A Place Called Home

by Jo Goodman

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll get wet.”

  Mitch grinned at his reflection. He was foaming at the mouth. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

  “Because I’m not coming out.”

  He spit and rinsed. “Okay by me. I’m gonna shave first, though.” He looked around for his razor and shaving cream. At an angle behind him, via the mirror’s reflection, Mitch saw the shower door slide open a few inches and a slim arm extend itself. At the end of the arm was a hand holding a can of shaving cream and his newest razor with four blades. He turned around, took the offering, and got an eyeful of slick wet thigh before the door banged shut. “Tell me you didn’t use this already.”

  “You want me to lie?”

  Mitch sighed. “You know, if you kept some cream and disposable razors in that grab-and-go bag, you wouldn’t start off the morning on the wrong side of the guy who’s gonna make you weak-kneed.”

  Thea swallowed. Her knees were already a little weak. She leaned back against the tiles and now the water drummed against her breasts and cascaded over her flat belly and down her thighs. Her voice was more hesitant than she would have liked as she asked, “I’m on your wrong side?”

  “No woman needs a patented titanium quadruple blade system to remove hair from her legs,” he grumbled. “You get facial hair, then we’ll talk.”

  “Gee.”

  “I know. Serious stuff.” Mitch lathered his face. “You want to watch?”

  “I’ll pass.”

  “I’d watch you shave your legs.”

  “I bet you would.”

  Mitch had to stop smiling in order to shave. The extra creases played hell with every one of those blades. “What are you doing now?”

  “Rinsing the conditioner out of my hair.”

  “Can you do that and think about me kissing you?”

  There was a pause, then, “I can now.”

  Mitch forgot himself, grinned wickedly at his reflection, and almost nicked his jaw. He stopped teasing Thea before he inadvertently severed a facial nerve. She probably would have less objections about the kiss if his mouth was not drawn back in a perpetual Joker-like grimace.

  Splashing water on his face, Mitch wiped off the remaining shaving cream, and rinsed his razor. He smoothed the wrinkles on his T-shirt and snapped the elastic waistband of his boxers. Looked like it was a go. Turning, he took a step toward the bathtub stall and knocked politely on the shower door.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m comin’ in.” He gave the sliding door a little tug on the handle and felt resistance from the other side. “I’ll huff and I’ll puff,” he threatened. “I can do it, too.”

  “Mitch!” Thea opened the door wide enough to frame her face. Water dripped on the rim of the tub, Mitch’s hand, and the carpet. “I want a towel.”

  “The water’s still running.”

  “I know. I want a towel.”

  Amused, he yanked one hanging on a hook at the back of the bathroom door and gave it to her. She swept it inside, shut the frosted partition, and then called to him, “You can come in now. I’m decent.”

  Mitch opened the door and regarded Thea standing under the pulsing spray with the oversized bath sheet wrapped around her twice for modesty. “You are deeply left of center, you know that?”

  “I’m learning it might not be such a bad thing.”

  Still in his boxers and tee, Mitch stepped into the shower. “I kinda like it.” Water pelted the back of his head and neck as Thea made room for him. He shut the door. “Cozy,” he said, looking around. There were bottles of her shampoo, conditioner, and moisturizer on the shallow shelves built into the tiled walls. Peppermint foot cleanser and a pumice stone were sitting on the interior rim of the tub. “You redecorated. I like what you’ve done with the place.” His eyes came back to hers and his humor faded. The centers darkened as he studied her upturned face. “You okay?”

  “A little stiff,” she said.

  Mitch nodded. “I know the feeling.”

  Thea’s eyes dropped immediately to the dampening front of his boxers. Her brows lifted. “Little” was not an appropriate adjective to describe what was happening south of the border.

  Following her glance, Mitch looked down at himself. “What can I say? It’s hard to pitch a tent in the rain.”

  In spite of her misgivings, Thea discovered she had the capacity to laugh. He did that to her. Again and again he gave her this gift, this opportunity not to take things so seriously that she wrung all the joy from them. She looked up at him. Her lashes were wet and spiky. Water trickled down her temples. “I thought I scared you,” she said.

