Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
First weekend in February and it was pouring rain, so Mike’s idea of going to the arboretum on Sunday afternoon was a no go. Still, Tommy had to admit his backup plan was original—playing Scrabble.
He was feeling mellow, warm and content, not surprising after a morning spent in bed.
But what a morning. Hours of languid touching, kissing, and listening to the sound of the rain as it hit the windows.
Lying in Mike’s arms, just talking, more kissing, everything slow and sensual.
And that was just fine by Tommy; the night before had been plenty hot enough.
Just thinking about some of it sent the blood rushing south.
“Where’s your head at?” Mike demanded, tapping the table with a Scrabble tile, the sharp sound snapping Tommy back into the present.
Tommy gave a start. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat and shifted on his chair.
Mike’s grin widened. “Do I need to guess what you were thinking about?”
Damn the man. “Whose turn is it?” He peered at his tile holder and realized it only had three letters sitting on it.
“Oh.” Apparently it was his. Tommy ignored Mike’s rich chuckle and rummaged blind in the green fabric bag that contained the remaining tiles, drawing out four.
He placed them on the holder and gazed intently at them.
Another shit selection. Tommy glanced at the piece of paper by Mike’s right hand and pursed his lips.
Mike was winning. Again. Not surprising when his last word had been seven letters on a triple word score.
“How about I make us some hot chocolate while you’re working it out?” Mike suggested. “It’s just the sort of day that’s perfect for hot chocolate.”
“That sounds real nice,” Tommy admitted.
“Thank you.” Mike rose to his feet and left the room.
Tommy listened to the sounds emanating from the kitchen before it sank in that he had the perfect opportunity to sneak a look at the letters on Mike’s holder.
Then he reconsidered. He couldn’t bring himself to cheat.
That just wasn’t him, even if his own letters were worth shit. Damn it.
Tommy hadn’t realized until then just how competitive he was. By the time Mike returned with two steaming mugs, he was no closer to coming up with a decent word. What’s the point of havin’ two decent scorin’ letters and nowhere to use ’em?
Mike said nothing but sat facing him, sipping his drink, peering at his tiles and smiling smugly. “It’s a good thing we’re not timing this,” he said with a smirk.
“Not helpin’,” Tommy said under his breath.
“You could always change all your letters and forfeit your go,” Mike said with an innocent air
Tommy snorted. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’ll just bet you’ve already got another seven letter word lined up, haven’t ya?”
Mike feigned a suspicious gaze. “Did you peek while I was out of the room?” He chuckled. “Aww, c’mon, it’s just a game.”
“Yeah, an’ you’ve already won once.”
“I have, haven’t I?” There was that smug smile again.
That. Was. It.
Tommy stroked his chin thoughtfully. “We-ell,” he began, “there is one word I could put down.” He strove to keep his face straight.
“Go for it.” Mike peered at the board. There were a few open areas left, but so far Tommy hadn’t come up with anything worth putting there.
Tommy tapped his index finger against his lips. “Okay, then.” He chose six tiles and placed then carefully on the board. “There.” He started adding up the score. It wasn’t great, not in the same league as Mike’s last effort, but it was better than nothing. “That gets me fifteen.”
Mike’s brow furrowed. “What’s ‘reborum’? I’ve never heard of that.”
“Oh?” Tommy arched his eyebrows. “It’s a natural fertilizer. It’s been used in cotton fields since forever.”
Mike shrugged. “You learn something new every day.” He added the score to the sheet and then gazed at his holder.
“You did better than me. I’ve got mostly consonants.
” He chose four tiles and added them to another word.
“That gets me five, plus another eight for making a plural, so a total of thirteen. Still, not bad.”
The game progressed for another thirty minutes, with Tommy coming up with more words to do with farming and agriculture. With each new addition, Mike noted the score, but Tommy had a feeling he might have pushed his luck with the last one.
Mike sat back in his chair and gazed levelly at Tommy, arms folded across that broad chest. “If I was to look up that word in an online dictionary, would I find it?” His eyes bored into Tommy.
Well, shit—busted. Tommy went for a bluff. “Sure, why wouldn’t it be?” Mike stared harder, and Tommy fingered the collar of his shirt. “Of course, maybe my spellin’ might be wrong, but yeah, I’m pretty sure it’d be in there.”
Mike’s mouth fell open. “Oh my God. Tommy Newsome, did you just lie to me?”
“No-oo,” Tommy protested, but he could tell from Mike’s face that the jig was up.
