Chapter 155
Harry
I can't believe it.
He said yes.
For a heartbeat I just stare at him, my chest tight and my palms trembling. Mason Greene, a man more than I deserve, is sitting there, looking at me like I'm the only person in the world.
I lean forward hesitantly and press a kiss to his lips. It's soft at first, tentative, as if testing the reality of it. He tastes like water and something uniquely him, warm and steady.
He exhales against my mouth, hands coming up to cup the back of my neck, pulling me closer. The kiss deepens, slow but full of weight, like an anchor dropping between us.
When we finally part, we're both breathing hard. My forehead rests against his, our breaths mixing.
"You really mean it?" I whisper, my voice trembling.
He smiles—small but sure, eyes soft. "I wouldn't have said it otherwise."
For a moment, I just stare at him, trying to believe this is real. My heart is a hammer in my chest.
Then Mason's thumb traces my jaw. "I think we may have switched roles here. Are you sure, Harry?" he murmurs, searching my face.
I nod before my courage falters. "I've never been more sure."
His hand slides to the back of my neck, warm and steady, and he pulls me into another kiss—deeper, slower, as if drawing me closer until there's no space left between us.
I can feel my pulse everywhere. My body is already responding to him, but at the same time I need a second to breathe, to get my head straight.
I pull back, still tasting him on my lips. "Let me take a shower," I whisper.
Mason's eyes flicker with something—hesitation, want. For a heartbeat I think he'll refuse, but then he exhales and nods.
"Okay," he says quietly, though his fingers linger at my waist like he doesn't want to let go.
I slip off his lap and stand, my knees still weak. He watches me go, sitting there on the couch with his shirt rumpled, hair a mess from my hands, and the look in his eyes is the most possessive, vulnerable thing I've ever seen on him.
***
Mason
So this is happening.
I watch Harry scurry away toward the bathroom, his ears pink, his steps quick like if he lingers he'll lose his nerve. The sight makes my chest ache and my stomach twist with something that feels half like joy, half like panic.
I drag a hand down my face, then bury both palms over my eyes. I can't believe this. I really can't believe this.
He asked me. He wants me.
Forever.
My throat is tight. I laugh once, a shaky, disbelieving sound that bounces back at me from the empty living room.
Then my phone dings from the kitchen counter.
I walk over and lsnatch it up, see the string of notifications from my manager, and without even opening them, I type a single response:
Leave me alone for the rest of the day. Personal emergency. Don't call.
Before I can think twice, I add another message: Tell Harry's manager he won't be available either.
I switch off my phone, then make my way into the bedroom. The silence feels heavy except for the faint sound of running water behind the bathroom door.
Harry's phone is on the nightstand. I stare at it for a beat, then snatch it up, shut it off, and toss it back down. No interruptions.
The sound of the shower drifts through the door—steady, inviting.
My pulse quickens.
I tell myself I'll wait. I'll sit on the bed, give him his space, let him finish his shower and come to me. That would be the responsible thing to do.
But my body is thrumming, restless, my heart hammering. My thoughts are a blur of he asked me to mark him and he loves me, this is forever.
Ugh. Fuck it.
I strip off my clothes, leaving them in a careless trail across the floor. My skin prickles with the cool air until I reach the bathroom door and push it open.
Steam billows out, warm and thick, curling around me like a summons.
Harry is there, under the spray, water slicking his pale skin, his blond hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes widen when he sees me, his lips parting in surprise.
For a moment I just stand there, drinking him in. Every drop of water on his chest, every curve of muscle, every line of his body. My omega. Mine.
I step inside, shutting the door behind me.
Before he can say anything, I stride forward, grab the back of his neck, and crush my lips to his.
Harry gasps into my mouth, startled, but the sound melts into a low moan as I press him back against the tiled wall. Hot water pours over us, steam curling around our bodies as if sealing us in this moment. His lips part for me, and I kiss him like I've been starved.
My hands roam down his slick back, finding the dip of his waist, pulling him tighter until there's no space left. He shivers under me, though the shower is scalding. My tongue tangles with his, claiming, demanding, while his fingers clutch my shoulders, sharp nails digging into my skin.
"God, Harry…" I groan against his mouth, the taste of him dizzying. "You don't know what you do to me."
His reply is breathless, trembling. "I think I do."
The water pounds on us, heat and steam mixing with the burn of my pheromones that are filling the air between us.