38 - Something a Little More

“Do you wanna go out to dinner or stay in?”

Jon used his thumb to tap on the scarlet nail of the big toe tucked up against his leg.  He and Sheridan were snuggled into the suite’s couch in shorts and t-shirts, each immersed in their own little electronic world since returning from the pier late this afternoon.  His was a phone full of text and email messages, hers was a mysterious tap, tap, tapping on glass.  He’d tried to catch a glimpse, but she kept the screen tilted at an angle that prevented him from seeing exactly what she was up to.

She looked up from her iPad, eyes taking a moment to focus before she lifted a single delicate shoulder with indifference.  “Doesn’t matter to me.  Whatever you feel like.”

“I’d kinda like to take you out. How does seafood sound, since we’re right on the ocean?”

Powering down the small tablet, she bent at the waist and eased it onto the coffee table before burrowing her spine into the corner of the couch.  With a tranquil smile, she folded her arms and added another item in the ‘things to know’ column. 

“Not really much of a seafood fan, but if it’s what you want, that’s fine.  I’m sure there will be something on the menu that I like.”

“No shit?” he asked curiously, letting his phone fall to the cushion beside him and picking up her foot.  “Shrimp?  Lobster?  Crab?”

She drew up her nose in a genteel gesture of disgust.  “Just broiled or fried fish.  No shellfish.  I don’t like the texture.”

“Hm.  One more thing I learned today.”

“What else did you learn?” she asked with an innocent smirk, if there was such a thing.  Obviously, she had the fortune teller on her mind.  He, however, was thinking of something else entirely.  He couldn't get Karl and Suzanne's daughter off of his mind.

Jon locked his fingers around her ankle and tugged, making her squeal as her bottom skidded over the cushion until it was right next to him, and she had both thighs arranged over his lap.  It gave him the perfect angle to sweep in and take her mouth in a brief kiss. 

“I learned another example of what a selfless person you can be.”

“Stop,” she protested with a frown, curling her fingers into the hair that had gotten too long on his neck.  “I hate that word, because nobody's truly selfless.  Don’t try and make me into some kind of saint.”

He chuckled, bussing another kiss along the underside of her jaw.  “Why would I wanna do that?  I like you better as a sinner.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Sheridan drawled, knotted fingers tilting his head back by the hair she held prisoner.  Her perfectly arched brows drew down over accusatory eyes.  “You think I’m a devious bitch who stalked you and is scheming to get pregnant to have a famous baby daddy.  Then I’ll sell my story to the National Enquirer and make millions when the baby comes out of the womb with a full set of huge, blinding-white teeth.”

That wasn’t funny in the least.  Jon still felt bad about the way he overreacted at the goddamn fortune teller’s tent.  He had no explanation as to why he went all pissy at first glimpse of the girl who was going to be ‘seeing’ his future, or why he took so much stock in her transcendent prophecies. 

If he believed in any of that crap, it might be because he was afraid she could actually see things about him that he couldn’t.  It interfered with his illusion of control. 

Jon was grounded deeply enough in reality to know that he wasn’t always in control.  However, the ability to pretend had given him a essential edge in many a sticky situation.  It made the difference between sink or swim, and he didn’t like his mojo being screwed with.

Regardless, it wasn’t justification for being a prick to Sheridan.

“I apologized for that.”

“You did,” she agreed, incrementally easing her fierce grip on his hair.  “And I forgive you, but it’s going to take me a little longer to forget.”  Prettily painted fingers crept around to his chest, where she used one of them to tap against his sternum.  “You do remember that you’re the one who kept after me, right?  I wanted to leave it all in Jamaica, but you were like a tenacious bulldog and wouldn’t let it go.”

He placed two light fingertips over her lips.  “Sheridan.”

“What?” she mumbled from behind her impaired mouth, making him smile. 

He should be freaked-the-fuck-out that he spent so much time smiling when he was with her, but it had always been that way, from that first instant in Jamaica.  There was just something about Sheridan King that made him happy on the inside, and it was only getting stronger.  He couldn’t even say it was the sex.  Jon just liked being with her.  Things were easy and relaxed and… comfortable. 

Man, you’re getting old when you’re just as happy to sit beside a hot woman and check email as you are to fuck her.

“I remember quite well,” he assured her quietly, recognizing the growing fondness in his heart as the beginning of something big, but still unwilling to label it.  “It’s proving to be one of the smartest things I’ve done in a long time.”

Emerald green eyes went from fiercely snapping with indignation to shimmering like two soft, jiggly orbs of lime Jell-O.  The mental description made Jon’s lips curl ruefully.  Only a parent comes up with lime Jell-O in one of the noteworthy life-moments.

Relieving his fingers of silencing duty, he glided them along the fine line of her jaw to slip into the free-fall of honey-blond locks that settled into a pool around her shoulders.  He finger-combed the curtain of silk and closely studied the play of thoughts across her face.

Sheridan was actively weighing what he’d said against what she’d heard and comparing it to what she felt and what was appropriate to express.  It took a minute before she got all those things reconciled and became content to flick her eyes back and forth between his, not saying a word.

“What?” he whispered softly against the corner of her mouth just before touching his lips there.  “You run out of things to bust my balls about?”

“For now,” she whispered back, just as softly. 