  “You did. You do. But scaring me is different from scaring me off.”

  Thea thought about that and the distinction was not lost on her. “Then I suppose you better kiss me.”

  “Hmmm. That’s what I was—”

  He stopped because Thea caught him full on the mouth midsentence. That was the last chance she had to take charge for a while. Mitch gave her a full body press against the tiles and threw himself into that kiss.

  Her mouth was damp and she tasted of mint, cool at first but warming up nicely. His lips caught hers, the edge of his tongue running along the sweet, silky underside and then across the ridge of her teeth. He plied her with small, nibbling kisses at the corners of her mouth, pacing himself, teasing her with the occasional foray of his tongue, hinting at deeper carnal pleasures. His hands bracketed her head but his body held her up. The bath sheet was sopping wet, heavy and thick between them. He didn’t try to drag it from her. She’d shed it like a chrysalis when she was ready for him.

  Thea whimpered softly under the steady onslaught of his mouth. This was carnage, what he was doing to her. Take-no-prisoners kissing. Insistent. Sensual. Wicked hot. He delivered on his promise to make her knees weak. The pressure of his lips, the sweep of his tongue, the deep, slow, pulsing rhythm of his kisses also left her light-headed and short of breath. It was a complete rush on every one of her senses, including common. There was nothing but his body pressing against hers and the hard, openmouthed frontal assault.

  He broke the kiss suddenly and Thea couldn’t even raise her heavy eyelids. She felt the pitch of the water change from pulse to spray and then his mouth was on her again, heavy and drugging, suckling her lips as if he were drawing honey from the comb. Thea’s towel began to slide. She reached for it but he grasped her wrists and lightly held her hands at her sides. She didn’t struggle. “Someone has his eyes open,” she said softly.

  “You bet.” His voice was thick and rough-edged. “You have slippage.” He drew her hands slowly upward against the tiles until they were raised above her head.

  Gravity did the rest.

  Chapter 9

  Mitch’s breath snagged in his chest. She was looking at him now, her eyes wide and luminous ... and wary. “God, Thea,” he whispered raggedly. “You’re ...” He lowered his head again because he didn’t have words. Mitch only knew that if he were struck blind, he had already had a vision of the promised land. He kissed her on the mouth, slowly, warmly. His hands cupped her face lightly as he worked his mouth over hers. His fingers teased tendrils of damp hair around the curve of her ears.

  Thea’s heart thudded heavily. Of all the places he could have touched her when she stood naked and vulnerable in front of him, he touched her face. He made her feel ... adored. She raised her hands and curved them around his wrists, tugging gently. Guiding him, Thea made his palms slide along her water-slick skin to her throat, her shoulders, and then, arching into him, her breasts. She swallowed his muffled groan with her own deepening kiss.

  His palms were filled, amply filled. Gloriously filled. Her breasts swelled under his hands. The dusky pink aureoles puckered and the nipples stood erect, poking at the heart of his palms, then scraping against the crease of his life line as he moved his hands to cup her. He lowered his head and suckled.

  Thea gasped at the first hot contact of his mou
th on her breast. Rising on tiptoe, extending the long line of her leg, she slid upward against the wet tiles at her back and braced her arms on Mitch’s shoulders. The source of heat spiraling outward from her breast was his mouth. The rough edge of his tongue lapped at her nipple. Flicked it. His teeth closed over the tip and he tugged.

  She was scored by the heat all the way to her womb. Mitch’s name was trapped at the back of her throat. Her lips hummed softly together, then the tremulous sound died away and she didn’t try to speak again. It was all she could do to breathe.

  Mitch straightened. He wondered if he looked as dazed as he felt, and for a long moment he stared at the darkly reflective centers of Thea’s eyes looking for the answer. She watched him, intent and still wary, and he found himself intrigued by that guardedness. It seemed an emotion turned inward, as if she were not so uncertain of him, but of herself, and Mitch wondered at it.

  “Good morning,” he said softly. He bowed his head and pressed his brow lightly to hers. “Did I wish you a good morning?” If he hadn’t been touching her he wouldn’t have seen the nearly imperceptible shake of her head. He felt it, though. That small, slight movement sent a shiver all the way down his spine. “You’re some kisser, Thea Wyndham.”

