55 - Who Possesses Who?

Jon watched her curvy bottom sway enticingly with each step she scaled and ruefully shook his head.  He was screwed if she ever figured out the number she could do on him with that body of hers.  It took no more than a tempting flash of her light golden skin to get him seventeen kinds of distracted from everything but her.

Go ahead.  Act like it’s just her body that has you infatuated.  You know that all got blown to hell this week.  When you waded through the shit storm and she was still standing next to you on the other side?  Things got real.

Scooping up his leather overnighter, he grunted with a touch of disgust.  It was too early to be losing his head that way.   There was plenty of time for all that mushy, gushy crap later. 

In the meantime, he had a woman to shackle.   Jon’s dirty smirk kicked smile-lines into his face. 

And tackle. 

When he approached the bedroom and paused in the doorway, he found that it was more-or-less dark, illuminated only by the glow of little white Christmas lights.  Evergreen and some kind of berry tickled his nostrils as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, seeking out her shadowy form sitting Indian-style in the middle of the fancy gold comforter.

She had fluffed her hair out again for him, bringing it forward over her shoulders.  That was nice.  It served to highlight the fact that she’d considerably lowered the zipper on her hoodie.  Her cleavage was now on softly lit holiday display.

“It smells awful Christmas-y in here.  I thought you had a fake tree?” he asked, dropping his bag in the floor beside the dresser. 

“I…  Uh, I knew you were spending the night, so I cleared a spot for you in the closet.”  She pointed toward the door that he knew was home to a sizable walk-in.  He’d watched her get dressed in there on the ill-fated morning that he had his head up his ass and walked away with no intention of coming back.

Funny how things change.

“And, I went ahead and put a new toothbrush on the counter,” she added with barely a pause for breath.   “I wasn’t sure about any other toiletries, but the shampoo in the shower doesn’t smell girly if you want to use it.”

Silently following her instruction, he flipped on the closet light and saw that she had, indeed, made space on a shelf – and also scrunched her hanging clothes closer together.  There was a foot-wide expanse of bare rod available for his hanging needs.  Jon smiled bemusedly as he retrieved her gift out from the leather bag and tucked it into his back pocket before stowing the bag. 

He’d never had anybody go to the trouble of arranging closet space and toiletries for him before.

“I know that probably seems weird,” she called, her volume declining rapidly when he emerged and closed the door behind him.  “You’ve spent the night here before, but I’ve never gone into it knowing you were going to spend the night.  It’s been a really long time since I had a sleepover – like never – and I wasn’t sure of the proper etiquette.  It was easier to go ahead and look like an OCD freak and make all the neurotic preparations than to worry about it while you were here.”

While she spoke, Jon had been steadily approaching the bed, his smirk growing bigger with each anxiety-tinged word.  She hadn’t been this nervous since before she stormed the Jamaican honor bar.  Planting one knee in the mattress, he levered forward to curl his hand around her nape. 

“Sheridan?  Breathe, baby.  It was very thoughtful, and I appreciate it.”  He captured her lips in a clinging kiss before settling down on his left side and pushing a fist under his head to prop it up.  “Now,” he prompted, nudging her with his knee.  “Your smelly fake tree?”

Rubbing an easy hand along his thigh, she acted as though she’d forgotten he asked.  Nodding toward the dresser and a little square vase with sticks poking out of it, she said offhandedly, “ It’s just some scented oils to make it festive in here.  Did you forget my little aromatherapy hobby?”  

“No,” he lied.  He had forgotten, or just put it out of his mind since she never really talked about it.  “I just didn’t put the two together.”

“Uh huh.”

Bypassing her blatant – and perceptive – skepticism, Jon pulled a slim gold package out of his back pocket, the metallic red ribbon springing free and reflecting dots of light from the tree.  “I got you something,” he announced needlessly.

She slowly retracted her hand from his thigh to receive the proffered package, a dainty crease etched between drawn brows.  “You do realize this was unnecessary?  I consider this night together such a gift that I don’t need anything else.”

“Oh, gaaaawd,” he groaned pathetically, his head falling forward in agonized defeat.  “You’re one of those.”

“What’s that crack supposed to mean?” The thwap she landed on his arm clearly conveyed how unimpressed she was with his bout of melodrama.

“One of those…”  Finding his falsetto he squeaked out, “’Oh you really shouldn’t have!  My needs are so simple – a twig, a rock…’”

The shock on her face was beyond priceless, and Jon threw his head back cackling when she screeched “Shut UP!” in a pitch so high that he was sure only dogs could hear it.  “I hope you went broke with whatever is in this damn box, Bongiovi, because I’m a greedy, materialistic bitch who’s only in this for the baubles you can give me.”

