Thursday, December 31, 2015
“Did you ask the doctor about Nicky, like you were supposed to?” Jon demanded as he stalked into the bedroom, inspecting the outside of is palm. “He just bit me again!”
Sheridan smirked into the mirror as she put a thin elastic band around the end of her braid. He’d been pretty tolerant of the mini-muncher’s love bites at first, but now that the twins were three years old, he found it far less amusing and tended to overreact. Someone might think he’d gotten a pinky finger amputated by a Rottweiler when, even after he shoved the wounded appendage under his nose, she could barely see a red spot where he’d been nibbled.
“You have only yourself to blame for that, you know.”
Her husband’s face was like a dark thundercloud. “I don’t bite everybody, goddammit! Just you. When it’s appropriate.”
“I was actually referring to your temper,” she corrected, with a laugh. “You should be glad that Noelle is more reasonable or we’d have a double dose of oral aggression.”
Satisfied that she looked presentable, she turned from the mirror to face her husband, who had now found another focus for his bout of surliness. His eyes raked her up and down with utter distaste and condemnation, while frown lines dug deeper into his forehead and cheeks. Even though she’d just deemed herself presentable, he plainly did not share that opinion.
“You’re not wearing that,” he decreed, his wounded hand immediately forgotten in the wake of her obvious fashion faux pas. “It’s New Year’s Eve, not a fucking funeral or some damn PTA meeting.”
Sheridan automatically looked down at herself, even though she’d just surveyed her outfit in the mirror – a simple black dress that fell to just above the knee and conservatively accented her curves. Both the hem and the turtleneck collar were edged with a band of gold that complemented her hair, and black pumps rounded out the look.
“That’s Richie talking, not you. There’s not a thing wrong with what I’m wearing and you like it when I’m conservative on the outside and sexy underneath. Remember?”
Sexy underneath was a given on any day, because that’s what her possessor husband wanted and she liked to indulge that want. Since tonight was New Year’s Eve, however, Sheridan had upped her indulgence game with something a little different than what she normally wore. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he would be elated when she took the dress off, and she had dressed to create the most visible contrast between her layers of clothing.
“You’re not even wearing any jewelry,” he complained, completely disregarding her logic – likely because he didn’t have a leg to stand on in that argument.
“That’s because I was engrossed in your life-threatening injury. I’m going to put on a bracelet.”
The roll of his eyes combined with the sarcasm twerked her nerves. “Did you ever think you have only yourself to blame for this, too, Dracula? If you want me to wear something more revealing, you might consider not gnawing on me at every available opportunity.”
“Oh don’t give me that bullshit,” he countered, his snit losing steam as evidenced by the smirk on his face. “You cream yourself every damn time I take a bite.”
“That is beside the point. The fact remains-“
“The fact remains,” he mocked as he hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “That I spent a fortune on makeup that would cover those marks. Makeup which are very familiar with applying.”
It really wasn’t fair that his hands crawling over her bottom and the mere smell of him could still turn her on after four years. The allure was supposed to have faded by now, or at least dimmed considerably. At the very least, her libido should require that he be wearing something sexier than a ratty t-shirt and jeans before it started weeping for mercy.
He’s sexy in anything – or nothing. Damn him.
“You’re being a prick,” she complained, pushing his hands away and retreating a step to school her slutty libido into submission. She had, after all, just put the finishing touches on her appearance for the evening. She wasn’t going to let him destroy her efforts that easily. “Why do you care, anyway? We’re just going to David and Lexi’s. They know how I am.”
He scratched his head and wrinkled his nose distastefully. That was the same thing he did when he was trying to keep something from her. She’d seen it just last week after he and his brothers let the oil in the deep fryer get too hot and blew their Christmas turkey into a million pieces all across the back lawn.
“What, Jon? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing. But you knew this was going to be more than just us all along. Maybe a dozen or so couples.”
This had the makings of being the longest New Year’s Eve in history, and he hadn’t even dressed yet. Sheridan wasn’t sure how well that boded for the rest of the evening, but, if he didn’t get to the point, he may not live to see it anyway. Any female jury in the world would consider it justifiable homicide.