  His lips nudged hers. His breath was warm, sweet. Thea felt her eyelids grow heavy as Mitch’s hands slid from the underside of her tender and aching breasts to her waist, then curved lightly at her hips. His thumbs made a pass across her skin. Back and forth. Back. Forth. Again. On her next breath she sucked in her lower lip, bit it to keep from crying out.

  “Easy,” he said. He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Where are we going with this?”

  “You don’t have GPS?”

  “Smart ass.” He was smiling against her cheek. “I know what I want.” His teeth caught her earlobe and worried it. His tongue flicked the diamond stud. “I’m not entirely sure about you.”

  The truth was that Thea wasn’t entirely certain either. “Can we kiss some more?”

  “Yep. Vertical or horizontal?”

  Thea felt his lips hovering just above hers again. “Vertical is good,” she whispered.

  Mitch bypassed her gently puckered, succulent mouth, and cocked his head sideways, placing a firm vertical kiss on the damp skin of her neck. “Good choice,” he said. He sucked, applying gentle pressure until he felt her fingers curl into his T-shirt and stretch it taut. “You want to help me out of it?”

  She nodded and her fingers caught more of the material until she had a fistful. Mitch ducked as she pulled and then he was out of it and Thea was left holding it in front of her. It lay slanted across her breasts and belly like a wet plaster and left the copse of dark red hair on her mons uncovered.

  Mitch’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he made a study of all that dewy alabaster skin exposed and the turgid nipples and taut belly perfectly outlined by his shirt. “All right,” he said at last. “You can wear that.”

  She threw it at him.

  Laughing, Mitch grabbed two slippery handfuls of Thea’s bottom and jerked her upward against his groin. Her thighs parted and clamped around his hips for purchase. His cock pressed hard against her cleft. He backed her up to the tiled wall again; her arms circled him. Thea’s head fell forward and was buried against the curve of his neck. Mitch heard her catch her breath. She nuzzled him with an openmouthed kiss. The tip of her tongue flicked the pulsing cord in his neck.

  He turned his head and caught her cheek. She raised herself slightly and he kissed her jaw. Her face lifted completely then; her slender throat arched. She made herself available to his deliciously greedy lips, closing her eyes under this second rush on her senses. Her fingertips marked him with tiny white crescents where she pressed the back of his shoulders. His skin was taut over the defined bunching of muscles. Thea ran her palms up his back. A thin sheet of water covered him and droplets wedged themselves between her palms and his skin. The water was warm. His skin was hot.

  She weighed next to nothing in his arms. Her long legs were locked behind him at the ankles. She rode up on him slightly as he continued to kiss her throat. Her breasts rubbed his chest. He fit himself snugly into the cradle of her thighs.

  “Someone wants out of the tent,” he whispered against her skin.

  Thea groaned softly. “Why do men talk about their penis as if it’s a third person in the room?”

  Mitch lifted his head. “Hey, you live with the hand puppet all your life and it takes on certain anthropomorphic characteristics.”

  Something between a laugh and a sputter caught in Thea’s throat. She plowed her fingers deeply into Mitch’s thatch of wet hair and held his head still, simply staring at him, at once amused and disbelieving. Then she struck. Her mouth slanted across his. Hot. Hungry. She pushed her tongue past his, working it over and around his, sucking it into her own mouth.

  She pulsed against him, clasping him tightly. His lean muscles shifted so that she felt the tension in the contraction. There was no mistaking the strength of his upper body or the fact that she was securely held in his arms. If his breathing was short, if there was a vibration running lightly under his skin, it was in response to passion, not fatigue. But in the event she was wrong ...

  Thea drew back slightly, tugging on his lips as she lifted her head. Her sigh was inaudible against the steady rush of water from the shower. “They say the bathroom is the site of the majority of household accidents,” she said.

  He grinned. “Don’t trust me, huh?”

  She searched his face. “Ummm. Maybe ...” Her eyes darted in the direction of the door.

  “Bedroom?”

