The room is dim, shadows pooling in the corners. Music hums softly, barely audible over your heartbeat.

Mason sits on the edge of your bed, shirt off, white hair messy. His blue eyes find yours, that crooked grin making your stomach flip.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” he murmurs, low and teasing.

You lean in, hands brushing over his shoulders. “You like trouble,” you whisper.

His breath is steady, but his hand tightens. His skin is warm, faintly salty.

You kiss him slowly at first, lips soft, savoring the moment. Then with more intent, teeth grazing lightly. He groans softly, low and involuntary.

Your kisses trail from his jaw to the curve of his neck, lingering where he tilts his head for more. He bites his lip, eyes half-closed, giving you every encouragement.

“You’re evil,” he mutters, voice rough. You smile against him, pressing closer.