His nose follows the same path back up, but this time, I feel the tip of his soft, wet tongue trace my pulse point. My knees give, but his hands slam to my hips. “You are distracting me, little one. We need to talk, but I’m finding it very hard to do.” The word hard is punctuated with a slow roll of his hips. Effectively showing me exactly what’s hard. I gasp and try to move forward, but his hands are still at my hips locking me in place. My body stiffens. I’m not prepared for these feelings. I’ve never been in a sexual situation willingly. Sensing my anxiety, he steps back away from me.

“That wasn’t my intention. I’m sorry. If it’s still okay, I’d like you to sit in this chair” —he holds out the original chair— “so we can talk, please.”

How the hell can he be licking my neck like a damn lollipop thirty seconds ago, and now he’s utterly calm? With weak knees, I manage to sit in the chair as he pushes it under the table. Laying my hands on the table, I wait for him to explain what’s happening.

Taking a deep breath, he starts. “Cass has told me a lot about you the past few days. I’d like you to tell me what you told him so it’s all clear. Then I’ll tell you about me. Does that sound good?”

“I suppose. If you won’t be happy with just the stuff Sniffer told you, I can.” I don’t want to go over this shit again.

“Start with why you call him that,” he demands.

“You don’t need to be so growly, Big Guy, I’m fixin’ to answer you,” I smart back. He quirks his eyebrow. “I fell asleep on the beach,” I shrug my shoulders, “when I woke up, he was laying over my back, sniffing my neck, the creeper.” I point at him. “You two need boundaries.”

Now he’s full-on mumbling. I can only hear a few words. “Rip... won’t... hands... fucker!”

“You done yet? I’d like to get this over with. What else do you want to talk about?”

Clearing his throat, “Tell me about your parents. When did they die?” he asks gently.

I motion to him. “I lost them about two weeks after that night.” I laugh a sad laugh. “I keep referring to it as that night. I can’t even call it the night we met, because we didn’t meet. I still don’t know your name. For five years, you’ve been him or he. On bad nights when I prayed you’d come back for me, it was my Mate but never a name.”

He looks miserable. “Masen Black, my name is Masen Black.”

I snap my finger. “Mase, that’s what he called you. I knew I’d heard your name. I just didn’t remember what it was until you just said it. Well, Masen Black, I’m Sophia Brair.”

“I know your name little one, I’ve always known your name. I could never forget it.”