No wonder Mason was so grumpy at not getting to do this.
I can’t wait to do it again.
I hear Mason go back to his bedroom. He must be done. But I’m still pulsing with pleasure between my legs, and my body feels like it’s sprung into life.
I try to go to sleep, but I can’t. So I slide my hand downmy belly and rub myself over my underwear until I get that explosion of pleasure again.
I’m able to go to sleep after that.
But I wake up very early and do it once more before I get up.
7
Two weeks later on Friday,I start laundry right after breakfast, and I finish before lunch.
I’m not used to having so many hours of free time, and Mason still won’t let me help with any of the farm work except morning chores. After a lonely lunch of sandwich and apple, I putter around the kitchen, looking for something to fill my time.
But each day since moving in, I deep-cleaned one room of the cottage. The whole home has been gone over twice, and there’s nothing left that needs cleaning today. I’m up to date on errands, baking, and laundry. I’d like to go out and practice working with the cows, but Mason has them in the farthest pasture right now. He mumbled out what he’s doing with them today, but I didn’t have enough context to understand what it meant. Only that he’d be away from the cottage all day.
He’s gone. Out of sight and inaccessible until dinnertime. He even took Bill with him today since the dog was hanging around.
And I have absolutely nothing to do.
I’ve been sleeping better now that I’m used to the cottage. I do wake up occasionally if I hear Mason in the bathroom doing his thing, but I never mind. It gets me excited to hear him, so I rub myself between the legs until it feels really good. I’m always warm and relaxed afterward and go right back to sleep.
Without any other ideas, I find an old book from one of the boxes from the stack in the corner of my room and lie on my bed to read it, but it doesn’t hold my interest. The back cover calls it an espionage thriller, and it’s about people and countries and politics that are utterly meaningless to me and hard to keep straight in my head.
I drop the book beside me and stare up at the ceiling, thinking about waking up this morning to the sounds of Mason going at it in the bathroom.
He was grunting rhythmically, getting louder and faster as he progressed. Near the end, he was muttering raspy words.Fuck. Yes, fuck! I need… I need…
At the end, he said something else. It was muffled by the wall and unclear, like he was swallowing over the helpless exclamation.
But it almost sounded like my name.Teresa.
I was rubbing over my underwear like crazy by that point, gasping into my pillow as the pleasure built up andup and up. When I heard his final outburst, all the sensations exploded in that hot, naughty way.
It all felt so good that I wanted another one. I kept going, eagerly massaging that particular spot. But after the first time, it doesn’t come as easily so I had to really work for it, rubbing and rocking my body so vigorously that my bed was shaking.
I should have been embarrassed. Thinking back, I kind of am right now. But in the moment there was nothing else I could do but chase that feeling and thrill at the possibility of Mason hearing me doingthat.
There was silence from the bathroom. I knew he was still there as my gasps turned into silly bursts of sound as the pleasure mounted higher, and I was too loud—much too loud—as I cried out in release when I finally got that rush of feeling I needed.
He heard me.
I know he did.
And I didn’t care. I liked it. I wanted him to.
I have no idea why.
Recalling it gets me all excited again, so I slip my hand between my legs, rubbing for a few minutes until, very daring, I tuck my fingers beneath my underwear so there’s no barrier to the touch.
I do it like I did this morning, rubbing fast and hard and rocking my body against my hand at the same time.
It takes me almost no time to explode.
I try to do it again, but this time it’s all the effort andnone of the reward. The sensations feel good, but they don’t intensify.
