DISCLAIMER: I do not claim ownership of the Hush, Hush series by Becca Fitzpatrick, including Hush, Hush, Crescendo, Tempest, or any other installments of the Hush, Hush series yet in publication. Additionally, in the following piece, I am not attempting to write Tempest. This is a pure work of fiction, mostly irrelevant to the ending of Crescendo.

IMPORTANT WARNING: This piece is rated M for mature content: beware of language, sexual situations, Limes, the occasional Lemon, alcohol use, violence, et cetera. And worst of all…SPOILERS! You have been generously warned.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I just finished reading Crescendo last night, which was an extremely stressful read for me until the end of chapter twelve. I'm happy to say that I was very, very pleased with the resolution concerning Nora and Patch's relationship, but I was thrown into inner-turmoil at the thought that I'd be waiting until Fall of 2011 to read more of Patch and Nora. The cliffhanger ending was brutal. In hopes of getting some additional closure, I turned to my good friend Fanfiction and hunted around. Not to say that there wasn't anything enjoyable out there—I found some very nice pieces. But none of it lived up to what I was looking for in a Hush, Hush piece.

I contemplated writing something along the lines of: "What would have happened if Hank Millar had never shown up at the end of Crescendo?" but I've never written a Lemon one-shot—I've never actually written a Lemon in a fanfiction, period. Any of my experience with Lemons or Limes comes from role playing in the forums. With that being said, I realized that I'd probably get more joy out of writing something a little more in-depth while not having a YA rating attached. I'm considering making this a full-length piece, as opposed to a one-shot or drabble, as the ending of this chapter leaves off as if there's more to be done.

I tried to stay true to the information in the series, and I tried to be consistent with the characters' personalities (Patch is hard to keep in character). I also used a few of Fitzapatrick's favorite phrases in writing to make it as close to the real thing as possible. Anyway, the first chapter is mostly a Lemon; I tried to be tasteful about it; I don't really enjoy writing smut where it's not called for, so this kind of borders on fluff. Thanks to my readers for stumbling upon this humble piece of fiction.

I'll ask you to please view my important message below to understand when in the Hush, Hush series' timeline Mint Soap takes place.

IMPORTANT MESSAGE: Allow me to explain where exactly Mint Soap falls into the Hush, Hush series' timeline. All of the events in the series still apply to Mint Soap, save the ending of Crescendo where Hank Millar intervenes and seizes poor Patch! See my little timeline below.

Rixon shoots Nora; Nora is hospitalized; Nora returns home...Patch appears at farmhouse; Patch returns Nora's ring...Patch and Nora go to Delphic; Patch takes Nora to his "apartment"...Hank Millar DOES NOT appear; Nora and Patch go through with having sex...A few days pass...MINT SOAP begins.

Mint soap.

I eagerly inhaled Patch's scent, humming my approval as he traced gentle kisses along my jawline. I felt his lips curve into a pirate smile against my skin, and my stomach fluttered with butterflies at the slightest touch of tongue against my pulse. My heartbeat resonated through him, and I felt it through our held hands as Patch's fingers laced tightly with mine.

His heartbeat raced to match mine, and his hands closed on my hips.

Mint Soap

A Hush, Hush Series Fanfiction by xXSoldierXx

It was a serene, quiet night—and a Friday. Mom was somewhere on the coast, probably closed up in a hotel while she waited for the roads to clear. I didn't know what the weather was like on the coast right then, but things had been overcast in Delphic, and they were overcast in Coldwater, too. Mom wouldn't be home until Sunday, at least, assuming the floods cleared up by tomorrow.

I had the whole weekend to myself; just Vee and me—or Patch and me.

Earlier that day, I'd suffered from the disillusion that my date with Patch had come to an early end. We had spent the morning between Delphic Beach and Delphic amusement park, our premeditated day of park rides, sand, sun, and ocean interrupted by the unwelcome intrusion of chilly raindrops on the earth. In my sadness, Patch had assured me that the night was still young—a little bit of rain wasn't going to keep us from all that we'd planned.

His first suggestion had been carryout—he owed me, after all, for a similar dinner invitation that had been curtailed. Sensing that he was only humoring me though, I'd told him that all I really wanted to do was change into something dry and curl up with him on a sofa.

He knew what I'd really meant.