Mike shook his head, tut-tutting. “Wow. What can I say? An’ there was I thinking what a nice, good, wholesome young man you were.” He gave Tommy a sad smile.
Tommy stared at him, aghast. Aw crap. His heart sank—until Mike’s smile suddenly morphed into a shit-eating grin, and Tommy didn’t know whether to weep with relief or hit Mike for putting him through all that. Then he caught sight of a wicked glint in Mike’s eyes. Uh-oh….
“Gonna put you over my knee and paddle your ass for that,” Mike said, rising to his feet and making a show of rolling back his shirtsleeves. That grin of his hadn’t budged an inch.
In spite of his racing heartbeat, Tommy chuckled.
“You gotta catch me first.” He stood up slowly, trying to work out what Mike would do next.
Tommy edged around the table, his gaze trained on Mike.
“An’ who says I’m gonna let you whup my ass, even if you do catch me, papaw?
” He grinned. “I’m bigger ’n’ you.” He started to back away carefully from the table, unsure of his footing but not daring to take his eyes off Mike.
Mike laughed. “Yeah, but I’m faster.” Suddenly he lunged toward Tommy, hands ready to grab him.
Tommy squealed, turned—and went flying over the arm of the couch, to land on the seat cushions with a whump.
Mike yelled out a triumphant, gleeful shout and dived on top of him, those fingers going to work immediately, pulling up Tommy’s sweater and T-shirt and tickling his ribs.
“Arrgh, Mike, no!” Tommy yelled, squirming, but there was no way to escape the torture when Mike’s weight was pinning him to the couch. He tried to heave Mike off, but damn, he was stronger than Tommy had reckoned on.
“Ha! You thought I’d forgotten you were ticklish? Fat chance.” Mike let his fingers dance over Tommy’s abs until Tommy was crying and laughing, all at the same time. Mike’s eyes sparkled. “You had enough yet? Huh?” All the while he kept up the remorseless assault. “Ready to say ‘uncle’?”
Tommy could hardly see for the tears streaming down his face.
“Uh-uh!” He didn’t know how much more he could take.
Mike paused, and for one blessed moment Tommy thought it was over—until Mike yanked up his T-shirt and started blowing raspberries on his belly.
“Aw… shit, Mike… no!” He could barely scream out the words, his voice hoarse, his breathing ragged.
Mike let out a maniacal laugh. “Hell, I can do this all day if I have to.”
There was only so much torture a boy could take.
“Uncle!”
Mike froze. “I win?” His face was inches from Tommy’s, eyes bright, cheeks flushed.
“You win, you win,” Tommy gasped out, heart pounding, face unbelievably hot.
And then his pulse raced for an entirely different reason when Mike moved slowly, so slowly, and took his mouth in a soft kiss.
“Oh.” Tommy relaxed, melted into the couch, and let his body go limp beneath Mike’s.
He brought his hands up to cup Mike’s head, wanting more, needing more.
Mike shifted to sit on the couch and pulled Tommy into his arms before sinking back into that kiss.
Tommy looped one arm around Mike’s neck and stroked his face with the other, eyes closed, breathing Mike in.
His chest was still rising and falling from the exertion, heart beating strongly, but all he knew was Mike’s lips, Mike’s tongue that gently demanded entrance, Mike’s strong hand rubbing his belly.
Mike broke the kiss to murmur against his mouth. “Mmm, making out on the couch on a rainy Sunday. Now, this is perfect.”
Tommy was inclined to agree. “Yeah,” he whispered, his fingertips seeking out the warm flesh of Mike’s chest through the gaps between the buttons of his shirt.
He opened his eyes to see Mike smile and slowly undo the buttons, pulling the shirt to reveal the firm pecs with their soft covering of hair. “You wanna touch?” He grasped Tommy’s hand and guided it to his nipple. “Play with it,” he whispered. “I like that.”
Tommy inclined his head to look directly at Mike. “Can… can I lick it?”
The rich chuckle that rumbled through Mike’s chest was answer enough.
“Lick it, suck it, bite it even.” Mike grinned.
“But I get to touch too.” Before Tommy could say a word, Mike moved his hand down Tommy’s belly to the waistband of his jeans and popped the button free.
He lowered the zipper and slipped his hand inside, stroking over Tommy’s briefs, where his dick was starting to harden.
Tommy’s breathing stuttered, and Mike laughed quietly. “Hey, weren’t you and my nipple getting acquainted?” His eyes gleamed.