“Okay… So that still doesn’t solve the mystery of your obsession with my dress.”
“Can’t you quit bustin’ my chops and just change into something a little more Pamela Anderson and a little less Hillary Clinton?”
She mentally added another tick mark into the ‘pro’ column for justifiable homicide.
“No, darling, I can’t,” Sheridan explained with exaggerated patience. “Since I refuse to change clothes without a good reason. Give me one and we can discuss it.”
Jon sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Dave called you matronly.”
“Excuse me?” Sheridan couldn’t have heard that correctly. ‘Matronly’ was the source of this waste of time and oxygen?
He plopped down on the bed, looking annoyed. “Jeff Kazee is one of our friends who will be at the party. Since he hadn’t ever met you, he asked Dave what you were like, and he said ‘matronly’. Like somebody’s old mother. It pissed me off.”
She would never understand men. The strangest things set them off.
“Well, since matronly means motherly, that’s not untrue, but I have no idea why you’re pissed.”
“Seriously?” His blue eyes were wide with disbelief. “That doesn’t make you mad? To be thought of as old and frumpy?”
Green eyes narrowed with censure. “He didn’t say old and frumpy – you did. That makes me mad.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph...” He sighed and gave his neck a sharp twist that resulted in several loud pops before standing to once again approach her. “I don’t think you’re old and frumpy. I think you’re quite possibly the hottest piece of ass walking this earth.”
His arms curled around her waist and splayed palms covered the globes of that aforementioned ass, giving it an affectionate squeeze.
“You have about five seconds to get to the point, Bongiovi.”
“Christ, fine! You want me to spell it out?” He frowned down into her face. “I’m Jon Bon Jovi and I don’t want my friends thinkin’ I’m married to a fuckin’ lunch lady with a hairnet and all that shit. I want them to be jealous as all hell because they will never get to hear you beg to be fucked while you tear the hell out of their back. Now change your clothes. Please.”
The corners of her mouth twitched. She should really chastise him for wanting to exploit her body, but she couldn’t muster up enough indignation. The truth of the matter was, it kind of turned her on to know he could still be possessive after all this time and two challenging children. It turned her on enough to no longer care about her hair and dress.
“You can pick out another dress for me,” she promised complacently, twining her arms around his neck and leaning in close. “Right after we fuck.”
His nostrils flared. “You’re gonna hafta beg for it.”
Bedroom door was closed. The part-time nanny had the children properly supervised. They had over an hour before they were expected at the Bryans. It didn’t get any more private than this, and Sheridan had never had a problem giving him whatever he wanted in private because he never lorded it over her during or afterward. He encouraged and expected her to be completely without inhibition in their bed, rewarding her handsomely when she pleased him – which was always.
She pushed red-tipped nails through his hair, mussing it the way she liked while she hiked one leg and curled it around his thigh. “Oh baby, please fuck me. Please? You know how I love it.”
His growl put flames into her panties that were instantly doused by her arousal and his hands pushing at the offensive skirt of her dress. “Jesus that turns me on. Beg some more. And get this fucking dress off!”
Putting the necessary distance between them, she shimmied out of it as soon as he’d rasped the zipper down. Sheridan kicked it to the side, along with her pumps and reached for his hand.
“Please, baby,” she beseeched, backing toward the bed and licking her lips at the thought of the romp they were about to have.
Jon, however, wasn’t to be moved. In fact, his eyes had glazed completely over as he took another inspection of her. This time he found her appearance far more favorable than he had the first time around.
“Where did you get that?” he croaked.
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and batted her eyes at him. “Do you like it?”
‘It’ was a supple black leather lingerie set comprised of an open-bust halter bra that barely covered her nipples – or kept her breasts elevated – and a lace-up garter G-string with the requisite black stockings. For a woman who had gone from favoring serviceable cotton to fine lace and silk, the daring leather ensemble had been a risk that was well out of her comfort zone.
From the look on Jon’s face, it looked as though it was a risk well taken.
“If you like it, you better take it off,” was the growling answer she received as his clothes began flying. “Because I am very likely to destroy it gettin’ my dick inside you before it explodes.”
