Too Big Taboo Bundle(10)

By: Veronica Vaughn

Mason gave my waist a gentle squeeze. When I returned the hug, the curve of my hip pressed against his outer thigh, and he grimaced. With his teeth clenched he inhaled suddenly as he broke our embrace.

“You’re hurt,” I said.

“It’s nothing,” he replied. “Just a little burn. Occupational hazard, you know?”

Although Mason was joking about it, I could tell he was really in a lot of pain. When I was a little girl, I remember my mom doctoring Mason after he came home with various scrapes, bruises and burns. She would lovingly daub ointment, wrap bandages and do whatever else was required to nurse him back to health. Ever since Mom died, it was just me and Mason on our own.

“Let me see it,” I said.

“That’s not …”

“Mason,” I said, flashing him a stern look. “Let me see it.”

At first he looked like he wasn’t going to follow my instructions. But then he grimaced again. I had to help him, even if he wasn’t willing to help himself. When I grabbed his belt buckle he took over, unfastening the belt and unzipping his tight blue jeans. He gingerly slid the jeans down, revealing a pair of tight, black boxer briefs. I tried not to look at the bulge in the front of his shorts, but that was impossible. His package was huge. I couldn’t believe my eyes, and I suddenly realized my mouth was watering as I felt that familiar heat tingling between my legs.

When Mason groaned it snapped me back to reality. His jeans had been stuck to the burn, and when he pulled down the denim the movement had reopened the sticky wound.

“Damn it,” he grumbled.

“Sit down right there on the couch,” I said, and “I’ll get the first-aid kit.”


Moments later I was kneeling beside Mason, using the tip of my finger to delicately brush the medication on his thigh. The burn was not one of his most severe injuries, but it would probably leave a scar.

I unpeeled an oversized Band-Aid from its wrapping and used both my hands to flatten it on Mason’s thigh, covering the burn so it could begin to heal.

My fingers traced around the burn, the touch of his skin on my fingertips jolting me like electricity surging through me. Being so close to Mason, him wearing nothing but that tight tee and his even tighter underwear, was really turning me on. I felt the arousal stirring inside me, the dewy wetness gathering between my legs. Maybe it was my imagination, but the bulge in Mason’s shorts seemed to be swelling, too, pressing insistently against his form-fitting shorts.

“Where else are you hurt?” I asked.

Mason grinned. “You’re not gonna like this one, little girl,” he said.

“Try me,” I replied.

He lifted up his T-shirt, revealing a thin but deep laceration across his delicious washboard abs.

“Told you,” he smirked.

I would show Mason who’s boss. I guided his shirt upward, and he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. Now he was sitting there in nothing but his shorts, his big, hard body exposed to my hungry eyes.

Now to bring the pain. I drizzled rubbing alcohol on a wash rag and mopped it across the wound. Just as I suspected, he scowled as the alcohol seared the wound, reducing the chances of infection. Satisfied that he had suffered enough, I daubed the cooling ointment on my fingers and massaged it into the cut, my hands running across the ridges of his hard stomach.

Mason took care of his body, that was for sure. Some of the other firefighters had let themselves go, but Mason was a bit more determined to stay in shape, certain that his physical fitness would help keep him and others alive.

I had admired those abs for years. It was one of his nicest features, along with his cute little hard butt and his biceps, and his blue eyes, and … you get the picture. I developed a major crush for him when he and Mom got married, an attraction that only grew over the next several years.

Now I was eighteen and all grown up.

With my hands still resting on Mason’s abs, I looked upward, drinking in the up-close view of his bulging chest and those impossibly wide shoulders, before my eyes settled on his mouth. His lips were full and somewhat pouty, despite the trace of a cocky grin that had always driven me crazy.

I wanted to feel those lips against mine. I wanted to submit to his embrace, to be dominated by his tongue, and I had trouble thinking of anything else. The mound between my legs was beginning to feel extremely sensitive, practically begging to be filled.

Throwing all caution aside, I ran my fingers up Mason’s chest, then around his neck, and I pulled myself toward his mouth. My lips brushed against his. For a moment he did not return my kiss, but I continued, and his mouth parted slightly as he delicately nibbled my lips. His tongue parted my mouth and dipped into mine, caressing my tongue.

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