17 - Scattered Showers

Her hair spilled over the pillow, neck arched as she squirmed under him.  In the subtle glow of recessed lighting, she was a goddess.  He’d known she was beautiful by touching her in the dark, but to see the womanly curves that dipped under his touch multiplied the beauty by ten.

Green cat eyes were half-mast with desire as he slid in and out of her slick, hot channel.  The breathy moans were filling his ears like the sweetest guitar riffs, her nails were scratching an angry trail over his shoulder blades, and her creamy skin was flushed the prettiest shade of pink.  It was a full-on sensory experience and he could feel himself tightening in response.

“Kitten,” he rasped, sweat dripping into his eyes.  “Look at me.”

Heavy lids fluttered and struggled to focus.  The depths of their green glowed like kryptonite and, in them, he could see conservative Sheridan for an instant before the sex kitten reclaimed her rightful place beneath him.  The rapid-fire transformation was electrifying and enough to send him hurtling over the edge….

Jon awoke with a muffled moan and an angry hard-on, his hand immediately seeking to soothe the angry beast.  It took only a couple of rough pulls to come fully conscious and scold himself for jacking off in bed – over a dream, no less.  If his sheets were going to be coated with semen, it would be from actual sex and not the five-finger shuffle.

His eyes cut open and he rolled his head toward the nightstand where his alarm clock sat.

Scratch that.

Where his alarm clock should have been sitting.  The gray light from the terrace doors indicated that it was early morning, but this wasn’t his bedroom.  And that dream wasn’t just a dream – it was a Technicolor re-enactment of his night with the woman who was mistress of this bed.

Glancing to Sheridan’s side, he was disappointed, but not all that surprised to find her gone.   Not usually a cuddler, he preferred his own space to sleep and kept to his side of the bed.  It wouldn’t have been hard for her to slip out without him noticing.

Particularly since he’d slept deeply enough to forget he wasn’t in his own bedroom.

Jon wiped a heavy hand over his sleep-bleary eyes and shook his head.  The vivid images of the dream were still dancing on his retinas and sending direct sexual current to his dick.  Reliving last night’s memorable orgasm didn’t do anything to relieve this morning’s arousal. 

Who knew that having the lights on was going to… make such an impact on him?  In her conservative Sheridan clothing, she was a beauty – no doubt about it.  So in the dark she’d been a beauty that writhed under, over and around him.  Granted, she was better than most, but still just a woman. 

But turn on the lights?  Jesus, Mary and Joseph…  The woman was the fucking hottest thing he could remember seeing in a lonnnnng time.  It was a truly captivating transformation.

One he was more than anxious to see again.

Rolling onto his right side, he squinted at the light coming out from under the bathroom door.  If he listened very closely, Jon could just make out the sound of the shower running.

Oh yeah, I could do with a shower.

Throwing the covers back, he swung his feet to hit the floor and gave his waning erection a couple of hard strokes.  Satisfied that he was hard enough to push into Sheridan’s baby-smooth slickness without delay, he ambled across the floor to quietly twist the bathroom doorknob.  As soon as he was inside, steam enveloped him in a cloud that was as warm and welcoming as he hoped Sheridan would be when he invaded her shower.  And her.

Her naked form was barely recognizable through the fogged glass of the shower, but the suggestive outline caused his erection to tap eagerly at his belly.  Even in distorted silhouette, she did that to him.   Her alabaster curves were just discernible, and her arms arched gracefully as she rinsed her hair.  It wasn’t only her heated sex that would be wet and slick this morning, but her entire body.  He wanted that wetness slithering against him, raspberry nipples pebbled into his chest as she shuddered through her release.

The shower door made an expectedly loud ‘click’ when he pulled it open.  It was loud enough to elicit a stifled shriek from Sheridan.

“Shit!” she swore, her palm flying to the center of her chest, spiky lashed eyes wide with surprise.  “You scared me, Jon.”

“Nothing to be scared of, Baby.”  The warm spray dotted his skin, cooling almost as quickly as it made contact.  Jon didn’t mind.  He was plenty hot.  He wrapped open palms around her waist and slowly twirled her so that his erection bumped against the slippery cleft between her buttocks.

When she identified the source of the hardness pressing into her soft flesh, Sheridan offered a coquettish smile over one shoulder.  “So what did you want?”

“To have you one last time.”  Jon’s fingers slowly crept down the sleek, flat plane of her stomach and over the single strip of pubic hair that remained after her spa visit.  Discovering the bare sweetness between her thighs last night had instantly set his mouth to watering.  He wasted no time in glossing his lips with her honey and, after licking her like an all-day sucker until she screamed at least twice, he’d been almost as happy as she was.    

Callused fingertips stroked the soft, velvety fold of her womanhood and he flexed his hips, pushing into the humid valley of her bottom.  “You got a problem with that?”

“I can live with it,” she breathed, rolling her pelvis forward into his hand, swiveling and then rocking back against his stiffness.  “It saves me from getting myself off in the shower.”

He flicked the turgid pink pearl that he thought of as a ‘girl-erection’ and edged her legs further apart.  The instant he had sufficient access to her core, he swiftly delved two fingers into the sucking heat.  Her gasp at the unexpected abruptness shattered the air around them. 

Jon growled in her ear, inexplicably pissed, despite the soothing soundtrack of water pelting against sandstone tile.  “Is that what you were doing in here, Kitten?  Petting your kitty?”

He leisurely withdrew his plundering fingers only to re-submerge them in the sweet juice that was beginning to flow from within her walls.   Collaboratively pumping her and rubbing his thumb in a firm circle over her clit rendered Sheridan mute except for the occasional soft mewl managing to squeak free. 

“I asked you a question.  Are you in here playing with your pussy while I’m left out there to have dirty dreams about you?  I should spank your ass for not waking me up.” 

She wrested enough air into her lungs to hiss out, “You should just be glad you’re not spanking your monkey and fuck me.”

Her sass made Jon’s stomach muscles tighten with further arousal.  He shoved his free hand up into the tangled, soggy mass of hair that hung down her back and tugged.  It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but it did command her full attention. 

“You’ve gone and hurt my feelings with your smart mouth.  If you want me to fuck you now, I think you’re gonna have to ask me nicely.”

“Mmm…” Sheridan growled throatily, rocking and reeling between his hand and his dick, shamelessly grinding herself into him.  “S’ok.  I can get off like this.”

“Control, Kitten.”  Jon’s balls swelled with want and he nipped her shoulder at the same time he pulled his hand from between her legs.   “It’s mine.  If you don’t give it to me, I’ll take it.”

Her soft wail of disappointment was piteous as she squirmed and rubbed her thighs together, seeking the pleasure that had gone missing.  “Noooo!  Don’t stop, dammit!”

“That’s not nicely, Baby.”

“Fuck me, Stud.  Please.”

He chuckled at her strangled frustration, shaking away the water was trickling down his scalp and making it crawl.  His open palm splayed over her belly, Jon held her backside against his front and coached,   “One more time with feeling.  Then I can put us both out of our misery.”

“Please fuck me.  Please.  I need your dick inside me so I can come.”

That did it.  The sweet begging drove him to the point of near-detonation.  The shower spray had become sharp, pointed barbs against his over-sensitive flesh.  He couldn’t wait any longer to have her, even if he were inclined to do so.

“Palms on the wall, feet apart.”  The order was all but unnecessary, since he personally placed her hands in position, keeping his left one over hers.  Nudging her ankles apart, he used his right hand to guide himself into her wicked and waiting portal.

Sheridan’s cry of pleasure was nearly his undoing.

“Oh, God, yes!  That’s it, Baby….”

