59 - Private Matters

She couldn’t explain why that struck her the wrong way, but it landed with the impact of a professionally swung baseball bat.  After spending three days missing his presence wandering around her apartment, she’d expected to want to drape herself over him like a cheap suit.  Instead, he was doing his best to aggravate the life out of her. 

“Yes, well, what if I don’t think it’s time?”

“I think that’s too bad,” he informed her, with what she supposed was supposed to be a temper-diffusing smile.  It didn’t work. 

Sheridan deliberately evaded the hand that was trying to hold hers.  “Look.  I was perfectly willing to listen to your laundry list of objections the other night, but you decided we weren’t going to taint the evening with such things.  Tonight apparently doesn’t get that same consideration, because you’ve been argumentative since you walked in the door.”

“I haven’t been any different than I ever am,” he protested, making a show of folding his hand around her forearm and refusing to let go when she attempted to pull away.  “You’re the one who’s PMS-ing.”

Despite the likely accuracy of his accusation, she still leveled him with a cold glare.  “Because the blunt honesty of a woman should always blamed on the menstrual cycle?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”  Dropping his head with the hiss of exasperation, he waited only a heartbeat before lifting his chin and looking her defiantly in the eye.  “Well if we’re gonna fight, we may as well get everything outta the way.  I don’t want our sex life published.  Period.”

So this was all about him.  Did he think someone would mysteriously divine the size of his dick from a couple hundred artistically smudged words that could have been written about a bartender?  Or a bus driver? 

Catching him by surprise, she freed herself and stood, taking herself and her half-full glass to the kitchen.  She put the stemware carefully on the counter before turning toward him and crossing her arms.

“Funny, I don’t recall fucking you in a car.  How does that constitute our sex life?”

“You know good and goddamn well that story was about us,” he argued from the couch. 

“You know that and I know that, but for the average reader it could be about anybody.  There were only a handful of real instances in there.  The rest was my imagination!”

“Anybody who links us together is going to assume it’s about me!  I’ve fought my whole life to keep my personal life out of the public eye and I sure as hell don’t want this kinda thing shoving its way to center stage.  I have kids, Sheridan!  And God forbid that Dorothea figures it out.  That would be all I need!”

Sheridan had been annoyed before, but now she was livid.  It was the kind of mad that didn’t blow-up into a tension-relieving explosion, but the kind that nearly paralyzed you with a numbing calm.  Her blood boiled, but the ice water coursing through her veins was what stepped forward when she frostily intoned, “You did not just bring your ex-wife into this.”

“No, I didn’t bring my ex-wife into it,” he mocked with an angry shake of us head.  Unable to contain his agitation any longer, Jon rose to his feet and planted them wide.  “I brought the mother of my children into it.”

She’d read a magazine article about punctured lungs once in a doctor’s waiting room.  It hadn’t mentioned that it could happen while immobile, yet she was sure that was what happened.  If her lung wasn’t punctured, then Jon had punctured something just as soft in that general area. 

Just because she’s their mother doesn’t mean he’s placing her on a pedestal.  That wasn’t intended to put you in your place, Sheridan.  It’s just a statement of fact.

“My divorce isn’t like yours.”  He went on, completely unaware that she couldn’t breathe.  “I can’t just walk away from her and never look back.  Dorothea and I didn’t divorce our kids, so our lives are always going to be intertwined.”   

“I’m childless, not a simpleton!  I get that, but neither your ex-wife OR the mother of your children is going to dictate what I do in my life.  And the way you’re acting about the whole thing, not only are YOU not going to dictate, I don’t know that I’m going to listen to your opinion.”

He scraped a frustrated hand through his already tousled mop of hair and blew out a harsh breath.  As harried as he looked, Sheridan didn’t feel any sympathy.  He’d been a jerk.

“Kitten…”

“No,” she interrupted when he started in with the placating tone.  “You don’t get to pull out the pet names when we have a disagreement.  There won’t be any ‘Honey… Baby… Kitten’ to try and soften me up.  I won’t stand for being treated like a silly little girl.”

“Goddamn it!” 

Jon took several long strides toward her, approaching with such a fierce scowl that made Sheridan instinctively retreat, only to find the island countertop in the small of her back.  In the blink of an eye he had her penned in, with an arm on each side.

“You don’t want it softened?   Fine.  I’ll give it to you point-blank.”  HIs decibel level fell several notches when he adopted a low growl.  “You said it was the most fabulous sex of your life.  Well, you’re not the only one, and I don’t fuckin’ want to share it – or you.  With anybody.  Is that clear enough?”

Dare she believe that she was the most fabulous sex in the life of a man who spent decades as Hugh Hefner’s gypsy prodigy, traveling the world in a mobile equivalent to the Playboy mansion?  Or was he domineering enough to play whatever card necessary to get his way?

