ThisTimeNextDoor

by Gretchen Galway

  He stood still, gazing down at her. His throat moved as he swallowed hard. “I’m having warring impulses.” His eyes dropped down to her breasts, between her legs. Then he pulled the edges of her towel together, covering her, and turned away to dry himself with quick, efficient strokes. “There’s a hair dryer under the sink. I’ll get the first aid kit in the car.”

  Smiling, she rolled her eyes, reached out to squeeze his right butt cheek. “I’m fine.”

  He spun around, drawing the towel around him like a bullfighter with a cape, and scowled at her chest. “You’re—you’re—bleeding. God knows what Zeus had under his toenails.”

  “Snow, I imagine,” she said, but she saw that he was right; some of the scratches were deep.

  “I’ll be right back.” Towel tight around his waist, he pushed his hair back with his hand before he reached for the doorknob.

  Rose forgot about her injuries and stared. “You are so gorgeous,” she breathed.

  He turned, held her gaze. “Dry your hair,” he said in a low voice, then was gone.

  * * *

  He’d never been so aroused and so close to fainting at the same time.

  Blood.

  He braced a hand on the doorway as he went into his room to get dressed. She probably thought he was a hero for insisting on the bandages before getting in bed with her.

  Some hero.

  He dragged on his jeans commando, pulled a sweatshirt over his head, marched to the front door and shoved his feet into his wet boots.

  The first aid box was buried in the hatch under the snowshoes, but at least it was there. By the time he stomped back into the house, his head was clear. Maybe he wouldn’t make a fool of himself after all.

  He kicked off his boots and went to knock on the bathroom door, forcing himself to think of her blue eyes, the blond curls between her legs, anything but the—red—

  He sucked in a breath through his nose, stared at the ceiling.

  “Hey,” she said, opening the door with a hairdryer pointed at her head. She plucked at his sweatshirt, lips in a mock pout. “You got dressed.” She’d tied the towel around her waist, exposing her breasts, which were lovely, but uncovering the scratches, too, which—

  He focused on her lips. That was the good kind of red. Really, really good. Full, sensual, rosy, glossy. He stepped inside, slamming the door behind him, and bent down to taste her.

  God, he wanted her. He kissed her hard, driving his tongue into his mouth, everything else forgotten.

  She stepped into his arms, kissing him back, but she still held the hair dryer in her hand. When she looked aside to turn it off, he turned his attention to the graceful curves of her ear, her silky neck, the long strands of her damp hair.

  Still damp.

  “Sorry.” He stepped back, rubbing his mouth. “You keep doing that. I’ll—I’ll play doctor.”

  Grinning, she leaned her bottom against the sink, facing him, and lifted the dryer to her head again. With a little arch to her back, she gave her breasts a little shake and said, “Yes, doctor.”

  Mouth dry, he tore open the ointment, quite sure his light-headedness was because of the hard pink nipples and the large, perfect breasts bouncing in front of him, and not because of any squeamishness.

  The scratches weren’t that bad, he told himself. Red but shallow, most of them, and her breasts—oh, right there—had been spared.

  With a pinkie fingertip, he dabbed antibiotic ointment on the deepest scratch first, ignoring the droplets of blood. He ripped open a half dozen bandages and lined them up on the counter, but Rose stopped him.

  “Only on the really bad ones,” she said. “The adhesive in those will hurt me more than the cuts. I’ve got really sensitive skin.”

  He frowned, nodding, gently stroking an uninjured patch. “Just this one, then. The one that’s… bleeding.” Swallowing hard, he dabbed away the drips, put the ointment directly on the bandage, and carefully covered it.

  She watched him, a small smile on her lips, the dryer’s high-pitched whine loud in the small room. Her hair was getting lighter and blonder each minute as it dried, fluffing up around her face in a pale gold cloud, and her cheeks were pink, flushed, warm.

  He finished what he could do with her injuries, pushed the box to the floor, stood up. He took the hair dryer out of her hands and turned it off. “You’re not chilled anymore.”

  Eyes dark as midnight, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ve never been so hot in my life.”

