34 - Are We There Yet?

“Are we there yet?” she teased in a whiny, singsong voice. 

Jon hit the turn signal for the next exit off of the Santa Monica freeway, his smile flashing in the headlights of an oncoming car.  “Almost.”

“In four hundred feet, turn left,” the robotic voice of the GPS instructed. 

Richie’s party was undoubtedly still in full swing, but Sheridan had been uncomfortable there.  Despite the previous night’s occurrence, their host was drinking enough to keep up with the rest of the guests.  He might not get drunk, but he wouldn’t be feeling a lot of pain tonight and she couldn’t shake the awkwardness she felt around him. 

Sensing her discomfort, Jon had leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Did I tell you I had a surprise planned?  Go pack your stuff.  I’ll make our excuses and tell Rich we’re heading out.”

Within twenty minutes, they had stolen away in one of Richie’s cars – a silver Aston Martin.  Their weekend bags were in the trunk and one of Richie’s acoustic guitars tucked in the back seat.

“What’s that for, and where are we going?”

He chuckled quietly and told her practically nothing, “That’s for playing and we’re going someplace where we can play.  It’ll be less than an hour.  Think you can be patient that long?”

“Hmpf.”  The mock indignation was belied by the soft hand she casually rested on his thigh.  “Only an hour?  So much for Paris.”

“Would you rather spend time traveling…”  He waggled his eyebrows and copped a lecherous grin.  “…or playing?”

She snuggled down into the seat, the luxurious leather perfectly cradling the contours of her body.  “Mm.  Depends,” she mused, swiveling her head to the left and eyeing him appreciatively.  His chiseled features were at the mercy of oncoming traffic, first hidden in shadow, and then bathed in light.  He was a beautiful man.  “I can’t play a musical instrument, so traveling sounds like more fun.  Yahtzee, though…  I do love to play a good game of Yahtzee.”

“One of the kids might have put it on my phone, but don’t get your hopes up.”

Smiling serenely, she turned her head in time to catch a glimpse of a highway sign.  “So did you have this kidnapping up your sleeve all along?”

“Kidnapping?  You mean I’m taking you against your will?”  He frowned, and then nodded thoughtfully.  “Not that I’m opposed to the idea of taking you against your will…”

A shiver rocketed down her spine like a sharp icicle.  Sheridan couldn’t say she was all that opposed to the idea either. 

“This isn’t exactly how I had it planned, but yeah…  I knew I wanted us to have a little time away from reality.  By ourselves.”

Sheridan barely kept herself from snorting in a very undignified manner.  “Because we live such ‘real’ lives.  We’re in a pornographic fairy tale right now, Jon.  It’s not like work and responsibility have reared their ugly heads too much in our short time together.”

“Jesus.  I was trying to be nice,” he huffed with a conspiratorial wink.  “I really just wanted to fuck you someplace warm, that didn’t have my best friend snoring just down the hall.  The plans were to spend one more night at Richie’s, but, after last night, I moved the timetable up a little.”

Pulling against the confines of her seatbelt, she stretched to put soft lips against his jaw.   “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  His eyes never left the road, but she reveled in the slight curving of his mouth.  After that, the bulk of their trip was carried out in a companionable silence, scored by the musical genius of The Rolling Stones, Beatles, and half a dozen other classic rock gurus. 

When the GPS trilled, “Your destination is on the right,” Sheridan ducked her head, peering out the windshield for a clue as to what their destination might be.

The hotel was lit with what seemed to be hundreds of lights, with one bulb shining on each balcony.  Between that and the festooned shrubbery at the entrance to the drive, Sheridan had no trouble making out the sign that read “Shutters on the Beach”, but the name didn’t mean anything to her.  It wasn’t a chain hotel, and she didn’t frequent this coast, so it was unfamiliar.

 “Shutters?”

“Yeah.”  The car easily slipped into Park.  “I’ve been here once before.  It’s nice.  Quiet.  Right on the beach.”

One valet magically appeared at the driver’s door, and his counterpart stealthily eased Sheridan’s side open and offered her a hand.

“Good evening, and welcome to Shutters.  Checking in, sir?”

“Yes.”  Jon slipped the man a folded bill, as he called for a bellman.  “Be nice to the car, would ya?  My friend is very protective of it.”

Without bothering to look at the denomination on the offering, the young man smiled widely.  “Absolutely, sir!  I’ll treat it like it was my own.”

“Better yet.  Treat it like it was your father’s.”  A restraining hand gripped the valet’s arm before he swooped into the driver’s seat, and Jon’s shaggy head dipped meaningfully.  “You get me?”

“Loud and clear, sir!”

Sheridan leaned into Jon with a playful nudge in the ribs when he came to escort her into the lobby.  “As annoyed as you were with Richie last night, I’m surprised you’re so protective of his car.”

