“I really don’t want to get out of bed this morning,” I complain.
“Then you should have stayed at mine, like I said. We could have had another hour in bed, a shower, breakfast and all of that with a less annoying way to wake up and still been at work on time.”
“Oh!” I groan, making Mason laugh at me.
“I was right, wasn’t I? We should have come and picked your things up and gone back to mine, shouldn’t we?”
“You are so smug when you think you’re right.” I pout with a small smile that confirms he was right.
“We could go to mine now, avoid the traffic and when we get there we could shower, breakfast, dress and avoid rush hour traffic.”
I know it makes sense in a weird way but the idea of getting up and heading straight out is pretty alien to me. “I dunno,” I say hesitantly, wondering what the hell I am going to wear for my early morning dash across the city to avoid traffic.
“You know you want to,” Mason says confidently, maybe too confidently I think, until I realise he has a finger stroking my pubic hair, creeping lower and then with just the hint of an intimate touch I am spreading my legs for him.
Fortunately, Mase doesn’t tease me. He strokes the length of me, briefly dipping into my already leaking core. Instinctively I try to bear down for more, but his finger is gone, having found some moisture he is spreading back up until he finds my clit and with his moistened finger, he begins to circle it.
“Shall we go back to mine now?”
“In a minute.” My reply is breathless. I have no resolve whatsoever once this man lays a finger on me.
“A minute?” he clarifies with a smug little smirk that is as annoying as it is endearing.
“Mmm, a minute. When you’re done here.” I am mortified to find my own hand over his. “Please, babe. Make me come first.” I am relieved when he simply laughs into my hair while continuing his movements.
“Babe.” He repeats the term of endearment I have just bestowed upon him and his smile suggests he likes it.
I can feel my whole body reacting to every touch and stroke he delivers until I am a ball of sexual tension. Every muscle in my body is tightening, preparing for the moment when the world goes black and then everything reverts to a relaxed, more sedate state. I don’t think I can get much closer to that moment without actually being in it when he stops. Mason revokes his touch leaving me fraught with need which is quickly becoming pure despair at my highly aroused state.
“Come on, let’s go.” Mason smirks getting out of bed to dress.
“You are joking? You can’t do this, leave me like this.” Despite my protest I am already getting out of bed and throwing on some clothes. “I am sure arse is your morning default setting,” I mutter.
I am even more pissed off once I am in Mason’s car than I was in my flat. I stomped around my flat attempting to provoke a reaction from him, but he refused to be drawn, then I stamped on every step as we made our way down the stairs to where his car was parked and then, the final straw for me, I slammed every door on the car that I opened, except it would seem that expensive cars have some kind of anti-slam system that might be great for the car, not so much so for pissed off girlfriends.
“Baby,” Mason says as we drive away from my flat. “I’ve told you that I will take care of you as soon as we get to my flat.”
I hate that term,take care of you. He might as well sayI’ll get you off. I find it degrading and embarrassing, but honestly, I won’t object when he does either of those things.
“Why bother starting it?” I ask for possibly the sixth time since he sprang out of my bed.
“To wake you up, to encourage you to get moving, to get you on board with my idea to head home.” His sigh indicates he is sick of answering the same question.
“I was a split second from it. You could have spared another second.”
“It wouldn’t have been another second, Olivia. You would have wanted more, and I would too. You know the sight of you coming brings me to my knees and then we would have been stuck in an hour of rush hour traffic, most likely running late, whereas now we can spend that hour in the shower, or bed, both. So, with the lack of traffic we can talk contraception.”
How do you even begin a conversation like that when you’re annoyed and horny? Well, it would appear that if you wait and question how to do it your boyfriend will start it for you.
“So, you get the contraceptive injection but don’t use it?” he asks and immediately confuses me because I am unsure how I don’t use it. “You said last night that you’d always used condoms,” he expands, seeming to understand the cause of my confusion.
“Oh, yes.”
I feel sick when I recall that first jab in my arse at fourteen. I was hurt and confused then too. The doctor that gave it me judged me harshly and made the whole process far more detailed and humiliating than it needed to be. Some of those procedures were invasive, even to an innocent mind, which mine was at the time, kind of.
“Is that it?” Mason asks and I realise he is cross with me, possibly thinking that I am being deliberately evasive.
“Sorry, no. I never planned to have it, but it was kind of arranged for me, that doesn’t matter, so, erm, yes. I have a needle in the arse about every thirteen weeks and I am protected from pregnancy but have always used condoms because, well…I just have.”