Those were his sentiments exactly  as he pummeled her bent form from behind, the steam around them cool in comparison to the heat they were generating.  She was undisputedly the best sex partner he’d had in ages.  Her body responded to his with sheer delight, serving to stroke his ego and intensify his own pleasure. 

“Hold… on… Kitten.”  There were going to be fingerprint bruises on her hips, but he didn’t dare loosen his grip for fear she would slide away when he was so, so, so close.

 “Nnnmmmghhhh!  Oh God, yessssss…. Doooonnnn’t stop.  Not yet…. OH God!”  She howled out her release like a feral cat, bucking back into him frenziedly. 

It was the green light that Jon had been waiting for.  Now that her body was rippling with spasms, he was free to pound out his own animalistic orgasm.  It spurt forth with a matching fury, and he didn’t slow his pace until he’d spewed every last scorching drop of milky satisfaction into her womb.

16 - Public-Private Partnership

The bill was finally paid and, after Jon had impatiently waited for both his and her credit slips, he scrawled his signature on the line and stood to help her with her coat.  “Where did you have lunch today?  I wanna go by and pick up some of that tiramisu.”

Much as he had guided her into the restaurant with one steering hand in the small of her back, he guided her back out again.  They navigated the closely set tables with matching expressions of affable indifference.

“I’d rather not.”

They both nodded at the hostess as they walked past, side-by-side, hands barely brushing as they did.  No one would ever guess they were more than casual acquaintances.

Pushing open the outer door, Jon held it wide as she stepped into the extremely cool night.  Sheridan zipped up the leather jacket, but it was a feeble barrier cold air that cut through to her skin.

“Oh my God, it’s him!”  Startled, she whipped her head to the right, where two women on a determined course were bearing down on Jon.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath before plastering on a contrived ‘I love my fans even when their timing sucks’ smile.  Shooting Sheridan a look of apology, he nodded his appreciation as she silently stepped aside and let him do his thing with the fans.  They likely didn’t even know she was there.

“Can we get a picture?”

“And your autograph?”

The pair’s excitement was infectious and Sheridan struggled not to grin.  The women – clearly tourists – were about her age and unable to believe their good fortune.  Jon took it all in stride as part of a day’s work, and graciously lived up to his rock star image. 

“Sure, but can we make it quick?  It’s cold out here,” he teased, settling his arm around the shorter of the two and smiling into the cell phone camera. 

A couple of quick snaps, autographs and minutes later, the women were on their way, still squealing about having met Jon.  Bon.  Jovi! 

“Sorry about that,” he murmured, getting the door to the SUV for her.  “You were telling me which restaurant has the orgasmic tiramisu.”

She could see that he was still playing the game, keeping his features bland even while drawing the maximum amount of inappropriateness from the words.  It didn’t bother her.  Now that she understood the rules, she could play as well as anyone.

“No reason to be sorry, but I wasn’t telling you where to find my tiramisu.  I was telling you I’d rather go home.”

“But now I’ve given you the perfect opportunity to change your mind.”  His grin was positively lecherous. 

Gliding to a halt next to where he stood, she angled her mouth to speak privately in his ear, and submitted to her own bout of lecherousness.  “I don’t want anything sweet.  Right now, I’m more interested in something thick and salty.”

Putting her heels back on the ground, she reveled in the desirous glow of his eyes and the blatant tightening of his jaw.  The victory dredged a smug chuckle from her.  “Now, see.  That look will get you busted every time.”

It wasn’t as funny to Jon as it was to her.

“Get in the damn car, Kitten,” he all but growled before placing an encouraging hand at her back.  “Now.”

“There is a driver.  For the record, that makes this car public.”

The temporary crack in his mask had been firmly spackled with a hollow press-style smile.  Had anyone been nearby, they never would have suspected his gritted, “Right fucking now.”

Politely tipping her chin in thanks, one booted foot went into the back of the vehicle.  The second did not follow until she sweetly murmured, “This is not your area of control, Mr. Bon Jovi.  You’ll do well to remember that.” 

The door slammed, sealing them inside, away from prying eyes and the orchestra of city noises.  Their driver asked formally, “Where to, folks?”

“Back to Leonard Street.” 

If she didn’t know better, the tersely uttered command would have her believing that Jon was pissed.  He wasn’t pissed, he was… 

The thought was interrupted by his heavy, insistent hand blanketing her knee and pulling her skirt upward.  “You’re lucky I don’t give you that thick and salty right here, Kitten.”

Sheridan picked up the marauding hand and placed it firmly back on his own leg with a censorious glare.  “And you’re lucky I don’t bust you in the chops for inappropriate public groping.  Don’t fight me on this Jon.  What goes on behind closed doors stays behind closed doors.  I mean it.”

His mouth stretched into a flat line of unhappiness.  The thing that grated on him the most was that she was right.  He played by the very same rules, yet something about her made him want to break those rules to a million pieces. 

She was someone he would be happy to have at his side in any setting, representing herself as classy and sophisticated.  Tonight was proof upon proof upon proof of that.  From dinner, to the donning of her professional persona, to her easy acceptance and dismissal of a common occurrence in his life, she had been nothing but gracious and refined.  No one would ever suspect her as anything but.  It was almost enough to make him believe she was a different woman than the sex kitten he romped with last night.

It made him want to desperately to shake chic Sheridan up a bit.  To catch a glimpse of the siren who had his libido in overdrive.

“Those marks are your neck are mine,” he reminded her blandly, annoyed at being chastised like a schoolboy.  He tugged at the ends of the scarf, displacing it enough to see one of the bruises marring her smooth neck.

She didn’t try and stop him from outlining the shadow with his fingertip, or argue with his statement.  In fact, she readily agreed.  “They are.  And you can make a whole new set of them if you want to, but you’ll do it in private.”

Good sense or not, he still couldn’t let her have the last word.

“You won’t deny me anything in private, Sheridan.”

“You haven’t given me a reason to want to.”

Abandoning her neck, he moved on to her right hand, satisfied with her answer.  Jon picked it up and threaded their fingers together so that the heat of their palms melded.  She turned to him in wonder, probably stunned that he wanted to engage in such an innocent, yet intimate connection.

Sheridan King had earned his respect tonight, both in the way she hadn’t run blabbing to her friend about doing the nasty with him and with how she handled herself.  With who she was.

His thumb scraped along the back of hers, not asking for anything more during the remainder of the short ride to her apartment. 

❧❧❧

Stepping onto the curb in front of her building, Sheridan didn’t know whether she was relieved or disappointed that he had stopped pushing and gone silent.  It briefly crossed her mind that he was pouting, but she couldn’t imagine that he was that much of a child.

Men are strange.  He might be.

“Evenin’ Jack.” 

Sheridan’s head snapped around at Jon’s easy greeting of the doorman while ushering her into the lobby.    

“You know my doorman?”

“Evening Mr. Bon Jovi, Ms. King,” Jack returned with an affable wave of his wrist as they went by the desk. 

Jon chuckled, holding the elevator door for her.  If he had been pouting, he wasn’t anymore. “He was my doorman first.”

“I wondered how you got upstairs unannounced last night.”

The car began its short ascent to the fifth floor as he pushed cool fingertips under the hem of her sweater, finding the bare skin of Sheridan’s lower back. 

“Don’t ever underestimate me.  If I truly desire something, I’ll find a way to get it.”

His amused arrogance had her stifling a silent giggle.  He was still saving face from the car ride, but she didn’t mind.  As a matter of fact, she might even be persuaded to encourage his arrogance.  It was kind of hot on an intimately personal level.

“And you desired me.” 

It wasn’t a question, because she knew the answer already, but it didn’t stop his superiority from flowing freely.  “Are you fishing for compliments, Ms. King?”

