67 - Talk the Talk

He closed the door behind them, tossing his coat over the nearest chair while she hung her chocolaty leather jacket neatly in the closet. 

“Hey.”

She turned gracefully on the toe of the tan suede boot that just matched her suede slacks.  Smoothing her hands down over the complementary cashmere sweater, Sheridan absently thought how much she loved this outfit.  The fitted pants weren’t forgiving in the least, though, and had her wondering how much longer she would be able to comfortably wear them.

No.  Tonight there is no impending thick waistline.  The only ‘baby’ in this apartment is you.

“What?” she asked, slowly approaching the man whose hands were planted on his denim-clad hips.  Even frowning unhappily, he wasn’t any different than the last time he was here on Sunday.  So why did she feel unaccountably nervous?

Because no matter how you pretend, you’re pregnant and you both know it.

“Dave has a crush on you.”

Her features relaxed into a faint smile and Sheridan hooked her forefingers through his belt loops.  “Dave is certifiably insane.”

“Yeah, well there is that, but he has good taste in women.”  He stroked what felt like tentative palms over the soft material at her hips, making Sheridan think she wasn’t the only one who was feeling unaccountably nervous.  Was it possible that he was having trouble forgetting their reality, too?  Or was he not that into this?

Don’t be ridiculous.  Kiss him.  That’s all it will take.  That’s all it ever takes.

Her fingers tiptoed up the front of his bulky gray sweater and over the tops of his shoulders until they found the shaggy hair at his neckline.  Tilting her head at an anticipatory angle, she purred, “But I have even better taste in men.  Wanna taste?”

“Hell, yes.”  His lips locked over hers and the problems of the world drifted through a wormhole in the time continuum. 

This she knew.  This was familiar. 

The demanding way he pushed into her mouth, the distinctive flavor that assaulted her taste buds, the greedy way he sucked at her tongue…  They each worked their special brand of magic, doing their part to transport her back to the special place he’d first introduced her to in Jamaica.  It was a mesmerizing slice of Nirvana totally captivating her on that fateful, stormy night and she knew, deep in her soul, that she would never find it again without him.

Hard arms clamped her body to his as he voraciously devoured the breath from her lungs, leaving her limp and lifeless.  Sheridan was putty in his hands, just like she’d been since the moment he opened the connecting door between their Jamaican suites. 

The toe of his left boot danced her right one backward, then his right pushed her left until she felt the hard edge of the dining table digging into the crease where her buttocks met her thighs.  A sharp nudge had the suede seat of her pants sliding easily over the surface until her feet dangled freely above the floor.

“Not on my table, Jon.”

A harsh laugh mocked her attempt to protest and he wadded the hem of her sweater in his palms, shoving it crudely upward.  “Wanna bet?  I’m having pedigreed pussy on it right here and now.”   

“But…”  The fire burning low in her belly went from one alarm to five with his careless snarl, but this was where she ate.  She served food to guests here.

Unconcerned with her protests, the sweater was ripped over her head.  It left him with a lecherous smile and left her with a mauled chignon and a mere leopard print bra to cover her torso.  “To hell with the table.  I’ll buy you a new one.”

The man was a master negotiator, she would give him that.

Their arms became tangled, she clawed at his sweater while he proceeded to boorishly pull at her bra until her nipples peeked from the tops of the spotted cups.  His prey in sight, he spared a hot second to shuck the sweater and straightaway returned to roll the turgid pink tips in his fingers.

“Oh!” The touch prompted both a gasp and restless wriggling against the glossy maple surface.  She ducked her head to nip at his Adam’s apple while simultaneously arching into the pleasurably punishing touch.  At least now she knew why her nipples had become overly-sensitive in recent days.

“That feel good, Kitten?”  He gave them another sharp tweak.  “You rethinking your moral objections to fucking on the furniture?”

“Damn you,” she breathed, reaching for the heavy belt strung through the loops on his jeans, the buckle falling instantly free under her proficient manipulation.  “Don’t be smug.  You know I’ll let you fuck me anywhere you want to.”

