in our direction and I can feel the tension radiating off of him.
“Hey Alec, how’s it going?” I say dismissively, staring at the field and not him.
“Great, never better. A little hard to concentrate out there when you’re looking this edible though. How about you let me take you out tonight,” he says as the crowd starts to thin out, leaving only Rose, Emmett, Masen, Alec and I, along with a few other reporters, players and coaches. He inches a little closer to me, but keeps his volume loud enough for our small group to hear. “You left the party the other night so I didn’t have a chance to repay you for your...services.” He breathes on my neck, and it’s not pleasant, not like when Masen does it. It’s nasty and when I turn to look at him he’s glaring at me menacingly, and I shiver. Again, not in a good way.
“Alec, payback’s not necessary,” I say and I lower my voice to show him I’m in no mood for everyone to hear about my sexual escapades, “and as a matter of fact, I think it might be better if we just let things be. I’m not interested.”
Instead of him getting the point, however, I guess he figures I’m playing around, which if I’m honest, wouldn’t be far from the truth if you met Bella-from-a-few-days-ago. But something has changed, and I’m no longer interested in games, at least not with this guy.
He simply chuckles and mutters, “Oh, Bella, playing hard-to-get? Ok, I’ll play.” As he says this he grabs my hips and pulls me towards him roughly, and in a flash his mouth’s on my neck. Gross. What did I ever see in this moron? I start to protest, trying to push him away, but he just doesn’t get it and grabs harder, chuckling against my skin, “Oh, you’re a feisty little bitch, aren’t you?”
Oh, that does it.
With a force I didn’t know I had I manage to push away from him, momentarily getting my bearings and looking away from him briefly before clenching my fist in preparation for the shit I’m about to unleash...I am my father’s daughter, after all.
But just then, everything happens in slow motion...yeah, like in the movies.
I’m gathering all my strength as I start to swing, and I can faintly hear Emmett, Rose and a few others shout words that don’t register because I’m just so pissed off. When I finally take my swing, it’s not Alec I’ve hit. Everyone gasps as I see Masen fumble backwards from my fist. What just happened? He doesn’t fall, but he’s grabbing his jaw and looking at me like I have three heads. In a split second I take in what’s before me; Alec’s on the ground, shouting expletives, Rose is next to me in shock, Emmett’s shouting back at Alec for being an asshole, the small amount of press still present is writing furiously and flashes are going off, and my knuckles are red.
“Fuck! OW!” I shout, trying to shake the pain away from my hand. The coaches are trying to get Alec back up, and all I hear is shouting. I’m completely and utterly mortified, but the only thing I see is Masen, and I rush towards him and apologize profusely.
“Shit, Masen, I’m so sorry! What the hell were you doing there? Let me see,” I say while I’m prying his hand away from his swollen jaw. All the while he’s just looking at me, with a mix of shock and intensity that I really can’t describe. He says nothing until I lightly press on the swelling.
“Jesus, Swan! Ouch! Careful!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I say hurriedly. But with all the chaos around us, we stare at each other in silence, emotions passing through our gaze. The spell is broken when Emmett speaks.
“Edward, let the medic take a look at it,” he says as a gentleman quickly raises Masen’s chin with his fingers to take a better look.
“Nah, you’re alright. Just go to the locker room and get an ice pack,” he says, looking towards me as he continues, “Damn lady, you really clocked him. Nice shot! You might want to get an ice pack yourself for your hand, looks like it’s swelling up a bit there. Let me take a look.” He takes my hand and studies it, then presses down on certain key areas, and I flinch.
“You’re ok too. Nothing’s broken...just get that ice pack I told you to grab.”
I look at him, ashamed at what I’ve done, but a little smug that I could inflict damage like that. “Uh, yeah, thanks.” I look back at Masen, who’s still staring at me, and I take his hand, pulling him towards the locker room. We walk in silence, moving away from the commotion until we’re indoors. He sits down on a bench after retrieving two ice packs for us. I sit next to him straddling the bench.
“What the hell were you doing in my way, Masen?” I start.
