I laughed and curled against his side. "Touché.”
A few days later, we were finished at my parents’ cabin and ready to head to Margaret’s place to start her repairs. We arrived bright and early, much to Margaret’s delight. "I wasn’t sure you were going to come by after all, to be honest," she admitted.
Mason scoffed. "Did you really think we were going to leave you like this?"
"What do I know? I’m just here relying on the kindness of strangers."
He put a hand on her shoulder. "I wouldn’t do that to you. Now we’re going to get started. Are the supplies I ordered out back?"
She smiled and nodded. "They came just yesterday. Everything’s set up in the back of the house. Let me know if you boys need anything, okay?"
"Of course we will." Mason got right to work, climbing the ladder and ripping off damaged shingles until he got down to the roofing that was leaking. It didn’t take long until I was on the roof—very nervously—helping him repair the water-damaged boards. It took us what felt like approximately eight thousand trips up and down the ladder, but within a few hours, the tarp was gone and the damage had been repaired.
I sat on the roof, feet planted firmly below me and wiped my forehead. "I’m not cut out for this," I murmured.
Mason laughed. "What? Not cut out for physical labor?"
"Yeah. The most exercise I get is walking around the school building most days. Not that I’m not doing alotof walking during the day, but it’s nothing like dozens of trips up a ladder and ripping out shingles in the blazing sun."
He chuckled, low and throaty, sending a jolt through me. "I promise it’ll be well worth it."
"I know. Margaret will be really grateful to have this place fixed. It’s nice to help."
He shook his head and the look he fixed me with was hungry, his eyes dark. "That’s not what I meant."
My stomach fluttered with desire at the implication. "Oh yeah? Why don’t you come over here and show me what you meant?"
"I don’t think that’s the best idea. We could lose our balance if we got carried away. Besides, what if Margaret sees? Would that bother you?"
I bit my lip. “No, but it’s probably not very professional of us.”
Mason nodded. “I guess you’re right.” After a few more minutes of quiet, we climbed down and headed inside to report our progress. "Our next step is to repair that ceiling in the guest bedroom."
"Lovely. You two just yell if you need me. I’ll be in the kitchen."
Mason agreed and we went to survey the damage and get to work. We went into the attic, where the heat was nearly unbearable, and replaced insulation that had been damaged, before Mason announced it was ceiling time. He instructed me to help him move the furniture out of the way, and we set up a ladder so he could cut out the damaged ceiling with expert precision.
By the time the day was over, I was wiped. We headed back to our cabin in relative silence, both recovering from the tough day. The rest of the week followed much the same. We snuck kisses between tasks, as much as we could without slowing down progress. On the last day, we were finishing up the painting in the bathroom when I spotted a few flecks of paint on Mason’sface, reminding me of another time we’d had a close call with paint.
"Here, let me help." I grabbed a cloth and wiped the paint off—or I attempted to, at least. What actually happened was the paint flecks smeared across his cheekbone, leaving a few streaks behind.
Mason grabbed my wrist and gave me a dark look that made my cock swell in anticipation. He pulled me close for a kiss, plunging his tongue into my mouth. The lid of the paint can clattered to the floor, knocked from the countertop by our sudden movement. I inhaled sharply and groaned, practically melting under his touch, my hand going to the nape of his neck and my fingers curling in his hair. At that exact moment, Margaret called out to us.
"Boys? Is everything okay in there?" Footsteps indicated that she was coming to check on us. "I thought I heard something fall.”
We parted reluctantly, Mason breathing heavily and with an obvious bulge in his pants. I snickered quietly before opening my mouth to respond to her question. "Yes, ma’am, I—"
Margaret appeared in the doorway and gave us a quizzical look. "Did I hear a crash?"
I shook my head quickly, hoping she didn’t notice the way my cheeks must’ve been red, judging by the heat burning in them. "No crash here."
She pointed at the lid from the paint can on the floor, face down, with splatters of paint around it. "What’s that?"
"Oh, that. I bumped into the counter and knocked it off. Maybe that’s what you heard?"
"Hmm, maybe. It looks beautiful in here. I can’t thank you enough for all the work you’ve put in."
"No problem," Mason said. "It’s been our pleasure. Really."