There was a rumble reminiscent of distant thunder that rattled in his chest and he intercepted her  hands, the button and zipper on his jeans flying open as he kicked off his shoes.  “My first Black AmEx didn’t make me feel this powerful.  Strip.  Now.  I wanna see that beautiful pussy laid out wide and ready for me on your precious table.”

The satin-lined suede of her pant-legs hurt against the hyper-awareness of her flesh when they pooled toward the floor.  Her skin burned with the deliciously dirty heat he’d always been able to call up on a whim. 

She could fit into any social setting.  Sheridan had the social acumen and awareness to talk the talk and walk the walk on any given occasion and she had – numerous times.

This occasion didn’t call for anything other than giving her inner whore a license to drive.  She loved that he provided a safe driving course for her.  She loved who he let her be with no judgment, only profound appreciation and approval.  She loved HIM.

“Yes, baby,” Sheridan moaned to the ceiling as he took that thrilling first bite of her neck.  Her nails echoed the thankfulness with dark red streaks down his naked back as he roughly claimed her, defiling her pristine tabletop once and for all.

The gentle rasp of hair between his stomach and hers heightened her titillation as much as the brutal fingers clamped into her thighs.   His hardness was dipping its head to play in the pool of her arousal.  Literally playing…  teasing. 

Sheridan rolled her hips to try and capture the only thing that would satisfy the aching.

His response?  A softly wicked laugh that had her hair standing on end with erotic anticipation.

“You want fucked?  I’ll fuck you, my hot little sex kitten.  I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk and then I’ll throw you on your back and fuck you again.”

“Then do it!  For God’s sake, do-  Unnnh!”

Claiming her with a fervor that reminded her of their very first time, he drove the breath from her lungs and stole any ability she might have to form words.  All she could do was concentrate on drawing in oxygen and releasing carbon dioxide as he used her well and good for what they both wanted.  Every nip of his perfect teeth sent her over another waterfall, every slam of his hips had her cliff diving into an ocean until she was drowning in him and the crazy chemistry that never seemed to fade between them.

When the tide went out, it was to find him slumped over her body, elbows propped at her sides while he lazily loved the purple marring along her neck and collar bone with healing swipes of his tongue.  Subdued gasps of recovery warmed the cooling perspiration on her skin as he pulled her wrist, planting gentle lips on the pulse point that beat visibly beneath her Possession bracelet. 

“You’re my possession,” he reminded, locking her into a gaze filled with sheer grit and determination.  “Don’t shut me out.  I’m not the enemy and I won’t allow it.”

Muscles that, only seconds ago, she’d deemed too rubbery to move now clenched in visceral response to the intensity that vibrated through him. 

Jon wasn’t a man to be slighted in any way.  She knew that.  She just hadn’t known if this would be one of those occasions where he…  might want to be slighted.  He had made his point in a way that not only her head understood, but her heart did, too. 

“And now I have no doubt that you’re my possession,” was her quiet disclosure, feathery fingertips gliding along the high arch of his cheek.  “Even if you don’t wear the brand.”

“Yeah…  Well, we’ll see what we can do about that.  C’mon,” he groaned, standing upright and tugging her to a sitting position in the process.  “Let’s go to bed and be possessive.  Wanna?”

“I do.  Very much.”

§§§

Jon automatically pressed a sleepy kiss to the top of Sheridan’s head.  She had just returned from the bathroom and was draping herself over his chest, head tucked into his shoulder. 

There was a palpable change in mood between now and this time last night, and damn if he wasn’t relieved.  If he hadn’t been afraid of upsetting her stubborn ass even more that it already had been, he would’ve demanded that she stay with him.  She just had to remember who he was and who she was with him.  Who they were, for that matter. 

In hindsight, letting her go was a major mistake, but maybe she hadn’t been the only one who needed a minute to breathe.  That’s all he’d needed though.  A minute to digest what this meant in the grand scheme of his life.

