"The Tables Have Turned"
an "Under Suspicion" Novel
The double sinks were visible from the bedroom through an open arch. The toilet and shower further in the room were private, separated by a pocket door. Via the vanity, he could see Lorna sitting on the edge of the queen bed, loosening her hair out of the chignon. He chuckled remembering how he had first called the up-do her helmet head. Doing too much at once, he hiccupped and accidently swallowed some toothpaste.
“Blah.” He spit, rinsed the brush, and resumed the procedure. He rolled his eyes.
Watching her splayed fingers run through the thick mass made it hard to concentrate. The light brown strands swung about her shoulders. Head tilted back, eyes closed, all he wanted to do was drop the brush and kiss that long neck. He’d start at the base of her throat and work his way—slowly—into the sensitive area along her jaw bone, close to her ear lobe. His fingers tightened on the counter anticipating her throaty “ahh” when he hit all the right spots. Then he imagined working his way south in the same slow manner, taking his time to pay proper homage to pert—not too big—not to small—breasts along the way.
Mitch coughed when he realized he’d forgotten all about brushing his teeth. But he was reluctant to interrupt her motions. Seeing Lorna so unguarded and natural was a rarity. She lived a life of focus, surrounded by lists and goals. For a few moments, he wanted to enjoy the rare view into the woman who would be his wife soon.
She shifted the mass to one shoulder and kicked off her heels. Tracing her fingers up her leg, under the hemline of her somber skirt, she fit her thumb under the edge of the stocking and started to move it down the shapely leg. At the ankle, she pulled the nylon from the toe and tossed it to the floor. As she started to repeat the process on the other leg, Mitch had to step back from the edge of the sink. His blood was raging through his veins, engorging certain parts of his body.