53 Dessert and Dinner

Another glance at the clock showed that it was three minutes later than the last time she had checked, making it ten minutes past six.  The potatoes were in the oven, the filet mignon was ready to go under the broiler, asparagus awaited its time on the stove-top grill, and the salad was chilled.

Tucking one leg beneath her, she perched upon the sofa and snatched up the stereo remote, changing it to contemporary Christmas songs instead of holiday classics.  She grinned when she placed the melody to Jon’s “Please Come Home for Christmas”.

Tapping her toe and mentally blowing Cindy Crawford a raspberry, she smoothed her hand over the faux fur collar of her cardigan.  Its dark chocolate was the perfect foil for the blonde locks that she’d elegantly twisted at the back of her head. 

I’m ready, the food’s ready and he’s late.  Does he realize the waiting is killing me?

Her imminent demise was forestalled by the much-anticipated sound of the door buzzer.  Never had that obnoxious noise been sweeter.  

“Halle-freaking-leujah,” she mumbled, hopping up and very nearly racing to the front door.  After a quick check of the peep hole, she tightened the sweater’s belt and wiped her hands over denim-encased hips – hands that trembled with excitement.  She would pit her level of excitement against any child in New York and their visions of sugar plums. 

This was going to be a Christmas Eve to remember.

Don’t pounce on him.  Show some decorum.

Drawing one last hormone-calming breath, she pulled the door wide with a ready smile lighting her face.  “Hi.”

He wasn’t smiling, but he was still gorgeous in jeans and black leather.  His magnetism was multiplied by the uncontrolled, predatory gleam in his eye.  The tousled mop of golden-hued hair on his head supplemented that idea, bringing to mind a lion’s mane.

Locked in his sights, Sheridan, giddily enough, felt like an keenly stalked gazelle as he broached the threshold with purpose.   Adrenaline surged, causing her heart to race as defensive instincts had her backpedaling and her ballet flats clicked lightly against the hardwood. 

A battered leather bag hit the floor with a muted ‘thud’ a millisecond before his hands framed her face, pushing into her carefully constructed coif with an untamed rumble.  Sheridan gasped softly as the door slammed shut, but that did nothing more than invite his plundering tongue inside her mouth on a voracious exploration.

The guttural moan that rattled deep in her throat was unrecognizable as a human noise.  With the touch of his lips, she’d morphed from a hunted gazelle into a lioness seeking her mate and matching his aggression with equal ardor.  Her arms vined around his neck as her ribcage was compressed by his crushing embrace. 

In the grand scheme of time it had only been moments since they’d last been wrapped this tightly together, but it felt like light-years and that it would be an eternity before it happened again.  Everything had to happen now.  They had to seize the moment before it was no more.

“I want you,” he rasped unnecessarily, his lips shiny from her attempt to devour them.  “I can be civil and polite after, but right now I want you so goddamn bad I can’t stand it.”

“Civil and polite can go to hell.”  Clutching at the shoulder s of his jacket, she jerked at it until it drooped halfway down his back. 

Jon shook it free with a growl, and then reached for the belt on her sweater, tearing at it until he could force it into a chocolate cashmere and fur puddle in the honeyed wood floor.  He ripped at the button on her jeans, shoving them down as she kicked aside her shoes and clawed at the hem of his shirt.

“Fuck!  The hellcat is even hotter than the sex kitten.”  

She scarcely heard him as she wadded the soft gray Henley in her fists and shoved upward.  Suddenly, she thought she might lose her mind if she didn’t get to ravage the rug of downy fur that cloaked his chest and stomach. 

With his help, the shirt went flying and she greedily roved over each strand of hair that marked him as a man. 

“Off.”  He was the one pushing avidly now, at the hem of her shirt.  “And take your damn hair down.”

The pins came out easily, landing on the floor with the rest of their discarded things, as she lifted her arms to be free of the shirt.  A quick shake of her head had the messy waves settled around her shoulders and Sheridan zealously resumed her foray of his chest, but Jon cuffed her wrists in his fingers and pushed her away, scorching her skin with his hungry gaze.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph…”

She savored the thrill of feminine delight that rattled her heated core.  The raspberry silk teddy with the lace-up front had been an extravagant purchase that had just paid for itself ten times over.

“Like what you see?” she purred, encasing his denim sheathed hardness in her palm and squeezing.  Heaven knew she certainly liked what she felt.  And she wanted to feel more of it.

“That thing open at the bottom?” was his gritted response as his belt buckle clanked and his zipper sighed.   Jon toed off his boots as he shoved his pants down.  Her mouth practically watered at the sight of the bulging vein that fed the swollen purple head of his erection.  “Because if not, you’ve got about five seconds to get it off before I shove it aside, and I ain’t promisin’ it will survive.”

Goose bumps did a Bunny-Hop formation down her spine and she brazenly declared, “I’ll take my chances.”