“No.  I’m merely admiring your resourcefulness.  Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

She pushed the key into the door and felt the door swing inward at her actions.  Jon slipped in behind her, closing it before latching onto her wrist and spinning her to look at him. 

“I wanted you to do me,” he corrected, hauling her body flush against him.  “And now that we are in the confines of your precious privacy, you will.  Turn the lights on and strip, Kitten.  It’s time for me to see you.  Really see you.”

Her heart rate kicked up a notch with both excitement and apprehension.  If he saw her – and she saw him – there was no pretending that she wasn’t doing this.  No pretending that she wasn’t this person.  He could go tell the entire inner Bon Jovi circle what a nasty slut she was, and she would be fully accountable for her actions.  She wasn’t drunk; she wasn’t in dire and unusual circumstances.  Sheridan was just a woman who wanted to him to execute his every wicked thought up upon her.

That should scare the hell out of her.

“Kitten.”  Jon bent to nip at the underside of her jaw.  “We’re in my realm of control now.  Do as you’re told.”

On the contrary…  It didn’t scare the hell out of her; it excited her to a higher level that she’d ever been before.  She wasn’t one to give up control, but he was so masterful that she was almost embarrassingly grateful to relinquish responsibility to him.

“You have to let me go first,” she murmured deferentially, and the lock of his fingers around her wrist sprang open.

Reaching around him, she flipped the switch that illuminated the kitchen/dining area and then slipped from her jacket under his approving stare.  He followed suit, tossing his own jacket over a chair alongside hers.  She was reaching for the scarf when he stopped her. 

“That’s mine.”  With that, deliberate fingers worked loose the knot of fine fabric and slowly drew at one end until her neck and chest were exposed to his gloating gaze.  “Sweater,” he commanded, wrapping one fist in each end of the leopard print as his heated eyes licked over the array of purple love bites.

A tremor rattled her teeth, anticipating his reaction to the racy animal print bra she was about to reveal.  She obediently worked the hem over her head, letting the cashmere dangle from her fingertips as she shook her hair back into place.  His low growl paid for her lingerie purchase.  In full.

Motherfu… 

She was wearing a damn leopard bra underneath that sedate brown sweater.  And it almost held her in its undersized cups.  The edges of her aureoles peeked over, visible above the black lace edging the shiny, spotted print.

He fisted the scarf tighter.

Tousled hair, flushed cheeks, bite marks and leopard print made her unadulterated sex kitten on the top half, while her bottom half was still public Sheridan in the modest skirt and boots.  The two distinct halves of the same woman laid out for his pleasure.  The contrast was hot as hell. 

But if she had been hiding that on the top, what was she hiding on the bottom?

“Skirt off.”

She lifted an eyebrow at him, not disagreeing, just asking, “Can we go upstairs first?”

“Are you afraid for your precious dining table?” he asked with a feral grin.

“Maybe.”

“Lose the bra right now and you can go upstairs for the rest.”  He had to maintain the upper hand, even if he would like nothing better than to roll her all over that big, bouncy playground of a bed in the next ten seconds.  As much as she fought his reign in public, he had no doubt that, when it came to sex, she craved it.

“As you wish.”

A flick of her wrist had the front clasp open, her heavy breasts spilling free with their ripe nipples standing at attention.  She shifted her shoulders delicately to free her arms of the straps, and then draped the scrap of silk and lace over his shoulder with a saucy wink as she sauntered by with a wiggle in her hips.

“Meet you upstairs, Stud,” she purred.  “Turn the lights off down here, won’t you?”

Revised posting schedule

We are going to move to posting a new chapter every other day.  (Except on Fridays.  Blush hates posting on Friday).  Getting the feeling on this side that you all aren't really connecting to this story, but please be patient. You know how the twists and turns go in the fan fiction world.  You'll hear more about Sheridan and and more of the story line will be revealed in coming chapters.  Be patient with us.

By the way, if you comment, we'll know what you like and what you don't.  You'd be surprised at how much comments affect the way a story goes.  #justsaying.

Thanks for your loyalty, readership and patience.  Stick with us.  It's gonna be good!

xoxo
♥blush & Audra

15 - Game Face

Sheridan sipped the Pinot Grigio that Jon ordered for them along with their dinner.  Normally, she wouldn’t allow a man to order for her, but they came tonight with the express intent of having Steak Oscar.  That gave her reason enough to overlook it.

“So…”  Jon leaned over his clasped hands on the table.  “Tell me about your pedigree, Kitten.”

The left corner of her mouth curled up and she swallowed a snicker.  “Stop that.  I’m not playing those games in public.”

“Nobody can hear what we’re saying,” he pointed out, reaching to twirl the stem of his wineglass.  It sloshed ever so slightly as he schooled his features into polite interest.  “It’s all about the facial expression.  If I’m careful to keep a neutral look, it doesn’t matter that I’m telling you about my plans for that scarf.  Nobody will know that I’m going to tie you to the bed and fuck you until you scream for mercy.  We could be discussing the weather for all…”  He angled his shaggy blonde head toward the older couple at the next table.  “…they know.”

A flood of heat surged through her and Sheridan thanked God that she had a scarf to cover the redness of embarrassment and desire that was no doubt flooding her chest and neck.

“Now, see…” Jon reprimanded with the slow, sad shake of his head.  “That look will get you busted every time.  You’ve gotta get your game face on.”

Rather than kowtow to his admonition she turned the tables on him with a haughty glance.  “So much for getting to know one another?”

“Retract the claws, Kitten.  I have every intention of getting to know you and discussing the absurd biography that Karl proposed.  We just may not get to it all at once.  You have a tendency to distract me.”

That was something she could understand and agree with.  He was just as distracting.  However, that didn’t mean she was going to talk dirty in the middle of a crowded restaurant – not even for him.

“So how was your day?”

Jon smiled and gave her a subtle, yet flirtatious wink.  “Not as good as my night's gonna be.”

“Jon.”  If he kept it up, she was going to walk out of here.

Yeah, right.  Dragging him by the belt.

“Okay, okay,” he relented, sipping at his wine.  “Productive.  My day was productive.  Richie – do you know who Richie is?”

“Your guitarist?”

“Yeah.  In this case, my songwriting partner.  He flew in for the day so that we could work.”  Jon absently adjusted the watch strapped to his left arm.  “Enough about me.   You can find out most anything ya wanna know on Google.  How about you?  Karl said you…  sold your business?”

Sheridan chuckled softly.  “I’m sure that’s not all he said.  I believe Suzy quoted him as saying I ‘had some kind of crazy-ass nervous breakdown’?”

“More along the lines of ‘personal crisis’,” Jon admitted, with a matching chuckle.  

He was so handsome with his mouth curved into that shadow of a smile.  The little lines radiating from the corners of his eyes emphasized the devilry dancing in them.  Rather than aging him, they only intensified his good looks.

Stick with the program, Sheridan.  You just got onto him about inappropriate public behavior.

“There was no nervous breakdown.  No personal crisis.  I just got…”  Keeping it light would be best, she decided.  “…tired of it all.  Living became more of a priority than working, so I sold my business.  Now I do what I want to do.  Up until now that’s mostly been playing around with aromatherapy and massage.  As Karl told you, I’m thinking about dabbling in writing, too.”

The waiter arrived then with their meals and, as he was serving them, Jon asked, “What kind of business was it?”

“Bookstores.”  She nodded her thanks at the waiter.  The Steak Oscar looked delicious, and after the first bite, she could confirm that it tasted as good as it looked.  “This may have actually been worth the four month wait.”