Snorting rudely, he flipped his hand in the air.  “Just open the thing and pretend that gettin’ a present ain’t a fate worse than death.”

“Fine.   I’m actually excited to see what you picked out for me.”  She worked the bow free from the box without untying it, and fixed him with a wary look.  “Or did your assistant pick it out?”

“Jeri had nothing to do with this one.”

You’ll know that when you see it.

Relief filled him when she haphazardly tore at the paper.  He’d been afraid she would be one to slit the tape to preserve the paper so she could use it again next year.  It wouldn’t have surprised him, but by the time he had the thought and let it go, she was pulling the black velvet box from its protective cardboard encasement.

The hinges were silent when she snapped it open, and so was she.  Sheridan’s mouth puckered into a perfect little ‘O’, but not a peep passed her lips as she intently devoured every detail of the jewelry nestled inside.

Jon had chosen a bracelet for her.  It wasn’t the flashiest in the display case, thus its appeal.  It was a study in understated elegance, making it a perfect match for the woman he wanted to wear it.  White gold links connected to a matching, narrow bar housing a single row of sixteen diamonds. 

For him, though, the piece de resistance was the ring connecting the two parts.  About the size of a quarter, with an open center the size of a nickel, it was actually the centerpiece of the bracelet, despite its offset position and lack of diamonds.  Etched in the curve of the ring was a single word:  POSSESSION.

When she finally rendered herself un-mute, it was with a reverent, “Jon, it’s beautiful.”

“I dunno about beautiful,” he deflected, maneuvering his uncooperative joints into a seated position and reaching for the bracelet.  “But it’s meaningful.  So you don’t forget you’ve been possessed and by who.”

He flipped it over to show her the two tiny words engraved on the back of the diamond-filled bar:  “My Kitten”.

“A girl doesn’t forget a man who possesses her as fully as you do,” she whispered throatily as she carefully touched the pad of her finger to the inscription, making his libido leap to attention.  Sheridan held her wrist out for him to fasten the bracelet.  “But I’m flattered that you rushed right out to find a more durable replacement for your signature.”

The clasp fastened, he allowed the gold to settle against her skin and turned her arm over, touching his lips to the inside of her wrist.  “I already had the bracelet when I did that.”

"Really?"  Sooty lashes fluttered up at him as he relinquished his grasp.  If her eyes were a soft shade of brown instead of green Jon would have called the wide look of surprise 'doe-eyed'.   

"Yes, really.  You were already mine, Sheridan.  That night only proved I was right in claiming you."

Without losing that look, she tipped her head incrementally to the right.  Beyond that she didn’t move.  She was as still as a doe caught without warning in an unprotected meadow.  “I… don’t know what to say to that.”

“You don’t say anything,” was his gruff solution.  “You kiss me.”

The combination of the gift, the evening and the man had Sheridan’s chest thrumming with a giddy heart.  He was a shot of pure adrenaline.  Danger wrapped in a coat of fuzzy security, coaxing her to take a risk with him – a walk on the wild side.

Tucking socked feet under her bottom, she accepted the invitation.  Sheridan rose to her knees and slowly levered forward until quivering mouths were separated by no more than a shallow breath.  “Thank you,” she whispered before sweeping his lips, gently pulling the lower one for a lazy suck. 

The groan that rattled in the back of his throat as he threaded sure hands into her hair curled her toes, and then he forced a shift of power, exchanging his lip for hers.  The first sharp nip was immediately soothed with the healing swipe of his tongue and followed by an apologetic curling of his tongue around hers, reminiscent of a hug.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured after the delicate ‘smack’  when the suction of their kiss was broken.  His lips glistened in the light, a bit puffy from overuse, and they fully enamored her.  She was struck not just dumb, but stupid by the things she wanted to do to his mouth.  To have his mouth do to her.

Don’t just sit there.  Give him his gift, Sheridan.

“I got you something, too.”  Twisting away, she pressed her torso to the mattress to extend her arm over the edge of the bed and grip the hard painting frame with the tips of her fingers.  With a soft grunt, she sat up and hauled it with her, the blue and white snowflake paper rattling when she stood it between them.

The lesser side of the two-foot-tall canvas and frame stood between them, leaving only her eyes showing.  Spanning her arms the three foot width, she curled her hands around the edges to stabilize it before tipping her chin up to rest on the edge of the package.  Jon was reared back inspecting it with exaggerated curiosity. 