What he came up with was that things had changed, but they hadn’t.  They were still the same people who had a connection transcending so far beyond words that they had to let their minds go sometimes.  Their bodies could speak things to one another that their minds couldn’t even comprehend, and with a hell of a lot more conviction. 

Because, all sugar-coating aside, reality was that they had something different.  He couldn’t claim to understand it, but he knew it was rare and unique.  It was worth preserving.

“Will you still want me when I’m a hippo?”

If it was possible to get any more ‘at peace’ than he already was, Jon took that next step, smiling into the fragrant crown of her hair.  His girl was ready to talk. 

“Yes I'll still want you.   Guys actually find pregnant women insanely sexy.  It's a pro-creation/caveman thing, I think."

“Mm.”

After a long moment of ensuing silence, he wiggled his shoulder slightly, thinking maybe she’d fallen asleep.  “Sheridan…?” 

“Yes?” she immediately responded, sounding awake and alert.

So much for the idea that she was going to talk.

The ball was back in his court, so to speak.  There were decisions to be made, and he didn’t think she would ever be in a less defensive state than she was now….

“I think the sooner we get married, the better.  Less chance of people realizing you were pregnant before the wedding.”

Her soft sigh carried a hint of dejection, but she didn’t move from her position nestled into his side.  “I don’t want to get married.  I hate the thought of tethering our lives together forever just because we hit a bump in the road.  There’s no point in making a knee-jerk reaction.”

“I agree about not making a knee-jerk reaction…”  Jon struggled to find his diplomacy in the darkened bedroom.  Blurting out what he knew was best and expecting her to follow blindly along wasn’t the way to go.  “But our lives became forever tethered the minute that baby was conceived.”

“I know that, but marriage is different.”

“Marriage is different,” he concurred readily, resting a light hand over her back to act as a mood barometer.  If he could sense the foreshadow of an argument in the set of her body, then he had a shot at finding the words that would curtail the unpleasantness.  This was a discussion, not a fight.   “It’s telling our kid that I respect him and you enough to make the honorable choice.  Marriage is also telling the four kids I already have that when life doesn’t go according to plan you man-up, make the best of it and carry on.”

“You realize that makes me feel like a wart cluster on your perfect ass, right?”

If she hadn’t sounded so unhappy about it, he would’ve laughed.  Many years ago, at the knee of his daddy, he’d learned not to laugh at a morose woman.  Nothing good ever came of it.

“You’re not anybody’s wart cluster,” Jon chided, stifling his amusement.  “You’re the woman I fell in love with and would’ve likely married anyway.  The pregnancy just sped up the decision-making process.”

“Hmpf.”  Sheridan still wasn’t convinced.  He wanted his way and, while she didn’t really have any concrete objections to marrying him, she thought it was irresponsible to jump into it with no more than an awkward position and a moment’s notice.

“Okay, then let me be a hard-ass about it.  It’s not fair to pin this kid with the stigma of being a bastard while his brothers and sister are more socially palatable because they are the by-product of marriage.  Having my children in two different social strata is completely unacceptable to me.”

Of course he wanted to compare this one to his other children, but his other children weren’t and shouldn’t be a barometer of this child’s life.  In her opinion, anyway.  “This isn’t about your children Jon, it’s about our one child.” 

God that was still hard to swallow.  A baby.  She was hosting a real, genuine human being inside of her.  One that needed her in order to live.

“And OUR one child didn’t ask to be conceived.  But since he was… it’s our responsibility to protect him.  That includes giving him protection from judgmental asses and society as a whole because his parents didn’t think enough of him or each other to offer him a united household.”

In her teen years, it was practically unheard of to have a child out of wedlock, and the baby and parents alike bore the stigma.  There was a girl in her graduating class that never made it to graduation because of one such unfortunate ‘accident’.  Sheridan remembered her classmates had talked about that baby like it was no better than a second class citizen – and that was being generous.  Did people really still think that harshly about children of unwed parents? 

Jon’s been the poster child for rock and roll responsibility.  He has a social face to maintain and those damn paparazzi are worse than any high school cheerleader, jock or nerd ever hoped to be.

