Chapter Twelve
Emery
The roof was finally finished, and after Mason replaced the wet insulation, I helped put the drywall in place. Mason did most of the work of course, including securing the drywall to the studs, taping the seams, and doing whatever else he needed to do to make sure it looked perfect.
I was discovering that I loved watching Mason work.
His strong arms flexed as we lifted drywall together and my stomach fluttered.
Watching him confidently work the nail gun did things to me, made me ache in the pit of my stomach.
It was all I could do not to reach out and pull him to me, every single time.
The sureness and competency were hot, and I couldn’t get over how much I wanted more of him.
Another week passed before new insulation was installed, the drywall was done, ceilings were painted, and we were ready to finish the rooms by painting the walls.
Finally—something I felt that I could be reasonably competent at.
We’d picked up the paint from the hardware store the previous night while getting takeout for dinner, and the following morning, I woke up to the sun shining into the cabin, birds chirping outside, and the distant, soft slosh of waves hitting the lake shore.
Mason was already gone, up and out of bed and doing only God knew what.
I stood and went wandering through the cabin in my boxers. “Mase?”
“In here.”
I followed the sound of his voice to the back bedroom and found him setting up the painting supplies. “You’re up early.”
The second I entered the room, his eyes became even darker than usual, and he let his eyelids close for a brief moment. When he opened them again, he nodded, his voice tight. “Thought I’d get a head start on the day.”
“Don’t start without me. Painting the walls is the one home improvement task I actually like doing.”
He swallowed and gave me a quick nod, breath hitching. “Sure.”
I headed back to the bedroom and changed, my mind turning over and over his reaction to me.
I liked it. A lot. Once I was dressed and ready, I rejoined Mason in the back bedroom.
He had a ladder set up and ready to cut in the walls, a bucket of paint on the ladder’s tray with a brush balanced carefully on top of it.
“You want to cut in around the ceiling and edges or should I?”
I took a moment to imagine Mason on a ladder, me standing behind him, watching those muscular arms drag a paintbrush back and forth over the walls. “You can do it,” I said, my throat tight.
He grabbed the paintbrush and climbed the ladder to get to work. I stood back and watched for a few moments, mesmerized, my jeans getting a little tight in the groin area, before Mason shook his head and laughed. “You could be helping, you know.”
“Oh right.” I jumped into action, grabbing a second paintbrush and starting to work on the edges of the wall along the baseboard.
We painted quietly for a while, Mason moving the ladder every few minutes so he could work on another section. Eventually, he put his brush down, made his way to the floor, and stood back to check out his progress.
I sat my paintbrush in the tray and joined him, standing so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. I forced myself to look at the wall, rather than Mason. “Looks good.” I didn’t know if I was talking about him or the paint job.
“Almost time to roll.” He glanced at me. “Oh, you’ve got…” He gestured to his face.
I frowned and stepped back a bit, wiping my face with my hand. “Did I get it?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Not really. I think you made it worse.” He stepped close to me again. “Here.” Gently, Mason swiped at my cheekbone with his thumb. “That’s a little better, anyway.”
I swallowed, my body aching with desire to touch him. “Thanks.”
We were both quiet for a few seconds, standing there without moving, just looking at each other.
Mason opened his mouth to speak and as he did, something in me snapped. It was turning out that Mason was my weakness. I closed the gap between us and stepped in, sliding a hand onto the back of his neck and pulling him down to me.
He made a noise of surprise in the back of his throat as our lips met, but it didn’t take long for Mason to get on board with what was happening. The next thing I knew, he was devouring my mouth with his, dipping his tongue into my mouth, his hands gripping my waist firmly.
I groaned softly as we kissed and pulled him closer.
My jeans tightened as my cock swelled. I was desperate for more.
As I pulled him in, I inched back and my foot connected with something that made a scraping noise as it slid against the floor.
Ignoring it, I shifted my foot and kept holding tight to Mason.
My heel connected with something as I stepped backward—the paint tray I’d been using.
Before I could react, the tray tipped up on its side, splattering the paint that was left all over the back of my jeans and onto the floor.
We were startled apart, Mason stepping back and breaking the space between us, chest heaving. I glanced down to see a small puddle of paint spreading across the wood floor.
“Shit,” I hissed. “Fuck.”
“I’m sorry,” Mason said immediately. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Not your fault.” I held up a hand. “Do we have any spare rags or towels anywhere?”
“Yeah.” He grabbed a box of rags he’d bought at the hardware store and we began mopping up the mess.
After we’d gotten the bulk of it up, Mason shooed me away.
“I can finish this. You should go get cleaned up. Get those jeans in the washer. It’s latex paint so it should come out if you wash them right away. ”
I nodded and left him to get the rest of the paint off the wood floors before it dried. My heart was still racing as I stripped my jeans off, my cock aching with the disappointing shift in priorities.