Patch and I stood together under an awning as we waited for the parking lot to clear out. Everyone was rushing to escape the brewing storm—if they thought it was bad then, it was about to get much worse. Rain began to pour down as the last of the stragglers flooded out of the Delphic Seaport Amusement Park. There were only a handful of cars still in the parking lot when Patch took my hand. We looked at each other, Patch's sly grin speaking levels of mischief, and I found myself smiling back, eager.

I squeezed Patch's hand, and we crossed the lot together, making a beeline for the steps leading up to the familiar utility shed just north of the Archangel. Patch fumbled with his key in the lock and held the big door open for me. It swung shut behind us, engulfing us in a darkness that seemed all too surreal.

I regretted that I couldn't see Patch—I could only feel him, his touch warm and urgent on my body. The toes of Patch's shoes were flush with my flip-flops as he backed me deeper into the shed. And that was when the guilt and realization hit me—it was dark. I didn't know all of the specifics about being a fallen-turned-guardian-turned-rogue angel, so I couldn't answer my own question when I asked myself if Patch had good night vision.

But in the event that he was seeing as little as I was seeing, coupled with his complete inability to sense my physical touch, Patch might as well have been sitting in the corner with his eyes closed.

He wouldn't get anything out of the experience, whatsoever.

Patch somehow felt that my body language had changed. His kisses ceased along my neck and he murmured softly against my throat, "Angel?"

I placed my hand on his hard chest and pushed gently against him. "It's cold," I said. I wasn't lying—the low ceiling in the utility shed was prone to leaks when there was weather. We stood very still, listening to the soft rat-a-tat of the rain on the roof. Cold droplets dripped down onto me, and I shivered, but Patch couldn't feel them. I felt the air shift as he pulled back from me and nodded, understanding. Cold plus wet equaled buzz kill.

"Coldwater?" he asked, his fingers still tangled up in mine.

I smiled through the darkness and pulled him towards the door. "My place."

Forty minutes later, Patch bounced his Jeep Commander into my flooded driveway. We didn't waste any time—Patch killed the engine, we reached for our doors, and our shoes crunched on the driveway at an identical moment. He aimed his fob at the Jeep—who knew why. My nearest neighbors were a little more than a mile away.

It was just something about what we were doing that made us feel overly cautious.

Inside the farmhouse, the lights were down, but enough outdoor light filtered in to cast a pale wash of white and grey on everything. I could see Patch clearly, and he could see me. This was where we needed to be right then, together—all alone—with nothing but time to make us mind ourselves.

Patch reached out with a hand to brush a rain-dampened curl from my face. I smiled and nuzzled his hand with my cheek, holding him there against my skin. He stepped in towards me, and I did the same, meeting him halfway. Our toes were flush once more, and I tipped my head back to stare up into Patch's liquid obsidian eyes. He leaned forward, lips touching mine very gently, and teased me with a slow, tantalizing kiss, sucking raindrops from my bottom lip.

It felt like minutes had passed before we took our first breaths. We separated, just barely, and our lips touched ever so slightly as we whispered to one another. "Jev 'Patch' Cipriano," I said softly, smiling. "I love you, with all of my heart."

Patch's lips smirked against mine, and he threaded his fingers gently through my brunette curls. "Oh? Nora Grey, Angel, I will love you until the day I die," he promised, and I felt my lips tug up into a barely repressed smile. Patch was immortal, and in saying that he'd love me until the day he died implied that he'd be loving me for a very long time—and I was okay with that.

It was like someone had pushed the pause button on us. We stood in silence for three counts—we were both thinking about the same thing: Hell. How long did we have until the Archangels found Patch guilty? It didn't matter anymore—the impending deadline wasn't important. I spent sleepless nights trying to convince myself that I couldn't change the hand Patch and I had been dealt—I could only make the most of it while we still had the freedom to do as we pleased.

And as that someone finally pushed the play button on us, we sprung into movement. I tugged on Patch's waistband, pulling him in closer, and his hands moved from my hair to flex across my lower back. He drew me into him, until there wasn't a part of us that wasn't touching, and I felt a shiver of pleasure all the way down to my toes. "Patch," I breathed, as his hands crept under my shirt. He began to trail kisses down my jaw.

My rain-drenched clothing left me feeling cold, and I was trembling against his body.

I could hear the soft whisper of air as Patch drew a breath in through his lips. He found the curve of my shoulder, kissing, licking, and sucking my skin. He was breathing me in, from the scent of sea salt to my perfume and my curl revitalizer. I laced my fingers through his wet black hair and turned my face to breathe him in, as well.