She donned an outwardly confident smile and a case of last-minute jitters had her wondering if she’d made a mistake.  Those jitters were telling her this gift may be too personal or, worse yet, it wouldn’t mean anything to him.  Perhaps this memory was hers alone. 

That would be awkward.

“Merry Christmas,” she forged ahead.  It was too late to do anything about it.  All she could do now was hope the painting was half as significant to him as the bracelet was to her.

Shaggy blonde locks shook sadly, his blue eyes brimming with remorse.  “Baby, I hate to tell you this, but I don’t need another pair of cufflinks.”

“You are such an ass sometimes.”

Swooping in for a kiss, he chuckled.  “Guilty.”

Jon knew the gift was a picture of some kind – the shape was a dead giveaway – but he was exceedingly curious about what hid inside the navy blue giftwrap with the snowy white bow.  Seeing as she’d never been to his apartment, he didn’t know what kind of artwork she would be compelled to choose.

“Go ahead and take it.”

Passing the package into his grasp, she scooched back a bit and gave him space to tear away the paper.  Jon was all guy when it came to this kind of thing.  He wasted no time on formalities or drawing out the anticipation, he just picked a spot in the middle and poked a hole.  Working his finger inside the hole, he moved steadily downward, splitting the paper as he went until the opening was wide enough to slip his hand inside and tear sideways.

The colors that peeked out were… vibrant.  Most everything he could see at first was pink, red or something in between.  It was only he pushed the paper aside, and the canvas was fully revealed, that he saw the halo of black surrounding the dominant slashes of color.

An inky night was split by the lightshow of Mother Nature’s temper tantrum.  The varied hues of pitch were split by jagged streaks of pink-tinged light as lightning rods were hurled into the ocean, staining it such a deep shade of red that it was almost burgundy.

“Does it remind you of anything?”

Sheridan took the crumpled paper away as the painting sucked Jon into the depths of its slightly abstract form, eager to tell its story.  Rather, prompting memories of his own.  No, the sky hadn’t been exactly that color, but he’d seen a storm like that not too long ago.

In Jamaica.

He was awake as soon as the mattress shifted.  Jon watched from behind sleepy eyelids as she slid out of the bed and wrapped his shirt around her naked body.  There were the muted sounds of the bathroom and the kitchen sink as he waited impatiently for her return. 

When she didn’t come back and he instead heard the terrace door, he slid from under the sheet to investigate.  What he found was enough to stir his flagging erection back to life with the enthusiasm of a man half his age.

Sheridan’s face was tipped up to the sky, the gentle breeze that trailed behind the storm sending her hair swirling.  That same breeze was ruffling the tail of his stark-white shirt enough to play peekaboo with the curve of her bare ass.  Each bolt of electricity that struck the ocean’s surface lit the sky and encased her in an ethereal glow, making her seem like a nymph of the night who drew her power from the lightning.

As she drew her power, she also drew him, and for once in his life, he didn’t overanalyze what his goofy song lyricist side was spouting.  He succumbed to it.

“What are you doing?” he asked padding quietly forward, careful not to startle her as he slipped his arms around her waist. 

She shivered in his grasp, glancing back at him in the darkness.  “Watching the lightning.  The way it lights up not just the sky, but the whole sea…  It’s breathtaking.”

The next bolt struck and he followed her gaze out to the water, trying to see what the fuss was about.  All he saw was an organic fireworks display.  Nice, pretty even, but not breathtaking.  Jon stepped closer, his thighs brushing hers in their effort to urge her toward the terrace wall.

“Nah, it’s just lightning.  You’re breathtaking.”  He bent to take a bite out of her neck, unaccountably obsessed with tainting the smooth skin with his presence. 

Just words.  Sometimes he had a gift for the right words at the right time, and Jon had no qualms about using that in his favor.  Adding another page to the story of his life, and the chapter of this one night stand, was definitely in his favor.

He worked his hands up under the shirt, brutalizing her swollen nipples between his thumbs and forefingers as he pushed his hard-on into her softness. 

“Not me, us.  Sex between us.”

Her throatily rasped words had been like a match to a powder keg. 

He picked up her hands and planted them on the coarse stone wall, covering them with his own as he slid his dick into her heat.  Those mysterious feminine muscles hugged him and he shimmied his way in and out of that hug in short thrusts, hard bursts, long strokes, abrupt possession.  Then he did it again in reverse and sideways and up and down until the world started to tilt and the cloud-covered sky became filled with the stars behind his eyes.

