30 - Best Seller

“What the hell are you doing in there?” Jon called out from the bedroom.

Dinner was over, as was the after dinner drink and relaxed conversation between the three of them.  Richie had even forgiven her for running off his potential hook up for the night with a good-natured smile.

Sheridan smiled into the vanity mirror, pushing her hands up to muss her already messy hair and then tightly tying the sash on the red shortie robe Jon liked so much.  Puckering plumped red lips, and tracing a matching fingernail along the corner to pick up a dab of stray gloss, she winked at herself.

“Let’s see if you’re really the sex kitten he claims you are,” she whispered under her breath, pivoting on a freshly margarita-lotioned heel and reaching for the heavy knob on the guest bath door.

Sliding an arm up the open doorway, she cocked one hip and propped an elbow on the dark wood molding, preparing to sizzle him with a seductive ‘come hither’ look.    One glimpse of him lying naked on the bed completely obliterated all hope of executing anything that vaguely resembled sexy.  Instead, she doubled over with laughter.

‘Naked’ was not an entirely accurate term.  He wasn’t truly naked, because all of the pornographic parts were covered – with a huge, floppy sombrero.

“Way to bruise a guy’s ego,” he tried to play the injured party, but was forcing his ‘hurt’ through a grin that wouldn’t be restrained.

“Way to ruin a hell of a seduction scene,” she bantered right back at him, sauntering toward the bed with a delighted shake of her head and lightly flicking the bright straw crown.  “What’s up with the hat?  The only two Mexican references I can think of are Senor Droopy from Guadalupe and Speedy Gonzales.    I’m thinking you don’t want tagged with either of those nicknames for the duration of this relationship.”

He lunged for her wrist, but she snatched it back too quickly and he was left clutching at air. 

“Listen here, you ego-shriveling temptress,” he growled, repositioning his personal Fiestaware while she looomed over him.  “We didn’t get tequila and limes for our shot party.  Richie had this hanging in his office, so I improvised.  And you forgot one very important cartoon character in that lineup.”

She lifted one unconvinced eyebrow and flipped her hair back with a saucy flounce.  “Oh?  And who is that?”

He tossed the hat Frisbee-style to the floor with a smirk, uncovering a full-blown erection.  “Slow.  Poke.  Rodriguez.” 

Even as she willed herself to be ticked over his ruination of her seduction scene, she chuckled delightedly.  These were the times she felt like he was hers.  This silly teasing with the underlying sexual anticipation told her more than words ever could.  He wanted her, but he was comfortable with her.  Comfortable enough to play these teasing games in his friend’s house. 

It filled her with stupidly warm and fuzzy feelings.

Don’t go there.  Your job tonight is to drag him from silly to serious.  To make him beg. 

Tugging at his big toe, she deliberately kept her eyes trained anywhere on his body but the area that was demanding attention. 

“So no tequila shots tonight?” she inquired, slowly picking at the knotted strip of red silk that held her robe closed. 

“No, but we can pretend.  I’ll still suck all the right spots.” 

His eyes didn’t miss a move when she slipped one end of the sash through the other.  It taunted him, moving at a snail’s pace through the tight loop fashioned from the sash’s other end.  Wiggling, wriggling, jiggling…  It took an eon to make any sort of progress with it. 

Jon was not a patient man.

“Take it off already,” he grumbled, reaching for her with the intent to help the recalcitrant knot bend to his will. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Sheridan scolded with a raised brow as her fingers curled more tightly around the snarled sash.  “You and I have some business to finish.”

“Damn straight we do.  Take off the fuckin’ robe and we’ll finish it.”  This time he gave a half-hearted lunge in an effort to use the flimsy, fragile cloth as a tow rope. 

Shaking her head sadly, she took a step back, well out of his reach, and held the belt high over her head.  He would have to get completely out of bed to reach her.

The scrap of red silk floated gracefully through the air when she let it slither between her scarlet-hued fingernails.  In slow motion, the fabric trickled into a luxurious heap of ribbon alongside a foot tipped in a matching shade of crimson.

“I believe I have a biography to negotiate,” she reminded him softly, arms folded in such a way to keep the robe closed.  The only things he could see were bare legs and feet.  He had no clue as to what was hidden beneath her robe. 

Falling back into the pillows, he lifted his arms and tucked both hands behind his head, grinning wickedly. 

“I don’t negotiate.  It’s my way.  Period.”

“Oh?”  Unfolding her arms, careful not to let the robe slip, she fingered the edge of the opening.  “Not even if I make it worth your while?”

“No amount of money is worth that kind of headache.”

She snickered quietly, trailing a single red nail down her exposed sternum.  “I wasn’t going to offer you money, and you know it.”

“Yeah, but what you are gonna offer, I’m already gettin’, Baby.”

God, he was cocky.  She both loved his self-confidence and longed to take him down a peg or two.

“Food tastes best to a starving man.”

