So expensive.
He’s a big man, so everything is probably larger and scaled up than what I’m used to, but nothing feels cold. None of his things or any part of this whole place feels sterile or empty, although there is an awful lot of space.
I slept naked, which isn’t like me at all, and before he finds me I want to cover up. The whole morning after and it being daylight now and all.
I was like an animal in heat last night, but this morning after seeing myself in the full length mirror in his bathroom and bedroom?
I’m covering up.
I find a robe, which is like twenty sizes too big, so I settle for the shirt Mason wore last night and have a little bit of a snoop (not too much though), I find a pair of boxers which I’m ashamed to say actually fit me. A little too snug, I might add, but anything of Mason’s is fine by me.
The penthouse seems to have a series of rooms that must be where Mason actually spends his spare time, with the rest I dunno. It’s like a huge glass observatory, filled with huge plants, staircases leading who knows where and a whole foyer of elevators.
A huge staircase leads up to what looks like a pool area, not somewhere I see myself right now, so I stick to the spaces that feel like home.
After a few minutes of getting lost and finding my way again, I hear his familiar, deep baritone voice.
A large pair of oak doors open out onto a familiar space, his office. And I can see him sitting on the edge of his desk in a robe, phone in his hand, with a laptop open.
I smell coffee from somewhere, but I don’t see any.
I also notice how hungry I am, but I really don’t want to interrupt.
Too late.
As soon as Mason sees me, he checks his watch and curses, he literally hangs up on whoever he was talking to, mumbling just a word or two beforehand and then he’s striding over to me in three long steps, his arms open as he gives me a full body good morning hug and then one of his amazing kisses.
“I’m sorry,” he says, rubbing my back, “Old man habits. I’m an early riser and I really have nothing else to do except this,” he says, motioning around his office.
I look up at him with a ‘what about me?’ look, but he just smiles.
“I did kiss you in your sleep this morning, but I couldn’t lay there with you moaning like that. Not without being unaccountable for my actions. Remember, you said to take it slow,” he says knowingly.
Did I?
I guess I did.
Dammit!
“C’mon, let’s grab some breakfast. I’m starving.”
I watch as he moves back into his penthouse, his suite, whatever you call it.
I watch his fine butt against the fabric of his robe, and the muscles in his thick legs flex like Atlas as he performs the simple act of walking.
I feel like I’m waddling by comparison, but can’t help noticing something on his laptop screen out of the corner of my eyes.
A map of what looks like my neighborhood. I recognize the main streets and the park. It’s highlighted in red.
I shrug, letting my eyes cast back to his perfect behind and hurry to catch up as he turns to look back, holding his hand out.
He closes the doors behind us. “No more work today. I promise,” he says, and kisses me on the lips, making me shiver like a leaf and forget about anything that isn’t Mason Thorne, or breakfast or coffee.
“Nice shirt,” he says, making me blush until I see the effect it’s having on him through his robe, which gets pushed open by his own thick arousal.
It’s almost level with my chest, that’s how much he towers over me and he moves to tuck himself back in.
“Sorry,” he murmurs bashfully, “but you do have a certain effect on me,” he reminds me, and I have to fight my instincts to fish it out of his robe again, to take him in my mouth, to put him everywhere else I want…
So what’s stopping you?
I wish I knew the answer.
Here’s god’s gift to women and he’s raring to go, and I’m still acting like an uptight nun for some reason.
“We can take it slow,” Mason adds, reading my thoughts and kissing the top of my head.
With my fingers curled around his, he leads me through to the kitchen, overlooking the whole city with a view that stretches out to the ocean, and beyond.
I let go of him just long enough to go all the way over to the huge windows that stretch as high as the ceiling.
“It’s just beautiful. Do you ever get tired of looking at it?” I ask, looking over to see him scanning my body from behind.
“Never,” he admits, not even taking his eyes off me and I gasp aloud, seeing just how hard he really is under that robe, and noting the effect he’s having on me.
Mason sits me down at a table by the window, asking me if it’s okay or if I’d prefer the stools by the island.
As long as I get to eat and look at this man, I don’t mind where I sit.
I do gravitate towards the island though, I don’t want him seeing me sitting in full sunlight.
I notice a spread of newspapers across the counter, today’s papers, with headlines about last night’s record breaking auction.
“Another old habit I’m afraid,” he admits, “I like the feel and the look of newspapers. I don’t like staring at screens all day.
The headlines are a mix of kind and downright cruel. I skim past them lightly, hoping not to see my name in print, which oddly enough, I feel a little disappointed when I don’t.
“I made sure you were kept out of it,” he says over his shoulder before holding up two kinds of milk, making me shrug.
“How would you…?” I start to say,
