Chapter 8 #2
But I did fall. And it could have been serious. And even as I was doing the work, I knew that Mason wouldn’t have minded helping me. I just didn’t want to ask him.
So maybe he’s right.
It’s my fault.
I should have done better.
“Okay.” I breathe raggedly and stare down at my hands twisting in my lap. “Next time I’ll ask.”
This appears to satisfy him. He leaves me alone and starts picking up scattered junk in the hall and returning it to the box. Then he moves it into its new position, closes the door to the top compartment, and brings the toppled chair back to tuck under the dining table.
“How do you feel?” he asks me.
“I said I was fine.” It actually takes work to keep my voice composed.
“You mad at me?”
“No. Of course not. I’m sorry I messed up.”
His frown now looks more confused than disapproving. “You didn’t mess up. But you might’ve really hurt yourself. Next time ask me for help.”
“I will.”
We stare at each other for a minute.
“So nothing hurts?”
“I have a couple of bruises.”
“Where?”
“On my butt.”
“Oh. Guess it could be worse.”
“Yes. It could be. But it’s not.”
I do my best to pull myself back together so I can fix dinner and get through the evening. I do for the most part, but there’s a small part of myself that still feels unsettled and annoyed with myself.
Messing up twice in one day is really not like me at all. I’ve been doing so good here so far. Working hard. Helping out. Earning my keep in an incredibly good situation. And now it feels like all that has been thrown off balance.
Mason acts like his normal self, so he’s clearly not holding a grudge or judging me the way Lorraine and Aria always did after anything they considered a mistake from me. In fact, he appears to be in a pretty good mood as I work on mending and he cleans some tools after dinner.
It’s earlier than normal when he says, “Well, I guess I might get cleaned up for bed.”
I glance up from the shirt I’m stitching up a hole in. “Okay.”
He stands but then doesn’t get farther. He looks between me and the floor. “You gonna come?”
“To bed? Yes. I will.” Then I realize what he’s asking. “Oh. Yes. We can have sex again if you want to.” I swallow. “Do you want to?”
“Course I do.” His eyes take on that glint of heat I’ve seen a few times in the past. “But only if you want to too.”
“I do. You get ready first, and then I will.”
“Sounds good.”
He’s almost smiling as he heads for the bathroom.
I’m not smiling.
It’s not that the sex last night was bad or anything. I greatly enjoyed the first part, and the second part wasn’t terrible.
But I’m still feeling all flustered and embarrassed about my mishaps. And I’m still kind of sore—both from sex last night and from my fall.
There’s no possible way I’m going to disappoint Mason, however. If he wants to have sex again tonight, then that’s what we’re going to do.
Thirty minutes later, I walk into his bedroom in one of my nightgowns. He’s already lying in bed, propped up on two pillows and watching me as I advance.
“I like your hair like that,” he says with that thick texture in his voice I remember from yesterday. “It looks awfully pretty.”
I brushed my hair out loose, and it’s now hanging down my back. “Thank you.” I climb into bed on the opposite side as him. “I can’t wear it this way during the day because it would get in the way and get dirty.”
“Yeah. Makes sense. Don’t need anyone else seeing you like this anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“All pretty and sexy and sweet like honey cake. Lots of guys would leer and want you for themselves. You looking like this is no one else’s business but mine.”
I realize he’s giving me a strange sort of compliment, and the pleasure of it blooms in my chest and belly. “Oh. I guess not.” I take off my nightgown and then stretch out on my back and stare up at him when he sits up beside me.
“You feel up to it, right? After taking that tumble?” His eyes are devouring my naked body from top to bottom.
“Yes, I feel fine.”
“Good.” He reaches out to brush his thumb against one of my nipples. It tightens immediately. “Does it feel good when I touch you?”
“Yes.” I suck in a slight breath when he uses both hands to fondle my breasts. “It feels real good.”
“Okay. Good.”
He takes longer than yesterday in touching me all over.
Even my face and my belly and my thighs.
But he keeps returning to my breasts until I’m even more pulsey and achy than I was yesterday.
“Mason!” I’m arching my back, pushing my chest toward his hands as he twirls both nipples at the same time. “I want… I want…”
“What do you want, Teresa?” He’s as flushed as I am. His hair is wildly rumpled. He needs to shave again. And he’s working over my body with an earnest focus that makes me feel like he’s currently aware of nothing else in the world.
