Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
“Did you like the skirt better than a hoodie and leggings?” I ask, blushing.
He’s dead serious as he shakes his head. “Liberty, you could wear a paper bag and you’d still be the most beautiful woman in the fucking world.”
I bite my lip. Beautiful. Not just a sexy nerd, but beautiful. I don’t even know how to handle that.
He lowers himself over me, kissing my breasts, my neck, and finally my mouth. He’s kissing me like a man who means it, and when he pauses, ready to push inside of me, I could burn up from the intensity of it all. He slides forward. And he’s big, so big, but his movements are slow and restrained as he eases into me, watching me closely, waiting for me to buck my hips and meet him before filling me completely.
The way our bodies move together, it feels like this was always meant to happen. Mason’s lips are all over me, and my arms wrap around his neck, my hips arching to pull him deeper and deeper inside. I clench around him, needing more of him, and a second orgasm crests through me before he finally releases his own.
“Liberty,” he murmurs, lips against my ear, his arms bent just enough not to crush me as both of us try to regain our breath.
It’s my name, said so sweetly, that threatens to undo me. Because before he said my name like that, it would’ve been easier to pretend that this was just sex. That it wasn’t intense and life-altering. But now that I’ve heard him say my name like that, on a sweet exhale against my skin, I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t hear it again.
And I know, as his breathing slows beside me and as he rolls over to look at me, green eyes bright in the darkness, that as great as it was, I have made a huge mistake.
Chapter Nine
I wait until Mason’s asleep to leave his apartment. It helps that we both exhausted one another so thoroughly because it doesn’t take long for him to drift off. Then I collect my clothes, scattered from his bed to the front door, and sneak out of the building, a classic walk of shame past the doorman.
What the hell was I thinking? Did I really think I could sleep with Mason and not catch a single feeling? The man is gorgeous, accomplished, and has the annoying habit of showing a sensitive side when I least expect it. He’s not just librarian catnip with his secret library. He’s head-over-heels catnip, and I fell for it entirely.
I just need to be cool. I’m sure there’s some kind of support group I can join. Girls Who Have Fallen Too Hard for Mason Cooper. Either way, I’ve got to just… move forward. I’ve got the weekend to nurse my wounds, and then on Monday I can play it cool. Be professional.
I’m on the sidewalk, trying to flag a cab, when I hear a gruff voice.
“Liberty?”
I turn, and there he is. He pulled on his sweatpants and robe, but it’s undone so I can see his chest. His hair’s mussed from sex and sleep, and I hate how adorable he looks.
“Hi,” I say awkwardly. “I’m just, um, waiting for my ride.”
“What are you doing?”
I blink at him. “Well, you know. We were, um. We did what we wanted to do. And I just thought it’d be easier if I, well… left.”
He steps toward me, confusion crossing his features. “And why the hell would you think that?”
I chew my lip. “Well, you know. You’re you. I’m me. You date around, and once you, you know…”
God. My fucking rambling. What am I even trying to say?
He steps back like I’ve slapped him. “What’re you talking about?”
I wave my hands, exasperated. “You know, Mason. I’ve seen your Instagram, a different girl every week. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”
His eyes narrow. “Well, apparently, it does, seeing as how none of those women meant a single thing to me. Especially since most of the pictures you’re referring to were industry events for celebrity books I was publishing, and I was most definitely not there as their date.”
I blink at him. What? That must be a lie.
“You know I publish celebrity memoirs and tell-alls, right?” Mason asks, incredulous. “Did you really think I had, what, a dozen girlfriends?”
“It’s possible,” I say.
“It’s not. It’s really not, if you knew me at all.”
I don’t have anything to say to that. I don’t know what to do. Is everything he’s saying just a playboy line? I know what my sister Charity would say. I’m falling for Mason the same way I fell for New York, unable to look at the whole picture because I’m blinded by the dream.
Behind me, a cab pulls to the curb. I look from Mason to the car, not knowing what to say. For once, I can’t even ramble.