“No.  It’s not.”  Her voice wasn’t any louder than his, but the growl was replaced with cool detachment.  “It’s just sex, isn’t it?  What difference does it make?”

Her biceps were subjected to a hard grip, and Jon spun her around, eyes spitting fire.  Sheridan’s pulse raced, but she wasn’t sure if it was fear or arousal pushing the accelerator on her heart.  Playful, agreeable Jon was adorable, but she found angry Jon embarrassingly hot. 

“Just sex?” he demanded, walking her backward one step in the direction of the couch.  “JUST sex?  If it was JUST sex you would have fucked Trouser Tom when I walked away.” 

He forced her another step back. 

“If it was JUST sex, Sheridan, I wouldn’t have come back here asking for more.  I would’ve fucked any one of the dozen women who ogle my ass every day.” 

Another step and her knees hit the back of the couch. 

“Don’t try and bullshit me, KITTEN.  You’re MY sex kitten and you know it.”

She stiffened even as her traitorous body went tingly at the forceful declaration, openly defying him.  He was exerting a gentle pressure on her arms in a clear bid to plant her on the sofa, but she refused to budge. 

“If I know it and you know it, then what’s the problem?”

“What’s the problem?” he parroted softly, shaking his head.  “You aren’t going to be happy until you have my balls on a muthafuckin’ platter, are you?”

“Just tell me, Jon.”

“Fine.”  His grip eased as he slid open palms up to her shoulders and sighed.  “If you publish us, it MAKES it ‘just sex’.  The kind of physical relationship we have doesn’t just happen.  At the risk of losing my balls AND my Man Card, I don’t want it cheapened when some sexually frustrated women Jills off to it and then lines the bottom of a birdcage with the leftovers.  I don’t want a parakeet shittin’ on our Karma.”

‘I don’t want a parakeet shittin’ on our Karma’? 

That was as close to hearts and flowers as he’d ever come and, possibly, ever would.  Unwanted amusement danced through the mist of her fizzling anger, and Sheridan felt herself start to soften around the edges.   She wondered if she could get that put on a t-shirt. 

“’Jills off’?”  she inquired, not letting that amusement seep into her monotone question.

The squiggly lines that had been carved into his forehead disappeared when his eyebrows dipped together as if he couldn’t believe that was what she chose to focus on.  “Yeah.  Female version of ‘jacks off’.  Jack.  Jill.”

“I see.”

They stood practically nose to nose, his socked feet bracketing hers.  Sheridan could feel when he held his breath, waiting to see where else the storm front was leading. 

You might just be surprised Mr. Bongiovi.

“Prove it.”  She belligerently tipped her chin, her carefully intoned ultimatum showing no trace of the humor or softness that were quickly overshadowing ire. 

“Prove what?”

He sounds absolutely pissy.  Good.  Welcome to my world this evening.

“Prove it’s not just ordinary sex.  Prove that what you give me I can’t get anywhere else.”

The fingers that had rested so carefully on her shoulders, now dug into her flesh through the hoodie jacket she was wearing.  “Prove it?” he rumbled angrily, lightly pushing her onto the sofa. 

This time, she allowed herself to fall and he leaned intimidatingly close, forcing her back into the cushions to escape the barely-contained fury.  One harsh hand jerked down the hoodie’s zipper to divulge that she was wearing nothing beneath it but a skimpy red lace bra.   His eyes darkened from stonewashed denim to a deep indigo blue.

“I’m not going to prove a damn thing, but I will teach you a lesson.”

Sheridan sucked in a sudden breath when he roughly – punishingly – mauled her, pushing the red  lace away and harshly tweaking the deplorable nipples that were already stiff and begging for his touch.  They were no more at full, rigid attention when he planted a knee at each side of her hips to bend and capture one in his mouth.  Pearly-white teeth were bared not in a smile, but a devouring bite when he clamped down on the ruby-red tip.

“Jon!”

Intending it to be an admonishment, she was mortified to hear the breathiness that clearly marked it as arousal.

“Ever scream for anybody else with a single suck?  Huh?”  His right hand continued to work the other nipple crudely with his thumb and forefinger as his question dried the saliva coating the first one.  He burrowed lower, and those piranha teeth clamped down on the fleshy underside of the breast with every intention of leaving a lasting mark.  “And now your fucking panties are sticky, because you get off on my crazy-ass need to brand your naked skin.”

He was right.  His obsession made her heady.  It was like he couldn’t control himself.  He had to put his imprint in her flesh, and her folds were swelling with the feminine power that gave her.  Sheridan squirmed against cushion, seeking the bare friction that the soft cotton panel between her legs could offer.

At the top of her breast this time, another punishing bite had her arching against him and his wicked chuckle chilled her.  The fine hair at the nape of her neck stood at attention. 