He looks a little shy before he responds, and takes a sideways glance towards me.
“I saw what he was doing to you, so I pushed him away. I guess I just didn’t see you coming,” he says quietly, the corner of his mouth turning slightly to an almost-grin. “That’s quite a right hook you got there.”
“Jesus, Masen, I can take care of myself, you know. I’ve been doing it for a long time. You know how many times some guy hasn’t gotten the hint and I’ve had to defend myself? I don’t need a knight in shining armor to protect me.” I feel terrible as soon as I the words leave my mouth, but this is the way I’ve lived my life until now, and I can’t suddenly change mentality because some beautiful, sexy soccer player decides to be chivalrous.
He looks embarrassed, but responds, “I wasn’t trying to protect you. I actually just acted on instinct. I have a real problem with guys not taking ‘no’ for an answer, and I guess I just saw red. He didn’t hurt you, did he?” The look of concern on his face melts my heart, and I smile. I suddenly have the urge to touch him, and I slowly raise my good hand to touch his good jaw, the stubble deliciously scratching my palm. We lock glances again, and he presses his face against my hand, his eyes fluttering closed. This silent moment pulls me deeper and I inch closer to him, my movements no longer voluntary, and we both close the distance when our lips meet. It’s not impulsive; it’s not rushed. It’s simple, sweet, and more intense than any other kiss we’ve shared. In that one kiss, we both pour out more emotion than I can deal with, so I pull away. But Masen’s not about to let me go, so he pulls me in again, and this time, the kiss is fire.
He puts down the ice pack and slips both hands to cup my neck. I can no longer deny him and my hands immediately find their way to his hair; sweaty from practice, but sexy as hell. His hands roam down to wrap around my waist, his big hands splaying against my back as he pulls me even closer until I’m straddling him. I can feel how much he wants me against my wetness and we enter into the same Masen/Swan bubble we always create for ourselves. We finally slow down when we both realize we’re in the team’s locker room and end our make-out session with small, lingering kisses. Masen’s the first one to speak.
“Stay with me tonight.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Why are you fighting this?”
“I’m not fighting anything, Masen.”
He pauses.
“Why do you keep calling me Masen?”
“It’s your name.”
“No, it’s my last name. My name is Edward, and I’ve never heard you say it.”
“Yes I have.”
“No, you haven’t.”
I haven’t?
“Well,” I pause to come up with a reason.
Nothing...I’ve got nothing. Until...
“Why do you call me Swan?”
“Because you call me Masen.”
“That’s a lame reason.”
“Better than no reason at all.” He quirks an eyebrow.
He’s got me there.
“You know what I think?”
I raise my eyebrows waiting for the rest of his analysis.
“I think you don’t want to get personal.”
I snort. “What? pppffft. Yeah, ok, Masen. That’s crazy.”
“Yes it is.” His tone is almost mocking.
I narrow my eyes in his direction.
“Well, what if I don’t want to get personal? I can’t afford to get personal. Getting personal leads to complications, and I’d rather not be complicated,” I say in a huff.
He just stares blankly at me, but says nothing in return. I hate it when he does that.
I awkwardly look down at my shuffling feet and try to find some way to close this conversation, because I can’t really deal with either the way he’s looking at me or the funny feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think about my feelings that may or may not be developing for this infuriating man.
“Well, I’m heading back to the hotel. I’ve got some....stuff...I need to take care of tonight. I’ll talk to you later.” I rise from my intimate position with him and rush out of the room, not able to take another moment, not able to even look at him. Outside in the fresh air, I take a deep breath and meet Rose who eyes me suspiciously, but doesn’t say anything when she notices my mood. She knows better than to probe for answers when I’m like this.
~*~*~*~EtS~*~*~*~
That night I stay in my hotel room and order room service. It’s my way of hiding out. I don’t want to run the risk of bumping into anyone: not Masen, not Rose, not Emmett, and especially not Alec. I can’t get over his aggressive and odd behavior today; he just seemed so off to me. My investigative nature gets the better of me and I start hypothesizing all possible reasons for his disgusting display, and the only thing I can come up with is just plain jealousy. I’m sure it was pretty obvious Masen and I had something going on at the party, so I’m quite positive Alec put two and two together. Couple that revelation with the fact that Masen is just...better...than him in just about....everything, and I’m not surprised Alec feels a little inferior; he just happened to take it out on me, maybe trying to reclaim some sort of territory.
