Page 34 of Mason

The drip drip drip of the bathroom tap jogs me out of sleep. For the second morning in a row, I find myself in a strange bed, disoriented. It takes me a second to get my bearings, and then I catch Mason’s scent on the sheets and everything comes rushing back in a delirious wave of content.

I roll over to face the bathroom, watching the shadows that dance on the carpet from the bathroom light, imagining Mason showering, shaving, getting that muscular, lean body ready for the day. A soft purr hums from my throat.

Yeah, I could so get used to this.

The tap twists on full force, stops, and seconds later, Mason emerges from the bathroom, flicking off the light as he steps into the room. I blink, adjusting my eyes to morning’s still hazy natural light.

Mason sets a coffee cup on the dresser and continues getting dressed.

I clear my throat.

It must not be loud enough, because he keeps on as if I’m not in the room. Socks. Dress shirt. Blazer. No tie. I’ve actually never seen Mason wear a tie—not in pictures or in person—which seems ironic for a guy who seems to like tying people up.

My pussy clenches with the memory, still achy and swollen from our late night of passionate lovemaking.

I cough gently, and rustle the sheets for extra noise.

Mason lifts his coffee and takes a sip, finally turning to acknowledge me. His expression is cool, almost nonchalant. I could be a stranger in his bed.

I force a smile. “I hope there’s more coffee where that came from.” I reach up and out of the covers, letting the sheets fall to expose my breasts. Mason barely gives them a second glance. What the hell?

“Full pot in the kitchen.”

His voice is cold enough to give me a chill. Too stunned to speak, I sit upright and tuck my feet under my buttocks, legs folded into a pretzel. Mason checks his reflection in the mirror, adjusts the collar of his black golf shirt, and tightens his belt. The black slacks hug tight to his ass. I inadvertently lick my lips.

“Big meeting today?”

“The partners are back from Hawaii, and we’ll have some catch-up work to do,” he says. I could almost swear there’s a thread of resentment in his voice. “I’ll need the day to get back up to speed.”

I shift on the mattress. “I should come in, then?”

Mason shakes his head. “Take the day off. They’re closed meetings, so I won’t have time to train you on anything else. Go home. Get your bearings. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning.”

He doesn’t say it, but I can sense he can’t wait for me to be gone. The rejection stings. I try to push back my emotions, but his seismic attitude shift doesn’t make sense. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it.

Mason hasn’t been on an even keel for one day since we met—from stormy to sensual, from rough to gentle, and all emotions in-between. I’ve ridden roller coasters with less stomach-clenching twists. What if it’s just in his DNA? It’s silly to make it personal, right?

“Tomorrow then?”

Mason blinks, then clears his throat. “Yes. 8 a.m. sharp.” He waves in the direction of the bathroom. “There are fresh towels under the sink. The clothes I bought for the trip are in the suitcase at the foyer. Don’t worry about locking up. I can arm the system from the office. My driver will ensure you get home safely.”

His voice conveys as much enthusiasm as someone reading off a grocery list.

My chest tightens. “Thank you.”

He nods.

And then leaves, without so much as a soft peck on the cheek goodbye.

* * *

What. The Hell. Was that?

Mason’s strange behavior haunts me in the long cab ride from his penthouse suite in Upstate New York to my dingy apartment outside of Manhattan. I’d declined a ride with Mason’s driver, choosing instead to forge my independence thanks to the swift refund from the airline after we opted to take the corporate jet. Mason will be annoyed.

Serves him right for the way he sloughed me off this morning. As if he hadn’t spent the night ravaging my body. Every inch of my skin tingles from his touch. When I close my eyes, I see his lean, muscular form poised over me, plunging his rigid cock into my cleft. Even now, my pussy clenches, aching and raw, but still ready for more.

The taxi driver dumps at the curb down the street thanks to a moving van that’s blocking access to the sidewalk in front of my complex. Technically, my community is transient, and my building perhaps the poster child. I am, officially, the longest standing resident. I’m not surprised to see another tenant jumping ship—the biggest mystery will be to determine who’s going first: old man Big George from the third floor, or heavy metal Craig.