Chapter Three

“I didn’t realize I needed to babysit you, Mason.”

Eliza slammed the desk drawer harder than she intended, sending a stack of notebooks skidding sideways. She snatched them back into place, not looking at him.

Mason raised his hands in mock surrender. “Whoa. Okay. Where’s this coming from?”

“You tell me,” she said, turning on him. “I spent the afternoon fielding veiled insults and passive-aggressive commentary while you were busy playing taste-tester to every woman in the street.”

He sighed and set down the extension cord he’d been wrestling with. “They were only being friendly.”

“No, Mason. They were being possessive. They touched you like you already belonged to them.”

“That’s a stretch.”

“You let them feed you.”

“I was being polite.”

Eliza crossed her arms, the humid atmosphere of the cluttered studio pressing in like a physical presence. “Tammy tried to sign me up for something called the Country Women’s Council. Kept going on about how good it would be for me and how they meet every Thursday without fail,” she said, mimicking Tammy’s saccharine drawl. “What even is that? A quilting cult?”

Mason sighed. “You’re being dramatic.”

She turned away, jaw clenched.

“You don’t feel it,” Eliza muttered. “This place... Something’s wrong here.”

He came up behind her, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist. She didn’t lean into him.

“Because the neighbours cooked us pie and threw a party?”

“Because everything feels staged. Like we’re walking through a perfectly arranged set. Too many smiles. Too much coordination. It’s not natural.” She pulled away from him, needing distance. “And the men—did you even notice them?”

Mason tilted his head. “Not really. They kept to themselves.”

“Exactly. I tried to talk to one. He just… grinned. Didn’t even greet me, Mason. I asked his name; Henry. I asked what he did for work; business. Did he care to elaborate? Nope. I joked about what big teeth he has, and he didn’t even blink. It was like trying to converse with a brick wall.”

Mason ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “Okay, but I’m not responsible for our neighbours’ lack of social graces.”

“I’m not asking you to be. I’m asking you to take this seriously.” Her voice cracked, anger faltering into something more fragile. “I felt abandoned today because you weren’t there for me.”

His expression softened. “Eliza…”

Mason gently spun her in his arms. She let him take her hands, but didn’t relax.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel that way,” he said. “But babe, you know I’m not going anywhere. I love you. I’m not about to be lured away by a few bored housewives with fancy hair and a baking fetish.”

She huffed out a bitter laugh. “You looked like you were enjoying the attention.”

“Hey, I’m a guy. My ego’s not bulletproof. Their flattery landed.” He cupped her face, brushing his thumbs along her cheekbones. “But you’re the one I came here with. It’s you I’m building this life with.”

The heat between them cooled slightly, the tension ebbing from her muscles. She let her forehead rest against his chest.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” she murmured.

“I know.”

“I just… I don’t trust this place.”

“Then we’ll trust each other,” Mason said. “Deal?”

She nodded slowly, allowing herself to melt into him, but her gaze drifted to the window, where the lake shimmered beyond the trees. The studio smelled of cardboard and dust, of new beginnings. But in her gut, Eliza still felt uneasy.

Like they were pieces in a game, the rules of which she couldn’t comprehend.

She didn’t speak that thought aloud. Mason needed his optimism. He needed to believe they’d made the right choice.

Instead, she lifted her face and kissed him. Eager to cleanse any thoughts of other women from his recent memory. Impatient to mark her territory again. Earnest longing and the stuffy heat kindled the spark that always preceded their lovemaking.

He groaned when she began unbuttoning his flannel, thirsty to reconnect with the firm flesh beneath.

Mason gasped into their kiss when Eliza yanked his shirt open. His wife rarely played the aggressor in the bedroom.

Even on their honeymoon–an adventurous week in Cozumel, spent snorkeling the reef and exploring Mayan ruins–she’d seemed more taken by the local attractions than their after-dark activities.

Eliza wasn’t a **** sexual partner by any means. Once she got going, Mason couldn’t wish for a more enthusiastic lover. But it usually took more effort on his part to crank her engine.

This surge of blazing passion was quite out of character.

“Uh, love? Are you okay?” He asked as she tugged at his belt. “Not that I mind, but we could retire to a more comfortable–urk!”

In a heroic feat of dexterity, she tore the buckle free and whipped his jeans open in a single fluid motion.

“I need this.” Eliza slipped a small hand into his boxers, mewling when she found his unfurling member. “And I think you need it too.”