Mint soap.

I eagerly inhaled Patch's scent, humming my approval as he traced gentle kisses along my jawline. I felt his lips curve into a pirate smile against my skin, and my stomach fluttered with butterflies at the slightest touch of tongue against my pulse. My heartbeat resonated through him, and I felt it through our held hands as Patch's fingers laced tightly with mine.

His heartbeat raced to match mine, and his hands closed on my hips. Patch lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms tightening around his neck. As we kissed, he moved us to the middle of the foyer and laid me down on the couch, our lips never breaking contact.

Patch moved to straddle my hips and brushed my cheek with the knuckles of his right hand. "You okay?" he asked, noticing that I was quivering.

I nodded and stammered, "My c-clothes are w-wet and c-cold."

Patch stared at me blankly, and then his face split into a devilish—angelish?—grin. "Your teeth are chattering," he observed, and I resisted a blush as he laughed at me. Suddenly, more seriously, Patch said, "I can take care of that."

His hand trailed down my neck and lingered on my shoulder. My skin thrummed with electricity as he nudged the strap of my tank top down, revealing a new expanse of smooth, suntanned skin for him to playfully dance his kisses over. Patch sank his teeth into my shoulder and I whimpered, aroused. His kisses trailed lower, just above my collarbone, and I felt his warm fingers brush my stomach as he began to lift my shirt.

I sat forward on the couch and lifted my arms obediently. The tank top came off over my head and fell to the floor. Patch's black gaze dropped to my chest where it lingered for several seconds. "That's new," he said, matter-of-factly, finally lifting his eyes to meet mine. I didn't bother to explain that it wasn't new—it was two months old.

But this was the first time I'd worn the black lacy bra since I purchased it with Vee at Victoria's Secret the day she'd been mugged. "It's sexy," Patch said, and laid a sensual kiss on the flesh of my breast. I moaned softly at the sensations he was giving me, and curled my fingers into his wet hair. His hands slid to my hips, then to my thighs, where he stroked them eagerly. "You're sexy, Angel."

I untangled my fingers from his hair and grasped the hem of his t-shirt. "Off—now," I demanded. He grinned, releasing my legs to pull his shirt off over his head. He flung it off the side of the couch and bent to hold me by my face, laying gentle kisses everywhere.

"Anything else, Angel?"

I moaned into his kiss. "Mmm…shoes."

He kicked off his shoes.

I slid my hands up his bare chest, grasped him behind the neck, and pulled him in. Our lips clashed in a heated, chaotic kiss, involving tongue, teeth, and ragged breathing. As he undid the clasp on my bra, cupped my breasts, and squeezed, I felt my self-control begin to slip. I slammed the door on my brain, as I did every time I encountered Patch in this way—I found that it was best not to think when Patch and I fooled around behind my mom's back. I'd stopped feeling bad about it a while ago.

I hooked my fingers in Patch's waistband. His jeans, which hung low on his waist, came unbuttoned beneath my quick fingers. He laughed low in his throat as I urgently tugged them down, pushing them off his legs with my feet. To my horror, he withdrew from me and stepped off the couch, naked but for black boxers that made him look alluring. "Patch, no!" I cried, grasping for him desperately.

He held a silencing finger to my lips. "Shh, Angel," he coaxed, taking me gently by the wrists. I went with him willingly and he led me to the staircase. We climbed rapidly, stumbling playfully over one another, until we arrived at my bedroom door. Patch lifted me again, and my legs closed around his waist, as he bumped the door open and crossed the threshold. We were kissing frantically, our anticipation heightening with each passing second. I was grinding frenziedly against him, and all the while, I could feel Patch's cocky grin against my lips as he gloated in how bad I had it for him.

He dropped me carefully onto the bed and tugged my beach shorts down my long legs. Deadly legs, he whispered to my thoughts, and I giggled, drunk on the intoxicating scent of leather and mint soap on Patch's tanned skin. "Last one," he said out loud, fingering the waistband of my panties.

"Five dollars says you can't sink the blue striped ball," I quipped—the same bet I'd made on our first date at Bo's Arcade so many months ago. I gave Patch my best imitation of his sexy pirate smile. No doubt he'd registered the innuendo.

