by Briar, Robin
Wait. It is working. Mason is doing to me what I was just doing to him!
My eyes snap open. I need to control myself, turn the tide against him, and chip away at his discipline. I reach for the upper shower crossbar and pull us away from the wall, my legs still wrapped around him.
The glass door is open. I duck under the bar and keep Mason inside me, supporting much of my own weight now. Now I can milk him with my legs.
I crank my hips in a circle and tighten every thigh muscle, savoring his length between my legs. Mason grabs my hips, no longer needing to hold me up, and begins to pummel me with abandon. His eyes go lazy with yearning. Good, that means I’m winning.
It’s hard to hold myself up on the bar, but it feels like Mason’s close. I just need to keep this up for a few more seconds. I can get him there. Mason is clearly enjoying the position. He’s breathing heavily, but I am too. My cheeks are full of air, and I breathe through the exhaustion of hanging here.
That’s when Mason notices my fatigue. His hands move under my back and take up my weight again. A good thing, too. I was about to fall.
Mason kneels on the bathroom floor, bringing me with him. It’s the same way we made love that first time on the embankment beside the river. The landscape I’ve been painting for him. The landscape he painted on me today.
Wait, did I just say made love?
Focus, Jess! You’re having a fling with a really hot guy, that’s all. A man who takes care of you when you’re painting. Who shops for groceries when they’re running low. Who paints your body with the focus of a Dutch Master. Who understands how to live with you without getting in your way.
A man who understands you on a fundamental level and trumps every other guy you have ever known.
Dammit!
Mason is looking up at me curiously. It’s as if he can hear the turmoil in my head. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thoughts, but they aren’t going anywhere. He’s cradling my entire ribcage in his large hands, which I love. The size of him compared to me.
I place my hands on his shoulders and loop my hips, stroking him with my nethers. There’s no use fighting it anymore. I’m not turning off his brain any more than he’s turning off mine. We both gave it a shot. We both failed.
He wants me to join him. To meet him halfway. Mason doesn’t want to fuck me. He wants to make love to me. And if I have to come clean… if I must be honest with myself… I want that too.
I stand up off his lap, turn around, and lower myself down again, sidesaddling him. Eager to have him back inside me again. I twist around and plant a kiss on his waiting lips.
I keep my eyes open, wanting to see how he will react, if he can sense the difference. The change in me. I am officially dropping my façade, Mason Boone. I am no longer a good-time girl. I am giving myself to you. All of me. Mind and body. Is this what you want?
My eyes make the point. It should be clear through my gaze, but Mason has to figure it out for himself. He has to get there on his own. Two can play this wordless game.
If Mason is going to talk to me without using words, then I’m going to do the same. I’m practiced at this form of communication. Fluent. Until now, however, I never met anybody who could speak it as well. This is when I find out whether Mason understands me like I understand him.
That’s when he leans over slightly, keeps his warm brown eyes open, and kisses me more tenderly than I ever thought possible.
A swarm of butterflies erupts in my belly.
Oh, Mason. Oh bloody hellions, Mason. Where did you come from?
He slips one arm under my legs and his other around my back, cradling me. Mason stands up, lifting me off him, and carries me to the standing shower. It feels like I’m flying, like we’re crossing a threshold.
Mason places me on my feet and reaches back to close the door behind us. The shadow is just big enough for the both of us.
He turns the handle and uses his body to shield me from the cold water until it warms up. Then he takes a bar of soap, spins it around in his hands, and kneels in front of me. Mason is going to clean the paint off my body. He’s going to wash me with the same attention to detail with which he painted me in the first place.
His hands run up and down my front, from my toes to my neck, scrubbing the paint wherever he finds it. He doesn’t scratch me once. His touch is gentle, but rigorous. Every fleck of paint is removed. It’s more like a massage than a cleaning, one that is sorely needed. I didn’t realize how much until now.
Mason finds all the places where my body craves the attention of his hands. No prompting from me whatsoever. I don’t want this scrubbing to end, and lucky for me, for the longest time it doesn’t feel like it ever will.
I lose track of time, and Mason is thorough. I eventually have to brace myself, holding on to the shower neck for support until he finishes me off.
My face is last. He uses the shower sponge and is almost unbearably tender. He washes the creases of my nostrils, the hollow under my lips, the space behind my ears. Then he takes the showerhead and rinses me off, stroking my brunette curls straight.
He douses my flesh until nothing but pink skin remains. The shallow basin of the shower is a pool of color beneath our feet. I’m kind of sad it’s over, but glad I took a picture.
Mason hangs up the showerhead and turns back to me. He is no longer the painter. I am no longer a canvas. It’s just the two of us alone in the shower.
That’s when, without warning, his hand goes straight to my neck and he pins me against the shower wall.
“I tried, Jess,” he says in a strained growl. “I tried to keep him at bay.”
Mason is not quite choking me, but his strength is monstrous. His other hand grabs my breast roughly. Is this the same man I spent the past week getting to know? The kindness of that man is nowhere to be seen. I stand before a muscular stranger instead, naked and at his mercy.
