<b>Chapter </b><b>59 </b>
Mason
I’m stunned for a few seconds, my eyes blink rapidly as I gather my bearings. She’s kissing me, she’s actually kissing met
I closed my eyes and leaned in further for the kiss; I held her face gently, and my other free hand gently caressed her slender body
My heart is thumping rapidly in my chest, blood flowing in a specific direction, exactly where I want it to go.
Suddenly, I don’t care about the food anymore or the cut with the knife on my finger; I don’t care about anything happening right now or anything that will happen..
All that mattered was this moment; she was in my arms, holding me, kissing me, and slowly reaching up to her breasts. I squeeze them firmly, wanting to rip off her nightwear and take her down there and then.
She grabs my hand firmly, pulls <b>away </b>from me, and looks me squarely in the face.
I
I
“No, no, no. My mind reels back in confusion, ‘Was I too intense for her? Did I grope her too hard? Was I disrespectful? Why did she stop? I mean, she’s the one that started it, so why stop?”
I feel an aching in between my trousers, poking out and touching her between the thighs. She smiles at me, then looks down, then back up at me with a smirk.
She pushed me slightly away.
“There, does that satisfy your curiosity?” She asks me with a sly expression on her face.
I am lost in confusion and want. I want her so badly, I try to reach out again; I feel bold and more confident; I can take her, I can kiss her again, and I’m sure she will let me.
But she scuttles away from me, ducking under my hand and walking away slowly, her hips swaying slowly as she looks back at me
with a smile.
“She’s ying with me,” I whisper to myself. But I don’t feel bad, it hurts but I don’t feel bad. Just an overwhelming amount of regret and disdain for myself
“Where are you going?” I asked her, trying to get a hold of myself. I can’t let her control me like this like I’m a rabid dog.
I feel myself losing my control over her. She wasn’t like this before, not before the marriage, not during the marriage, but these five
years…
“I remember being told that I’d be cooking a meal, you don’t expect me to cook just because you have a cut on your finger, right?”
She pauses and looks at me, and <b>a </b>sigh of disappointment escapes her lips. Suddenly, I feel the need to prove her wrong, to make her feel right, to hold on to my promise.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to cook. I just have…” My voice stops in my throat. I’m confused about what to say and how to say what want to say, but she smiles at me regardless.
“Questions?” She eyes me.
“We can discuss whatever happened after we’re done with dinner. Don’t you think, Mr. Woods?” She nods at the kitch.id walks
<b>back </b>to the dining room.
Isigh at myself, feeling the strain and exhaustion weigh in on me.
But I pick myself back up, look at my finger; it doesn’t bleed anymore, although it aches a little, but it isn’t anything that cont
handle.
fold my fists in a tight stump and walk after her.
Soon, the atmosphere bes very tense; she just sits on the table behind me, looking around and ying with her <b>hair</b>, not doing anything in particr, but still, I can barely take my eyes off her.
She doesn’t look like she notices what I’m doing or even that I’ve been staring at her in quick nces,
Looking at her reminds me of a proud kitten licking itself clean; the confidence, dexterity, allure, and sensuality are all overwhelming.
I look back at the dish and exhale slowly. I decided to make her pasta with tomato sauce, a little spinach, and meatballs. Hopefully, it will be to her taste.
Quickly, I make the meatballs by adding salt and pepper, then I boil the paste, which gets done very quickly.
I steam the tomatoes and blend them, then add as many spices that I think she would <b>be </b>okay with; I vaguely try to remember her tastes from <b>five </b>years ago.
I try my best to avoid looking at her; if I do, I might ruin the entire dish, but soon enough.
When I’m done with the dish, I look back at her and smile. She seems pleased with it; it’s her favourite, as far as I can remember<b>. </b>
I make two servings, one for me and the other for her, then bring them to the table.
She looks at me carefully as I ce the dish in front of her; she doesn’t look at the <b>food </b>but rather at me intensely.
“What?” task, suddenly feeling self–conscious; she shakes her head and says, “It smells delicious…” then she looks away from me and takes up her spoon.
I turn away from her immediately, trying my best to hold my blush in…
It certainly wasn’t the first time that I’d beenplimented on my cooking, buting from her, it felt… Different.
Soon enough, I joined her at the table<b>, </b><b>and </b>we ate together in silence<b>, </b>not saying a single word to each other, although I would have preferred to <b>make </b><b>some </b><b>small </b>talk <b>between </b><b>us</b><b>, </b>like how we did all <b>those </b>years <b>back</b><b>. </b>
I watch her calmly as she eats. She’s almost done with her <b>food</b>.
Everything about her seemed so perfect her etiquette, the <b>way </b>she lifted the fork to her lips, her poise, her confidence; it was all too much; I couldn’t help but <b>stare </b>at her.
“You’re staring too much!” She said abruptly, I looked away in shame, but she stood up and dropped her tes in the kitchen, not washing them.
She would <b>have </b>done that five years ago, but now<b>? </b>
She walks up behind me, her fingers caressing my shoulders, it sends a shiver down my spine.
<b>2/3 </b>
<b>I’m </b>shocked <b>and </b>surprised; her hands slip into my shirt, caressing my nipples underneath <b>look </b>up at her in shock, burthe
at me
“I said we’d talk after dinner, you aren’t done with dinner!”
<b>She </b>finishes, and with that, she walks back upstairs, back to the room. I watch her go in silence, and when she’s gone, flookatm te of food.
Never have I eaten so fast in my life.
宙