27 - Master Musician

Sheridan washed her hands, analyzing herself critically in the vanity mirror of Richie’s guest bath.  She didn’t look too bedraggled for having been up since five that morning.  Her mascara had smudged and required a touchup, but for the most part everything was still intact. 

Reaching inside her handbag for a tube of lipstick, she found her cellphone vibrating with an incoming call. 

Suzy. 

Sneaking out of New York without a word had seemed world’s easier than telling Suzanne about Jon, so Sheridan hadn’t mentioned she was leaving town.  The luxury of that lie of omission was about to be taken from her, she feared. 

Maybe she just wants to talk.  You might not have to tell her anything.  And if you do, then just tell her.  You’ve been outed to Jon’s friend.  Turnabout is fair play. 

Clenching her jaw, she leaned against the bathroom vanity and swiped a finger across the phone screen. 

“Hi, Suzy.”

“Sheri, what are you doing this afternoon?”

The time difference put it at about two o’clock in New York. 

“Nothing much.  Why?”  Truthful, yet not revealing.  As far as she knew, they didn’t have any big plans for this afternoon.  She, personally, was hoping for a nap to acclimate to the change in time.

“Is there any way you could be a doll and get Madison after school?  I know it’s last minute, but I’ve gotten unexpectedly tied up and Karl’s out of town.”

That simple request – one that she had gladly answered to a half-dozen times before – jerked the last bit of rug out from under Sheridan’s feet.  There was no more hiding, and she found she didn’t want to.  There was nothing to be ashamed of.  He was a good guy and he treated her well. 

“Actually, I’m out of town, too, Suzy.”

“Oh?  I didn’t realize you were going anywhere.  Are you visiting your parents?”

“No, I’m in Los Angeles.” 

“Los Angeles?  Why?”

She spun slowly around on one foot, coming face to face with her two dimensional self in the vanity mirror once again.  Her eyes were bright, her color was good.  Sheridan saw that she was as happy outwardly as she was inwardly.  That meant Suzy would be happy about this, too.

Good grief, you’re seeing the man, not engaged.  It’s not a big deal.

“Jon invited me to a Christmas party at his friend’s house tomorrow night.”

“I’m sorry, what?”  Suzy was practically spluttering.  “Jon?  You can’t possibly mean Jon Bon Jovi? Because a week ago you told me you didn’t know a thing about him.”

“I lied.” She had no problem bluntly confessing , but quickly followed with, “It was still very casual at the time, set to wither away at a moment’s notice.”

“I knew it!  I knew there was something fishy going on there!”

“Very good, Sherlock.”  Sheridan couldn’t help but grin at her friend’s triumphant crowing.  She gave Suzy the barest details, stating only that she and Jon were seeing each other and that’s really all there was to it. 

“Does Riley know yet?”

“No!”  Realizing that she’d been gone a long time, and that Jon might be wondering about her, Sheridan tried to wrap up her conversation as she opened the bathroom door.  “Why I’m here is hush-hush.  Everyone will find out soon enough, but not until I decide to issue a formal release.  That will be later.  Much later.”

More engrossed in her conversation that where she was going, she nearly ran into Grace, who was stealthily slipping out of another room. 

“Oh, I’m sorry!”

“Mm hmm.”  The older woman gave her the same skeptical look as she had in the kitchen, making Sheridan feel like an errant child before moving on down the hallway. 

She shivered.  There was some kind of weird vibe to that woman.  Mean was too harsh a word, but quietly hostile might be an apt description from the way she had chastised both Richie and Jon.  From the strange undercurrent t beneath Richie’s easy joking, she got the feeling that he agreed with the assessment.  Why did he keep a woman on staff that he didn’t like?  It made her wonder if there was more going on here than met the eye. 

“Suzy, I have to go, but I’ll be home on Sunday afternoon.  We’ll get together.”

Her friend agreed and rang off, leaving Sheridan still feeling peculiar about Richie’s housekeeper.  She needed to ask Jon about her when they got a moment alone.

❧❧❧

“Kitten?” 

Jon nuzzled soft lips along the side of her neck, sending jolts of electricity into all kinds of interesting places.  If she were going to have her sleep interrupted, his sinful mouth one of the few acceptable reasons for interruption.

“Baby?” 

His hand pushed under the Aerosmith t-shirt she had slipped into her for nap, splaying wide against her torso.  The heavy palm held her steady as he gently bumped his erection into her from where his naked body was curled behind her in the guest bed.

“Hmm?”  She lolled her head around, sleepy eyes seeking face. 

“You know what we’re going to for the rest of the day?”

The rest of the day?  Her curiosity was piqued. 

When she came to lie down, Richie and Jon were on their way to the music room to play a song Richie recently wrote.  There had been mention of dinner at Richie’s favorite Mexican place, but nothing beyond that.  Certainly nothing that would constitute an all-day agenda.

“What’s that?”

