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Chapter One
Liberty pressed her eyes shut. Her heels slid over soft two-hundred count sheets as her head sank into the soft pillows. A breathy sigh escaped her lips. So close. Her thighs slowly scissored. Clenching muscles worked to center her pleasure as her entire being thrummed with a pulse stemming right from her wet sex.
Her fingers slid over her flesh as the echo of her moans filled the quiet bedroom. Building the fantasy, she peeked through her lashes, enlisting all five of her senses. The soft slices of late afternoon sunshine passing through the drawn curtains made golden puddles upon her dewy skin. “Oh, God, yes,” Libby whimpered as her body drew up stiffly in that delicious prerequisite tightening that told her she was about to come.
Her vocalizations brought the experience to life. She could smell her arousal building into a pungent fragrance and the scent of sex filled the air. She licked her lips, tasting the subtle salt of her skin, imagining it was Mason’s authentic flavor. “Mmm, Mason, yes! Lick me…” Her plea faded into a low feminine cry as her hips lifted off the mattress, calves locking, her slender neck arched. Rivulets of cream coated her fingers as she stretched into the starburst of pleasure spreading from her sex up her spine.
Liberty’s mind chased after the coveted orgasm that seemed just out of reach, limited to those moments where she broke away from the world and found a shameless shadow dark enough to center her mind. She worked to surrender her compulsions to always be in control, tempting the release closer as she fought against her deep-rooted needs to be in control. Her blood flowed heavily through her veins as her mind ebbed away from the very real pressures of her existence. Let go. She held onto the command, never able to fully compromise the overbearing consciousness that blanketed her every thought.
Trembling fingers gripped her small trembling vibrator. Provocatively, as if being watched, she dragged her left hand to her breast and squeezed her flesh through her blouse. As her skin thrummed and fluttered deep within her channel, at that place that only some unknown emotion could fill. She found her nipple and pinched almost painfully so her mind could escape for that one moment where everything was timeless and perfect.
Shh…her mind let go and all was quiet.
The room, her responsibilities, her many imperfections, they all fell away as she rode the wave of pleasure washing over her. Her muscles seized and her fingers fell from her flesh in an equally emotional and physical release. Her touch fell away, hands weightless and numb. The buzzing of the small vibrator was muffled in the soft bedding. She quietly panted, breath sawing through her lungs. She no longer wept like she once did. Tears were useless. Rather, she opened her eyes and took a moment to blindly stare at the chandelier hanging over their bed as she came back to herself. Her mind settled into a conscious state, shoving her orgasmic bliss aside. She had things to do.
Inhaling one final satisfied breath, Libby pulled herself into a seated position and adjusted her blouse. As she stood she straightened her A-line skirt and automatically began to remake the bed.
As the top sheet floated into place, she folded the corners methodically and tucked them under the mattress, remembering her mother’s words. Always make it tight, Liberty. You should be able to bounce a quarter off of a bed when it’s made properly.
She centered the heavy duvet and carefully fluffed and placed all four pillows and shams. Her palm brushed over the work of perfection once and a sense of twisted satisfaction spread in her chest. With a smile she turned, slipped her designer flats on, and adjusted the shades, raising them only partially so that when the sun set it would illuminate the room in just the right way.
Her thumb traced over the moist patch of silk as she scooped her panties off the floor and tucked them into the hamper. The soft sexual slide of fresh silk up her legs reawakened her lulling libido. Years of iron control over her actions forced back the urge to masturbate and come just one more time. She had forty-three minutes. Plenty of time before Mason returned to walk through the house one last time.
After turning the pan on the stove to simmer, stirring her marinade, Libby left the kitchen. Her feet swiftly climbed the stairs to the highest room of their house. Her tender muscles stretched with each step.
They lived in what was referred to as a “starter mansion” just outside of the more touristy parts of the Outer Banks. Some would consider the size of their home extravagant, but around those parts it was actually modest. Where many rental properties closer to the coast boasted of ten or more bedrooms, their year-round residence only had three. What Libby loved most about her home was the habitable quarters decorated with clean, orderly functionality and the peacefulness.