“Oh-ho, no.”  His shaggy locks shimmied when he gave an adamant head shake.  His feet hit the floor and he stalked her with slow intent.  When she stopped him from coming too close with an open palm at the end of an outstretched arm, he dipped his head and lifted his eyebrows.  “You’re not cutting me off.  Not for some fucking book.”

“Nobody said I was cutting you off,” she refuted on a purr.  “But you’ll be damn hungry the next time you eat.”

“Sheridan…”  The low warning reminded her of thunder rumbling in the distance, the precursor of an impending storm.  It was time to let him see what was under the robe before he got pissy.

“Jon…” she countered, allowing her forearm to fall away from the robe so that it could fall open at the front.  “Don’t get mad when I all I want to do is make you come so hard that you get a cramp in your ass.”

“Then let me close enough to fuck you.”  His chest pushed against her open palm, trying to force her arm to bend at the elbow. 

“Stop.”  Sheridan’s chiding was quiet and accompanied by a scolding look.  “You’ll ruin my sales pitch.”

Faded ink rippled under well-defined biceps when he crossed his arms, mouth flattened with annoyance.  He was all fierce warrior, a force to be reckoned with. 

And an erection to be reckoned with.

It bobbed agitatedly against his belly, making its impatience known and severely curbing the fierce image he was working to achieve.

“Two minutes.  Then this hungry man is going to eat until the kitten gives up the cream.”

Sweet Jesus. 

“I’ve got an enticing marketing plan written out, that I think will excite you,” she determinedly launched her seductive spiel in a voice woven of vixen and infomercial announcer.  “Uncover Jon Bon Jovi’s secrets.”  Clutching the robe’s lapels tightly, she shrugged one shoulder out of the slinky silk to reveal two eyeliner-penciled words under her right collar bone. 

Blue Collar

“From blue collar Jersey boy to…“ She shrugged her other shoulder out, keeping the rest of her torso covered while displaying ‘White Collar’  under her left clavicle. “…white collar philanthropist, Jon Bon Jovi has earned a reputation as the most private public figure in America.”

The ferocity he so proudly displayed was quickly melting into something softer.  Something far less rigid – for the most part, anyway.

“The author of this first-ever authorized biography has… “ The satin slid beneath her right breast to reveal ‘Milked’ emblazoned over the aureole, and the corner of Jon’s mouth quivered with amusement.  “…milked the deepest, darkest secrets of the rockstar next door.  The result?”

The left breast popped out, inscribed with ‘Titillating’. 

“A series of titillating tales that offer readers a secret look at the…“ Red silk shimmered again as her ‘Underbelly’ inscribed abdomen was exposed.  “…fervently protected underbelly of not the band, but the man.”

The only covered part of Sheridan’s body was below her waist to the top of her thighs, from hip to hip.  With the easy unfurling of her fingertips, the silk cascaded into a decadent pool around her feet, leaving her fully nude and unveiling the final cosmetically crafted teaser.  ‘Intimate’ was arched just above the narrow strip of pubic hair on her mound.

“Jon Bon Jovi… an intimate look.”

His head fell back with a throaty laugh and he snaked his arms around her waist, hauling Sheridan close.  The eyeliner smudged from her body to his when he hugged tight and buried his face in her hair, still chuckling. 

“It’s a helluva lot sexier than Howard Stern’s book cover, I’ll give you that.”

 “So that’s a yes, then, right?”

Grinning up at him, she wiggled her hips against his, amazed that he could laugh so openly and still maintain his arousal.  Maintained or not, her attention enticed it into a heightened state of ‘maintenance’.    

“How about I give you a counter-pitch?” he negotiated smoothly in his best diplomat’s voice, beefy palms cradling the curve of her bottom.  “You keep my boring-ass secrets like shoe size and favorite color to yourself…  and I’ll let you in on the really good stuff.”

“Define good stuff.”

“Mmm…”  He nuzzled behind her ear, nipping the diamond studded lobe before whispering.  “I got drunk with Gene Simmons a couple times.  He showed me a few talented tongue tricks that I save for very special occasions.”

He flicked the tip of his tongue across the tendon in her neck, using it like a bow on a violin string.  How could something so non-sexual send bottle rockets straight to her core?  If he could do that to her neck, what could he do below the neck?

“Tongue tricks, huh?  I’ve never been known as an unreasonable woman.  I’m willing to suffer through the counter-pitch.”

With a playful growl, Jon twirled her to the bed and tossed her lightly on the mattress.  Her startled squeal pierced the quiet bedroom air, and then she couldn’t breathe because he was right on top of her. 

“Okay, Joan of Arc.  Just for that wise-ass crack you are gonna suffer,” he vowed, nipping at her bottom lip, and then swabbing away the pinch of pain with a broad stroke of his tongue.  “All…..” 

He dipped to drag his tongue under her jawline.  “Night…..” 

Further down to the top of her breast.  “Long….” 

His decree finalized, Jon sucked her nipple into his mouth and proceeded to make good on his word, burning her with a fire that would melt any martyr at the stake.