This exercise was proving nothing other than she was at his mercy.  Sheridan had known he was right about the explosive uniqueness of their physical relationship, but spitefulness had coaxed her into taunting him.  To make him think it was ordinary.  Run of the mill.

“Is that just sex, my horny little kitten?” he demanded when, shoving the jacket away and making the ball of her shoulder his next victim.  Jon pushed the hard denim that housed his rigid arousal into her tummy, prompting a pitiful mewl from the back of her throat. “Tell me, goddammit!”

She wasn’t trying to be defiant, but the words simply wouldn’t form.  Her mouth moved helplessly, but the air wouldn’t fill her lungs to honor his dictatorial request.

Jon angrily threw the jacket and bra behind the couch and put all of the weight on his right knee so he could push his left hand into the elastic waist of her pants.  There was no gentle searching or exploration.  The broad, callus-tipped fingers were determined and relentless in seeking out the folds that were already weeping at his attention. 

“Hot, drenched and begging to be fucked,” he hissed in her ear, nipping at the lobe when a squeal of surprise slipped free at his abrupt invasion.   One, if not two, of those talented fingers was already buried to the hilt in her desperately grasping channel.  “The fine and proper Ms. King is dying to be the big, bad rock star’s fuck toy.  I bet she’d do anything so she could come.”  His thumb raked over her clit, his overlong thumbnail adding a peculiar sensation to the pleasure and making Sheridan shudder.  “Anything.”

“What…  What do you want?”  Air from somewhere forced its way into her vocal cords.

“Oh, Kitten,” he chuckled mirthlessly, diving in for a nip at the sensitive tendon in her neck while his fingertips moved to form the perfect chord deep inside her.  “You know exactly what the fuck I want.”

An evil imp made her do it.  She couldn’t help it.  As tortured as she felt, and as close to the edge of release as she was, Sheridan couldn’t keep herself from uttering something inane in place of the words he was insistent upon extracting from her.  “Fine.  I’ll suck your dick.”

“Ohhhh… you stubborn mother fucking little wench!” 

His hand left her bereft and unsatisfied as he stood, pulling Sheridan to her feet in front of him.  Before she had time to stabilize herself, he was shoving her pants and panties to the floor and spinning her one-hundred and eighty degrees. 

“Grab the back of the couch!”

Automatically responding to the authority in his brusque command, her fingers curled into the cushion.  She had just gotten her grip and wondered what he was up to, when a loud ‘slap’ resounded through the living room and was immediately followed by a stinging on her right buttock.

He just spanked me!

He’d threatened in the past, but this was the first time Jon had ever put a hand to her and God help her…  She liked it. 

“Again…”  The gasping plea snuck out before she could call it back and her backside wiggled its invitation. 

He didn’t speak, merely delivered a matching swat to her other buttock.  It left her skin tingling and ignited a faint buzz deep inside.

Oh my word.  I’m going to get off just from being spanked.

“A… again.”

There was a soothing swipe across the lightly pulsing flesh before another smack hit her ears and her cheek.

“Oh, God…”  Her head fell forward as the buzz grew stronger and her knees started to tremble.  “Jon.  Again.  Please.”

“No.”

In total disbelief, she whipped her head around to find him unbuckling and dropping his pants to the floor.  The light caught the shiny moisture on the head of his dick just before he swiped it away in the process of stroking himself. 

“Give me what I want, and I’ll take care of you.  All night, as much as you need, but you’re going to tell me first.”

Determined to have her own way, Sheridan turned to him in full-on seductress mode.  Gentle nails scraped up the side of his neck as she plastered her naked body against his and swiped her tongue over his bottom lip.  “Fuck me, baby.  You know you want to.”

“More than I want to breathe,” he admitted, much to her surprise.  He put both palms over her butt cheeks and hauled her close, his arousal a hard ridge across her stomach.   “But more than that, I want to be right.”

He felt so good against her.  His hands were softly rubbing the spots on her backside that she knew had to be pink.  His chest hair tickled the nipples that were still so hard they were about to pop.  His hard, hairy thighs tickled the sensitive inside of her much smoother one when she hooked a leg around him. 

He was right and she was tired of playing cat and mouse.  She wanted her orgasm and he was the only one who could give it to her the way she craved.

“It’s more than just sex,” she whispered against his jaw between soft kisses.  “It’s soul-searing.  Nobody has sex this good.  I never have before and I never will again.”

“Thank you.  And you’ll pull the article?”

His hand had come from behind, teasing at her entrance and stroking the sensitive folds that ached for nothing more than his undivided attention.

“I’ll try,” she conceded on a soft sigh.  She needed him and what he made her feel.  If this was that important to him, then so be it.  “If it’s too late, I’ll make them use a pen name.”

“That’s my girl.  Now let’s just hope this thing doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass.”

Sheridan wriggled into his now very giving touch, saucily smirking up into his gorgeous face.  “The ass?  Well, that IS one place you haven’t bitten me….”