Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)
Can he see me here in the dark?
Shit.
My eyes follow him as he walks into the kitchen. The only thing he's wearing is his navy-blue boxer shorts. His dark hair has messy, loose waves on top. His chest is broad, his body is…
My heart begins to beat faster. What am I doing? I shouldn’t be standing here in the dark, watching him like a creep, but for some reason I can’t make myself look away.
He goes to stand by the kitchen counter, his back is to me as he pours himself another glass of red. He lifts it to his lips slowly and my eyes run over his body.
I push myself against the wall harder.
He walks over to the fridge and takes off the photo of me.
What?
He leans his ass on the counter as he studies it.
What is he doing?
I feel like I can’t breathe.
He slowly puts his hand down the front of his boxer shorts, and then he seems to stroke himself a few times.
My eyes widen.
What the fuck?
He puts his glass of wine on the counter and turns the main light off, leaving only a lamp to light the room.
With my picture in his hand, he disappears up the hall.
What the hell was that?
I think Mr. Masters just went up to his bedroom to jerk off to my photo.
Oh.
My.
God.
Knock, knock.
My eyes are closed, but I frown and try to ignore the noise.
I hear it again. Tap, tap.
What is that? I roll towards the door and I see it slowly begin to open.
My eyes widen, and I sit up quickly.
Mr. Masters comes into view. “I’m so sorry to bother you, Miss Brielle,” he whispers. He smells like he’s freshly showered, and he’s wearing an immaculate suit. “I’m looking for Samuel.” His gaze roams down to my breasts hanging loosely in my nightdress, and then he snaps his eyes back up to my face, as if he’s horrified at what he just did.
“Where is he?” I frown. “Is he missing?”
“There he is,” he whispers as he gestures to the lounger.
I look over to see Samuel curled up with his teddy in the diluted light of the room, My mouth falls open. “Oh no, what’s wrong?” I whisper. Did he need me and I slept through the whole thing?