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“Mason.”
It’s not just the fact that Athena says it and says it well. When she’s all spread out beneath him, body tense and heated as his hand works her through her first orgasm. His hand is slick - just like her inner thighs and the sheets below her - and his senses are so full of her that he can barely think about anything else but here, right now, this. Again, it’s not the fact that she moans his name.
“Mason.”
But it’s how she says it. How breathless she is when she utters his name. How her voice pitches at the ‘a’ and whines at the ‘n.’ It’s how - after her second orgasm while he licks and sucks and bites - she’s forgotten every other word in the English language except his name.
“Mason. Mason. Mason.”
He has never been a fan of catchy themes or melodic tunes but the way she sings his name as they finally connect is his favorite song. The only song he would ever want to listen to on repeat. The only sound that doesn’t grate his nerve endings - besides her moans that only harmonize the chorus that is his name.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he praises.
He’s pulled her into his lap, her legs wrapped securely around his hips as his hands palm her ass, dragging her deliciously close. Her usual five-foot-seven height has been elevated slightly and her head sits about one inch above his now in this position. It’s perfect, he thinks.
His lips press against her sternum, mouthing the valley between her breasts as he pumps slowly in and out of her cunt. Her hands are everywhere, tangling in his hair, nails raking down his back then traveling back to grip his shoulders.
Mason hates pains - hates the marks that an injury momentarily leaves on his skin before they heal and disappear. But fuck what he wouldn’t give to keep the crescents from her nails marring his skin and the purple, mottled bruises along his neck. He would wear her scars with genuine satisfaction and secretly he hopes she feels the same as his finger dimples the skin at her hips. Incisors scraping along the swell of her breast, leaving red marks in their wake.
He wonders if she can sense his possessiveness.
“Mason, please,” she sings.
“Shit, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good.”
And she does.
She feels like sweet relief, like the first drag of a cigarette when he’s alone and hasn’t had one in a few hours. Her body is warm and accepting, like stepping into the warehouse after being out in the frigid cold for far too long. And her cunt - fuck - so wet and tight and absolutely divine that there is nothing else in the world that compares.
She’s rolling her hips against him; silently urging him to give her more. To give give give because she can take take take. And he’s more than happy to oblige.
When she’s on her back, limbs still draped around his body, Mason gives.
“Fuck.”
Mason briefly thinks that if she earned a dollar for every time she pulled such filthy words from his mouth that the old tin can of a car she has would have been long gone by now.
“I need more, Mason. Please, please, plea-“
He dives in and silences her with his lips. He knows what she needs, he can feel it as her legs tremble against his sides. His hand moves from where it’s palming her breast, down the expanse of her soft stomach until landing on the bit of flesh that has her groaning against his lips.
He pulls her bottom lip between his teeth, light enough to not break the skin and draw blood, but enough to make her eyes roll back. When he releases it he leans up just slightly so he can stare down at her face. Taking in the flush that sits high in her cheeks and the glisten of saliva on her swollen lips.
It’s almost time for his favorite part.
“You’re close.” It’s stated, not asked.
She still nods her head eagerly, her eyes wide and full of want and desire.
His thumb still strokes on her clit as he continues to fuck her deeply. All his motions are slow and a time ago she would have thought he was torturing her but she now knows how good it feels when she comes from his steady movements. When he takes his time to actually draw her pleasure from deep within instead of yanking it from her greedily.
She’s repeating his name again and Mason buries his face into her neck. His lips brush against her skin - a scar that shouldn’t be there but it is and he can’t change that but he can’t lose focus now, not when she’s so-
“I’m close. Mason, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
He pulls away from her neck to rest his forehead to hers and continues to sink into her as her orgasm crescendos. The feel of her fluttering and tightening around his cock makes a groan escape his throat and he closes his eyes as his hips start to stutter just as her peak descends.
“Mason.”
Her voice is distant, far back into his mind as he chases his own release. But then he feels warm skin - hands - holding his head and he’s forced to open his eyes. Honey brown meets stormy grey and Mason nearly comes just from her gaze. But he holds out, needing to feel this - feel her - just a little bit more.
“That’s it,” she encourages and now she’s canting her hips to meet his and threading her fingers through his hair and he’s never felt anything like this before. Nothing before her. “Mason, Mason yes. Come for me, love. I want it, I want it, please.”
Mason certainly has never heard that before, either. But the sound of the word on her lips and the way it feels when it travels through his head makes him dizzy and tense and then he’s giving her what she wants and spilling inside her. Hips gently rocking into her overstimulated cunt as he comes and there’s a moan but he can’t tell who’s throat it leaves but he doesn’t care because immediately her lips find his. The kiss is rough yet intimate and Mason drops down to rest all his weight on his elbows that frame her head.
When his senses come back and the rush of his release finally ebbs away their lips are still locked together, moving languidly and tongues gliding against one another. It’s her who breaks away first, much to his protest but the smile that graces her lips somehow takes the breath he doesn’t need away.
“Hey.”
“Hi, sweetheart.”
She’s covered in perspiration, strawberry blonde hair fanned out over her pillows and the deep ruby lipstick she had coated on her lips earlier in the evening is smeared everywhere but her lips - probably on Mason’s if he’s being honest. He has never described anything as adorable but somehow that is the first and only word that comes to mind.
“You good?” He asks and something deep inside him flares and she gives him a smirk. His thumb traces along the edge of her eyebrow but he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
“I’m more than good,” she responds, her fingers running gently along the nape of his neck.
He gives a smirk himself and then lets out a deep chuckle as she rolls her eyes.
She yawns. “I’m pretty tired though.”
“Then I did my job right.” The punch she throws against his shoulder only makes him laugh, low and full of mirth. “I’m joking, sweetheart.”
There’s a few moments of pillow talk - and this is new, too - before the pair finally come apart and Athena heads into the bathroom. Mason looks around the room, grabbing his underwear and tugging them on first. He’s looking for his shirt when the bathroom door opens and she walks out and there’s the garment he was missing.
He quirks a brow at her and she merely shrugs before throwing an extra blanket on the bed - covering up the messy evidence. She crawls on top of it and turns back to him where he still stands.
There are many new things happening tonight and Mason’s brain can’t catch up. It isn’t until she starts to frown that he pushes those thoughts away.
“Sorry,” she admits and now he’s frowning. “I just, I-“ she pauses and takes a breath and Mason still hasn’t moved from the spot at the foot of her bed. “If you need it so you can head back I understand.”
Before she can even reach for the hem of the shirt Mason is there - the vampire sweep with always surprise her - gently grabbing her wrist to stop her.
“Don’t,” he says, surprised at the tenderness he hears himself. He grins. “It looks much better on you.”
Her mouth hangs open for a moment, silent before she closes her lips and nods. “Okay.”
“But I’ll be honest,” he begins, his fingers releasing her wrist, trailing down to her exposed hip where the fabric has bunched up. “I prefer you without it.”
There’s a giggle when he starts to kiss her neck, his stubble grazing her sensitive skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
“Mason,” she exclaims when he nips at her shoulder, and again, he can’t get over the way it sounds when his name leaves her lips. Can’t get over the way he feels when she says it again when their bodies come together.
And he knows that tomorrow he can’t wait for it to be the first thing he hears when she wakes up.