Jon requested more wine for both of them and, when the waiter disappeared, remarked, “You could’ve had it nearly a week ago if you were more cooperative.” Pressing on, he didn’t leave Sheridan any room for comment.  “Bookstores? Plural?”

“Mm.  Yes.  A chain of bookstores actually.”  Sheridan gave him the name.  “I was supposed to be expanding from New England into the Midwest this fall.  Instead, they’ve been absorbed by Barnes & Noble.” 

“I’ve been in that bookstore several times with my kids.  You must be quite the business woman, Ms. King.”

Chewing thoughtfully, she lifted a delicate shoulder before swallowing.  “I don’t know about that, but I was a workaholic.  That first store was my life, and it only got worse with each new location – much to the displeasure of my ex.”

“Mr. … King?” He lifted a questioning brow, and when she nodded in the affirmative, asked, “Mr. King didn’t appreciate your dedication to your work?”

Her laughter was short and dry.  “Not so much.  I bought him out and we parted ways three years ago.  He’s quite content being a nine-to-five accountant now, I understand.”

“How long were you married?”

“Twelve years.”

“I made it eighteen before my ex got tired of being married to a workaholic.  Any kids?”

“Other than the stores, no.”

It was odd to be doing this so very backward, she thought.  They’d already been as intimate as two people could possibly be, yet barely knew the basic facts about one another.  On the upside, she wasn’t nervous about revealing her life.  It was just casual conversation acting as a placeholder until they got back to what they did best.

“Siblings?”

“Two older.  A sister and a brother.  Riley is three years older than me and Cole is five.”  A quirky little grin stole over her lips, and she confessed, “Riley used to drag me to Bon Jovi shows when we were teenagers.  She had the biggest crush on you.”

“Christ.”  He rolled his eyes.  “That means you had my baby pictures on your wall, doesn’t it?”

“Only a couple dozen,” she teased.  “I was jealous of your hair.”

“Can we move on while I’m still able to eat my dinner?  Talking about my fucking hair kills my appetite every time.”

“You don’t mind me talking about how good it feels to have my hands buried in it during sex.”  The statement was softly uttered, and her expression was passively neutral as she popped a bite of asparagus into her mouth.  Chasing it with another sip of wine, she reverted back to their previous topic.  “Siblings.  You have a brother, right?”

“That was very good,” he lauded quietly, putting his silverware on the plate and lifting his own drink.  “I’m sure they…”  He gestured to the same older couple as before.  “… had no idea you mentioned the ‘s’ word.  I have two brothers.  Tony is almost five years younger than me, and Matt is eight years younger than him.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

Sheridan looked up at the waiter and put a self-conscious hand over her full stomach, embarrassed to see that the contents of her plate were nearly gone.  A stolen glance at Jon’s side of the table confirmed that there was less remaining of his dinner than there was hers, making her feel a little better.

Carefully placing her knife and fork across the plate’s center, she requested, “Just a cup of coffee, please.”

“No dessert?”  Jon asked with an inquiring tilt of his head.  When she shook her head to decline, he requested coffee as well, sending the waiter on his way.  “It’s your birthday.  I can’t believe you’re not gonna have dessert.”

“I splurged at lunch.  The place Suzy and I went has the best tiramisu.  I swear it’s sex in food form.” 

It’s almost as good as sex with you.

“Oh, really?”  He reclined into his chair with a look of interest.  “That good, huh?”

Her eyelids fluttered shut at the memory of the sweet, creamy coffee flavor swirling over her tongue.  "Insanely good.”  

“We’ll have to get some.  If just talking about it puts that look of rapture in your eyes, I wanna see what you look like when I feed it to you off your naked body.”

The words were so casually offered, that Sheridan barely realized he was being indecent.  Well, except for the fierce shiver that stole down her arms.  She knew the couple acting as their propriety barometer would never have a clue. 

Feeling a tiny bit challenged, she rested light elbows on the linen tablecloth and locked gazes with him.  “If I ate it from your body, you’d never see my eyes.  They would be rolled back in my head with sheer ecstasy.”

“That’s a look I’d pay to see, too.” 

They both fell silent when the waiter sidled up to the table with a carafe and cups. Blue eyes held green captive as the young man lightly clanked their coffee cups onto saucers, filling them with steaming brew.  Sliding the leather portfolio that held the bill onto the table, he murmured a discreet, “I’ll get that whenever you’re ready.  Take your time.”

Jon’s lips twitched once then went flat with seriousness.  It was his turn to plant deliberate elbows on the table and he threaded the fingers of both hands together, bringing them to the linen surface with a discreet thump.  Leaning forward, he ignored the freshly poured coffee, even as the smell infiltrated Sheridan’s senses.

“Speaking of seeing, that’s another thing…”

She had no idea what was to follow, but the tone of those words was different.  He’d gone all deep and husky, and a thread of invisible steel wound its way through each syllable, alerting her that she’d best pay attention.

“No more hiding in the dark.”

“I…  I don’t know what you mean,” she bluffed softly, a bit alarmed that he could see through her with such little effort.

How had he known she was using the dark to her advantage?  That it was easier to be someone else under the cover of blackness?  A level of anonymity still existed in the dark.  She had almost been able to pretend they were still in Jamaica, where they had been without benefit of electricity or the burden of reality.

“Bullshit,” he scoffed in an undertone that she had to strain to hear.  “There’s no reason to lie about it.  I knew what you were doing last night and I let you.  Tonight, I’m not.  I will see the look in your eyes when I take you.  When you scream my name and shudder under me.  And you will see me possess you.  Own you.”

For the first time since they’d entered the restaurant, he touched her.  His hand crept across the small table, index finger barely grazing the surface of her skin.  He leisurely traced the tip of it along the skittering pulse in her wrist, and she could only hope he didn’t feeling it pounding as desperately as she did.

“I would ask if you understand, but the way your pupils are dilated, I’d say you understand perfectly.”

She flipped her hand so that she could trail a finger along the inside of his wrist, and lifted the corners of her mouth in a deceptively gentle smile.  Her gaze sure and steady as she spoke directly into his eyes with a subtle nod.

“I do.  I also understand that you’re a control freak.  I’m telling you right now that the only place I’ll allow you to exercise that control over me is in the bedroom.  Do you understand perfectly?”

“Sheridan?” 

Jon’s eyes flew to a spot behind her left shoulder, a polite smile immediately falling into place.  With his confirmation that the masculine voice hadn’t been a figment of her imagination, Sheridan’s eyes fell shut with embarrassment, afraid that she had pushed the boundaries of their game too far.  Someone had clearly heard her little decree.

Turning slowly, her embarrassment turned to relief as she took in the impeccable navy Brooks Brothers suit and flamboyant Dr. Seuss necktie.  “Jeff,” she greeted him with a genuine smile.  “It’s been a while.  How are you?”

Jeff Beckmann had stumbled into her first bookstore all those years ago, impressed, but with suggestions to offer.  Sheridan had been amazed that a man her own age had so much wisdom, but she took those suggestions, along with his inside track, and applied them to her advantage.  He was a big part of her success in the business world.

“I’m doing well.  Been out of town for a while scouting for new talent, and come back to find that you’ve fallen from the face of the earth.  You’re living in New York now?  What in the world?”

Sheridan turned to Jon, whose polite façade was still in place, but she could see he wasn’t happy about having their dinner intruded upon.  “Jon, this is Jeff.  He’s responsible for turning me on – turning my store on – to up-and-coming children’s authors before they’ve been discovered.  It proved to be very beneficial to business.  Jeff, this is Jon.”  She purposefully left last names out of her introduction.

