In Deep Shitake (A Humorous Romantic Suspense)

by Patricia Mason

  * * * * *

  “We lost them,” Ivan said, closing the door of Kubikov's strip club office behind him.

  Kubikov sank down into the desk chair. He removed the Glock from his waistband and placed it in his lap. “I am not understanding all this incompetence. Why can you not get this done, brother?” He loved Ivan, but he seriously wanted to shoot someone. His brother was the only one around. He stared at the photo of his mother on the wall. She wouldn't like it if he shot Ivan.

  One rap of a fist on the door and it pushed inward. Betsy marched in. Just what he didn’t need.

  “I want to perform tonight,” Betsy said, jutting one hip out and crossing her arms over her chest.

  “No,” Ivan said, glaring at her.

  “You don’t order me around. You aren’t my boss,” Betsy said glaring right back at her brother-in-law. “You’re nobody’s boss.”

  Ivan’s eyes darted to Kubikov. “My brother doesn’t need trouble from you tonight, woman.”

  Kubikov appreciated his brother’s thoughtfulness because Kubikov had reached the end of his patience.

  “Just go home and be with baby,” Kubikov said, rising. He walked over to the door and held it open for her.

  Betsy looked from him to Ivan. “I’ll go home…tonight. But if things don’t change soon, I’m going to dance. If not here, at some other club.”

  “Okay, okay. Don’t threaten me, woman.” He glowered at her.

  “Don’t threaten the boss,” Ivan warned.

  “Why don’t you take her home?” Kubikov suggested to his brother. “That way I'll know she got there safely.”

  “Da,” Ivan said and then took Betsy's arm. She didn't protest. The two walked out and Kubikov closed the door behind them.

  Finally, someone was doing something he'd asked them to do.

  * * * * *

  Mo wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror. The moisture smeared and the face—her face—staring back at her from its depths, blurred.

  “Come on, Mo,” she mumbled to herself. Mo knew she had to leave this bathroom sometime. She’d prolonged it as much as she could. What was she afraid of? Ross certainly wouldn’t jump her bones like some ravenous tiger.

  But then again, maybe that’s what she was afraid of. It would be so much easier if Ross would accept the burden of decision and she could fall into his arms without conscious choice. If she came on to him, would he think her an easy conquest?

  Oh, my gouda! She was having the old ‘will he respect me in the morning’ conversation with herself. But as ridiculous as it was, the question nagged at her. Would he respect her? But at the same time, wouldn’t she regret it for the rest of her life if she didn’t act on her attraction to him? She had to take this once-in-a-dozen-lifetimes opportunity.

  As the blurred image cleared, Mo saw the eyes in the mirror. Her eyes were wide and frightened. If something did happen with Ross, what would it mean? A one-night stand? More? What did she want it to mean?

  The ultimate humiliation would be if he didn’t want her at all. But what if he did? That thought sent excited tremors—but also spears of fear—through her.

  A knock on the door brought her to attention.

  “Still all right in there?”

  She wasn’t, but not in the way he meant. “Yes, I’ll be out in a minute,” she called back.

  Mo wrapped one of the larger towels around her damp body. The texture scratched her skin and barely covered all of her important bits.

  “I am a confident, sensual woman,” she said to herself in the mirror. Mo turned toward the door and squared her shoulders. She opened the door and walked out into the bedroom with what she hoped was her sexiest self-assured saunter.

  Ross sat on the bed furthest from the bathroom. Talley swished back and forth, rubbing himself against Ross’s leg.

  “Talley seems to like me,” Ross bragged.

  “Yeah? Don’t take it personally. He likes pretty much everyone.” What Mo didn’t tell Ross was Talley generally didn’t like men; he didn’t trust men. So Talley’s attention to Ross was unusual. “I thought you were allergic.”

  “I don’t need to sneeze so the traumas of the day must’ve cured me.”

  Even after the day’s horrors and wearing that horrible t-shirt, he was gorgeous. A magnificent knight in tacky Bubbaland armor. He was a much better hero in reality than the Stephen Dagger fantasy of her teen years. The real person challenged villains and saved cats. What more could a girl want?