“You are one of the most responsible women I’ve ever met, and this is what responsible parents do, Sheridan.  Is it really a tragedy to marry the man you love so that you can give your baby the umbrella of both emotional and legal security?”

Legal security.

The businesswoman in her knew that she could provide for a child.  And, knowing Jon, he would insist upon providing for it even if she didn’t want him to.  But if something happened to him, Dorothea’s children would be known as his true heirs.  His real children.  Their… baby would be exactly like he said  - in a different social strata from the other Bongiovi children. 

Bongiovi children…

“I…”  This baby would be a Bongiovi.  Baby Bongiovi.  “I have an obligation to live up to.  That’s what you’re saying.”

“In my own charming way, yeah.  I’m saying that… and that I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she murmured absently, mentally fast-forwarding to kindergarten.  The school nurse would call home because the baby was sick, asking to speak to Mrs. Bongiovi.  But the only Mrs. Bongiovi would be Dorothea.  Or Jon’s mother.  Sheridan wouldn’t even share her child’s name.

You might to decide to marry him before then.   Or you could always put ‘King’ on the birth certificate.

Give Jon’s baby her ex-husband’s last name?  She knew without asking that his Jersey pride and male ego weren’t going to allow that.  That idea was immediately nixed.

Growing impatient at her silence, Jon nudged her, prompting,  “And?”

Her hair slithered over the bare ball of his shoulder as she looked up at him through the murky dimness of night.  There was no disgrace in marrying one of People Magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive.

She truly loved him.  She did.  He had a good heart, a strong moral conscience and ethical fiber.  He had proven himself to be a good father.  He worked hard.  He was sexy as hell and made her feel every bit as sexy.  They could make a good life together.  

The three of them.  Counting his older children, technically, the seven of them.

The two of you have already weathered hard times.  This isn’t hard times, it’s just life.  And it’s not just your life anymore.  Live it, Sheridan.  He makes you happy.  Make him – and the baby – happy.

“A prenup is a good idea, don’t you think?  I’ll be content with a simple cookie-cutter agreement.  ‘This is mine and that is yours’, kind of thing.  Is that okay with you?”

Since he hadn’t been privy to the inner workings of her convoluted mind, she might have stunned him with what seemed like an abrupt about-face.  At least, she assumed that’s what prompted the moment of silence before he picked up the ball and ran with it.

“Okay.  I’ll call my lawyer.  You have a preference as to when and where we get married?”

A delicate shoulder shrugged indifferently and she tucked her head back into the crook of his shoulder.  “City Hall as soon as the waiting period allows?  I don’t need a big wedding.  A private, civil ceremony will be fine.”

“You trust me to take care of the details?”

Why not?  He didn’t get to pick out her dress – or maybe even his suit – but beyond that, it was all semantics.  “As long as it’s tasteful and semi-traditional… yes.”

“Okay.”  He nudged her again in response to the death grip she’d banded around his chest.  Sheridan was starting to freak out just a little bit.  She was going to be a mommy.  Who was marrying the daddy and living contentedly ever after.  “What else, Kitten?  Talk to me.”

God, I hate being vulnerable.  I hate being unsure.  I hate not knowing what to expect.  I hate being weak.  Just help get me through tonight, Jon.  Hold my hand and make me believe we’re doing the right thing.  Then tomorrow…  Tomorrow I’ll get my act together and act like I have some sense.

She snuggled her face into his chest, her cheek making a nest among the sparse hair while her fingers drew languid circles around his navel.  Her voice fell into a quiet wistfulness.   “I… really hate that this is happening so fast, but – eventually – I’ll get used to putting another person’s wants and needs before my own.  I guess.  Won’t I?”

He held her tight.  So tight.  Even if he didn’t understand, he was doing his best to be supportive.  Sheridan was exorbitantly grateful for the infrequent display of his softer side.  She needed it.  Just for a minute.

“Without even realizing it,” he promised, hugging her close.  “Welcome to parenting, Kitten.  You get to do all kinds of shit you hadn’t thought about doing before.”