The men exchanged a brief  handshake and Jeff said, “Of course I recognize Jon.  Who could have lived through the eighties and not recognize Jon?  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Stepping in before it turned into an awkward fan-encounter, Sheridan told Jeff, “I sold the stores and decided to pursue other hobbies.”

“Did the business just burn you out?”

“No, but it was close.  I wanted out before it got to that point.”

An exotic beauty beckoned to him from where she was sitting, and Jeff gestured to her that he would be just a minute.

“My date is feeling neglected,” he apologized.  “I need to go.  Sheridan, it was good seeing you.  Call me sometime?”

“Sure,” was her bland agreement, knowing that she wouldn’t.  After she divorced Ian, Jeff had tried to convince her to go out with him on a couple of different occasions, but she had never felt that kind of connection with him.  He had been a great business associate, but that was as far as it went.

“Jon, again, great to meet you.  You two have a good evening.”

Nodding, Jon silently watched Jeff depart before lining her up in his sights with a sly smile.  “He wants you.”

“No he doesn’t,” she scoffed, opening her purse and flagging down the waiter.  Sheridan nodded toward Jeff and his date, issuing the instructions to, “Please put their dinner on my credit card.”

Waiting until the waiter vanished with her American Express, Jon leaned on his forearms, his torso half covering the small table.  “Yeah.  He does.  And you’re buying him dinner.  Do you want him?”

“I’m buying him dinner as a professional courtesy and a thank you.  He was an invaluable part of my success for many years.  Dinner is the least I can do.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

Sheridan leaned on her forearms in a pose that mirrored his, locking eyes meaningfully.  “No.  I don’t want him.  I want you.”

14 - Steppin' Out

One stocking glided over Sheridan’s freshly pedicured foot and sugar-scrubbed leg.  The smooth silk brushing against her smooth skin felt gloriously decadent, and her legs and feet weren’t the only part of her feeling smooth, thanks to her afternoon in the spa. 

She’d done the Brazilian waxing thing a time or two during her marriage, but Ian hadn’t shown a preference for it.  Since he hadn’t shown a preference, Sheridan hadn’t seen the point in putting herself through the discomfort.

Jon, however…?

I have a feeling he just might appreciate it.

Both stockings now fastened to the garter belt, she stood, and the satin G-string caressed the baby-smooth skin between her legs. She adjusted the lacy ribbons on the demi-bra and turned to the mirror for the overall effect. 

Subtle leopard print encased her breasts, her sex and circled a fine line around her hips.  An appropriate look for a sex kitten, she thought. 

Jon had gone on with all the kitten and cat comments so much the night before that Sheridan had been unable to resist splurging on the sexy lingerie set and high-end hosiery.  Conservative was her usual look, and she wouldn’t stray far from it tonight – chocolate suede pencil-skirt just above the knee, matching boots, tight fitting chocolate sweater and a cream leather jacket would all give the appearance of classic elegance.

Only one man would find out that underneath that traditional attire was a sex kitten waiting to come out and play.

I can’t remember when I’ve had so much fun trying to be sexy for a man.

Her ‘dual identity’ made it all that much more fun.  Tonight, Jon wouldn’t know what was under her clothes.  He wouldn’t have any idea whatsoever.  But after tonight – if there was an ‘after tonight’ – he would know, and always wonder what the ‘other’ Sheridan was wearing.

The second boot was just being zipped when the doorbell rang.  Her scarlet lips tipped up as her stomach fluttered with anticipation as she checked the clock, recalling his text message from this afternoon. 

Delmonico’s at eight.  Pick u up @ 7:30 

And he’s right on time.

She pulled on the leather jacket, making sure its zippered sides met over the v-neck of her sweater.  Even fully dressed, she could see at least three love bites on her neck and upper chest.  She should have been appalled, but it was actually kind of a turn-on to be marked by a man’s passion.  Last time, after Jamaica, she’d actually been disappointed when the little bruises faded. 

Shaking her hair so that it was around draped around her neck, Sheridan realized she really was a slut puppy.

If nobody knows that besides you and your lover, does it really matter?

Her boot heels tapped impatiently down the stairs, rounding the bannister and the kitchen table to come to a quiet halt in front of the door.  She popped up on her toes to look out the peep hole and, confirming that it was Jon, she shook her hair and released the locks with a smile.

“Hi.”  God, he was gorgeous.  Black jeans, black shirt and black jacket only served to make his blue eyes shine brighter.

Without a word, Jon stepped through the doorway, slid his right hand around the back of her neck and held firmly.  Irreverently disregarding her carefully made up lips, he claimed her mouth with a hot possessiveness that nearly had her knees buckling.  The thick swipe of his tongue had her purring from the back of her throat and Sheridan’s pitifully eager hands sought him, burrowing under the jacket to clutch at his waist. 

“Happy birthday, Kitten,” he finally murmured, wiping the smeared lipstick from her mouth.  “I’ve been thinking about that all damn day.”  His cocky smirk curled her toes as he touched a finger to the marks on her neck.  “Among other things.”

This is going to fade away.  This intensity.  It has to.

Until it did, or he lost interest, she was going to milk it for all the enjoyment she could.

“How about we close the door so I don’t give the neighbors a free show?”

His husky chuckle sent tremors down the insides of her thighs.  “There’s not gonna be a show,” he informed her, nonetheless closing the door as she took a step back into the apartment, leaning against the kitchen island.  “We have reservations in half an hour, and what I have in mind will take longer than that.  Besides, you’ve got a present to open.”

She finally noticed the flat, oblong gift in his other hand.  It looked so much like the last two packages, with its white box and red ribbon that she laughed.  “It definitely looks like your handiwork, but you didn’t have to do that.  I was happy with what you ‘gave’ me last night.”

He moved into her personal space, putting his empty hand on the edge of the counter and pressing his hips into her softness.  “Glad to hear it, because I’m gonna give it to you again after dinner.  I might even give it to you in the bathroom during dinner.  Or in the car.  Or on the fuckin’ street corner.”

“You are the dirtiest man,” she quietly marveled.  Was he this randy all the time?  If so, it was no wonder he’d seen a million women and fucked them all.

“So what’s your point?” A few sparks from that million-watt smile teased her with his impudence.  “I want you.  I’ve never made a secret of that.  Now…”  He created enough space between them to present the package again.  “Open your gift so we can go.”

She didn’t want the gift.  She wanted him.

You’ll have him all night.  Open the damn thing.

Her hands trembled only slightly when she accepted it and he took a step back to give her some room.  Sheridan untied the bow, putting the ribbon on the counter in a small heap.

“What’s that perfume you’re wearing?”

She smiled slyly, resting her hand briefly on the box lid.  “You like it?”

“Mm.  It’s nice.  Sexy.”

Working the lid free, she found inside a nest of red tissue paper, just as the cell phone had.  “It’s ylang ylang.”  The paper folded easily back to reveal an uber-soft rectangle of cloth.  Very expensive leopard print cloth.  She couldn’t wait until he found the irony in his little gift.

“It’s a scarf.  If you have something to hide the hickeys, I don’t feel bad about giving them to you.”

Extracting it from the tissue had the folds of material rippling toward the floor in a luxurious flow of designer spots.  It was simply gorgeous and perfectly matched the outfit she was wearing.  She immediately wrapped it around her neck, asking, “Did you pick it out or have an assistant do it?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, not at all.  I was just curious.”  They barely knew one another.  To expect him to personally select a gift for her was silly.  Flouncing the ends of it over her jacket, she lifted her eyes to his.  “Thank you.  It’s lovely, but completely unnecessary.” 

Jon reached forward a hand and tugged lightly on one of the ends.  “I didn’t hand-choose it, but I was very specific in what I wanted.  Something classy enough for a pedigreed pussy, but with a hint of sex kitten.”