Jon tore his gaze from the painting to find her watching him intently, worry etched into the fine lines of her face.  He tried to dissuade her worry by allowing his mouth to curly faintly, but couldn’t make the smile reach his eyes.    The answer to her question was far too introspective and profound to allow for true light-heartedness.

It’s the night Fate convinced Karma to give me what I needed instead of what I deserved.

The attempted smile faded as an unfamiliar feeling took up residence.  One he hadn’t felt for a very, very long time.  Helplessness.  That one thought was enough to decimate the illusion that he had control over what was going on inside him. 

Rather than squirming over the uncomfortable fact that he might very well be at her mercy, Jon claimed the bit of control he did have.  That he would always have. 

“Yeah,” he verified quietly, carefully setting the painting off the edge of the bed and leaning it against the nightstand.  Turning back, he reached for her.  “I remember.”

“Oh, thank G-“

Jon silenced her with a kiss whose scorching heat was stoked by the memory her gift evoked, and made all the hotter by where they found themselves tonight.   Their continually growing familiarity should be breeding sexual boredom, but such was not the case.  He wanted her just as much now – no, more – than he did then. 

Why? 

Because then he loved how she came unglued in his arms.  She was open and uninhibited, giving herself over without reservation.  It was a complete and total turn-on.  But now?  Now he knew that wasn’t part of her usual behavior.

It brought home what he already knew – that HE was the one who made her come unglued into a hissing, spitting, howling feline.   She was HIS Kitten, just like the bracelet said.

Fingers firmly entangled in her hair, Jon eased her down until she her shoulder blades rested against the comforter and she was blinking quietly up at him in the subdued light.  Eyes riveted to hers, he reached for the zippered front of her hoodie, and incrementally eased it down until it fell wide, exposing her bare torso and leopard-clad breasts. 

The look on his face held Sheridan both captivated and breathless.  There was no sexy smirk when he caught glimpse of the printed lingerie, only a soul-searing intensity that he did his best to consume her with before he levered forward on his hands to nip at the ball of her shoulder.

For every concentrated bite, nibble and nip he dotted across her shoulders neck and torso, he followed it with a healing kiss.  The ink on her wrist wasn’t enough.  The bracelet wasn’t enough.  Jon was never going to be happy unless she bore the proof of his passionate possession.  Wriggling under his touch got her hands pinned to the mattress at her sides while he worked his amorous mouth over the tops of her breasts down to her tummy.

Nosing her elastic waistband out of the way, he swiped his thick tongue over her navel and her eyelids drifted shut.  The chills that followed were a direct contradiction to the flames that charred her insides.  There was no comparison between his touch and anything else she’d ever experienced.  It was purely volcanic and held the same mystical lure as the ancient volcanoes, begging her to jump in the midst of the devouring lava so that she could be spewed free at an appointed time – his appointed time.

“Oh, baby.”  Her whispered breath was no more than a ghost of a sound as the coarse texture of his hair tickled between her fingers, but it was enough to give him pause.  The soft swipes stopped just above her bikini-line and the mattress shifted. 

Sheridan opened curious eyes to find him hovering above her, staring intently.  “What is it?”

He shook his head, saying nothing, but the intensity of his gaze held her hypnotized.  There was something lurking in the depths of those gorgeous baby blues and Sheridan couldn’t quite put her finger on what.  It was almost like he was trying to complete a jigsaw puzzle and she was the last piece, but he couldn’t get it to fit the way he thought it should.  He studied her with confusion and a bit of uncertainty as he worked on the solution.  

Before she could ask again, his mouth covered hers and completely derailed any coherent train of thought.

It was the marked end of any verbal communication.  From Sheridan’s perspective, they didn’t need it.  Everything they had to say they said with a touch, a kiss or a look.  The clinging way they embraced throughout their lovemaking – yes, lovemaking – spoke volumes to anyone caring to listen. 

Sheridan cared to listen.  Very much so.  

An invisible tide had shifted tonight.  Perhaps a more accurate description was that an artistic representation of a tide had shifted them tonight.  Jon never told her what was going through his mind after he opened the painting, but she knew he got the sentiment she had intended it to convey.

That night, like tonight, had changed her life forever. 

  

**Next After the Rain posting will be Thursday, March 7 as Audra and I are both off to Florida for this weekend's shows (she's on a plane right now, in fact).  We'll be a little more focused on the real Jon than the fictional Jon for a few days.  :o)  Hope this extra-long chapter will tide you over sufficiently.  As always, thanks for your readership and support!!  ~♥blush