Sheridan proceeded to slowly and systematically taste the full width of his bottom lip with a series of gentle nibbles that spread from left to right, and had Jon winding her hair into his fisted hands by the time she got to the far corner.  When the bottom had been fully explored, she made a leisurely return trip over its upper mate, while Jon’s fingers flexed with the effort it took to remain still and let her have her way.  She, at long last, completed her lenient torture by pressing a sweetly pliant tongue between the two well-sampled halves of his mouth’s entrance.

“Mm.” 

Her flavor was becoming addictively familiar, and he drank of it with as much reverence as he would give to the finest wine.  Sipping, not gulping.  Savoring, not devouring, until he was punch-drunk on the headiness of her taste.

“Closer.”  Jon tapped an open palm on her hip, wordlessly guiding her to plant one knee at either side of his waist and straddle him.  When she willingly accommodated his wishes by settling her slight weight on his lap, Jon pushed leisurely hands under the thin cotton of her top.  He glided  past the indentation at the small of her back to seek the delicate curve of her shoulder blades.  With the flat of his palms, he pressed her into his chest and then tucked her head into his shoulder and held her there, liking her weight against him.

“Jon.”  Sheridan’s quiet murmur was accompanied by a leisurely roll of her hips.  The carnal awareness that had been politely holding itself at bay, suffered a swell of curiosity.

“What is it, Kitten?”

She smiled against his cheek, delicately undulating against him.  “I love it when you call me Kitten.”

“Do you?  How do you feel about being my Kitten?”

Her shorts had ridden up high on her thigh and he snaked his fingers in the leg opening.  He wasn’t so much looking for sexual contact, although it might seem that way.  Right now, it was more about the intimacy.  It was about knowing that he could burrow his hand in the crease of her thigh and leave it there.  Then, if the notion struck him, he could brush his thumb over the tiny puff of hair that crowned her slit. It didn’t all have to be about fucking.

“Let’s just say that I’m glad you have the tenacity of a bulldog.”  Her warm breath heated the skin behind his jaw, before nuzzling the same warm spot. 

Call him a greedy bastard, but he wanted more than that.  Working his finger under the thin elastic band at her groin, he scraped the callused tip over the plump feminine lips hiding inside, arrogantly gratified when they parted for him. 

“You belong to me.  I don’t do jealousy, but what’s mine is mine.  You’re my Kitten.”

“Mm.”  She nipped at his earlobe while lazy fingers traced the shell of his other ear.  “You can’t own and not be owned.  It’s a two-way street, mister.  Cleavage for trousers.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so.”  She’d moved around to his Adam’s apple, bathing it with her tongue before taking an easy bite.  “Tell me who you belong to, Jon.  I want to hear you say it.”

Her quiet assertiveness was arousing.  He had a thing for confident, independent women.  More than that, he had a thing for confident, independent women who weren’t afraid to let their soft side show once in a while.

His fingertips drew lazily over the downy soft flesh that surrounded her sex.  There was still no true physical intent behind the touch.  He was just enjoying the privilege.  “After you.”

“I never walked away from you.  Tell me Jon.”

“You walked away from me in Jamaica and never looked back,” he disputed softly, urging her thigh further up on his hip to get better access.  “Now tell me, Baby.”

“Touch my clit.  Please.” 

The breathy plea hit him low in the gut and tried to force him into daredevil jumping the bridge from intimacy to carnality. Fortunately, he had that whole illusion of control thing going for him.

“I will, pretty girl.   Just tell me what I wanna hear and I’ll make you fly.”

She grumbled under her breath and the dainty huff that came out of her nose upset the tuft of hair she was nuzzling.  “I’m yours.”

Yes, he’d demanded the words.  Cajoled and wheedled until they finally spilled begrudgingly from her lips.  But they didn’t satisfy him that way.  He wanted sincerity to accompany the words.

His free hand buried itself in bundle of gold tresses at the back of her neck and tugged until her eyes were only inches from his.  Pupils contracted and then dilated around enchanting green irises once she got a good look at him.  He wasn’t playing games anymore.

“Sheridan.  Do you mean it?”

She snorted softly with a slight shake of her head.  Cupping a palm around his jaw, she dusted a lingering kiss over his mouth and scolded gently, “Silly man.  I’ve been yours since the first night in Jamaica, when you triple-dog dared me.”

Corny-ass sunshine filled his heart.  In an effort to keep his mouth occupied so that something unexpected didn’t come toppling out, Jon craned his neck to steal her lips.  The words stayed firmly inside and didn’t escape as he made love to her mouth.  The kiss, however, contained more of that unspoken sentiment than the actual phrase could ever hope to.  It was one of those rare occasions where he was better at proving it than saying it.

“Hey.”  She pushed back with a frown, licking at kiss-slickened lips, disappointingly underwhelmed by his handiwork.  “Don’t you owe me something?”

With a wicked grin, he immediately slipped into the wet valley between her legs, dredging the folds  in search of the spot that requested attention.  One firm flick over her clit had her tightening up, preventing him from doing anything further.

“Mm…. Not that, Bongiovi,” she chided with a disdainful scowl.  “You know what.”

Yeah.  He knew what.  He’d spent a lot of years being ‘owned’, and never expected to find himself in this position so soon after.  If ever.  But the truth was the truth.

“Kitten…  My ass is a hands-on Smithsonian exhibit during concert season, but other than that, this old bag of bones belongs to you.”