“You did not tell someone that!”

If he had, so help her God…

She let go of her indignant huff in under ten seconds.  He hadn’t.  Otherwise, he wouldn’t be laughing right now. 

“Not in so many words,” he confessed, eyes sparkling like a mischievous little boy.  She bet his own little boys were hellions.  “I asked her to get a scarf for a sophisticated woman who liked cats.”

Delighted laughter trickled from her lips.  Jon probably had a good laugh of his own about dispatching whomever on that mission. 

“Ingenious, Secret Squirrel,” she complimented, leaning in for a brief kiss that lingered a little too long.  “You sure you want to go out?  We could order in…”

“Uh huh,” he mumbled over her open lips.  “We’re going out to dinner.  I’m more than a piece of meat, ya know.”

Sheridan’s head fell back in a hearty laugh.  “Shouldn’t that be my line?”

“I’m all about equal opportunity sexual harassment.”  He grinned down into her face and rested his hands on her hips.  “Tell ya what...  We’ll go.  We’ll have the Steak Oscar I owe ya.  We’ll talk a little, get to know each other.   Hell, who knows?  We might even like each other as human beings instead of fuck toys.  If not…”  His hot palm snaked up the back of her thigh.  “We’ll come back and be pieces of meat together.  Work for you?”

Oh, if he only knew how that worked for her.

“Yeah.  That works.”

“Car’s waitin’, Baby.  Oh, and Sheridan?”  Jon’s fingers curled around her elbow after her first step, and he bent to buss her cheek in a sweetly platonic kiss.  “You look pretty tonight.”

❧❧❧

The car ride was pleasant enough, but Jon was glad it had been short.  Being that close to her and that damn scent she was wearing made it nearly impossible for Jon to keep his hands to himself.  He would have a better shot of doing that in public.  The surprising thing was that he wanted to. 

During their time together Sheridan had revealed just enough details about herself to make him curious as to whom she was outside the bedroom.  Looking the way she did tonight – very much your average, upper-middle-class woman – only intrigued him more.  Yes, she told him she was a different person in public, but actually seeing the contrast between Sheridan and the sex kitten drove the point home in a big way.

Sliding from the back seat of the SUV, Jon reached in to help her from the car.  Returning her smile of thanks, he put a chaste hand at the small of his back and ushered her up the two small steps that would take them into the front door of Delmonico’s.

The door swung wide before Jon could reach for the handle.  Of all people to run into, out breezed…

“Suzy!  Karl!”

That answered one question.  The sex kitten hadn’t rushed to share the news of her ‘conquest’ with Suzanne.   No, Sheridan’s face had gone pale and her wide, green eyes screamed ‘busted’.  He could understand the feeling.  He didn’t think he wanted their ‘relationship’ to be on anybody’s radar either.

“Sheri!  Happy birthday, honey.” Karl swooped in to give her a hug before reaching to give Jon a hearty handshake.

“Sheri,” Suzanne Fenning greeted her friend oddly.  Her lips brushed the air next to Sheridan’s cheek, but her eyes never left his.  “Jon…”  The pretty redhead nodded politely, before turning back to Sheridan.  “Sheri, you didn’t tell me you were going out with Jon tonight.  I can’t believe you didn’t mention it while we were having lunch today.”

“I…”

Hoping that Sheridan wouldn’t have his balls on a platter for the bold move he was about to make, Jon broke in with, “I have no manners.  It was a last-minute business dinner.   I found myself with a free evening and asked her to meet me and discuss the biography.”

Now those incredulous green eyes whipped around to him.  Jon spoke a silent message into them as he smiled, silently encouraging her to get on board.  “Isn’t that right, Sheridan?”

She only hesitated for a heartbeat before diving right into the thick of his story.

“Yes… Jon called while I was at the spa today, Suzy.  He insisted on meeting with me out of respect to Karl, even though I tried to explain Karl was kidding about the book.”

Her composure came together quickly, Jon noted with pleasure.   Kitten could think on her feet when pushed.  He liked that. 

“He did?”  Skepticism fairly dripped from the words falling from Suzanne’s mouth.  “How did he get your phone number?”

“She gave it to me Sunday night,” Jon lied through his perfectly straight teeth.  “There wasn’t time to discuss business on the ride home, and I knew I’d be following up with her.  I was proud of myself in having the foresight to ask for it. “

“Suzy, baby, it’s cold out,” Karl tried to coax his suspicious wife away, offering Jon a subtle roll of the eyes as he did.  “Sheri and Jon want to get to their dinners and the babysitter is waiting for us.  You can talk to Sheri tomorrow.”

“Al…right.  But I am definitely calling you tomorrow.” 

With that reluctant agreement, the Fennings shuffled away with a wave, leaving Jon and Sheridan to slip inside the front door of the restaurant. 

“Well…” Sheridan drawled dryly.  “We were almost outed right there on the street.  Could that possibly have been any more awkward?”

Jon gave the hostess his name and, while she was checking the reservation list, he bent to speak directly in Sheridan’s ear.  “She could’ve seen the bite marks all over your neck.  That would’ve been awkward.  For you, anyway.”

13 - Just Between Friends

“Coffee.  Tell me you have coffee.”

Jon laughed at the dark-haired man who was on his doorstep, guitar in hand and black-as-night sunglasses shielding his eyes.  It didn’t matter that it was indoors.  Eight o’clock in the morning was too early for Richie Sambora’s day-sensitive eyes, no matter what the setting.

“Don’t I always?” Jon questioned dryly, stepping back so that his old friend and songwriting partner could gain entrance. 

Richie was a caffeine junkie from way, way back – not  that Jon was any stranger to its addictive lure.  The pair of them had likely consumed more coffee than a small village of Colombians since they had hooked up in the early eighties.  Nowadays, Richie was liberal about where he got his caffeine fix - a can of Red Bull could start his day as easily as Starbuck's.

Full lips dropped into a frown as he leaned his guitar case against the foyer wall.  “You’re in a good mood, but look like hell.  Dammit, Jon.  You’ve got my ass on a red-eye and you’re out fucking all night.  Bro…”  He shook his shaggy head in disgust.  “That’s just not right.”

The two men wound their way into  the kitchen, where Richie tossed his eye protection on the counter.  His eyes did look tired, Jon noted.

“I stopped and got you donuts on my way home, so quit your bitchin’.”

“Pastries are not the same as pussy,” Richie declared from the depths of the cupboard where the coffee mugs were kept.   He had spent enough time in Jon’s home – and more specifically, his kitchen – to fix his own damn coffee.   It was in his best interest, anyway.  The housekeeper only came a couple days a week unless the kids were scheduled over, and Jon did well to fix his own coffee.

The cabinet door slammed shut and Sambora shot a pointed look over his shoulder before reaching for the carafe.  “Not even when you eat one from the other.”

Jon’s smirk was villainous as he climbed onto a stool to reclaim his half-empty cup.  There was no doubt in his mind that Richie spoke from very personal experience.  The other man had probably performed every sexual feat known to man, and a few that were only known in secret tribal circles.  Bohemian took on a whole new meaning when it came to Richie.

“I might have to prove that one to myself.”

Long fingers waved in the air with silent support as Rich took the first deep swallow.  “By all means,” he encouraged when he was able.  “Everybody should try it.  Think this chick will let you?  Your coffee still sucks, by the way.”

Once Richie settled himself on the other side of the counter, Jon lifted a condemning eyebrow.  “I’m overlooking the coffee bashing.”

“Pfft!  Like I care about your fucking barista pride.  I wanna know about the pussy.  I hauled ass across the country on your fuckin’ whim.  I deserve to know about the pussy.”