His mouth falls to the breast in his hand, suckling my nipple. He flicks it with his tongue until it becomes erect, then takes the flesh between his teeth and pulls. I gasp at the pain and pleasure commingling. Mason is all surprises today.
His fingers deftly slip between my legs and press for more access. It’s not hard to find. I’m already aroused from his ministrations, and instantly accept him. His digits push against the roof of my cavern, draw back against the button, and then push over and over again.
Mason is eager now—impatient, even. Like a man stepping out of the desert. This feels like starvation being sated.
Mason spins my body around and pushes me up against the shower wall. He grabs both wrists and raises them above my head, holding them in one of his meaty hands. I knew he was strong, but I didn’t know how strong until this moment. I couldn’t break loose if I tried, but I don’t. I’m still too surprised by what’s going on.
Mason slaps his length against my ass, bouncing himself against my backside. Exciting my flesh. Getting me ready for what comes next.
He slides his member until the head peeks out between my legs. The veins are more distended with blood than I’ve ever seen. This is exciting for him in an entirely new way. Not just that, but he’s showing off, pleased with how aroused he is.
Mason wants me to know that he’s in complete control of my body. That I’m his to command. He pulls his appendage back from between my legs and ploughs himself up my fitted sheath, except it’s a not a perfect fit anymore.
My eyes bolt open. Mason was already a snug before, but this… this is unprecedented. Not just for him, but for me too. His width actually forces my legs apart. My nethers can barely accommodate him. Mason is so much bigger than before.
It doesn’t slow Mason down in the least. His rhythm is energized and wild. His tight ballsac slaps up against me from behind. I realize now that Mason was warning me about this. The dark secret he keeps bottled up. The feral side of his personality.
I’m seeing it for the first time now.
Suddenly my hands are free. Mason wheels me around by
the hips until my face is pressed against the shower door. I have no choice but to brace myself against the glass. The shower pelts my back as the water runs down between us. Fortunately, I’m not even close to drying out yet. My girl has every intention of making sure I’m kept moist and wet.
Mason slams against the back of my cavern. The little shocks I used to feel when he did that are more like bolts of lightning now. My breath can’t keep up with him. My nethers, however, have other ideas.
A shock wave is growing within me. It ripples outward across the surface of my freshly scrubbed skin. Not only am I going to come all over Mason’s impossibly large imposition, but it’s going to feel incredible.
My face flushes, but he can’t see that. Mason has no way of knowing if I am actually aroused or frightened by his dark secret. Not that it would matter to him either way right now.
The eruption bursts out of me unbidden. I shriek like a banshee as the orgasm rips through my body. There’s no choice in the matter, no ability to hold back. Mason is taking me by force and I’m loving it.
That’s when the vision falls on me.
My world of steam and water resolves to perfect diamond clarity. I am looking through the shower glass, out the bathroom door, into my bedroom, at the canvas that I have been working on for the past week.
There, in the place where I haven’t painted anything yet, where I had just decided to add a new detail in the foreground, is the deer, already completed.
Then, emerging out of the forest in the background, where the embankment overlooks the river, a wolf stalks into view.
I get it. This is all my doing. I tempted this loner into my life, like a maiden eager to shed her peasant dress.
I’m beginning to suspect that there’s more to Mason than meets the eye, but for right now, I intend to enjoy every moment.
7. Winding of the Crank
Growling during sex is such a turn-on. It’s always been a trigger for me, the primal sound of a man’s lust. Guttural. Rising up from deep within him, especially when he releases. The way he inflates the moment beforehand, hardening to powerful rigidity, right before he throbs out of himself in pulsing waves. Launching himself inside me.
The growl lets me know he’s satisfied. It’s the perfect barometer for pleasure. First, it lets me know that he’s in touch with his baser nature. Second, that he’s pleased with his conquest. That I’m wanted. All of which is confirmed by how firm and unbending he becomes. I savor that moment, that animalistic sound, especially when he’s already serviced my pleasure. And Mason has most definitely done that.
Yet, until now, I’ve been mistaken. I thought I knew what it meant to hear a man growl. Those other men in my life? They seem more like purring kittens compared to what I’m hearing now. Mason’s growl is ragged and doesn’t stop. Kind of like an idling chainsaw, but growing louder the more aroused he becomes. It doesn’t sound human, or at least it’s not a growl a person should be able to make. Not without tearing their vocal cords.
That’s how Mason sounds right now, leaning over me from behind. His mouth is directly beside my ear, amplifying the volume as he takes ownership of me. I can’t see his face, but I can tell his teeth are clenched.
I reach back with one hand, still bracing myself against the glass shower door, and stroke his flank encouragingly. I grab the back of his leg and pull him into me a little further. Let him know that I want this. That he can drive even harder if he likes. Mason does, parting my lips with renewed vigor.
Most men would have faltered by now and softened, which is perfectly normal and even expected. Not this time. Mason is a different man. No. Man isn’t the right word anymore. He’s a rutting animal. He’s having his way with my body, bending me over like a woman. Keeping me in this position until he’s finished.
