“I told you. Just act like you would with any other partner you spent the night with.”
A frustrated sound crept from the back of his throat. He put his mug down. Leaning forward he whispered, “But that’s the thing, Mase, she isn’t my partner. She’s my ex- partner’s wife.”
Mase sighed and folded the paper and tossed it aside. “Right. I’m your ex-partner and she’s my wife and this morning my wife confessed to being attracted to my old college friend, who, guess what, is also you. Now that we have everyone labeled correctly can we move on?”
“No,” he hissed. “I know you just loooove to break my balls about me and my labels, but this isn’t about that. This is about you loaning out your wife. That’s fucked up.”
Mason glared at him, his eyes suddenly cold and serious. “I’m not loaning Liberty out. I’m inviting you to join us as we explore some things. Don’t make it into something it’s not. She isn’t my property, but my partner, my helpmate. I love that woman more than anything else in this world. I think we’ve hit on something that…I haven’t worked it all out yet, but my gut is telling me to go with it. But Sean, make no mistake, she’s her own person. That being said, she’s also my wife. Mine. So long as we’re both in agreement that you two can…play, then I don’t see the harm. It’s consensual and I won’t allow her to feel shame about her desires. We all are entitled to our own proclivities. I have spent years helping my wife accept hers. If you can’t, then maybe you should bow out gracefully. But don’t judge her or me, especially when I’m quite aware of your tastes.”
“Okay fine, but it’s a lot different saying something is okay and then being right in the fucking moment and living it. You could change your mind the second you see some other dude pawing your wife.”
“Not with you.”
“You’re so sure?” Sean sneered.
The door from the kitchen opened and Sean blanked his expression, repressing his hostility for the moment. Liberty walked out carrying plates, linen napkins, and three glasses of orange juice on a tray.
“Completely,” Mason said, picking his paper up again and putting an end to further discussion.
“Good morning, Sean,” Liberty said, almost melodiously as she laid out the plates in what was clearly a proscribed manner and lined up the folded napkins.
Sean was fuming at Mase’s arrogance. What did he know? Suddenly, he had an idea. Sean stood up before Liberty could place the last glass neatly above his napkin.
“Good morning, little Liberty.” He blocked her from the table, crowded her smaller form with his much larger one. Imposing on her personal space, he inched closer. She looked up at him, confusion shining in her bright blue eyes. Her soft white-blond curls danced as she tipped her head back to meet his gaze.
“Sean?”
Sean tucked a stray curl behind her ear only to have the insolent coil spring back out of line. With shaky fingers, Libby reached for the curl and forced it into place.
“I like it down,” Sean said in a husky whisper and was rewarded with the softest pink tinge darkening her cheeks. Like a sunset, Liberty’s cheeks had various shade of warmth, each one beautiful, each one rewarding.
Her golden lashes fluttered. “So does Mason. It’s a nightmare. I don’t know why I even bother keeping it long.” Her fingers fluttered at the edge of one unruly ringlet.
Mason put down his paper and Sean figured he finally got his attention. Good. He smiled down at Liberty and slowly reached for the clip in her hair. He carefully pressed the spring on the contraption tight, causing its hold to loosen, and all of her white gold loose ringlets came tumbling down.
Her chest began to rise and fall with exaggerated breaths. Her breath quickened. Her nipples were straining against the thin fabric of her cotton shirt. He tossed the clip on the table and reached over her shoulders, lifting the weight of her hair into his hands and savoring the silken feel of it springing and wrapping around his fingers. Liberty’s lashes lowered creating small purple shadows on her ivory skin.
He leaned down and held his mouth a mere inch away from hers. The heat of her sweet breath teased his lips. He may have had his mouth on her most intimate parts last night, but he had yet to kiss her.
Liberty had a mouth made to drive a man mad. Her pouty lower lip was plump, the kind a man could bite into, but it was her upper lip that made her mouth so unique. Two full peaks, beautiful like the ties of a bow, it was almost feline like. She had a mouth that celebrities paid fortunes to emulate. He leaned in and coasted his lips over hers, barely a brush—a test.