Jon spun his mug in a circle by pushing his thumb on the handle.  There was no way to convey how insanely good his night of carnality had been.  Besides, it had been way too many years since he’d told locker room tales.

Well there was that year after the divorce.

That was months ago, though.  He wasn’t crass enough to talk about his sexual exploits with his best friend.

Not in full detail anyway.

“Remember the girl from Jamaica?”

“Sure.  The one you banged during that storm.”  Richie nodded enthusiastically.  “Wild blonde with big tits, as I recall.  Never did figure out why you didn’t hunt her down, if she was all that.”

Jon winced.  Okay, maybe he did say that.  He shouldn’t have, but maybe he did.  You could count on Sambora never to forget a sex-capade.  You could also count on him to repeat it without any trace of couth or political correctness. 

If this thing with Sheridan turned into an actual fling, she couldn’t talk to Richie.  Ever.

“Yeah.  Well, I found her.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.  You remember Karl Fenning?”

“Sort of.  Reporter from… Circus?”

“That’s him,” Jon confirmed with a nod.  “He writes fiction books now, and invited me to his launch party Sunday night.  She was there.  Turns out she’s friends with Karl’s wife.”

“Outstanding!”  The guitarist’s palm climbed into the air, awaiting Jon’s high five.  When it was somewhat reluctantly given, Richie leaned his forearms on the countertop, remarking off-handedly, “So you’ve spent the whole week getting reacquainted with Stormy Rain.  No wonder you look like hell.”

“Nah, not all week, just last night.”  He smirked into his coffee cup.  “It was eventful enough to be a whole week, though.”

After she rode him across the finish line in their second time, they dozed a bit.  He was awakened by her sharp little teeth working his nipple.

Jon had pushed his hand through her hair, looking down at her in the darkness with a sleepy smile.  “I ain’t no mama cat, hungry Kitten.”

“And I’m not hungry for what a mama cat can give me,” had been her unconcerned reply before going from biting to licking.  The next hours had been discovering secret hot spots and erogenous zones. 

He now knew she liked her kisses soft and wet until she was on the verge of release.  Then she wanted them as intense as her orgasm.  She knew that he had an oral fixation – breasts, fingers, tongues – anything he could lick, suck or bite made him feel that much more the alpha male. 

She went wild when he bathed the inside crook of her elbow with his tongue.  He went wild when she used her nails on the skin in the crease where his leg and groin met.

She squirmed against him when he whispered dirty things in her ear.  He got stiff as a post when her dirty talk dripped over him like sweet honey.

“And her name’s not Stormy Rain, dumbass.  It’s Sheridan.”

“Well, well, well…”  Sambora mused with a smart-ass grin.  “Tropical Storm Sheridan must be something else.  She kept your stodgy ass up all night and you remember her name.  I’m thinkin’ I gotta meet this girl.”

Richie would either embarrass the hell out of Sheridan or fuck her in the coat closet.  That wasn’t happening in this lifetime or any other.  Jon wasn’t finished with her yet.

“Not happenin’.  Finish your damn coffee so we can get to work.”

❧ ❧ ❧

“Happy birthday, sweetie,” Suzanne greeted when Sheridan arrived at their favorite lunch spot, Mezzaluna on the Upper East Side. 

Small and understated, the food was always delicious.  More importantly for the birthday girl, they had quite possibly the best tiramisu in the world.  Until last night, Sheridan would’ve classified it as better than sex.  Today…?  Well, it would still be the best dessert in the city.

“Thank you.”  Sheridan returned the warm hug and quick kiss, pulling off her coat and draping it over the back of the chair.

“Pretty sweater.”

The close-fitting cream turtleneck had been about the only option this morning, short of a scarf.  There was no other way to hide the smattering of love bites along the column of her throat.  Not that she was complaining.  She just didn’t have any desire to share her late-night souvenirs with anyone else. 

Curling her fingers around lightly around her neck to make sure the collar wasn’t gaping, Sheridan smiled briefly and busied herself with the specials on today’s menu.   A cup of soup with a glass of Pino Grigio would do nicely, since she planned to have dessert. 

After their orders were placed, she asked about Madison and found out that the little girl was doing much better after a few days of medication.

“Sunday night was miserable,” Suzy declared with a dour look and a delicate sip of wine.  “But by Tuesday, when the antibiotics kicked in, she was little Miss Mary Sunshine again.  I can’t stand it when she’s sick.  It’s the only thing I can think about.  Which reminds me…”  The wineglass’s base hit the marble tabletop with a melodic ‘ting’ and she hunkered forward with a sly smile. “…that I never asked about your ride home Sunday night.  How was it?  How was he?”

React, but don’t overreact.  She knows you too well.  

Lifting a carless shoulder as she slid her diamond pendant on its chain, she channeled her inner Thespian to say, “We didn’t have much of a chance to talk since it was a short ride, but he seems like a nice guy.  He held both the club door and the car door for me, so he has manners.  Other than that, I can’t say much about him.”

You deserve an award for telling the most creative truth ever.

“Huh.”  Suzanne slumped back into her seat, disappointed.  “Karl always said he was just a nice, regular guy, but I thought that was only to keep me from asking to meet him.  I really thought he would have at least a little of that sexy rock star attitude.  That magnetism, you know?”

He’s got more than a little.

That topic wasn’t up for discussion, though.  If Sheridan told of Jon’s ‘sexy rock star attitude’, she would also have to tell of her own ‘slutty ho bag attitude’.  Not a chance in hell.  Sheridan hadn’t been this bad in college.  She certainly wasn’t going to advertise that Jon Bon Jovi had been gasoline thrown on the fire of her mid-life crisis.

Instead, she shamelessly tipped her chin toward the small gift bag on the table, knowing full-well it was for her.  “What’s in the bag?”

“Hm?  Oh.”  Suzanne had gotten lost in her thoughts – no doubt lustful ones about Jon.  Her coppery hair swung as she shook her head and rejoined the conversation.  Dangling the merry little bag by its string handles made the metallic curly ribbon shine in the light. “Your birthday present of course!  It’s not exactly a surprise, since it’s the same thing I get you every year, but do you think you could humor me and actually use it this time?”

Sheridan laughed.  Every year, Suzanne got her a spa gift certificate – for the woman who barely had time to shave her underarms, much less pamper herself.  She knew it was Suzy’s way of encouraging her to relax, even for an hour, but the thoughtful gifts had gone unused in the last few years.  Things were different now, though.

To that end, she went through the motions of crossing her heart.  “I have a lot more time on my hands nowadays, so yes.  I promise to use it this time.”

Wonder if I have time to use it between lunch and dinner??

Next post: Thursday, October 25

12 - Birthday Suit

Jon’s backside bucked gently, jostling her.  “Hop up so I can roll over.  And lose the robe.”

She slid from his back, and he turned carefully so as not to catch his semi-stiffy at a bad angle.  Between her hands all over his back, and her sitting on him, his engine was revving up for another race.  He positioned himself on his left side and scooted back toward the center of the bed, making room for her.

“What’s that smell?  The massage oil?”

“You like it?” The mattress dipped, and the silken skin of her legs tangled with his rougher ones.  A palm slipped in to cradle his burgeoning erection and her soft laughter infiltrated the night.  “I guess you do.  My aphrodisiac worked.”

“Spanish fly in your potion, witch?” he demanded with a growl, crushing her softness to his chest and swooping in for a sharp bite at the tendon in her neck.  What was it about her that made him want to bite at every opportunity?

“Mmmm….”  The deep purr vibrated against his lips.  That explained that.  He would bite every square inch of her in an effort to reproduce that sexy-as-fuck purr.