  Mo hovered in silence near the bathroom door for a few moments.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Ross finally said. “There are two beds. Yours is over there and mine all the way over here. You don’t have to worry I’m going to jump on you or anything.”

  “Great.” Maybe a girl could want someone not quite this gallant. Apparently she didn’t look like the poised sexy woman she had been hoping to project. Probably more like a frightened doe.

  “What does that mean? I assure you that I can behave like a gentleman.”

  “Oh yes. You’re being a perfect gentleman. You offered me the bed in your hotel suite earlier, with you taking the sofa. And now you’re assuring me you’ll keep to your bed while I’m in mine. Thanks very much.”

  Ross shook his head. “I don’t understand you. I haven’t made any crude or lewd remarks. I haven’t made any advances. I thought that was what you'd want.”

  Despite her efforts to hold her head up, it hung shyly. “I guess that’s what I should want. But it kinda makes a girl feel unattractive to be standing here in only a towel and the gorgeous guy’s reaction is ‘let’s keep things platonic’.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  At her words, Ross’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He said nothing for at least ten seconds, long enough to make Mo think he wasn't going to react at all. Maybe he didn't want her.

  Then, abruptly, his eyes narrowed and a sly smile quirked his lips. He picked the chocolate bar up off the nightstand and then held it in the air.

  “Psssst. Hey lady,” he said in a gravelly voice with a New York accent. “Want some candy?” He asked, suggestively waving the candy bar at her and waggling his eyebrows.

  “I might,” she said with a small smile.

  He tore the wrapping open, exposing the chocolate. He inhaled, seeming to savor the candy’s smell. The corner of his mouth turned up with a smirk. “You’re going to have to come over here and get it.”

  “Oh really? I’ve been told it’s not a good idea to take candy from strange men," she teased. "What will I have to do for that candy?”

  “If you come over here, I’m sure I’ll be able to think of a thing or two.”

  Excitement shot through her. “Will it be a naughty thing or two?”

  “Definitely,” Ross said, his eyes gleaming with hunger for her.

  “Good.” Mo walked slowly toward him, trying not to completely lose her towel or her nerve. The fire blazing in his eyes gratified her. Mo didn’t know whether to glory in his obvious desire for her or to run quickly back into the bathroom, slam the door, and then throw the lock.

  When she came within arms length, Ross reached out to grab her to his muscular chest. His strong arms wrapped around her. Mo’s hands were trapped against each pec and her towel slipped precariously.

  “I’ve got you in my clutches now.” His voice teased, but his eyes were keenly serious.

  “The least you could do is give me some of that candy you promised,” Mo whispered, breathless.

  Keeping his left arm banded around her, he raised his right hand, which still held the candy bar. He brought the bar to her lips in offering. His gaze lingered on her lips as she opened her mouth, took the candy inside, and then bit off a large piece.

  “It looks like you bit off more than you can chew.” Ross bent toward her. His mouth closed over the other end of the candy and his lips met hers around the sweet morsel. Mo felt him bite down on the bar.

  Somehow they chewed and kissed simultaneously. Her to
ngue teased his in the cavern of his mouth before retreating. His tongue followed into her mouth and licked at hers. He tasted of chocolate and caramel and peanuts and man.

  Pulling her lips from his, Mo swallowed. Ross took a second bite out of the bar.

  “Hey, you’re hogging the candy,” Mo protested.

  ”It’s my birthday. I can hog if I want to.”

  ”Oh really? Happy Birthday. I’ll have to try to think of a fabulous present for you.”

  “I can think of one,” he said with a husky tone.

  A large flake of chocolate stuck to Ross’s skin at the rim of the t-shirt’s neck. Leaning her head forward, she breathed in the sandalwood and musky male scent of him. Mo licked the morsel away, depositing a small nip at his Adam’s apple. Ross groaned.

  “Maybe you should remove this lovely t-shirt. You seem to be a messy eater. You wouldn’t want to get chocolate all over it,” Mo said. Her voice sounded hoarse to her own ears.

  “Ah yes. It would be a shame to stain my souvenir from Bubbaland.”