  Thea nodded. His grip on her relaxed and she was unfolded flush to his hard frame. “Leave your shorts here.” She slipped around him and slid open the shower door. Thea felt him make a grab for her butt but his fingers only caught the curve of her left cheek. She was on the other side of the tub, dripping onto the carpet, before he had a chance to realize he had a handful of air and water.

  Smiling to herself, she grabbed a dry towel from the back of the door and rubbed it furiously through her hair. She heard the shower stop, and in the immediate silence that followed she was aware of her thudding heart and lightly tingling skin in a way she hadn’t been moments earlier. These sensations weren’t courtesy of the sharp, pulsing water spray, if indeed, they ever had been. What she felt had its sweet nascence in the hot suck of Mitch’s mouth and his hands cupped hard over her bottom.

  And she was bearing it. More than that, she was embracing it.

  The shower door slid open and, half-hidden in the towel draped over her head, Thea caught sight of five neon pink toes and a lean, muscular calf just before Mitch put his foot down. She tossed the towel at him and made a dash for the bedroom.

  He caught her on the run, snapping the twisted towel at her thigh and catching her squarely on her taut buttocks.

  “Ouch!” She stopped short, turning to get a look at the offended portion of her anatomy, and found herself lifted off the carpet and borne toward the bed in a dazzling offensive move that was a little carry and a lot of tackle. Thea felt some of the breath leave her body as they rolled onto the bed together. Mitch protected her from taking the brunt of the fall or bearing his weight and still managed to emerge holding the high ground.

  He looked down on her, his expression a mixture of ornery satisfaction and wickedness. “You want to turn the other cheek?”

  Thea got her fists between their bodies and pushed upward. He didn’t budge. Her knuckles made small dimples in his skin, but the taut abdomen remained just where it was. Thea’s hands unfolded and her fingers splayed across his midsection. She lifted one eyebrow. “Pretty impressive abs for a cartoonist.”

  Mitch gave her an aw, shucks smile at the same time he settled his hips heavily against her thighs. “You haven’t said anything about my pen.”

  “Your pen is ...” Thea rolled her eyes at her own gullibility. “You set me up.”

  “You say pen-is. I say
pe-nis.” He bent his head and kissed her softly, nudging her lips apart. His nose bumped hers. The shape of their mouths changed as they shared a smile. He kissed her again, sweetly this time, and tasted her sigh. Raising himself up on his elbows, he studied her face. His expression was watchful now, solemn and intent. “Thea?”

  She knew what he was asking. It was there in the inflection in his voice as he said her name. Did she want this? Was she ready? Regrets? A mistake? “How do you know to ask?” she whispered. A heaviness settled inside her as her stomach clenched. “What am I doing wrong?”

  Mitch exhaled softly, shaking his head. “No. Oh, no, baby.” His hand came up to touch her face. The backs of his fingers brushed her cheek. Her skin was still faintly damp, glowing. Her short dark hair was freshly mussed and spiky from the hard rubbing she’d given it. He smoothed it back at her temple, then ruffled it again. “Don’t even think it. It’s not about what you’re doing wrong.”

  “Then what—”

  “It’s about what I’m not doing enough of,” he told her. He kissed the corner of her mouth. “I can still feel you tense when I touch you. I don’t—”

  Thea almost laughed. He thought it was him. She stopped Mitch by letting her hands run up his naked flanks and across his back. His breath hitched and she smiled faintly. Thea raised her hips, pushing herself against him, grinding, lifting. He was so hard and hot on her belly. Her abdomen contracted as he moved.

  “Open for me,” he said. “Wider.”

  Thea put her hands on his shoulders. Her heels sought purchase in the mattress. She wanted to do anything he wanted. Everything he wanted. He’d called her “baby” and she hadn’t even blinked an eye. Maybe later her feminist sensibilities would find that endearment outrageous, but when he’d said it just now, it seemed tender and sweet, and she wanted to love him so much right then and there that there was ache inside her that was different from anything she’d ever known. She felt his palm curve lightly over her thigh. He was stroking her skin from hip to knee, slowly, carefully, watching her face, gauging her reaction, and doing nothing except this exquisite caress.