The laughter bubbled up from her throat and she felt a strange combination of power and peace sweep over her. This was her life and she genuinely cherished it – perfectly pedigreed outside and perfectly raunchy inside the bedroom. Nobody had it better than she.
By pulling aside the G-string, she saved both him and the lingerie, purring, “Stop talking about it and do it.”
The last syllable hung on her lips when he entered her with the force of a freight train, stealing her breath and rumbling, “I’m gonna do you, ya little hell cat.”
The slide of him deep inside of her felt so good that her initial grunt morphed into a sweet moan of ecstasy. He knew just how to set her off and with another controlled thrust of his hips, he had her writhing against the bed in eager anticipation of the fireworks ahead.
While she was solely focused on the way he fit so deeply inside her and always managed to hit just the right spot, he was busily shoving at the leather demi-cup so that he could curve his lips over the nipple he unearthed. The sharp suction brought her shoulders off of the bed and had her fingernails firmly implanted in his back, raking him from shoulder blade to waist.
Jon swore around his fleshy treasure, releasing it with a wet pop so that he could move further up. Humming with satisfaction, he bit into his favorite spot – the meaty slope between her neck and shoulder – and was immediately gratified when his dick was wantonly assaulted by the force of her orgasm.
“Told ya,” he bragged directly into her ear. “Every damn time.”
“Unnnh! Shut up and do it again.”
Jon accommodated her without hesitation, this time sinking into the other shoulder. His incisors dug, pinching in a peculiar form of pleasurable pain as he pushed himself into her faster… harder… deeper.
“Yes, yes, yesssss! Oh God, yes!” Sheridan had lost track of anything outside the bubble of pleasure that her husband had expertly sealed them in. The only thing she could feel was his body rocking with hers. His skin setting hers aflame. The friction that threatened to set the whole bed aflame.
And those gorgeous teeth.
“Baby?” he murmured into her shoulder after he had rolled them both to their sides.
His tongue laved the undoubtedly discolored skin he’d created. “I love you.”
Without opening her eyes, Sheridan let a smile of utter contentment curl her lips. “Do you remember the first time you said that to me?”
“You gonna smack the shit out of me if I say no?”
She was too pleasantly shattered to summon the energy to smack anyone, but she did manage a quiet laugh before she made him admit he had no idea. “It was New Year’s Eve four years ago. We were in the kitchen making food for all the kids. I was worn out and no doubt looked completely haggard, yet that was the moment you chose to profess your love. It still amazes me.”
The mattress jostled and Sheridan cracked one eyelid to see why. What she found was Jon stretching as far as he could toward his side of the bed until he finally hooked his fingers around the knob on the nightstand drawer and gave a tug. He fished around inside for a moment before rolling back and holding his upturned palm in front of her face, in which he held a black velvet box.
“Christmas was last week,” she remarked, studying the box curiously.
“And this was on backorder. So now it’s a gift for the fourth anniversary of my undying love.”
She couldn’t help the laughter that came spilling out. Her husband definitely knew how to work the angles, and she wasn’t above benefitting from it.
Plucking the box up, Sheridan wasted no time in snapping open the hinge to reveal a stunning pair of white gold and diamond earrings. It was no surprise to find the Piaget logo nested in the top of the lid.
“More Possession merch, I see.”
With a roll of his eyes, he swatted her on the backside. “Yes, dear, I know they’re lovely. Thank you for mentioning it. You’re welcome.”
“They’re beautiful,” she chuckled obediently, wholly amused by his fabricated pique. “I love them, and I love you.”
“Good damn thing,” was her husband’s dourly grumbled reply. “Because I could save a lotta cash by buying a Sharpie and writing on your wrist once a week, yanno.”
“And I would love that just as much.” She rolled forward and dusted his mouth with a gentle kiss, grateful for him, their children and their life. Karma had been kind to them, day after day after day and Sheridan didn’t take that for granted. “But I’m keeping the diamonds.”
His loud snort bounced off of the walls as he rolled up into a seated position, swinging around to put his feet on the floor. “You do that. I’m going to pick out your dress.”