  * * *

  A knock sounded on the door. “Kids?” It was Trixie. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I need a few more towels.”

  Rose stifled a groan. “We’ll be right out!” she called, trying to step out of Mark’s embrace.

  But he was immovable. Well, most of him.

  Trixie knocked again. “I promise not to look.”

  Rose finally got the strength to break free. Breathing shallowly, she wrapped herself in a towel and waited for Mark, slowly, his eyes never leaving her face, to do the same before opening the door.

  Zeus was bundled in Trixie’s arms. “All better?” She was smiling.

  Damn her fair complexion. Rose couldn’t say anything, just nod, knowing her face was as pink as bubble gum.

  “How’s the mongrel?” Mark asked, scowling.

  Rose was surprised by his icy tone. “Don’t tell me you’re still holding a grudge.”

  “You should see her,” he said to his mother, nodding his head at Rose as he waved his hand over his chest. “All torn up.”

  Trixie’s eyebrows went up. “Torn up?”

  “Just some scratches.” Rose tightened the towel.

  “But nothing that broke the skin?” Trixie glanced at Mark.

  “Nothing serious.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t sound convinced.

  “It’s really nothing.” Rose reached out to pat Zeus's head buried inside the blanket. “Glad you’re okay, honey.”

  “He needs his fingernails trimmed,” Mark growled. “With a chainsaw.”

  “So you were bleeding,” Trixie said.

  “Just a little. Really, it’s understandable. I shoved him under my sweater. There wasn’t much room in there and I probably squeezed him pretty hard trying to climb over the snow.” One of Zeus's eyelids lifted for a moment before sinking back down. “It was probably more traumatic than falling in the water.”

  Trixie thrust the dog into Mark’s arms, almost breaking his grip on the towel around his waist, then grabbed Rose’s bare arm and ushered her off to the side. “If there aren’t any bandages under the sink,” she whispered, “I have a first aid box in the car.”

  “Mark got it for me. It’s cool.” Figuring a picture was worth a thousand words, she pulled back the towel to flash her well-bandaged midsection. “See?”

  Trixie’s face widened with alarm. Then she gaped at Mark.

  “I’m fine too, Mom,” he said, looking embarrassed.

  “Why wouldn’t you be?” Rose asked.

  After an awkward silence, Mark reached forward and patted Zeus—gently, no hint of any hard feelings. “I usually faint at the sight of blood.”

  Trixie cleared her throat. “Always, I would’ve said.”

  “Only one cut bled enough to need a second bandage. But I just mopped it up with some toilet paper and—” Rose stopped when she saw how Mark had turned white.

  “Just the thought of it can bowl him over.” Trixie shook her head. “His father was the same way. Very embarrassed about it.”

  “I’m used to it,” Mark said tightly.

  Trixie patted his bare chest. “No, I meant your father. He was dreadfully ashamed of it.”

  “It’s more of an inconvenience than anything else,” he said.

  “Worse than that, Mark. It can be dangerous, passing out here and there.” Trixie looked at Rose. “Just last month I found him on the floor of the living room. Luckily he didn’t hit his head on anything on the way down.”

  “I hit
my head on something,” he said. “The floor. It’s not like we’ve got wall-to-wall shag. Oh no, you need hardwoods.”

  Trixie ignored him. “He’d just found out about Blair. I guess the thought of, you know…” She sighed, nuzzled Zeus.

  That had been the day after they’d spent the night together, after Rose had visited Blair, when Mark hadn’t come to the door.

  Trixie had tried to get rid of Rose to protect her son from embarrassment. And he hadn’t rushed out to see her because he’d just passed out.

  “I’d appreciate an end to this conversation,” he said. “Unless you’d like a demo.”

  Rose pulled the towel high enough to cover the marks. “You didn’t say anything.” Suddenly his alarm over the scratches made more sense. There’d been plenty of blood to gross out a squeamish person. “You should’ve said something. I could’ve handled it.”

  His hot gaze raked over her. “What fun would that be?”