Nothing but me.
“I want… you know. It feels too good. I can’t… I want…”
He slides one of his hands between my legs, feeling my groin with intimate entitlement. “You sure are hot and wet down here.”
“That’s because I’m really, really…”
“Turned on. You’re really turned on.”
Thank goodness he knows the right words because until yesterday I knew nothing at all.
He rubs my best spot until I whimper and writhe, but he moves his fingers before I reach that delicious explosion. He slides one finger all the way inside me. I’m so wet down there that it makes a sucking sound.
I bend my legs and plant my feet on the mattress far apart to open myself all the way for him. He pumps his fingers, and I fumble around with my hands until I finally reach up for the simple wood headboard. I hold on to it as he moves his finger inside me enthusiastically.
It’s so good, but it’s not enough. I whine and gasp and squirm around.
“You really like this, don’t you?” he murmurs thickly. “You’re all excited. You want to come so bad.”
“Yes! I need to come. So bad!” The sensations are so intense that I’m a little afraid my head might burst open from the pressure.
“I like to see you like this. All hot and eager and sweet and sexy.” He moves his thumb to the very best spot and presses against it. “My wife. My honey cake.”
I cry out loudly at the surge of pleasure.
“There it is. That’s what you need. You’re doing real good now. Just let yourself feel it. It’s gonna be so good for you.”
I’m almost sobbing as his hand works vigorously between my legs, and then all the rising sensations erupt in waves of hot pleasure.
“There you go. That’s what you wanted. Keep going as long as you need.” He’s still pumping his hand as my inner walls clamp down around his finger. “You need even more, don’t you? Don’t pull back yet.”
I do as he says, not even embarrassed by my uninhibited performance. He strokes me through up to one more explosion.
Then he finally withdraws his hand as I collapse back on the bed, limp and panting and spent.
He’s really turned on now too. He’s tense. His face is red. He’s even sweating a little. But he waits until I recover before he moves over me, positioning himself between my legs the way he did yesterday.
His penis is just as big and hard as last night. He moves it into place, groaning long and loud as he sinks inside me.
It’s just as tight as it was yesterday. He’s not as hesitant because it’s not supposed to hurt this time. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s still a lot of pressure.
I want him to get what he needs the way he gave it to me, but I don’t love how this feels.
He’s so big. He’s on top of me, and the pressure inside me from the penetration is genuinely uncomfortable.
“Does it feel good this time?” he asks raggedly when he’s most of the way in. He’s holding himself very still on top of me.
“Y-yeah,” I manage to say. “It’s good.”
“So I can… You’re ready for me to…”
“Yeah. I’m ready. It’s your turn now.”
It is his turn. It’s only fair after how good he made me feel. I wish I liked it more, but it doesn’t matter. He wants to do this, and I want to do it too.
He thrusts in and out, pushing into me with a steady rhythm that obviously makes him feel incredibly good. He groans a few times and starts grunting in that animalistic way, like the sensations are taking him over.
I like that he feels that way. That he can take satisfaction in me.
It doesn’t matter if it feels good to me or not.
I try to talk to him the way he talks to me when it’s my turn. I tell him he’s doing good, that this is exactly right, that I want him to feel this way, that he can take what he wants.
It must encourage him because his speed gets faster and harder. He’s shaking the bed so much it’s bumping against the wall. My body is jostled with every hard push. And the bruises on my ass are really hurting.
But all of it is tolerable. It’s what’s supposed to happen.
And I’m not going to fail in this even though I’ve messed up two other times today.
He reaches his own finish, spurting out fluid inside me. Then he falls down on top of me, sated and worn out.
I’m relieved when he pulls out and off me at last. I limp to the bathroom to clean up and recover. Then return to get my gown from the floor.
Mason is sprawled out on his back, but he must have been watching me. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, sounding urgent.
“No. I’m just a little sore.”
“Shit, you gotta tell me.”
“I did tell you. It was all fine.”
“I was too rough. It looks like you’re hurt.”
“I’m not hurt. I’m a little sore. It’s nothing to worry about.”
But I should have hidden it better. He is worrying. I sense him brooding, growing upset. And there’s nothing I can say to change it. So I tell him good night quickly and return to my room.
I cry a little when I get under the covers. Not because anything hurts that bad, but because this is the third time I messed up today.