LINES CROSSED. (BWWM)

Amina

THREE MONTHS LATER.

It's been three months since I moved in with Mason.
Three long, tense, deliciously frustrating months.

He convinced me to stay for the rest of the year—told me it would help me save, that it just made sense. And honestly, he was right. Financially, I'm doing a lot better. But lately... I've started to feel like I'm overstaying my welcome. Or maybe just... abusing his kindness.

He won't let me help with a single bill, no matter how many times I try. So now and then I'll buy groceries just to feel like I'm contributing something. I even talked him into letting his housekeeper go so I could help with the cleaning. He only agreed after some convincing, but I needed to feel useful. Cooking, cleaning—it keeps my hands busy, because God knows my mind is a mess.

Especially when it comes to him.

It's Monday. My classes are all done, assignments submitted. I've been hunched over my laptop for almost twelve hours, and my back is killing me. I need a shower. A reset. I deserve that much at least.

Usually, Mason works late on Mondays, which means I get the apartment to myself. So tonight, like so many nights before, I took my time in the bathroom—let the hot water hit my skin until I felt human again. By the time I got out, the apartment was still quiet.

That's when the urge kicked in. It always does when I'm alone. It's like this need, this ache, that's been living under my skin since I moved in here. Since the dream. Since everything changed.

I lay on the bed, towel wrapped around me, the room dim and cool. I tell myself this is just another stress relief session. Just another little moment of escape before Mason walks through the door and I have to pretend like my body doesn't come alive every time he's near.

At first, I used to just touch myself with my fingers. It was enough—barely. But then I ordered a vibrator. Nothing crazy, just a small one, discreet. Amazon Prime and shame, hand in hand. It's become my little secret. My peace.

I slide the towel open, letting the air kiss my damp skin. My nipples tighten from the chill, but the heat blooming low in my stomach overrides everything.

I spread my legs, feeling the pulse there—eager, throbbing. With one hand, I part myself, letting my fingers slide through the slick warmth. I spit into my palm, rub slow circles over my clit. My other hand cups my breast, pinching the sensitive bud as I arch slightly.

A whimper slips out before I can stop it.

Mason's name lingers on my lips before I even realize I'm saying it.

He's always the one in my head—pressed between my thighs, whispering filth into my skin, holding me down while I unravel under his touch. My Mason. My friend. The man I've wanted for years but can never have.

I reach for my drawer, grab the vibrator, and switch it on. I keep it on the lowest setting at first, teasing myself, dragging it along the edge of my clit until my hips lift for more. I need it. I need it.

I crank up the speed, pressing it hard against my center. My legs start to tremble. My body's clenching, desperate. The moans spill out uncontrollably, loud and desperate.

I don't care. Mason isn't home. No one can hear me. It's just me, and this aching, and the way his name falls out of my mouth like I was made to say it like that.

"Oh—ohhhh God, Mase—"

The orgasm hits me like a wave, tearing through me, stealing my breath. My thighs shake, my chest heaves, and I can feel the mess I've made of myself—but I don't care.