Mostly to get away from the house for a while.
I tell Mason I need some food from the village and I want to get some of the stuff I stowed away in my hiding places. He appears to believe this is a very good plan for the day. He actually relaxes slightly when he realizes I’m going to be gone for a while.
How flattering. He’s relieved to have some time away from me.
I try not to take it personally. I’m not sure why I would have expected anything different. My father used to like me to hang around with him. He taught me to read and write, and we’d talk about books we read and things he’d written. And Annabelle, of course, has always been happy to be with me.
But no one else. In my entire life. No one else has ever wanted to spend time with me.
Why would Mason be different?
I get more and more upset on my way to the tree that holds my very best hiding spot. I get the papers and books from my dad I hid there before I left for the Capitol. Then I stop by the overturned motor to grab a few more of the bouncy balls for Bill.
I was planning to go directly back to the village from here, but this stuff has made my bag heavy enough that I decide to stop by the house first to unload it.
Mason will be working, so he probably won’t even know I came by.
Bill is off on one of his rambles, and Mason isn’t anywhere in sight as I reach the cottage. I open the door and step in, immediately sensing that something is strange.
I’m not sure what vibes I’m picking up, but they’re so strong I come to a sudden halt.
I listen. Hear something.
Walk carefully toward the sound, which seems to be coming from the bathroom.
Maybe Mason is sick or something. My heart is beating fast, and my breath keeps catching in my throat.
He’s not sick.
The bathroom door is open, and he appears to have just gotten out of the bath. He’s standing naked, facing the wall. He’s got a hand towel in one hand, and it’s bracedagainst the wall. And the other hand is out of sight, somewhere in the vicinity of his groin.
I know next to nothing about men. Little about their anatomy and nothing about their habits. Parents are supposed to teach us once we get old enough, but my mother walked out before she taught us much of anything.
Men have penises. Women have vaginas. That’s what I know.
The details of how these differences are manifested remain a mystery to me.
But I know for sure—no question—that whatever Mason is doing is sexual.
His hand is working vigorously, and his whole body shakes slightly with the motion. His body looks as good as it did in just his underwear. Better, in fact, because I can see the tight flesh of his butt. The trim cheeks clenching rhythmically with his motion.
He’s making soft, carnal grunts.
My body likes the sound of them. And the looks of him right now. My heartbeat leaps into overdrive. My blood pulses so intensely I’m sure I can feel it moving in my veins. And the throbbing is centered between my legs. Deep and strong and achy.
I’ve never felt like this before. Maybe it’s wrong. But I can’t help it, and I can’t look away.
His grunts transform into one long, hoarse groan. His hips jerk fast and clumsy. He’s moved the hand towel down to his groin. I can’t see what he’s doing with it.
Eventually his moan ends and his shaking slows. He gasps loudly, his body relaxing visibly.
My body hasn’t relaxed at all. It’s throbbing. Everywhere.
Everywhere.
I make a raspy sound as I try to catch my breath, and he hears it.
He whirls around, holding the hand towel at his groin.
