Page 39 of Word to the Wise

If being with Mason feels anything like the warmth of him wrapped around me when we were pinned to the rock wall earlier, then I might never recover. The thought of climbing his chest, of him pinning me down, of him devouring me... I swallow hard and hope he doesn’t notice.

I’m sure Mason’s used to experienced girls who know what they’re doing.

Carter liked to remind me I was boring because I’d only ever been with him. It didn’t matter that my virginity was one of the things that initially drew him to me. He refused to explore anything in bed because he said his future wife shouldn’t“fuck like a whore.”

Apparently, the only women he was allowed to have fun with were the women he slept with behind my back while I pretended not to notice. Women more interesting in bed than I am. Women Mason’s probably used to as well—ones with confidence.

Ones that are the opposite of me.

“I’m going to head to bed.” I step back. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah.” He glances at the clock.

“I’ll be fine here if you want to go out. Sage added more cameras, and I can set the alarm.”

The last time I was in town, Mason was barely at the apartment. I know I’m cramping his routine.

He doesn’t make me feel guilty, but I can’t help it.

“It’s fine. I’m tired so I’m just going to take a shower and then hit the sack.”

“All right. Well, thanks for today. Goodnight, Mason.”

He nods, watching me as I walk away. I disappear down the hallway and make my way into my room. My hand pauses on the door, and I consider shutting it. But I still can’t bring myself to.

Mason makes me feel safe.

Grabbing a T-shirt and pajama shorts, I make my way into the bathroom to get ready for bed and change. Bythe time I’m out, the rest of the apartment is dark, and I hear the shower running.

I turn my head to the doorway, where I can’t see anything in the dark hall except for the faint glow streaming out of Mason’s room where his door is cracked. Like me, he’s been sleeping with it open. And even if there’s a wall between us, it’s comforting.

The water runs, and I close my eyes, trying not to remember how Mason felt today. The drop in his tone when he was pressed up against me. The feel of his chest on my back. A brush of his hips that gave me the faintest hint at just how large my giant roommate is.

I focus on the running water from his shower and the hum of his movements through the walls. On the sound of something else I can’t quite make out. A low rumble—a groan, maybe? And then I swear I hear my name.

Or I’m just imagining it.

It’s probably the pathetic, repressed part of me that wishes I could be good enough for Mason to think about me while he’s washing himself. While his soapy hands rove over his body.

Just the thought has me clenching my thighs. It has me painting inappropriate pictures in my mind.

His hard, tattooed muscles under the water. Rivers running down his back and chest. His hair darkened as it soaks through.

I can almost feel myself standing in there with him. Pressed close like we were in the kitchen. He’d lean in, and the soft scruff on his jaw would rub my cheek.

The ache is too much when I’ve spent years missing it.

My core burns, and I move my hand under the band of my shorts. My eyes are sealed shut as I run my fingers slowly over my underwear before slipping beneath them, finding myself soaked.

It’s been longer than I can remember since I’ve touched myself. It was back when I was still capable of feeling something besides numbness. But as I listen through the thin walls to Mason showering, I roll my fingers over my clit, and my entire body sparks.

It might be in my head, but I swear I hear him with the falling water. Heavy breathing and my name sputtering from his lips while he’s in there stroking himself. It might be wishful thinking, but I hold onto those sounds, even if they’re only in my mind.

And when he’s done, I imagine him stepping out of the water and wrapping a towel around his waist. Hearing me moan through the walls and not being able to help himself.

Mason would come to check on me and find me with my fingers buried between my legs.

But he wouldn’t laugh at me or be jealous of me bringing myself pleasure. His blue eyes would sear me as he stood in the doorway. He’d spread my thighs and show me exactly how much he appreciates what I’m doing to myself.

---