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What? No!
No, no.
I squeeze my eyes closed, realizing all too fast it wasn’t the best decision, as now, hidden in the darkness, desires too daunting in the light come to life, and the most sinfully surprising images flash through my mind.
Mason with his strong shoulders pressed against the wall, eyes closed, and those lush lips parted just enough for his tongue to taste the air. His abs taut and hips thrust outward, those long, lean fingers wrapped around himself as he?—
“Payton…”
My eyes fly open, every muscle in my body freezing.
Oh my god, he said my name. He’s pleasuring himself, and he said my name, and there’s a volcano erupting in my stomach. My hand shoots out to grip the wall, my toes curling into the carpet beneath my feet.
“You can come in.”
My back goes straight, my mouth agape. I open and close it several times, but all that comes out is “Uh…”
Come in? While he’s?—
“I could use the help.”
Oh. My.God.
He wants me to help?
A million hummingbirds take flight in my abdomen, and I swear my knees start to shake.
Wait. What’s going on with me right now?
“I could really use a shower,” he rasps.
Just like that, my mouth clamps closed.
Shower.
Shower?
Hesitantly, I mean with the bare minimum of movement, I peek my upper body around the corner, too afraid to look inside but rather finding him in the mirror instead.
My frown is instant.
Mason does have his back against the wall, and his headisresting against it, but his good hand is latched on to the clasp of his sling, the shirt he wore to bed tangled all around it.
His sweats are not down, and his dick is, well, most definitelynothard and in his hands.
So he wasn’t pleasuring himself to thoughts of me?
I feel the scowl before I know it’s coming, and then I flush all over.
Why is there a bitter taste in my mouth all of a sudden?
I clear my throat and slip inside. Mason instantly looks away, his cheeks tinged the slightest bit pink, and I realize he’s embarrassed.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about this man, it’s that he hates feeling helpless, and he’s not a fan of being the one waited on, though he seems to love doting on me.
Even the day I met him, he filled my plate high with breakfast, breaking down the proteins and carbs and all this other crap the dedicated athlete knows all about.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was well aware carbs were in just about everything thanks to my mother’s obsession with my weight or that I wouldn’t be able to finish a quarter of what he served me without getting sick to my stomach.