"You know what happens when you make that bet," Patch murmured into my hair—it sounded like a warning. "You lose." I felt him grin against my neck, and my underwear suffered the same fate as my beach shorts. My panties fell to the floor, ignored, and I hugged my body tightly to Patch's, relieved to feel his warmth after discarding my rain-soaked clothing.

Patch pushed hair out of my eyes and kissed me, his index finger trailing a line of rippling pleasure between my breasts, down my stomach, and to my core. I screamed, loud and lascivious, as he manipulated me in a fashion I knew he'd manipulated many others. I thrust with my hips, moaning softly to fuel Patch's desire. When I opened my eyes, he was staring at me, his black irises burning with a lust for my body. Bingo, I thought, and snapped forward to capture his lips in a hot, heavy kiss.

Biting his bottom lip, I tugged his boxers down and pushed them off with my feet. He licked my lip in response, not even bothering to ask me if I was sure this was what I wanted—we knew we were both feeling the same urgent desire, and we'd done this a few times already.

We aligned ourselves, Patch's movements much more practiced than mine, and he submersed himself in me, our bodies heaving simultaneously. I sank my teeth into his shoulder to keep from yelling out, and he gave a low groan, reacting more to emotional stimulus than anything physical. I tried not to think about how he couldn't feel any of this and unclamped my teeth from his flesh. I would give him something to smirk about.

"Patch!" I moaned, tightening my grip on him. My arms threaded under his and hooked around his shoulders—a hold on him I found satisfied the control I wanted over his body, while simultaneously avoiding brushing his wings. Sex with Patch had been a trial and error experience at first, as we worked together to find a way that I could brace myself against him without being thrust into his memories at an inopportune moment. The first few times, I'd wanted to touch his wings—I'd wanted to know more about the mysterious angel I'd fallen in love with. But after that, the desire to feel pleasure overrode my curiosity about his past—that and I'd learned to save the memory-delving for pillow talk.

He held me with one arm, the other braced against the pillow as he hovered over me, and his black eyes sliced into mine. I struggled for eye contact, every one of my nerve endings screaming with pleasure. I wanted nothing more than to tip my head back, close my eyes, and feel the rough yet ecstatic sensation of Patch thrusting into me. But I knew he enjoyed this more when he could see into my eyes.

I bit my lip and held his gaze, a whimper forcing itself out between my teeth. He was good, and he knew it, because he stroked my cheek and crashed his lips onto mine in a victory kiss, intensifying our passion.

My legs tightened around his waist at the peak of my pleasure. The bed rocked into the wall, and I realized that I'd thrust an arm out, grasping for something to curl my fingers around. I'd misjudged my place on the bed, and instead of grasping sheets, my hand hit the nightstand. I groped around blindly, knocking a book light and my cell phone to the floor. My fingers brushed the cool glass of Patch's snow globe as white stars exploded behind my eyelids, and I screamed his name a final time before my body went limp beneath his.

The bed continued to rock beneath us, Patch somehow estimating that he'd not yet reached his limit. It wasn't terribly long before he succumbed to the height of his lust, and he rolled off of me with all the indifference of a one night stand. But when I looked into his eyes, he was passionate. His lips curled into a smile—not a smirk or a grin—a genuine smile, and he kissed my cheek, his obscenely long lashes tickling my skin. "Angel," he breathed. "You're crying."

I blinked tears out of my eyes as he pulled the duvet over us, turning my head to the side to look into Patch's obsidian orbs. "I am?" I whispered, having not even realized.

Patch's smile faltered. "Did I hurt you?"

"No!" I sat up quickly, propping my torso off of the bed with an elbow. Tousled curls fell over my face and Patch laughed at me, reaching up to push them behind my ears. He lay on his side, his head sunk halfway into the pillow. "No," I continued. "It's never hurt, I just…." I didn't have the courage to say it to Patch. Through all of the heat and ecstasy, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop my thoughts from straying—to his glass-like body, to his fate with the Archangels', to the lonely life I'd lead without him.

I didn't want to miss this—this love-making, this pillow talk, this warmth I got from his body as he held me afterward. He didn't have to ask. He knew what I was thinking—he always seemed to.

Patch didn't say a word. He simply moved in closer, laying on his right side, as the fingers of his right hand laced with the fingers of my left. Our hands stayed tangled like that, resting between us on the pillow. His left hand rose to brush my cheek and he pushed the rest of my stray curls back from my face. "Stop it," he told me, and I forced myself to nod. "Don't cry over what you can't help."