A few minutes later, I was cleaned up and my paint-splattered jeans were in the washing machine. I made my way back to the bedroom. Mason had just finished getting up the paint with a soapy, wet rag, and he was wiping the floor dry.
I closed my eyes for a second. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “All good.”
“Should we—” I started.
As I spoke, Mason crossed the living room and kissed me again. I groaned, deep in my chest, my heart racing. I reached for him and gripped the fabric of his shirt at his waist. I desperately wanted to yank it over his head.
At that moment, Mason’s phone began to vibrate in his pocket, an unfamiliar ringtone playing loudly. He broke the kiss once again, stepping back and taking his phone out. I couldn’t stop the whine that escaped me.
“It’s Margaret,” he explained. “I’ve got to answer.”
I nodded in reluctant understanding and leaned against the sofa while he answered the call.
“Hey, Margaret. What’s going on?”
I couldn’t hear her side of the conversation of course, but Mason nodded as he listened, making noises that sounded sympathetic.
“Yeah, of course,” he said. “We’ll be right over.” When he hung up, he tucked his phone back into his pocket. “She needs us.”
“Sounds like it,” I said, suppressing a disappointed sigh. “What’s going on?”
“She heard noises in the attic that scared her. She wants us to come investigate. Might be a cat, she said.”
Less than ten minutes later, we were parking in Margaret’s driveway. She was standing on the porch and as we got out of the car, she waved.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” she said. “I think there’s a cat trapped in the attic.”
I gave her a genuine smile. “No problem. We’re always happy to help.”
Mason and I followed her inside. She took us to the pull-down attic panel, and Mason got to work, tugging the panel and unfolding the ladder.
“I’ll go,” I said.
With a frown, Mason shook his head. “You stay here, I’ll go investigate.”
“No need for two of us up there. I’ll let you know if I need help.
” I climbed the ladder and made my way up to the attic.
The floor was composed of sheets of thick plywood nailed to the rafters, and I carefully made my way around the boxes crowding the attic, looking for the source of the noise.
I heard something, a scraping sound, and I followed it, calling out for the cat.
“Here, kitty,” I said gently. “Come on. You’re safe now.” No cat emerged, but the sound stopped for a second. Once I was quiet, it started up again. I crept toward the noise, avoiding the boxes, pausing every few seconds to listen.
I got to a point where I was sure I was close, the sound on the other side of a small stack of boxes. I shifted the boxes, sliding them off to the side, and was met with a pair of reflective eyes that definitely did not belong to a cat.
Backing away quickly, I called out for Mason. “Uh, Mase?”
“You find it?”
“Sort of. Can you come up here?”
“On my way.” A few moments later, he was in the attic, standing next to me. “What’s going on?” His voice was a whisper.
“Not a cat,” I said quietly. “But it’s right over there.”
He frowned, brow dipping, and slid the boxes aside. The animal hissed and bared its teeth before freezing and going stiff. “An opossum,” he said, startled.
“Yep.”
“Well shit.”
I laughed. “Exactly.”
Margaret’s voice called up from the bottom of the ladder. “Did you catch her?”
“Not yet,” I called back. Dropping my voice quieter, I turned to Mason. “What are we going to do?”
He shrugged. “Hell if I know. Catch it?”
“With what? Our bare hands? What if it has rabies?”
Mason laughed and bumped my shoulder with his own. “They can’t carry rabies.”
“Oh. Well then, what’s the plan?”
Mason gestured toward a stack of boxes behind us. “Are any of those empty?”
After looking around a little, we did find a stack of large, empty boxes. Mason approached the opossum carefully, slowly. Lightning fast, Mason dropped the open box onto the opossum upside down, to trap the animal. There was a scuffling sound as it tried to escape.
I let out a relieved breath. “Well, step one complete.”
“Get me another box. Flatten it out and we’ll slide it under this one.”
I followed his instructions. It didn’t take long, but soon we had the opossum trapped in a cardboard prison. It hissed, but otherwise didn’t move much, pulling the whole “playing possum” act.
We let a minute or two pass, hoping the opossum would keep still, and then got to work turning the box over very carefully, so we didn’t hurt the animal.
Mason climbed down the ladder first, and I passed the box down to him.
He hurried away with it and soon enough, the opossum was released into the woods.
Margaret stood next to me while he released it. “What was it?”
“An opossum, believe it or not.”
She frowned. “Well, I’m thankful to have you boys around. Thank you for taking care of it.”
“Anytime.”
After a few minutes of pleasantries and catching up, we were back in the car and headed toward our cabin. Mason took a deep breath and looked at me. “Now what?”
“I guess we need to finish painting.”
He nodded. “Yeah. We could do that.”
“Or…”
Mason’s eyebrows shot up. “Or?”
“It’s hot out. We could go for a swim.” I paused for a moment. “Naked.”