In Deep Shitake (A Humorous Romantic Suspense) (29 page)

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 and 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.

No. There had to be a way to prove she and Ross were meant to be together. Maybe, if she wrote the names on a piece of paper, as she had done in fifth grade, the combination with the requisite cuteness would emerge and prove their “rightness” as a couple.

Mo eased herself off the bed and then groped around for her purse. She finally found the bag in the corner near Talley’s carrier. There must be a piece of paper and pen she could use in that huge monstrosity. She quickly found a pen. However, a thorough rummage inside the bag did not turn up any paper. Not even a tiny piece.

There was probably a pad of paper in the room. Most motels had complimentary paper. In fact, as she thought about it, Mo was certain she had seen one near the phone earlier.

Mo inched her way carefully toward the bedside table in the shadows…but not carefully enough. Her shin rammed into a pointy edge on the vacant bed.

“
Ow
,” she hissed. She slapped her hand over her mouth. She didn’t want to wake Ross or Talley.

She limped the rest of the way to the table only to find there was no pad of paper beside or under the phone.

“Shitake,” she mouthed to herself.

Mo was momentarily at a loss as to where to look next. She glanced around the floor. Maybe Ross would have a piece of paper in his pants pocket. Something he wouldn’t miss.
A receipt for the
Bubbaland
t-shirt, perhaps?
After all, didn’t every man walk around with scraps of paper stuffed in his pockets?

As she reached for the jeans that had been tossed across the unused bed earlier, Mo pushed away a twinkle of rationality which warned her it was a mistake to poke around in Ross’s things. She was on a mission though.
Stupid, but a mission nonetheless.

Nothing in one pocket.
In the other was… eureka, a folded piece of notepaper. She unfolded the square paper. The motel’s logo sprawled across the top with some handwriting below it. Mo leaned so the light from the bathroom fell directly across the surface of the paper. Now she could read the handwriting. The name Heather had been written in block letters. Then the words appeared surrounded by exclamation points. Mo read with surprise: Wedding planner. Contact.

What was this? Ross had obviously written a note about contacting a wedding planner. Ross had vehemently denied his engagement to Heather. Had he lied? Mo struggled to beat back the thought. Ross had said he wasn’t marrying Heather. She had to believe him. If she didn’t have faith in Ross…

“What are you doing?” Ross asked, leaning toward her on one elbow. “Why are you searching my jeans?” he asked suspiciously. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

Mo realized she stood awkwardly holding the note in one hand and the jeans in the other. “No.” She sounded guilty to her own ears. Would he believe her? “Yes,” she backtracked. “I was looking for a piece of paper to write on.”

His eyebrow arched.

“I searched my purse and there was a pen and a bunch of other junk, but I couldn’t find any paper and then I thought the motel must have a pad of paper, but I hit my leg on the bed.” She stopped to take a deep breath and quickly let it back out.