Mace (Cocky Cage Fighter #4)(7)

By: Lane Hart


"You are not a complete, raging bitch," he says with total confidence before takin’ a sip of his coffee and lookin’ at me over the top. The foot traffic movin’ at a fast clip around us causes Mason to have to take a step closer to me. So close, I get a whiff of the comfortin’ scent of sunshine and leather on him, which has me shiftin’ all the way around to face him. His smell is just one more addition to the growin’ list of things my inner cavewoman likes about him. "I know you're not a bitch,” he continues. “Because you could’ve thrown a fit and called me an asshole for being late, which I would have deserved, but you didn't."

"Maybe I'm just waitin’ until we get into the car before I throw a fit. Private bursts of bitchiness might be more my style," I counter

"Doesn't matter," he says with a shrug of indifference.

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” I ask in confusion with my hands on my hips.

"The longer the fit you throw the better,” he replies. “Because regardless of what comes out of your mouth, it'll give me a reason to keep looking at you while imagining all the various styles and colors of panties you just might be wearing underneath that dress. Blue thong? Black lace? The possibilities are," his eyes drop purposefully below my waist like he’s tryin’ to see through the fabric before they meet mine again, "endless."

Oh. My. God. He's talkin’ about my panties. In the middle of an airport. And we just met. And he's gonna practically be family in a few days. Does any of that stop the aforementioned from becomin’ wet? Nope.

"Let me save you some time, they're cotton string bikinis, white with little red cherries,” I inform him as my inner cavewoman throws herself on the ground and spreads her legs. Slut.

Why did I just describe my undergarment to him in great detail? I have no idea. Maybe because he has a way of makin’ me feel sexy with a few smooth words, and that's not somethin’ I get to feel very often. I like it. In my profession, it’s always about the negative; what I need to fix and what's wrong with me, like the size of my thighs or the flab around my waist.

Mason groans, and his heated stare, focused on the front of my dress, is all it takes to have me percolatin’. A different grin spreads across his face. This one is triumphant and downright wicked when he meets my eyes again, like he knows the effect he has on me. "You might very well be the damn devil, but my cock really appreciates your assistance in completing that visual for him," he says with a wink.

I laugh and turn back around, usin’ the excuse of seekin’ out the baggage claim so I don’t have to look him in the eye. Who goes around talkin’ about his cock like that? I can't recall a time when any of my far right, conservative exes ever used that term, even in the bedroom. It was usually, Go down on me or Are you ready for me? This man talks about his appendage like his penis is so important it’s a separate entity, rather than just a part of his attached anatomy. That could be the difference in presentation, since none of my exes were anything more than average. Unimpressive lengths. Unimpressive lovers. And this man looks like he’s packin’ some serious heat in his Calvin Klein’s or Joe Boxers.

After standin’ in front of the baggage conveyor belt for ten minutes, thinkin’ about mediocre penises of days past, I see the same pink piece of luggage for the fourth time. Obviously my bags are not gonna magically appear. Son of a bitch.

"Um, are you just captivated by the incredible engineering that makes this thing keep going 'round and 'round, or is your luggage MIA?" Mason asks after being quiet and patient the entire time I was lost in my own head.

"Missin’," I sigh. At least my bridesmaid dress wasn't with it and is safely in Cape Hatteras with the seamstress, who I sent my measurements to weeks ago. So all I have for the week is the stuff crammed into my purse, and my toiletries and makeup that's in the overnight bag.

"Does this mean we get to go shopping for panties?"

I bark out a laugh at his unexpected question. "I was just gonna go commando for the next seven days, but sure, if you want, after we report my lost luggage we can go buy me some panties," I tell him.

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