  Ross stepped back, causing the towel to slip, exposing her breasts. Mo had to clutch at her towel to keep it from falling. She pulled it tight under her arms, re-twisted, and re-tucked the top edge under the opposite side.

  Ross impatiently tugged the t-shirt over his head and then flung the garment to the room’s corner. So much for his precious souvenir.

  “It appears you’re as messy as I.” Ross fixated on a flake of chocolate above the twist of the towel. He bent to lick the bit away, his mouth lingering to suck lightly the swell of her right breast. “Perhaps you should discard this towel. We wouldn’t want to pay this high class establishment for staining it,” he said, his hands going to the twist.

  “You’re probably right.” Mo gasped as the towel joined Bubbaland in the corner.

  If possible, Ross’s eyes blazed even brighter. “You’re exquisite.”

  Ross reached around Mo as he jerked the bedspread and blanket off one of the beds with one motion. He pressed Mo down onto white sheets. Following her down, he fitted himself between her thighs. She reveled in the weight of him over her. The rasp of the rough fabric of his jeans against her sensitive skin sent a surge of pure sensation straight to her core.

  “I’m not sure I can wait much longer,” Ross grated out.

  “You don’t have to,” Mo said, slipping her hands between them to work at the button of the jeans. Once the button was undone, the zipper slid easily down. Mo delved one hand inside the fabric to stroke his velvety, hard length. “I’m with you,” she whispered against his lips. Then she arched up, captured his mouth with hers, and teased the head of him with her fingers.

  She’d never felt such wanton desire for a man, nor had she indulged her desires on such a short acquaintance. The few relationships she’d allowed herself in the past had grown slowly, progressing from friendship to more over a period of months. With Ross, she felt caught up in a blender of feelings too scary to analyze. So instead, she would just savor the sexual bliss and ignore the rest for now.

  Her hand grasped his length, caressing him from base to tip. He gasped and his body went rigid. “Mo…you’re…killing me.”

  “As long as you die satisfied,” she whispered.

  “Yes, but...” he said, his breath rapid. Leaning on one hand, he reached between them with the other and slid two fingers into her channel. “You require satisfaction too,” he said, massaging her before moving his expert touch to the top of her sex to toy with her pleasure center.

  Breath catching in her throat, Mo’s thighs instinctively widened and then tightened around his hips. She squirmed, writhing against the sheets from the agonizing ache building inside her body.

  “Ross,” she choked out before biting down on her lip. Each pinch and flick and caress of his fingers caused her body to bow and buck. Straining, she felt the tension coil inside her. The coil tightened and then tightened again, before her climax burst inside her, spinning her into release. Mo convulsed and spasmed under Ross as she cried out her pleasure.

  When she opened her eyes, Ross leaned over her with a pleased smile and she wondered suddenly if her orgasm face had been silly. But before she could become too worried, Ross bent forward and nipped at her mouth in a succession of short kisses. Then his lips claimed hers, taking her mouth. Hard. Fierce. Mo was equally hungry for him. Her arms twined around his back, bringing Ross down on her with his full weight. Caressing him from shoulder blades down his spine and then to the top of the waistband of his jeans, she pushed her hands under the material and grasped each buttock.

  His mouth left hers to place a path of kisses along her jaw, down her neck, on her collarbone, and over the slope of her breast. They rose and fell with every heavy, ragged breath. He worked magic on her nipple, sucking, laving and licking it into a hardened pebble, before moving on to the other one.

  “Yes,” she gasped out. “Yes. Don’t stop.”

  And he didn’t. Ross moved down her body, his mouth exploring her naval and then over her belly to the curls at the juncture of her thighs. When he gave her the most intimate of kisses, she could have sworn she saw sparks.

  “Please,” she moaned. “Ross. I want you inside me.”

  He drew back and Mo was gratified to see his own breathing was as labored as her own. Digging into his jean pockets, Ross extracted a package. With trembling fingers, he tore it open.

  She gave him a pointed stare, with an arched brow.

  “Fortunately,” he said pushing the jeans to the floor and sheathing his shaft with the neon green condom. “Our classy hotel had a fully stocked vending machine.”

