Chapter 22 This Bath is Too Hot
This Bath is Too Hot
WINONA
For the next couple of weeks, we were monks. Or Mitchell was. I was a horny nun.
We didn’t see each other in person, mostly because I was busy with work.
Everything was full-on at the Rolling Hills.
Early in the week, I had a meeting with a woman Cassandra introduced me to, who was on the board of a major builders’ association.
She let me pick her brain for well over two hours and gave me a ton of contacts across the country to follow up with.
I told Cher and Sarah about it, of course.But I found myself bursting with the need to tell someone else.
So I called Mitchell. We were friends, weren't we?
I was worried he wouldn’t pick up—that this space he'd given me extended to the phone too. But he answered on the first ring, sounding almost relieved to hear me. And when I gushed about my meeting, I heard the smile in his voice when he asked me for more.
We talked every day after that. He mostly called when we were both in bed to ask about my day and tell me about his.
The calls were a little like the texts he sent me before he knew I could see them.
They were earnest and sweet. I learned, when he told me he'd heard a Wood Thrush during his morning swim, that he was into birds, which was shockingly adorable.
I held my phone out my window the next morning for a pop quiz, and he named three different varieties, describing them perfectly.
If I ever had the opportunity to buy him a gift, he was getting a pair of little binoculars and knee-high socks.
We talked about my progress with Heartbreaker Trades and his with his book.
I told him about John’s work on my house.
How he and Mrs. Moody flirted shamelessly, and how it felt icky but adorable, like parents making eyes at each other in front of their kids.
Mitchell listened intently to every word.
We skirted the issue of sex. Except for the subtlest hints.
Those were slowly killing me.
They were Mitchell, telling me he never did call Miller to fix his pipes. He said he was waiting for this much sexier plumber to come back. Which of course also made me laugh, picturing him waiting for one of Miller’s crew. All of them personified the plumber’s crack.
But there were also less innocuous things, like me asking if he was taking good care of my bra.
Every night before we hung up, he asked me what I was wearing to bed. I’d do the same. But we’d cut things off before they turned into anything else.
I knew this wasn’t the normal or smart course of action. Logically, this would have been the perfect time to cut things off. Even if he wasn’t such a wild card, Mitchell was leaving town in a matter of weeks. I was on the cusp of a major career shift. My head knew the right thing to do.
But every other part of me cried his name.
I couldn’t separate sex from feelings. It was why I’d always felt repelled by casual dating. I’d only slept with a few men, all people I’d been in long-term relationships with. All safe, boring men I probably could have married and had safe, boring lives with.
Mitchell was not safe—at least not where my heart was concerned. And he was definitely not boring. He was terrible for me. But I wanted him desperately.
I finally came to terms with the fact that I just had to be okay with having the feelings if I wanted the sex. I’d just have to try to keep them contained as much as possible.
Because I really, really, wanted the sex. And time was ticking.
My feelings hadn’t changed in the days we’d been apart.
If anything, they’d intensified. When we hung up each night with that near-descent into talking about the elephant between us, I didn’t need to use the books.
I’d slip my hand between my legs and bring myself to orgasm, Mitchell’s name pouring from my lips.
On the day John finished at my place, I called Mitchell before he could call me.
“Thank you,” I told him. I hadn’t said thank you before. I’d only given him shit for helping me, which I thought he deserved for foisting it on me. But I could have said no. He always gave me room to say no.
“I never knew how good it would feel to have all those loose ends around the house tied up. Like…closure. Like self-care, in a weird way. So thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me for something that only takes a sentence to get done.”
“Well, thank Sal and everyone else for pulling this off. But don't act like it wasn't your idea."
Mitchell harrumphed.
"If you do nice things, you really should get better at taking compliments."
"Having money gives you an obligation to use it for good," he said.
"And you think you're a dick."
"I am a dick. To everyone else."
I smiled. I was in the bath, and I’d made it a little too hot. I lifted my foot out of the water, resting the sole on the edge of the tub. “Well, I'm honored to know I'm the one person who knows you’re secretly a good person.”
"That's enough of that," Mitchell said, clearly uncomfortable.
I laughed, but my foot bounced on the edge of the tub.
I was nervous tonight, too.
Because I’d decided this afternoon, as the guys packed up, that I would never regret sleeping with Mitchell Harrington.
Mainly, he was no longer someone inconsequential to me.