Kicking his jeans away, he spun her around by the elbow, positioning her back at his front and walked her the dozen-ish steps to the sofa.  Every inch of the way she was profoundly aware of his stiffness cradled against her bottom.  Each movement had the smooth firmness chafing torturously against flesh that was hyper-sensitive to his touch, and it made her ache for the relief it promised.

“That’s not the only thing you’ll take,” he hissed softly, planting her hands on the wide sofa arm.  The chocolate chenille was soft and giving when she curled her fingers into it, her hiss echoing his without words.

In fact, those were the last actual words that passed their lips for some time. 

Her skin passed his lips when he sank even, white teeth into the curve of her shoulder and sucked, renewing his mark on her.  Her skin passed her own lips as she bit down on her hand when he gluttonously claimed her desire-slicked sheath as his own.  His finger passed her lips when he offered her the tip of it to suckle while he rocked his hips, the sofa and her world.

What passed through both their lips were anguished cries melded of equal parts desperation, desire and detonation.  They rang in Sheridan’s mind even when she lay slumped over the arm of her sofa, spent and relishing his weight on her back..

“Kitten?” The now beloved endearment rattled heavily in her ear.  That ear was the last stop in the trail of kisses that he’d just blazed all along the curve of her shoulder as an expression of lazy satisfaction.  She, however, still too breathless to answer properly, made do with a weak grunt.

“Should whatever is in the oven smell like that?”

❧❧❧

“Need help?”  Jon sidled up next to her at the kitchen counter and encircled her waist, dropping a splayed palm over her hip.  He was a lousy kitchen helper, but offering got him a handful of her sweet ass – for a minute anyway.

As though she knew his limited helpfulness, she tipped her face up for an indulgent kiss and gestured behind him.  “Salad’s in the fridge.  Grab it and have a seat while I pull these twice baked potatoes out of the oven.  Everything else is ready.”

“Yes ma’am.”  His hand slid away with a lingering caress and he plodded to the refrigerator in his socked feet to complete his assignment.  “I like twice-baked potatoes, by the way.”

“Good thing, since you made me overcook the once-baked variety.”

Chuckling, he winked at her.  Her feigned irritation wasn’t fooling anybody, and he didn’t care about the damn potatoes.  Priorities were made to be followed and taking the well-primed edge off of his pent-up sexual frustration had been Priority One.  “The potatoes weren’t the only things overheated.”

The baking pan rattled as it found a home on the stovetop and he carefully scooted the candles away from the place settings to make room for the wooden bowl.  When he turned, she was all serene smiles as she plated the food. 

“I missed you.”

Her quiet admission was uttered as a simple statement of fact, without turning away from her task.  She didn’t seek his reaction.  She didn’t say it for his reaction.  It just was, and he loved that.

“Back at you, Baby.”

The candlelight danced in her eyes as she delivered his plate and put her own on the adjacent side of the table.  Between that glow and the hair that he’d asked her to leave down cascading around her shoulders, she couldn’t have been any more beautiful.  Even a fancy cocktail dress wouldn’t look any prettier on her than the casual pink sweat suit she’d changed into after saying he’d mussed her beyond repair.

“I brought something for after dinner.”

“Oh?” She slid into the chair, lifting a brow at his casual comment.  They slid the dark green cloth napkins off the table at the same time, Jon smirking as she tucked it into her lap.  The damn things matched the trim on the fancy Christmas plates.  “What did you bring?”

“Catnip.”

“Pour me some wine, smartass,” she laughed, nodding toward the open bottle of Pinot Grigio. 

He grinningly did as she asked, taking care not to spill on her the table she’d decorated so festively for their dinner.  Jon didn’t have a lot of appreciation for candles, evergreen and all the rich shades of Christmas, but he did appreciate that she’d gone to the trouble.

“Mark my words, Kitten.  You’ll go wild,” he predicted, presenting her glass with a flourish before filling his own.

“I thought I already did.”

He chuckled around the fermented sweetness in his mouth.  “Different kind of wild.  At least to start with.”

“You’re an awful tease.”

Dinner was good – great, actually – and the company was even better.  They talked about a little of this, and a little of that:  family, holidays, work.  She told him things had gotten uncomfortable after her date with Rick and that she wouldn’t be doing massage training with him anymore.  Jon skillfully tamped down his pleasure at that bit of information, diverting to the elephant that hovered not so much in the room, but in the hallway. 

“Has your friend Bridget heard anything about a source for our leak?” he asked, burrowing his socked toes between hers and the floor under the table.  It was his idea that a little footsie would distract from any possible lingering friction over this topic.

She carefully aligned her silverware across the center of the nearly empty plate in front of her with a slow head shake.  “No.  Still not a word.  But…”

Why does she look nervous?

“But what?” he slowly asked, not sure he was all that excited about the answer.

Leaning forward on her elbows, a slow grin maneuvered her mouth into the shape of happiness.  “She found someone who’s interested in my writing.”