  “Very fortunate,” she said with a smile as she stretched out her hand to him. “Nice color too.”

  “You’ll be able to see it in the dark,” he said, stepping out of the jeans and moving between her legs.

  He entered her, forging himself deep, causing them to both groan in unison. Mo could only hold on tight as he moved back and forth in her slick channel. The rhythm drove her until an all-consuming ecstasy pushed them both over the edge into release.

  Collapsing against her, his breath felt hot against her forehead. Mo wrapped her arms and legs around him. After a few minutes of silence during which their breathing slowed, Ross pulled out of her and turned onto his back. They lay with their eyes locked. He twined his fingers with hers and brought them to his lips.

  “You are astounding,” he said.

  “Is that good?” she asked.

  “Absolutely,” he said.

  “Then I earned my candy.”

  He shifted to lean on one elbow over her, caressing the hair from her damp forehead. “I don’t know about that,” he said with a smile. “That candy bar was quite large.”

  “Perhaps I owe you a bit more compensation,” she said with a smile of her own.

  * * * * *

  Mo lay awake in the darkness of the motel room. How could she sleep? She didn’t want to miss a moment of this night or being with Ross. Her dream man slept peacefully on his back, the sheet draped over him to the waist and he had a slight smile on his lips. As Mo watched, his chest rose, then fell, and then rose again. A faint glow came from the light in the bathroom, allowing Mo to enjoy examining the excellence of that chest as it moved in its perfect rhythm.

  A sudden concern occurred to her. Could he be cold? It wouldn’t do to allow Ross to catch pneumonia. Mo re-arranged the sheet over his chest and adjusted herself into a snug but comfortable cuddle beside Ross. Her arm draped across him and her head rested against his shoulder. His mouth slipped open and a quiet snore emerged. A gorgeously cute snore.

  Mo explored an unfamiliar feeling which seemed to start in her midsection and radiate outward. She realized the feeling could qualify as happiness.

  And she realized something else in that moment. Mo hadn’t felt this silly and happy in... forever, really. The closest thing she could recall was a crush she’d had on her fifth grade teacher. Lovesick, she’d written his name over a
nd over. Then she had moved on to writing her own first name with his last name attached.

  She smiled to herself. Imogene Grant was so much better than Imogene Tuttle.

  That game could be fun with Ross too, she mused. Mrs. Ross Grant. Cool. Not that Mo wanted to get married. She didn’t. But the sound of the name in her head was delightful, almost as if just the thought had allowed Mo to start to believe that romance really had a chance of working out for her this time.

  What would it sound like if their names were merged together like the celebrity couples in the news? Combining names made those couples sound so perfect for one another. Like Brangelina. The name game could work for Mo and Ross too. Right?

  Mo tried it in her head. Mo Tuttle and Ross Grant. Mo and Ross. Moss. Ukkkk. Sounded like an unattractive weed. Imogene and Ross. Imoss. Too much like a weird radio personality. What about their last names? Tuttle and Grant. Trant. That didn’t sound like a merger of names at all. Besides, it wasn’t cute or interesting. How about Grant before Tuttle. Guttle. No way. That combo turned her stomach.

  How about starting with Ross’s first name. Ross and Imogene. Rogene. Too much like a hair restoration cream. RoMo. Sounded like some kind of Japanese robot.

  Hey. Put the two names together completely if the merger didn’t sound good, like TomKat. She tried it. MoRoss. Agghhhh. That sounded like a type of depression. Rossogene was more like a bioengineering company name. Crêpe.

  Paranoia whispered in Mo’s head. Perhaps Mo and Ross weren’t meant to be together forever like TomKat. Could it be the inability to cutely combine her name with Ross’s was a sign of romantic doom?

  No, she told herself. It didn’t mean a thing. Mo felt herself begin to hyperventilate. She closed her eyes and forced her breathing to slow down. No. Firmly no. Why did she insist on seeing a sign of a relationship apocalypse in every little thing? Hadn’t that mindset been disastrous for every one of her past relationships?

  Stop it, Mo. Stop predicting destruction of the relationship before it has even begun. Give the guy a chance. Yeah, a chance to rip your heart out and then eat it for lunch.