Looks like Kitten likes getting a little cat-‘nip’.

“You don’t hafta worry,” he assured her, one hand creeping down to give her bottom a firm pinch.  His reward was a soft squeal accompanied by the pillowiness of her breasts burrowing into his chest.  “This old man can get it up enough to fuck you any way you want.”

Appreciative nails scraped along his ribcage when he wiggled down lower in the bed, dipping his head.  If he remembered correctly…

A sharp gasp pierced the air and she dug frantic fingers into the back of his scalp.

Yep.  She goes ape over having her nipples sucked.

“Easy, Baby.”  His hazy memory confirmed, Jon set to work inspecting every millimeter of the sensitive skin on her left breast.  Laving, sucking and licking her aureole and its pointy tip had her writhing against his face.  Ever-so-slowly sinking his teeth into the turgid nipple brought the most provocative yowl from the back of her throat.

“Damn…  Sounds like Kitten is in heat,” he mumbled around the fleshy breast.  Jon’s hand pushed between her knees and up her inner thigh, amazed at the dampness he found while still a good distance from her center.  The sweet honey of her arousal was already dripping free.  “I see my aphrodisiac worked,” he mocked softly, using his thumb to rub the wetness into her skin.

Her only reply was to push his face closer to the mattress and her other breast, pleading, “Suck me, Stud.”

If he wasn’t already stiff as a board, that did it.

A hard hand on her hip had Sheridan flat on her back and Jon wasted no time devouring her right breast in much the same way he had consumed its mate - only with a little more voraciousness.

"Oh, that's it," she moaned, neck arched and flexing her fingers against his scalp.

The slight pain of those fingers winding into his hair with excitement only made him suck harder.  Take a deeper bite.  Bathe the "wound" with a punishing tongue until her back was arched as sharply as her neck.

Jon pushed an insistent hand between her legs, completely turned on by the slickly saturated silk that greeted him.

"I bet you can come for me just like this, can't you pretty Kitten?" The top of her breast heated under the breath of his words. "You don't even need my cock. You'll cream all over my hand if I suck your sweet tits hard enough, won't you?"

He heard the rustle of her head thrashing against the pillow. Through a desperate mewl, she begged him, "Just don't stop touching me. Please. God, it feels so good!"

Peppering love bites over her upper chest, Jon demanded on a low growl, "You're going to tell me when you come. I want to hear it." His thumb brushed against her clit in a sadistic tease that had her yelping. “Understand?”

“Yes, dammit, yes!”

The near-scream of agreement got her a hard suck on her nipple while his middle finger went for a deep dive in her flowing juices and his thumb flicked determinedly over the stiff little nubbin that would have her climbing the walls.

Her back nearly bent in half and then she went stock still while he stroked her once...  twice...

“Jonnn!” She literally hissed his name as she scratched the hell out of his shoulder blade.  He merely squared his shoulders and absorbed the punishment, egotistically reveling in her cry, “I’m comingggg...Oh God don’t stop!”

Her internal muscles spasmed, rippling along the length of his finger as he coaxed out each drop of satisfaction.  As she came down off her high, her breathy pants had him grinding his hip into her thigh until she went still and limp.

It was time to fuck her again and fuck her well.  Unlike the entryway entry, this time he had the dubious luxury of not being completely consumed by lust.  That meant he remembered one important detail.  A very important detail.

"Sheridan, we didn't use a rubber the first time."

"Mmm," she mumbled into his cheek.  "I'm clean and on birth control. If you're clean, we don't need one."

"Then we don't need one."

Which I'm damn happy about.

Jon eased onto his back, urging her to roll on top of him.  “C’mere and ride me.  You can go again, can’t you?”

Sheridan willingly straddled his waist and impaled herself on his erection.  Flattening her impressive chest against his, she nibbled at his bottom lip and purred, “For an orgasm like that?  You better believe it.”  Delicate fingers laid against his jaw and stroked against the sandpapery stubble of his beard while she huskily tantalized him, “This time I might even take you with me.”

Oh yeah, this is gonna have to be a regular thing.

❧❧❧

Sheridan shivered and turned over to burrow deeper under the covers.  Squinting against the bright daylight, her first muzzy thought was, What’s wrong with my electric blanket?

She inhaled deeply to accommodate the jaw-popping yawn, and a potpourri of scents flooded her nostrils:  the spicy scent of Jon’s cologne, the crisp sage and juniper of the massage oil, the prevalent smell of pure sex...

He had been right.  It was just as good as Jamaica.  Setting turned out to be irrelevant.  The only the requirement had been their two bodies and mutual lust.  

Embarrassment wanted to sneak in at the memory of her shameless want for him.  She’d ridden him with abandon and been ridden until she was nothing more than a frazzled mess, drained of all energy.  The last thing she remembered, before falling asleep well after four this morning, was draping an arm over him and nuzzling a cheek into his very warm chest.

Unable to recall his leaving, she craned her neck around in search of Jon, only to find the other side of her bed empty.  He’d snuck out at some point in the early hours of the morning.

Her next mission was to lift her head in search for the missing electric blanket.  It was still in a disheveled heap on the floor.

That explains why I’m so damn cold.  He didn’t put the blanket back on when he left.

She tucked the sheet around her and stretched until she was able to snatch it up from the floor.  Dragging it up over her body, Sheridan settled back into the mattress and reached for the control unit next to the bed.  She flipped it on High and checked the clock.  Nine a.m.  Well past her usual start of the day.

Considering that she didn’t have any plans today, other than lunch with Suzy, she gave herself permission to be lazy. 

You’re forty years old today.  It should come with some perks!

The girlish grin demanding to roam free on her face wouldn’t be contained.  She couldn’t even think that with a straight face.  Last night, she’d been the recipient of the most outstanding perk imaginable – total sexual abandon with a man who knew his way around a woman’s body.  A man who also knew just the words to get her fires burning at their hottest.

The deliciously provocative, “You’re gonna tell me when you come” would be a sound byte that replayed in her mind for the next fifty years.  It would be inevitably followed by his demanding, “Understand?”

The shiver that stole through her body this time had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with heat.

It was a good birthday present.

She would presume by his absence that this was a one-night shot, and it made her grateful that he’d snuck out while she was sleeping.  Morning-after etiquette wasn’t something she’d ever had a reason to learn a polite way to say “Thanks for the fuck.”  Their parting could have been incredibly awkward and ruined a deliciously sinful night.  It was so much better this way.

He’s done this a time or fifty.  It would be second nature for him to say “Thanks, Baby.  It’s been fun.”

That’s right.  She was only another notch on the bedpost.  Or did the second night entitle her to two notches?  This was clearly another area in which she was unversed.

Let it go, Sheridan.

She didn’t want to think about his bedpost.  It would be so much nicer to bury her face in his pillow and think about the fact that he was with her last night. 

Determined to do just that, Sheridan rolled onto her right side and plopped her hand into the middle of the dented pillow with the intention of pulling it close.  The unexpected crinkle of paper interrupted her progress.

Her brow furrowed with confusion as she curled her fingers around the slight rumpled sheet of notebook paper.  It was the same lined paper she used to make notes about her aromatherapy recipes.

Looks like he found my notebook in the workshop.

Curious as to what he might have to say, she quickly skimmed the flourishing words that had been jotted down with a heavy hand.

Happy Birthday.  Again.  I’m taking you out for dinner tonight.  NO is not an option, so don’t even think about it.  Afterward, we’ll celebrate.  Again.

Call you later with details. 

                                                       ~ J

The high-handedness of his decree rubbed her a little the wrong way.  She would have to let him know his dictatorial ways were unacceptable. 

After tonight.