In Deep Shitake Part 23

"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, ma.s.saging her before moving his expert touch to the top of her s.e.x 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 o.r.g.a.s.m 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 b.u.t.tock.

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 pus.h.i.+ng the jeans to the floor and sheathing his shaft with the neon green condom. "Our cla.s.sy 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 s.h.i.+fted 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 j.a.panese 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. Crepe.

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 relations.h.i.+p apocalypse in every little thing? Hadn't that mindset been disastrous for every one of her past relations.h.i.+ps?

Stop it, Mo. Stop predicting destruction of the relations.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+n 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.

"s.h.i.+take," 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-s.h.i.+rt, perhaps? After all, didn't every man walk around with sc.r.a.ps 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.

Not wanting him to respond until her story was out, she continued, "There wasn't a pad by the phone and then I saw the jeans. I thought you might have a receipt for the t-s.h.i.+rt so I... And I really was trying to be quiet, but I jammed my leg into the bedside table... So I must've been too loud and I woke you... but I..." She knew she was babbling.

"Why were you looking for a piece of paper?" he asked.

"I couldn't sleep so I started playing this game in my head and I suddenly-it was stupid really. I thought it would be better if I wrote things down." Heat rose over her cheeks. "It was this game where I was trying to combine our names together."

The game really sounded absurd when discussed out loud. But at least his face had relaxed into a smile and he didn't look at her with suspicion anymore.

"The game was something to do. Anyway, I already told you it was stupid," she finished with embarra.s.sment.

"So, what combinations did you come up with?"

Mo proceeded to recite the entire sorry list.

"This might be fun," Ross said as he sat up in the bed. "I want in on this game. Let's see now. Oh I know. How about combining a first name with a last name? Ruttle. TuttRo. GranMo. ImoGrant-"

"Stop. They're all horrible. You're teasing me now," Mo said, covering her ears with both hands.

Chuckling, Ross threw back the sheet and jumped up. As he crossed to her, the florescent light spilling through the bathroom door fell across his flawlessly sculpted body. When he reached her side, he pulled her hands away from her ears and wrapped his arms around her.

"I think they're fantastic," Ross said. "I particularly like RoMo."

"You would. You get top billing in that one."

"That's right and don't you forget it." He laughed and hugged her tighter.

"You know," he said before dropping a tantalizing kiss against her lips. "As brilliant as that game is, a much more enjoyable game comes to mind with you being as undressed as you are."

"Oh? What game would that be?" Mo allowed her hands to caress the smooth skin over his powerful shoulders.

"Come back to bed and I'll show you," he urged.

"Will you want top billing in this game?"

"No. I think it would be amusing if you're on top this time."

"I can't get it out," Mo said.

"Stop saying that. You're trying to frighten me," Ross replied.

"No really. I can't get it out," Mo insisted looking down. "It's firmly fixed in there and won't budge."

"You've got to try harder," Ross said with mock desperation.

Mo met his eyes in a level gaze. "I've tried as hard as I can," she said in an equally mocking tone.

"Does that mean? No. Please, say it isn't true."

"I'm afraid it is," Mo continued morosely. "Since I can't get the hot wings stain to come out of the dress s.h.i.+rt, you're going to have to wear this t-s.h.i.+rt again today."

Mo looked down at herself. Although it fell to Mo's mid-thigh, the Bubbaland s.h.i.+rt was the only thing covering her at the moment.

"Noooooooo," Ross cried as he lifted his arms heavenward toward the motel room ceiling in exaggerated theatricality. "Not another day in Bubbaland."

Mo tossed the stained s.h.i.+rt back in the motel bathroom sink. She strolled over to Ross who was dressed only in his low-slung jeans. She wound her arms around him, reveling in the feel of the smooth skin stretched over serious muscle.

"That performance showed real talent," Mo taunted before kissing his stubbled cheek. "You should think about acting as a career choice."

"Cheeky tart," Ross grumbled. His hands caressed the top of her bare thighs. Clutching her bottom with both hands, he pulled her hips into tight contact with his. Ross nuzzled her neck.

"Ooooh. You are an actor." Mo stroked his left pec. "I recognize you now. I can feel that big gun in your pocket," she teased.

Ross caressed the tender cord that stretched from behind her lobe to her shoulder with his teeth as if nibbling on an ear of corn before lifting his head. "I do not have a big gun in my pocket, I'm just happy to see you," he said, his breath hot against her neck. He bit down gently.

"Ow," Mo said. "I thought you were a super spy, not a vampire."

"Sorry," he said, sucking the offended spot, and then laving it with his tongue.

Oh, she'd have a hickey now. Mo couldn't remember the last time she'd had a hickey. Maybe at age sixteen?

"There's more good news." Mo gasped as he turned his attentions to the other side of her neck.

"You're going to remove the Bubbaland s.h.i.+rt?" He asked eagerly.

"Well, yes." She laughed. "But what I was going to tell you is that the phantom costume pants are a total loss. They're torn and stained. You'll have to wear the jeans. At least the Tuxedo jacket from the costume is wearable. Although I prefer you wearing nothing at all," she whispered in his ear.

"Hmmm. Tuxedo jacket over t-s.h.i.+rt and jeans. Maybe I'll create a new fas.h.i.+on trend? 'Bubbaland After Six' wear."

Ross stepped away with obvious reluctance. "I suppose all this talk about my wardrobe means we have to get dressed and leave this wonderful love nest."

Mo grasped the waistband of his jeans to pull him to her. Her soft parts made glorious contact with his hard ones. "Not just yet," she rasped.

The fire of desire burned in his eyes as Ross bent toward her for a lingering kiss. "That is the absolute best news you've given me all morning."

An extremely bad development had occurred. Actually, "bad" wasn't a strong enough word. This development endangered all of Ross's careful planning against acquiring these unexpected feelings for Ms. Imogene Tuttle. How could he single-mindedly pursue his film with this...this... disastrous, shambolic distraction of catastrophic proportions?

Ross hadn't fully a.n.a.lyzed his feelings, but one certain sign that they were uncontrollable was the fact that he couldn't stop himself from touching Mo. At even the most inexplicable times, he found himself taking any excuse to reach out to her. A piece of lint, a stray hair, an errant crumb of food, he'd used them all. He and Mo sat side by side on a bench in a small room annexed to the lobby of the seedy motel, eating what the motel euphemistically called the complimentary breakfast.

At least Mo appeared to be enjoying her breakfast. Ross had yet to find anything at the buffet piled on a rickety table in the corner that he could take more than one bite of without gagging.

h.e.l.l! Had he been petting her hair? Ross jerked his hand away, hoping she hadn't noticed. Mo reacted with a smile so dazzling Ross couldn't help his sharp intake of breath.

"This is so good," Mo purred.