I cuddled up to Patch and closed my eyes, willing the tears to stop. He wiped my eyes of the remaining moisture, brushing a thumb across my cheekbones. "I love you," I whimpered, and his thumb paused on my skin. There weren't many things I could say or do that often gave Patch pause, but I opened my eyes slowly when my declaration was met with silence. His black eyes were scrutinizing me. His thumb resumed its path along my face to my chin, and he tilted my head back to kiss my swollen lips.

"I love you, Angel," he whispered against me, and kissed my eyelashes, my tears coming away on his lips.

And you look sexy with your hair wild like that.

I blushed, burying my face in Patch's chest to hide the heat that crept into my face.

Patch, smarter and stronger than the average human male, never fell asleep after sex. He had a pattern, in fact. Sometimes he'd get up directly afterward to do something ridiculous like make me tacos or pick my clothes up off the floor. Other times, he'd hold me until I could no longer stay awake for pillow talk, whispering sweet nothings (and some not-so-innocent implications) to my thoughts as I drifted into a dream. I usually let him. But this time, as he kissed the top of my head, I grabbed him by the wrist and held him to me as he began to pull away. "Don't leave me," I said, in a pouty, seductive tone.

His eyes flicked to me, laying with my curls all over the place and the duvet up to my chin, and raised his eyebrows meaningfully at how not-seductive I was being. "Go to sleep, Angel," he finally said.

"Hold me," I countered quickly, as he tried to pull away again. "Until I fall asleep. Please. And then you can make all the tacos you want."

Patch paused on the edge of the bed, his black eyes on my face. I tried to hold his gaze but found myself admiring the strong muscles of his back, his arms, his chest, and his stomach—all for me. Patch rolled his eyes but dropped obediently to the bed. "Good deal," he said, and pulled me against him with my back to his chest, his fingers in my hair, as the night quickly faded.

We stayed like that for several minutes, Patch's breath slow and deep by my ear. I felt my breathing do the same as my bedroom began to blur around the edges. I wanted to touch Patch's wings and experience his memories, but he'd anticipated that and was spooning me, his smooth back out of my reach. I thought I'd had the chance to finally drift into a dream when my phone cut the silence. My eyes snapped open, and though Patch's body was relaxed against mine, I knew his face was rigid.

"You expecting a call?" he murmured, and I shook my head quickly, glancing back over my shoulder in the direction of my phone.

Patch's warmth broke away from me as he rolled onto his back, dropping an arm off the side of the bed to snatch up the fallen phone. He glanced at the mini-LCD before flipping it open. "Hello."

I rolled over and laid my head on Patch's chest, listening to his heartbeat, slow and rhythmic, and the low timbre of his voice vibrating against my ear as he spoke into the phone. "She's asleep," he lied, and I lifted my head to give him a curious look.

"Who is it?" I mouthed, dragging my fingers over the muscles of his chest.

His black eyes flicked to mine, annoyed. I didn't think he was going to answer me. "She'll call you tomorrow."

"Patch," I hissed. "Who is it?"

And then I heard Vee's voice screaming on the other end of the phone. "Is that Nora?" she exclaimed, and Patch jerked the phone away from his ear, scowling at the device as if it had bitten him. "Patch, you liar, put her on the phone right now!"

Patch murmured a low chain of curses and passed me the phone, lying back with his arms draped over his eyes. I suppressed laughter and laid a kiss on his chest. "Vee?" I said into the phone.

"Nora! It's almost midnight and Patch is answering your phone—is Patch sleeping over there?"

"It's almost midnight?" I repeated, squinting at the nightstand. My alarm said 11:55. "Why are you calling me if it's almost midnight?"

"Don't change the subject, Nora," Vee lectured. "I want the full scoop here—go heavy on the details!"

"Goodnight, Vee."

"No—wait!" she suddenly interjected. "I…I really had a reason for calling—I was in Portland meeting some guys at a party when the storm rolled in. I got stranded there for a couple of hours and the Neon goofed out on the highway. I'm seriously about to pee my pants, babe. Can you come get me?"

Patch lifted his arm from his eyes and looked at me askance. I jutted my bottom lip out at him and he heaved a sigh. "Yeah, Vee," I said, grinning victoriously. "We'll come get you."

Patch drove half an hour on Interstate 295; we were 27 miles from Topsham by the time we spotted the Neon pulled over on the other side of the interstate, its lights off but for the small overheads inside. Patch eased into the leftmost lane and drove until we reached a break in the median. He made an illegal U-turn and drove northeast until he could pull up behind Vee's car, flashing his headlights at her for her to get out.