“Hmm.”  Jon glanced down at her and lifted a considering brow. “You want I should tell him to rough it up a little?  Sideswipe a Jag or Beemer with it?”

Rolling her eyes at him, she enjoyed the lightness they shared.  Things had gotten too heavy at Richie’s, and she very much appreciated this little escape. 

Her level of appreciation hit a new high when they stepped through the door of the Beach House Suite.   It was large, light and airy, with shuttered French doors leading to at least three balconies – well, porches, since they were on the ground floor – that she could see.  Any lingering tension vanished as soon as Jon closed the door behind the bellman.

“I love it,” she pronounced, eyes devouring everything about the casually opulent accommodations until he caught her by the waist and pulled her close.  Sheridan smiled up into his face, complimenting, “This is what a beach escape should look like.”

“Almost, but not quite,” was his contradiction as he bent to nip at her neck, laving the mark with his tongue to ease the sting.  “There should be hot, naked women.  That’s what a beach escape should look like.”

Sheridan tilted her head, granting him better access to her neck, a privilege he immediately took advantage of.  When he seized the tender flesh between his teeth and clamped down, she sucked in a wounded breath before her body translated the pain into desire and shot it directly to her core. 

“I thought you’d given up marking me,” she mentioned breathily, tunneling her fingers through Jon’s hair from nape to crown.  It was tacky and crass to wear the proof a man’s incivility, but the intensity and heat with which he branded her was a hardcore dose of sexual excitement.

His tongue dipped into the hollow of her throat, swirling languidly in the shallow notch before nibbling again.  This one went straight to her nipples and she could feel them instantly digging into the textured lace of her bra.

“I’m a possessive biter.  Get used to it.”

The skin on her thighs danced with goose bumps beneath the black denim of her jeans, and he yanked down the scoop neckline of her top.   Sheridan almost toppled off the heels of her boots when Jon’s tongue snaked into the exposed valley between her breasts, sending her rock hard nipples into a state of petrification. 

“Jonnn…”

His breath huffed over the quivering flesh.  “You smell like limes.  It makes me crave tequila.”

Neither of them drank anything at the party, in the interest of setting a good example for Richie, but how much more intense would this be with a little alcohol buzz?

“I want tequila,” she rasped, dragging his face from her bosom.  “I want to drink it from your hairy, rock-hard abs.  I want to get drunk on you.”

“Damn, I’m glad I had the bar custom-stocked.”

She drank in his lusty grin and heated gaze the way she wanted to drink shots from his navel – greedily and with excited anticipation.  “Does that mean we have tequila?”

“We have more tequila than you can shake a piñata stick at, my thirsty Kitten.”

Planting her palms against the dark fabric of his button-down shirt, she lifted a questioning brow.  “But do we have limes?”

“Scurvy…”  He pulled her hands away and bent to lick at her lips.  “…will not be an issue.”

She giggled softly, and directed her fingers to the top button, pushing it through the hole to reveal the first slice of his delectable chest.  Making her voice as deep as humanly possible, she winked at him and invited, “Then let’s get it on, Baby.”

Jon’s blonde brows immediately slammed down over troubled eyes.  He gripped her shoulders and pushed her far enough away to get the full impact of his stern glare.

 “Promise me you’ll never do that again.  I am not fucking Barry White.”

She sank sharp teeth sank into her bottom lip to keep from laughing like a loon as her fingers continued their mission.  He could be a royal ass from time to time, but there were times when she wanted to kiss him until neither of them could breathe.  Men his age weren’t supposed to be cute, but he was.  Or could be, anyway.

“I don’t think he swings that way, Stud,” she told him on a sad sigh, the last button slipping free. 

Sheridan was dumbfounded, as always, and stopped to visually devour his beautifully sculpted torso, sexily framed by open shirttails.  Eventually, she wouldn’t feel the need to observe a moment of silence when he went from dressed to undressed, but… 

God, the man has the most amazing body. 

“You…”  Her wrists were locked up in a hard one-handed grip, and he backed her against the nearest wall, pinning them above her head.  “…are gonna get your ass spanked, Ms. Comedian.  That really wasn’t where I wanted to take this tonight, but you’re not giving me much choice.  Discipline before drunken debauchery.”

Heat flooded from her chest, up her neck and into her face.  Whether it was from embarrassment or desire, she wasn’t quite sure.

Yes you are.  You’re so turned on you can’t stand it.  Now what are you going to do about it?  Tequila or torture?  Choose wisely….

His handsome features were fuzzy in such close proximity, so she gave up trying to focus and closed her eyes, blindly straining forward.  She had no trouble finding his hard, familiar lips, and flicked a sultry tongue out over them. 

“As long as it ends with you fucking me, I don’t much care how we get there.”