I resolve to erase him from my mind with a shake of my head and flip channels while digging into a gourmet cheeseburger.
I fucking love cheeseburgers.
Just when I’m zoning out to some BBC show, I hear a text alert coming from my nightstand. I immediately grab it, thinking it’s Rose, only to find that it’s Masen. Over the last week we exchanged numbers to let each other know when we were at the cafe. This should be interesting. I open the text and read.
What are you doing? -E.
Ok, that’s innocent enough. I decide to reply.
Why do you want to know? -B
I get a response in seconds.
Always so snippy with me. I’m bored. Entertain me. -E
A smile grows on my lips. I’ll play.
How do you know I’m not busy? I could be working, or on a hot date. -B.
You’re right. I don’t know, I’m just playing the odds, and they’re usually in my favor. And you’re not on a hot date. -E
Jackass.
How do you know? -B
I know because you already had me, there’s nothing more you need. Plain and simple. -E
Oh...OH!.....I have no words.
And how do I know you’re not on a hot date and texting me while she’s powdering her nose or something? -B
There’s a pause of about five minutes before I get the next response.
Because you already know. I’ve had you, and there’s nothing more that I need. Plain and simple. -E
Holy shit. He thought about his reply; meaning he took a chance, knowing damn well how I feel about things. He’s a lot braver than me, that’s for sure. There’s no way I can put my feelings out there to just be trampled on. I’ve learned my lesson. And yet, I can’t help but wonder if things would be different with Masen. He seems nothing like Mike, but just the thought of being hurt like that again makes me want to run for the hills.
I guess he figures no response from me means I’m freaking out (he knows me well already, it seems) and he sends another text, seemingly trying to remove the uncomfortable thoughts from my mind.
You know I was approached by 3 MLS teams today before practice. -E
That certainly did change the atmosphere around us.
Really? Well I saw the scout from LA eyeing you. Who else? -B
New York and Chicago. -E
And there it is. The mere mention of New York as a possibility sends my heart into palpitations and my stomach does flip-flops. Why am reacting like this? It’s not like I would pursue something serious with him anyway....I don’t think.
I swallow thickly.
Wow. Well, I’m sure your parents would love to have you back home in Chicago, right? -B
A few minutes pass.
Yeah. I guess they would. -E
Masen, you have to go with what your gut tells you. That’s what my dad always says, and it’s never done me wrong. -B
And just like that, the phone rings. It’s him. Crap.
“Hey.”
“So what if my gut doesn’t even know what to do?”
“Why would it be such a difficult decision? I mean, your family’s there, they haven’t seen you in forever. And you told me yourself how close you were to them.”
I hear him sigh through the receiver, and I have a sudden urge to be there with him. I don’t know why.
“Yeah, but there are other factors I have to think about too.”
“Like what?” I don’t have time to shut my mouth before that comes out.
Damn it. I cringe.
“Uh, just....stuff...I mean, it’s a big move....” he trails off into almost a whisper.
This time, I sigh.
“Like I said, go with your gut. You’ll never regret it.”
There’s a moment of awkward silence before I finally try to lighten things up.
“Well, I need to get back to my hot date now. Why don’t we talk more about this tomorrow at the cafe, say nine-ish?”
He chuckles lightly, “Would this hot date happen to have a name?”
“Cheeseburger.”
“Cheeseburger?”
“Yes, I have a hot date with a cheeseburger and a marathon of the ‘Flying Circus’.”
“He’s not dead, he’s stunned!” he declares in his best English accent, quoting possibly one of the funniest Monty Python skits of all time.
I suddenly laugh hysterically, because he’s just....really bad at his English accent, and it’s quite endearing that he’s played for an English team and yet can’t get the accent right. But nonetheless, getting glimpses of a playfully innocent Masen is.....hot?
