Restraint (Mason Family 1)

My hackles are raised.

Even if he doesn’t want me now that I’ve cried like a baby in front of him, he could be a gentleman and not lead me on.

Dressed, undressed—it’s all fine.

Damn you.

“Will do.” I press my lips together. “Anything else I need to know?”

He presses his lips together too. I think his is to hide a smile and not from annoyance. It only irritates me further.

“Nope. I think that’s it,” he says. “Enjoy.”

And with that, he slides out of the room.

I wait until I see him leave the bedroom before I turn back toward the sauna.

The tension in my body proves my need for the tool in front of me. But it’s the same tension that almost has me walking out and into the guest bedroom and locking the door behind me.

“How can one man be so frustrating?” I whisper as I slip out of my T-shirt.

I take off my panties and leave them lying on top of my shirt on the floor. If he comes back inside and sees them—oh, well. It’s not like it’s a new threshold for us.

It’s more like one I’d like to revisit.

The sauna is already hot when I enter. It smells faintly of a distinct type of wood. I locate the rocks in the corner and the little bucket Holt mentioned. I ladle a bit of water over them before sticking the oversized spoon through the door handle.

I take a towel off a rack by the door and place it on the lower of the two benches. I’m thankful I didn’t drink anything but water at our little pizza party because the heat of the room is enough to make me lightheaded on its own.

I sit on the towel and breathe in the thick air. My skin is damp. Beads of sweat dot my body.

Next to the rack of towels is a thin, rectangular window. Through it, I can see the vanity in the bathroom and the mirrors hanging above it.

I imagine Holt lying on the bed in the other room. He’s probably grinning smugly, knowing I’m in here hot and naked and wishing he was with me.

He wants me too. I’m certain. I can see it when he looks at me. I can feel it in the zing of his touch and how his gaze flips to mine as if to ask if I felt it too.

I can hear it in his voice when he speaks and see it, too, in his actions.

Except that he hasn’t tried to sleep with me since the night at Picante.

I sigh.

I appreciate the conversations we’ve had and the simplicity of being with him. And how he was so kind and gentle with me tonight as I told him about the night with the glass—something I’ve never told anyone except my therapist. I love all of that. I do.

But I’d also like to be touched.

“I guess I’ll have to do that myself,” I say out loud.

My body already hums from the events of the night—from being in Holt’s midst and getting slight touches here and there. It’s maddening that he works me up with only the vaguest brush of his hand, but here I am.

I stretch my legs out in front of me. Droplets of sweat roll down my torso. Some course off my back and land on the towel; others travel all the way down my legs.

My core burns and not just from the heat.

The timer reads that I have seven more minutes to go. I could wait and take care of myself when I get back to my bedroom … or I could do it now.

My heart thunders in my chest at the prospect of getting myself off inside Holt’s sauna.

I bite my lip and bring my hands to my stomach. I part my legs. My hands slide down my abdomen, my brain conjuring up memories of what Holt’s hands felt like on my skin on the balcony.

I pant as my fingers hit the apex of my thighs, and my head falls back.

My back arches as my fingers hit the swollen bud that’s begged for relief all evening. I gasp as I rub it with my fingertip and feel my body respond.

“Dammit,” I whisper.

I take a deep breath and raise my head to check the timer again.

I freeze.

Despite the raging inferno both inside the sauna and my body, a flood of shock hits my veins in a quick, unanticipated dump.

Holt is standing in front of the window. He’s watching me with hooded eyes and a grin that I’m not sure how to read.

He jiggles the door handle.

I don’t move my body … nor do I move my hand.

The temperature increases swiftly, but I think it’s more from his heated gaze than the thermostat.

I’m not sure what to do.

He jiggles the handle again. This time, though, it’s quicker. More frantic. And I realize I have him in the position he’s had me in for days.