That created more problems than it solved, but I hand-waved that away.
But I also had the sense this man would give me the best sex of my life, and that I was ready for.
“I mean, I know you’re a dick sometimes, Mitchell,” I said, water dripping as I ran my fingers over my neck. “I’ve seen it firsthand.”
I was teasing him, but he wasn’t laughing.
“I’m going to need you to stop saying that word, Winona.”
“What word?” I sat up. "Dick?"
He groaned. There was a rustling, like bedclothes. It was earlier than our normal calls, but not by much. What had he been doing before he called me?
Everything in my body came to attention. What had he been doing every night before he called me?
A boldness rushed through me. I channeled Cher, who I pictured cheering me on…and then looking away. I lay back down, covering my eyes with my hand as if that would excuse the words I was about to say.
“You know," I hesitated. "I’ve never seen your dick, Mitchell.”
The rustling stopped.
I took a breath to keep my voice strong and not shy. “I kind of saw it through your clothes. It looks like the perfect size. Like it would… fit perfectly in my hands.”
I held my breath, heart pounding.
“Winona.” The word came out a growl.
I let out the breath. His reaction gave me the confidence I needed to keep going.
“Hey, Mitchell?”
“Yes, Firecracker?”
“Did you know I’m naked right now?”
For a moment, there was only silence.
“Hello?”
“I’m here. I'm fucking sat, Winona."
I laughed.
"Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“I’m going to need you to describe it, Winona. Where you are, what you’re doing.”
Heat danced between my hips.” I’m in the bath. I made it a little too hot.”
“Mmm.” He seemed to be struggling.
Desire coursed through me as I thought of him trying to maintain control. I drew my hand down my body, my eyelids dropping. “Didn’t you insist I make the first move?”
“This doesn’t count.”
“You can’t just make up rules on the fly.”
“And you can’t just tell me you’re naked and not expect this conversation to go off the rails.”
“Fine,” I said. “Then I get to make up rules, too.”
“Anything, Firecracker.”
“You’re not allowed to touch yourself.”
A low curse sounded. More rustling.
“Were you already touching yourself, Mitchell? Thinking of me here in the tub?”
“What do you think, Winona?”
A charge snapped directly between my legs at the thought of his hand on himself. “Where are your hands now?”
“One’s under the pillow. The other’s holding the phone.”
“Maybe you should turn over so you’re not tempted.”
More muffled sounds. “Done.”
“Good boy.”
He made a sound of displeasure. But he’d obeyed without question.
I drew my hand up my stomach, delighting in this newfound power. I bit my lip, releasing it to ask, “Is your cock hard, Mitchell?”
“Yes.” The word sounded like it came through his teeth.
“Good.” I danced my fingers over my skin. “My hand is close to my left breast, Mitchell. What should I do?”
“Cup it. Run your fingers over your nipple.”
“Please?”
“Fuck. Please, Winona.”
I curled my hand under my breast and gave my nipple a little pinch, breathing sharply at the contact. “Oh, Mitchell.”
“Fuck.” I heard him shift.
“I wish it were your hand,” I breathed.
More shifting.
“No touching, Mitchell.”
“I’m doing my best.”
I moved my hand to my other breast. “I’m touching the other one.”
Some distant part of me recognized how unlike me this was. Since when did I initiate phone sex? Since when did I let myself feel pleasure and have fun without considering the consequences?
Since Mitchell.
That responsible part of me sounded alarm bells. But I ignored those, dunking that voice in the soapy bathwater.
I tapped my camera app. “Want to see, Mitchell?”
Without waiting for him to answer, I snapped a photo of my soapy chest, my fingers pinching my already pointed nipple. I sent it to him before I could change my mind. Adrenaline coursed through me. Desire rode its back.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Mitchell growled.
Too late to turn back now.
“Winona, I have to touch my—”
“No.”
A snarl. “Then show me more.”
“That’s just going to make it worse for you.”
“Fucking do it, Winona, before I get in my car and drive over there.”
“Would you do that?”
“If you say the word, I’ll be there in thirty seconds. I’ll run every red light.”
“Sounds dangerous. But you’re not allowed to move.”
“Then show me more. I want a picture of your tits. Of your face. Of your ass. Of your beautiful pink pussy.”
I nearly dropped the phone. “So bossy.” Still, I got on my knees, taking a photo of my ass emerging from the suds.
“Fucking beautiful.”