A hand reaches into my hair and clenches into a fist. Mason pulls my head back, causing me to gasp out loud, but that’s not all. I erupt again. My body clearly wants this, craves the domination, as the orgasm unexpectedly rips through me. Followed by, of course, the inevitable vision that comes with my release.
It’s more lucid this time, but not visual. In fact, it’s not really a vision per se. It’s more… tactile. Mason doesn’t feel like himself anymore. His muscles ripple in my hand. The hair on his leg stops being soft and becomes coarse. It even seems to grow beneath my hand, but that’s impossible. I can’t confirm it by looking. My eyes are clenched shut.
My release continues without stopping. If I had any difficulty taking Mason in his engorged state before, I don’t anymore. I’ve stretched around him as he keeps thrusting, slapping against the back of my legs.
The aftershocks of Mason’s release haven’t stopped either. I can feel him spurting out of himself inside me, making sure I get every last drop. I love him for staking his claim on me. Marking my body as his property and ruining me for anybody else.
Mason pulls me off the glass door and takes us both backward against the shower wall. He pulls my body against his chest, still inside of me from behind, and braces his feet against the bottom of the basin, lowering his height so I can stand naturally as he wraps his arms around me.
My orgasm has stilled, but not the rough feeling of his arms. It’s hard to see clearly with the shower water in my eyes, but his forearms seem darker than before. Hairier. No, I can see that I’m wrong. It’s gone a moment later, no doubt remnants of my orgasmic vision. Either that, or Mason is transforming before my eyes, which is ridiculous.
He slumps down to the shower floor and takes me with him. We crumple into each other, spent, as Mason slips out of me. I turn into his body and lean against his chest, my head against his tattoo.
I can hear his heart is pounding as Mason keeps his arms around me, muscles still engaged. He’s not letting go, but I don’t want him to. This is exactly where I want to be, motionless with him under the warm water.
“Jess, that was—”
“Amazing,” I interrupt.
“No, I mean… I might have caught you off guard. I wasn’t my… usual self.”
“Mason, I don’t mind. It surprised me, but I loved it, in case you couldn’t tell.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. That was exactly what I wanted. Needed.”
“I’m so glad to hear you say that. I’ve been holding back. I wasn’t sure how you would react to… that side of me.”
I look up at Mason and stroke the side of his face.
“If that’s the dark side you’ve been warning me about, you can stop worrying. Let it out anytime. This girl doesn’t frighten easily.”
I want to assure Mason that everything’s all right. I stretch up to kiss him and then slump back on his embrace. We stay there until the warm water runs out and then Mason dries me off with a towel. He’s so attentive, reverential, even, gently dabbing all the water off my body.
“I’ve never met anybody like you before, Jess. Somebody who wasn’t put off by how I can get in the moment.”
This was a huge deal for Mason. More than I first realized. It makes me wonder about his past for the first time. Perhaps I should have thought about that sooner, but I’m thinking about it now. This feral side of his personality. How has he been received before? We all have pasts.
“Remember when I told you that I wouldn’t judge your secrets if you didn’t judge mine? I meant it.”
I kiss him again. I can’t seem to stop doing that now. His face turns introspective.
“It’s just… I’m used to being circumspect about this side of who I am,” Mason admits. “It’s never been received so… enthusiastically before. I can’t tell you how exciting that is for me.”
“Oh, I think you showed me.”
That actually makes Mason blush. He really isn’t used to cutting loose and being accepted at the same time.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ve never had a guy go feral on me like that before. Not somebody I care about, at any rate. It’s exciting for me too. Exhausting, but exciting.
”
Mason gathers me up in his arms. He lifts me off the ground into a kiss. I barely have enough time to throw an arm around his shoulder to steady myself.
He’s overcome. I am too. Mason keeps kissing me, elated and passionate, as he keeps me lifted off the ground. I can feel him growing rigid again through the towel he wrapped around his waist.
Gods, he can already go again. So can I, to be honest, but I have to work today. Putting myself together in time is going to be a small miracle.
Mason comes up for air first. Flush with blood and heady with emotion.
“I care about you too.”
I reach out and gently caress his ear. I don’t want this moment to end, but I’m needed elsewhere.
“I’m glad the feeling is mutual, but I’m going to need your help now. Especially if I’m going to make work on time.”
“Of course. Name it. Anything.”
Guys can be so accommodating after getting what they want. Still, there’s a hint of disappointment in his voice. He wants a longer morning with me, and I feel the same way.
“Find me some clean clothes? Anything will do. I can’t afford to be fussy at this point.”
Mason puts me together in record time. I paint my face and do my hair in the mirror as he dresses me. He even finds the time to throw a peanut butter and jam sandwich together, along with a juice and fresh apple, all inside a paper bag.
Mason carries my bicycle downstairs as I tie my shoelaces, and then he sees me off at the door, wearing a towel and little else. I can get used to being treated this way.
“Hold that pose until I get home,” I tell him.
“I’ll do my best.”
I pedal like a demon to work. I took the job to pass the time, but it’s still important to me that I can be counted on. The craft studio isn’t far, but distant enough that I have to hustle to get there on time. When I round the last corner, Sylvia is already there ahead of me. She’s unlocking the door, but stops when she sees me pull up.