Truthfully, Mason was still half-erect from their female neighbours’ flirtations. He was only mortal. So many gorgeous southern belles doting on him hand and foot, pressing their fascinating figures against him, hanging on his every word, had triggered a physiological reaction.

Banishing the treacherous thoughts, he focused on Eliza. His wife. The woman he loved. The feisty pixie who’d stolen his heart and presently held his hardening prick in her pumping grip.

“Does somebody want something?” Mason growled, pulling her into another tongue-fueled kiss. She never stopped stroking his growing length, even as he trapped her tinier form in a fearsome embrace. “They might still be outside, tidying up after the surprise party. What if they hear us?”

“Let them listen.” Eliza moaned, “I want the whole street to know you’re spoken for. My man. They can’t have you.”

She sounded breathless, yet her actions were insistent. Urgent in a way he’d never experienced before.

Mason liked it, especially when she discarded the Disney t-shirt and sank to her knees.

Eliza generally abstained from bras while at home. Her modest breasts sat high and perky, wonderfully shaped yet not large enough to need constant support. They were firm palmfuls, capped by raspberry nipples he could play with for days.

“Oh, love. You’re going to–?”

“Yes. Now, stand there and let me do this for you.” Her jade eyes were smoky, bright with desire and a lingering glint of jealousy. “Someone needs reminding who butters their bread.”

Mason’s breath hitched as Eliza’s tongue swirled around the sensitive ridge of his cock, her lips sealing tightly around him. Eliza didn’t perform oral sex often–begging off due to the difference in their sizes–but when she did, it was a borderline religious experience.

He was a well-endowed man. Not huge, but significantly above average. A fact made even more apparent in contrast to her sylphlike stature.

Eliza’s silky-soft hands appeared tiny as they stroked his meaty length. Her small mouth and cupid-bow lips always struggled to accommodate his girth. She resembled one of Édouard Bisson’s nymphs. Naked and enchanting, except for the pair of daisy dukes hugging her pert rear.

“Eliza,” he rasped, voice rough with arousal. “God, you’re incredible.”

Opening wide, her tongue extended like a spongy pink landing strip, before she took in his bulbous head. Her cheeks hollowed as she moaned. Her mouth was a furnace of heat and moisture, her tongue dancing along his length with a skill that left him trembling.

“Mm-hmmm.” She hummed on his cock, the vocal vibrations sending shivers up his spine.

Her free hand reached up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in her palm as her head bobbed, taking in a fraction more of him with each pass. The sounds she made—the wet, sloppy noises of her mouth working him, the occasional gag as she took him deeper—were almost as intoxicating as the sensations themselves.

"Urk, ack, hurg!”

Eliza’s eyes met his, her jade orbs filled with a lustful need that mirrored his own. She was relentless, her movements quickening as she sucked with a fervor that left him gasping. Her suctioning lips and lashing tongue worked in sinful harmony to drive Mason closer to a rapidly approaching peak.

She had never sucked him so earnestly before–never attacked with such cock-gobbling ferocity. She gagged and slurped. Glorious as an avenging angel, intent on rescuing Mason’s soul by means of his throbbing erection.

“Oh-oh fuck! Love, that’s… that’s almost too much!”

Mason’s hips jerked involuntarily, and Eliza let out a muffled groan, the lewd sound sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his overactive loins.

She didn’t pull away, though. Instead, she took him deeper, her impossibly snug throat relaxing to accept his pulsating prong. The sight of her kneeling before him, **** on his shaft, her brilliant jade eyes locked on him–was nearly too much to bear.

“Love,” he gasped, burying fingers in her brown hair. “I’m close. So fucking close.”

Eliza didn’t stop. If anything, she doubled down, pace quickening as she sucked him with a desperation that matched his own. Her dainty hands pumped in time with her plunging face, jerking off the beefy length she couldn’t swallow. Pressure built within Mason like a boiler, roiling in his center, until it finally burst.

“Ho-holy... SHIIIIT!!”

He erupted with a roar, packing her greedy gullet with waves of hot, sticky spunk. Eliza didn’t pull away. She gulped down every gooey spurt, squirming and shaking with ecstasy, lapping hungrily until he was finally spent.

Mason staggered, blinking spots out of his vision. Eliza coughed and swatted tears off her cheeks as she released him, resting on her heels with a satisfied smirk.

“There,” she said, wiping spittle from her chin. “Now they’ll all know who you belong to.”

If you’ve enjoyed my silly smut, why not support my smut writing aspirations by joining my Patreon? All donations go towards high-octane coffee to keep me writing and treats for my two adorable furballs.