I’m not well...I know this.
“And with those famous last words, I leave you to your cheeseburger. I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks with a hopeful lilt in his voice.
“Yeppers. I’ll be there.”
“Goodnight Swan.”
“Goodnight Masen.” Phone goes silent, and the call has ended.
As odd as that conversation was, I go to sleep later that evening with a smile on my face...and I dream of him.
~*~*~*~EtS~*~*~*~
The rest of my second week in London goes on much like the first one. Masen and I meet almost every morning, drink coffee, read newspapers, work on laptops, and shoot the shit. We talk about his three offers from LA, New York, and Chicago, but there’s always something a little melancholic about him when I bring it up. So I decide to not talk about it anymore, because I don’t want to see him gloomy. I much rather see him smile; his smile sends shivers up and down my spine and always rests perfectly at my center, and the unresolved sexual tension mounts a little more each day. We haven’t fucked since that first night, which is so contrary to my lifestyle; I can’t even name a past conquest I’ve done this with. It’s a bit alarming, but quickly becoming comfortable and right. I can tell he feels it too, what with the way he looks at me so intensely, genuinely listening to my crazy college stories and the stuff I experienced at my first job. It’s like he really cares, and I really listen to what he tells me too. I don’t even want to think about what will inevitably happen when I have to leave all this behind and go back to New York in a couple of days. Our attachment to each other is becoming harder to deny to myself, and it’s just what I had feared; I’m going to get my heart broken.
By the end of the week, Arsenal has to play a regular season game, and Masen’s a little tense. He knows all eyes are on him. I have no doubt in my mind he is the best player on that team. Everyone else knows it too, but there are opinions out there that he’s turning his back on the fans, and it’s something he’s not thrilled about.
I try to make him feel better while we’re hanging out in his flat the afternoon before the game. One thing leads to the other and a few simple kisses quickly turn into passionate ones. My blouse is quickly disposed of, while his lips and tongue are doing incredible things to my mouth, neck and collarbone, and just as he pulls my bra down to access my nipples I get an idea.
As his mouth greedily takes in my hardened peak and his tongue runs delicious circles around it, my hands drift from their usual home in his soft hair to take his t-shirt off. He raises his arms and lets me remove it and throw it on the floor behind me. My hands roam all over his chest, over the splattering of chest hair, over his toned muscles, and over his to his waist. I make quick work of his pant button and zipper, and he instinctively raises his hips from the sofa to allow me to pull the offending pants and boxers to the floor. His hard erection makes a glorious appearance and I quickly take him into my hand.”
“Shit!” He breathes heavily against my collarbone and grabs me harder. But I’m having none of that right now; I have other plans.
After pumping him in my hands a few times, I kiss him, devouring his mouth and caressing his tongue with mine. He moans into my mouth and I take it as my cue to take the next step. I pull away, as he stares at me in confusion. I give him my own smirk and spray light kisses down his chest, to his incredibly hard abs, to just above his pubic line.
He looks down at me, in total awe, eyes wide.
I’ve never done this to him before, and I’ve never wanted anything more than this right now.
Never taking my eyes off of him, I slowly lick from the base to the shaft, then circle my tongue around his tip, and I can already taste the moisture forming on it. Masen hisses sharply.
“Fuck, Swan!” He looks at me with his mouth agape, and I smile again, before taking him completely into my mouth.
“HOLYFUCKINGSHIT! OH....Jesus BABY!” He throws his head back against the sofa.
Ah yes, there’s the desired effect I was waiting for.
I start to suck gradually gaining intensity, moving my mouth up and down, establishing a good rhythm. He’s larger than most men I’ve ever been with so I place my hand at the base and mimic my mouth’s tempo. The hisses, expletives and sounds coming from Masen spur me the fuck on, and all I can think about is making him come.
I gradually speed up my movements and I can tell he’s fighting the urge to grab my hair, so I help him along by grabbing one of his hands with my free one and direct it to my head. He lets out a low growl and tentatively tangles my hair between his fingers, lightly guiding me to the rhythm he needs. I take him as far as I can, his tip touching the back of my throat.
