Something Has to Give Read Online Free PDF Page B

another bathroom in this house. Find it!”
    “Jerk,” she sniffed, and stomped back to the bedroom.
    Switching from sink to tub, Quint turned on the shower. Under the hot, pelting spray, he planted on e hand against the tiles and vigorously rubbed one out just as fast as he could manage it. He closed his eyes while he did it, trying to see anyone’s face but Elsie’s, but his was the body of a son-of-a-bitch and it kept trying to feel her whisper-soft breaths moving across his chest, the way her fingertips had trailed him on their way to rub the sleep from her eyes and the slow caress of her leg stroking up so sweetly along the underside of his cock.
    He swore, gripping hard as pure heat and need shot out through his hips and drizzled into the bottom of the tub. The spasms were beyond pleasurable. He held himself frozen, fighting the urge to keep right on pumping until the final spasm stilled and his seed at last was spent. The spray of water washed both the tiles and his frame, sweeping tell-tale semen down the drain. His eyes closed, Quint kept his forehead pressed to the tile until he could breathe without panting.
    That was pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. He was made of st ronger stuff than this. She was the enemy who was trying to steal his house out from under him. He did not need to spend his first morning home masturbating furiously to get her out of his system!
    A soft bump rattled the bathroom door.
    Lifting his head, Quint glared through the plastic shower curtain in that direction. He raised his voice to be heard over the falling water. “I said, use the bathroom downstairs!”
    There was no answering reply.
    Snorting, Quint straightened up under the spray and finally applied himself to using the shower as it was originally intended. He soaped every inch of himself, shampooed his hair three times and didn’t get out until he had exhausted the hot water supply. She wanted to live here, fine—he shut the water off and got out of the tub, toweling himself vigorously to get dry—but he wasn’t going to make it easy for her. In fact, he was going to make this the most miserable experience of her life. Give him a few days, and she’ll be running to get out of here before the winter snows made it impossible for either one of them to escape the other.
    Having escaped to the bathroom without a change of clothes and in nothing but his underwear, Quint pulled his shorts back on and reached for the doorknob. With any luck, Elsie would be downstairs making coffee or breakfast and he’d be able to dash back to the bedroom to get dressed in peace.
    Except that the door wouldn’t open.
    Quint tugged, turning the old porcelain knob first one way and then the other. The door budged only the merest centimeter and then no more.
    “The hell you say,” Quint muttered, tugging again and again, but budging it no further than before. “What the—” He stopped. He thought. “Oh, hell no.”
    He searched through the medicine cabinet and the under-the-sink cupboard, then finally rummaged through half of the six shelves that made up a very narrow linen closet located behind the bathroom door. Finally, he found something that would work—one of Maydeen’s many makeup compacts, fallen to the floor and kicked into the very back of the closet where it had become lost and then forgotten. Quint opened it up, laid it flat on the wood-floor slats, and there was just enough room under the door to push it through. He tipped and angled the small mirror until he saw Elsie, propped up against the railing overlooking the stairs. Arms folded across her chest, she gazed down at the small compact, looking smug.
    The second thing he saw was the rope. He didn’t know where she’d got it, but she had tied one end to the doorknob and the other to the banister.
    “You…bitch,” he said, marveling.
    Pushing off the banister, Elsie squatted down over the compact. She hunkered close enough for him to really see her face and then she smiled.