His hand inched down her abdomen like a seductive spider, each finger walking independently and scraping its own distinctive callus against the delicately soft skin of her underbelly. 

“First…”  He nipped lightly at the curve of her neck as he burrowed under the purple lace to cup her mound and sneak a finger into her tingling folds.  “I’m gonna make you think of me instead of some guitarist when you wear that shirt.”

“Mmnh…”  The soft grunt easily escaped her sleepy lips and she parted her thighs to give him more room to maneuver.  Her reward was a second finger joining the first to fondle the slick flesh that grew slicker with each stroke. 

His nose touched the outer shell of her ear, and Sheridan shivered at the combination of his hot breath and his naughty exploration.  A soft gasp was his reward for tunneling into the aching core that he’d coerced into throbbing.  She could feel each beat of her heart pulsing in the intimate flesh.

“Joe Perry’s fingers might be good with guitar strings, but he’ll never be better at plucking your strings.”  His tongue lapped at the tendon bowed out on her neck, flicking its tautness as he flicked his thumb over the equally taut bundle of nerves between her legs.  “I know you.  I can play your body sweeter than any guitar he owns.  You’ll make the prettiest music for me when you come.”

“Oh, God,” she breathed, completely enamored with the sexy arrogance

His satisfied chuckle vibrated against her jaw.  “See?  You’re already starting to hit the right notes.”

A flurry of movements, incomprehensible to her fogged mind, had her pinned under him, his cock shoving purple lace aside and pushing into her weeping slit.  Their simultaneous groans created an erotic harmony.

“Old fucker can’t keep it up anymore,” Jon murmured against her lips as he pushed deep.  “But I can’t keep it down when I’m with you.”

“Mmh.”  A pitiful whimper resonated through their kiss, and she rolled her hips seeking his filling presence when he retreated. 

“Ssssss……” he hissed when her nails painfully raked his shoulder blades, and he gave her bottom lip a nip of approval.  “There’s my Kitten.”  The next plunge was accompanied by an erotic grind that had her back bowing. 

“Richie thinks I made up Jamaica,” he confided, his eyes locked on Sheridan’s mouth.  She was bathing her already wet lips, capturing the moisture he left behind with his tender bite.  “Said you didn’t look like you had it in you to be that woman.”

Jon redistributed his weight so that he was leaning on just one hand, and brought the other up to stroke her cheek.  “I got hard right then, knowing that I’m the only one who sees you like this.  The way your eyes glaze over.”  He pushed deep again, and slowly withdrew.  “The pretty pink your cheeks turn.”  Another plunge and retreat.  “So fucking turned on that you can’t pretend this side of you doesn’t exist.”

He was killing her.  An agonizingly slow and torturous death.  The words were every bit as much of an aphrodisiac as his movement, and they were making her too hot for her skin.  She was going to burst into flames if he didn’t give her some relief. 

“Now, Jon.  Jesus, nowwww.”

She thought he laughed, but it was so breathy and strangled from his own mounting release that she wasn’t sure.  “Not yet, Kitten.  It's not time.”

“Whyyy?”  The bucking of her hips did nothing to change his determined pace.  “Make it time.  Make me come, baby.  Please.”

He sucked in a sharp breath as he stole hers with an aggressive drive. 

“Almost,” was his whispered promise against the underside of her jaw.  “As soon as I tell you about the rest of the day.”

“I… don’t care… about anything else.”  Panting the words like a winded racehorse, she crossed her ankles at the small of his back and urged him closer.   Begged him to put an end to his cruelty. 

“You don’t now, my pretty Sex Kitten, but you will.” 

Sweat trickled from his temple down the side of his cheek and onto his jaw.  Sheridan took little comfort in knowing she wasn’t the only one suffering from his display of willpower. 

“When we’re… eating dinner…  and doing a shot of… tequila.”  His hips rolled in a particularly intimate maneuver, sucking a pleasured pain gasp from her.  “Knowing that the next… shot I do… will be off your hot body.”

“Yes.  Oh, yessss….”

“I’ll suck the salt off one… nipple.  And the lime… off the other.”

“Mmmnngghhh.”  The strangled sounds of frustration were mounting, and her breasts tingled with anticipation.

“My body.”  He bit out with the words with a ferocity that matched his thrust.   “My shots.”  The declaration and the thrust were intensified the second time, and it hit a spot…

“OhhhhhHHHH!” 

His choreographed pace be damned.  That blatantly stated possessiveness triggered an explosion that started deep inside and only got bigger as he encouraged and praised her as he took his own pleasure. 

The seismic shocks rippled outward until her toes, her fingers and even her hair was trembling with the force.   Her mind was useless, the thoughts jumbling together in kaleidoscope of endorphins and adrenaline that, while they were pretty, rendered her unable to form words.

With Jon’s weight pinning her intimately into the mattress, Sheridan didn’t mind.  The feelings that flooded her at this moment...?  They defied words, anyway.