It doesn’t take long before he’s panting erratically, and letting out incoherent words. I can feel he’s getting close.
“Oh Fuck, baby, shit....you’re gonna make me come, baby!” he shouts trying to pull me from him. I will do no such thing and I moan ‘no’, and the vibrations send him over the edge.
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUCKK!” In seconds, his dick pulsates in my mouth, as I swallow every last drop.
I gently release him from me with a quiet pop of my lips, and just as I go for a swig of my glass of wine which I left on the side table, Masen grabs me and pulls me to his lips, where he feverishly kisses me...hard.
I moan in pleasure while he settles me on his lap, my legs once again straddling him.
He likes this position a hell of a lot, apparently.
I’m not complaining.
He nuzzles the juncture of my neck and shoulder, and mumbles against my skin, sending fantastic goosebumps all over my body. “You...kiss...are...kiss kiss...fucking....lick....spectacular, you know that?”
I smile.
I know I’m good.
His hands start to roam all over my body while he continues to worship my neck and shoulder. My head lolls to one side to allow him better access. One hand trails over my stomach, reaching the waistband of my pants. It dips inside and my head falls back and I gasp when his fingertips graze my clit.
“Oh God!” Is all I can say that makes any sense.
His fingers continue their journey by tracing down my slit and reaching my entrance. I can’t even form thoughts anymore.
“Mmmmmm, you’re so wet for me, baby,” he whispers, and my eyes roll back at the sensation of his fingers below and breath against my skin. It’s too much.
Suddenly, one fingers enters me, and oh....he feels so incredible. He adds another finger and starts to pump furiously while he presses his mouth against mine, forcefully. His tongue grazes my bottom lip in silent request and I quickly oblige.
I grind against his fingers involuntarily and I’m a flood of emotions I can’t even name. I’m so close, my orgasm building until I’m about ready to burst. Just at the right moment, his fingers curl and hit the spot that finally sends me soaring.
“Oh! Holy FUCK! oh God!” I scream arching my back, giving Masen the perfect angle to attach his mouth to the valley between my breasts while grabbing and squeezing one, his other hand still deep within me. I grab on to his strong shoulders for balance as I slowly come down from my high. It’s one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever experienced.
I rest my forehead on his shoulder, trying to regulate my breathing. I can feel him smiling against my skin, his lips reaching up to kiss my hair. He gently removes his fingers from me and I whimper against his shoulder at the loss. His arms encircle me, and I feel...safe.
We stay there in complete silence, drinking each other in.
His mouth is gently sucking just below my ear, before he whispers, “Stay with me tonight,” repeating his plea from our time in the locker room.
Oh, I want to say yes....I really really do, but my brain is taping my heart’s mouth shut with duct tape before it has a chance to voice it’s overwhelming affirmative response.
“I.....I can’t...I’m sorry.”
I feel like an asshole.
But he doesn’t give up. He pulls away from me to look straight into my eyes. Their crystal depths lure me into his gaze, and I can’t look away. His hand softly brushes the hair that’s matted against my skin, and cups the back of my neck, his other hand firmly gripping my waist. “Then stay with me tomorrow, after the game. Please.” His final plea is the death of me.
I silently nod, and that’s all the confirmation he needs. I can’t say ‘no’ to him, as much as my brain keeps yelling at me to run away. He smiles triumphantly and sets me down next to him. I settle my bra and clothes while he redresses next to me.
“I’ll pick you up around seven; we’ll go out to dinner. There’s a quiet little bistro in Soho where we can just talk,” he says quietly.
“Ok,” is all I can say in the haze I’m still in from the events that have just transpired.
I stand up to retrieve my purse and phone, and make my way to the door. He’s behind me in an instant and I turn to face him. He gives me a small kiss on my lips and once on my nose. I’m still in a daze as I open the door and enter the hallway. Just when I’m about to enter the elevator, he shouts,
“Oh, and Swan?” I turn my head in his direction.
“Bring an overnight bag,” he quips with The Smirk in full view.
And......I’m in trouble.
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