A couple of seconds later, Vee emerged from the Neon, and to Patch's and my surprise, she was followed by a pair of less-than-clean-cut looking teenagers. "Want to explain this?" Patch asked, his eyes slicing through the windshield at the approaching Vee and her male compatriots.

I raised my hands, claiming innocence. "I had no idea—I thought she was alone."

I could tell what Patch was thinking: So did I. I could tell by the way his jaw flexed under his skin that he was trying to keep his temper in check. Vee hadn't told us she was with anyone so that we would agree to pick her up—and that explained why she'd called me, not her dad, to come get her.

Vee opened the door and climbed into the backseat of the Commander. "Hey, guys!" she exclaimed, and made room for her shady friends to crawl in after her. One was tall and brooding, the other a little more on the sociable side—still tall, still brooding. "Meet Juice and Tripp. They'll be joining us tonight on the S.S. Patch Express."

"Vee." I looked at her sternly, my eyes explaining what she already knew. She shrugged, and I gave her a look that communicated we'd be finishing this conversation later. Patch stomped on the gas pedal and pulled out onto the interstate.

He didn't speak a word the whole drive back to Coldwater.

"You owe me big time," I said to Vee as we dressed the couch in the foyer. Aside from her tagalong boy toys (we'd dumped them off at Topsham), she'd failed to mention that her cover story for the party in Portland was a sleepover at my house. I dropped a pillow on the sofa and sat down on the couch arm. Vee's face twisted into something skeptical as she bent at the waist and came up again, my lacy bra pinched between her thumb and forefinger.

"Holy freak show, you and Patch screwed on this couch, didn't you?"

I snatched my bra from her, blushing furiously as she raised her eyebrows meaningfully and wagged her hips. "I knew it. Sorry, Nora, but I can't sleep on this couch. It's tainted."

"Oh, whatever," I said, rolling my eyes. "We didn't 'screw' on the couch." I wasn't lying—even if Patch and I hadn't gone up to my room that night, I would have told Vee the same thing. "Are you going to tell me what happened in Portland?"

"Are you going to tell me what happened with you and Patch?" Vee countered. "What's Patch like? He's good, isn't he? I predicted that when we started school last year, remember? Was I right or was I right?"

I sighed, pushing a hand through my curls. I dragged my fingers down my face and blinked the sleep from my eyes. In spite of how upset I was with Vee for dragging me out to Portland in the middle of the night, I knew with conviction that she'd have done the same for me. She was my best friend, and I couldn't stay mad at her for something like this.

"I'll tell you what," I said gently. "You go to sleep now, Patch will make breakfast in the morning, and you and I will trade info, okay?"

"Sounds like a deal, babe," Vee said, and I climbed the stairs, shutting the lights off behind me.

Patch was coming out of the bathroom when I got to the top of the stairs. He was bare-chested, wearing nothing but a towel tied low around his waist. "Hey," he said, looking me up and down. Patch's eyes lingered a beat too long on my breasts, braless beneath a snug graphic tee, and he followed me into my bedroom. I stood in front of my dresser and sorted out a pair of pajama pants and a matching top.

In the mirror, I saw Patch shake out the tips of his hair. "Hey," I said back, but it was off pitch. My voice was thick with sleep as I stripped out of my t-shirt and jeans.

I picked the flannel pants up off of my dresser. When I looked up, Patch's vision approached me in the mirror, his hand lingering on my naked shoulder. It swept gently down my back to rest on my hip, raising goose bumps in its wake. I turned to look into Patch's liquid obsidian eyes, but I didn't have the chance to blink before his lips crushed mine with fervor.

Patch backed me into the dresser and lifted me onto it. My fingers loosened on the pajamas and they fell to the floor, as did Patch's towel half a beat later. Patch spread his hands on the dresser, just outside of my hips, and he kissed me feverishly until I stopped to draw a breath. My gaze flitted to my flannel pants on the floor, then to my warm, cozy bed. But with Patch's hands braced firmly on my hips and his lips trailing kisses along my collarbone, my resistance crumbled.

I shimmied forward to sit on the edge of the dresser and melted into him for the second time that night, not even bothering to point out that Patch had left my bedroom door open.

And there you have Mint Soap, chapter 1! Thanks for reading.