  Trixie jogged forward and reclaimed the bundled dog. “It’s okay if you want to kiss now. I’ll get the towels and go.”

  “Not necessary.” Stepping forward, Mark hooked his arms around Rose and lowered his mouth to hers.

  Chapter 30

  MARK DIDN’T KISS LIKE A man afraid of being seen. If Rose hadn’t frantically ushered him into the bedroom, God knows how far he would’ve taken it in the hallway.

  He tore the towel off her when the door was still open.

  She gasped. “Your mom—”

  He kicked the door shut, threw aside his own towel. His eyelids fell as he gazed at her. “No more talk. Only do.”

  She stepped backwards until she felt the mattress hit the backs of her bare calves. The late afternoon sun was pouring clear winter light onto the bed, onto her naked body.

  Illuminating the welts on her stomach, her ribs, her collarbone. When she saw the way Mark flinched when his gaze raked over her, she reached for a burgundy throw blanket.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked.

  “I just didn’t want you to, you know, feel bad.” She draped the blanket over her chest.

  He moved closer, captured her face in his hands. “You don’t trust me.” Kissing her forehead, he gently pushed her down onto the bed. “But you will.”

  Smiling at the erection now in front of her face, she wrapped her fingers around his cock, squeezed, stroked. Then, with a naughty glance up at him, she licked the very tip.

  His jaw tightened. Encouraged, aroused with power, she slipped her mouth over the head and sucked him deeper into her mouth. He was hard, velvety, thick. She felt herself get wet. Hungry for him.

  “You like that?” he said through this teeth.

  Nodding, she sucked him harder. Her left hand glided around his muscled thigh to his ass, pulled him closer.

  But he put his hand on her cheek and pushed her away. “I like it too.”

  “Then why do you want me to stop?”

  He sat down on the bed next to her and kissed her. As he sank onto his back, he pulled her on top of him. They both kicked their way up the bed, tongues tangling, hands exploring each other, the playfulness erased in a wave of hot, sudden need.

  “I want you so bad,” she gasped. “I’ve always wanted you.”

  “You’ve got me.” He licked the underside of her chin, the corner of her mouth, kissed her eyelids one after the other.

  “Touch me,” she said. “Touch me everywhere.”

  “Promise?” His hand reached between her legs, stroked the curls, but didn’t push into the wetness.

  “Oh, yeah.” She was on top of him, knowing she should worry about crushing him, knowing she shouldn’t. She spread her knees, inviting his hand deeper. His cock was hard, poking her stomach; she reached down, fisted him, pumped him up and down as she licked his face.

  His fingertip teased her folds. Up and down, just a tiny, maddening stroke.

  “Please,” she said, but his fingers stayed agonizingly distant. To encourage him, she kissed her way down his neck, and followed the hair down his chest and navel to the hard cock in her hand. While her hand squeezed, her mouth slipped over him, took him deep. She bit him with her lips, so turned on by the way he got harder and bigger in her mouth.

  He groaned, plainly enjoying her efforts, but again he put his hand on her mouth and moved her face away.

  Confused, she pushed herself up to look at him. “Why not?”

  “Exactly,” he said softly. His face was flushed, strained, but he managed to raise a mocking eyebrow.

  Suddenly understanding, she exhaled, annoyed. “That’s—but—”

  “What?”

  “That’s different.”

  “Why?”

  “All guys like blow jobs,” she said.

  He smiled slowly. “And some girls like giving them.”

  “How do you know I’m not just trying to make you happy?”

  “I can tell.”

  She licked her lips. “All right. So?”

  “You may suck my cock,” he said, arching his back, shifting his hips upward, “as long as you’re facing the other direction.”

  Her temperature rose another few degrees. “You want to look at me?”

  He sat up, took hold of her, rotated her torso away from him. Fingers splayed, his hands caressed her ass, pushed up her spine to bend her over.

  Now she was facing away from him, her bottom was up in the air, her elbows digging into the mattress, her face next to his knee.

  One of his fingers slid to the cleft of her ass, glided down to her exposed pussy. Again, he only teased the folds, not entering. “Closer.”

  Gladly, she crawled backwards, willing him to slip those fingers inside where she was wet and aching for him. His cock was hard, twitching with his own arousal; she wrapped her fingers around him again and bent down to suck him.

  He gripped her left knee and lifted it over his body, spreading her wide so she was straddling his shoulders.

  She ached, how she ached. She moved over so her left hand was on the other side of his hip and began sucking him in earnest, deeper and harder, afraid and not wanting and so, so desperate for him to—

  His powerful arms pulled her down onto his face. She cried out, eyes closing, his hard cock sliding up her cheek as his tongue swept deep into her.

  For a long moment, a paralyzing minute, every one of her senses was fixated on the feel of his mouth kissing her. He lapped at her, deep, hard. His fingers separated her folds and then, while she cried out again, his tongue flicked over her clit, over and over, around and around. Blinding pleasure shot through her. A shrinking voice inside her reminded her she didn’t allow this, she didn’t like this, and then it faded into silence.

  He pulled her lower, dug his fingers into her thighs. The sounds were sexual, kinky, so hot; she wanted more. More of him. She let the pleasure travel up her body to her mouth and, sharing it with him, taking more for herself, she sucked his cock deep into her throat, tasting the saltiness of him.

  Pleasure spiraled low in her belly. Her knees trembled. Yet he continued to suckle and tease her, and she him. Mindless, happy, loving, sexual, it went on and on until she was so high and tight inside she simply couldn’t support herself any longer. His cock slipped out of her mouth, her forehead fell to his thigh—and he, seeming to sense she was at her peak, touched her in just the way she wanted and needed and then she was over, exploding, there.

  “Oh,” she cried, letting her hips fall to the bed.

  He sat up and climbed on top of her. When he kissed her on the neck, she smelled herself on him. She wondered vaguely if she should mind, because she didn’t.

  He settled himself between her legs, breathing heavily, and kissed her, open-mouthed. Then with a slow, steady thrust, he pushed into her. A groan was ripped from his throat. She sighed, closed her eyes, and shifted her hips to meet him.

  Scattering kisses along her neck, face, and throat, he built up a steady rhythm that was gentler than their other times together. The moves were slowe
r, more graceful, deliberate. She felt like he was touching her everywhere, inside and out, always keeping his torso lifted from hers in the middle, protecting the soreness there.

  After a little while his movements lost their luxurious, lazy pace. With building speed, he pounded harder, his breath coming ragged, and she tightened around him, encouraging him, her own pleasure building again.

  She dug her nails into his shoulders and he came with a shout. Throwing his head back, he moved roughly inside her one more time, twice, and then he collapsed on top of her. Then quickly to the side. He dipped his head against her temple, breathing heavily, and closed his eyes.

  She smiled and watched him. When his breath slowed back to normal, the long eyelashes fluttered upward, and eyes like the ocean, not quite green or blue, regarded her.

  After his breath had gone back to normal, he propped himself up on an elbow, brushed the hair out of her eyes. “I love you, Rose,” he said. Serious, not smiling at all.

  Her breath didn’t come for a moment. “I love you, too, Mark,” she whispered.

  Frowning, he shook his head. “You don’t have to say it just because I did.”

  “I know.”

  “I should’ve waited. I’ve really put you on the spot.”

  “Fine. Tell me later.” She played with the lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes again. She wondered if it got blond streaks in the summer, cheerfully confident she’d find out.

  “I will,” he said.

  “I know.”

  Chapter 31

  “THERE’S SOMETHING ELSE I SHOULD tell you,” Mark said.

  “Oh, God,” Rose said. “What now?”

  “It’s nothing bad. At least, I think you’ll understand.”

  “Let me guess—you own Google.” She shifted onto her side to face him. “No. A cable news network.”

  He closed his eyes, laughing softly.

  She tweaked his nose. “A small island in the Pacific?”

  “Nothing like that.” His hand slid up her thigh and around her hip to caress her bottom. “It’s just—I had a little help getting you here today.”