“Did you ask the doctor about Nicky, like you were
supposed to?” Jon demanded as he stalked into the bedroom, inspecting the
outside of is palm. “He just bit me
again!”
Sheridan smirked into the mirror as she put a thin
elastic band around the end of her braid.
He’d been pretty tolerant of the mini-muncher’s love bites at first, but
now that the twins were three years old, he found it far less amusing and
tended to overreact. Someone might think
he’d gotten a pinky finger amputated by a Rottweiler when, even after he shoved
the wounded appendage under his nose, she could barely see a red spot where
he’d been nibbled.
“You have only yourself to blame for that, you know.”
Her husband’s face was like a dark thundercloud. “I don’t bite everybody,
goddammit! Just you. When it’s appropriate.”
“I was actually referring
to your temper,” she corrected, with a laugh. “You should be glad that Noelle
is more reasonable or we’d have a double dose of oral aggression.”
Satisfied that she looked
presentable, she turned from the mirror to face her husband, who had now found
another focus for his bout of surliness.
His eyes raked her up and down with utter distaste and condemnation,
while frown lines dug deeper into his forehead and cheeks. Even though she’d just deemed herself
presentable, he plainly did not share that opinion.
“You’re not wearing that,”
he decreed, his wounded hand immediately forgotten in the wake of her obvious
fashion faux pas. “It’s New Year’s Eve,
not a fucking funeral or some damn PTA meeting.”
Sheridan automatically looked
down at herself, even though she’d just surveyed her outfit in the mirror – a simple
black dress that fell to just above the knee and conservatively accented her
curves. Both the hem and the turtleneck
collar were edged with a band of gold that complemented her hair, and black
pumps rounded out the look.
“That’s Richie talking, not
you. There’s not a thing wrong with what
I’m wearing and you like it when I’m conservative on the outside and sexy
underneath. Remember?”
Sexy underneath was a given
on any day, because that’s what her possessor husband wanted and she liked to
indulge that want. Since tonight was New
Year’s Eve, however, Sheridan had upped her indulgence game with something a
little different than what she normally wore.
There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he would be elated when she took
the dress off, and she had dressed to create the most visible contrast between
her layers of clothing.
“You’re not even wearing
any jewelry,” he complained, completely disregarding her logic – likely because
he didn’t have a leg to stand on in that argument.
“That’s because I was
engrossed in your life-threatening injury.
I’m going to put on a bracelet.”
“Jesus Christ.”
The roll of his eyes
combined with the sarcasm twerked her nerves.
“Did you ever think you have only yourself to blame for this, too,
Dracula? If you want me to wear
something more revealing, you might consider not gnawing on me at every
available opportunity.”
“Oh don’t give me that
bullshit,” he countered, his snit losing steam as evidenced by the smirk on his
face. “You cream yourself every damn
time I take a bite.”
“That is beside the
point. The fact remains-“
“The fact remains,” he
mocked as he hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “That I spent a fortune on makeup that would
cover those marks. Makeup which you are very familiar
with applying.”
It really wasn’t fair that
his hands crawling over her bottom and the mere smell of him could still turn
her on after four years. The allure was
supposed to have faded by now, or at least dimmed considerably. At the very least, her libido should require
that he be wearing something sexier than a ratty t-shirt and jeans before it
started weeping for mercy.
He’s sexy in anything – or nothing.
Damn him.
“You’re being a prick,” she
complained, pushing his hands away and retreating a step to school her slutty
libido into submission. She had, after
all, just put the finishing touches on her appearance for the evening. She wasn’t going to let him destroy her
efforts that easily. “Why do you care,
anyway? We’re just going to David and
Lexi’s. They know how I am.”
He scratched his head and
wrinkled his nose distastefully. That
was the same thing he did when he was trying to keep something from her. She’d seen it just last week after he and his
brothers let the oil in the deep fryer get too hot and blew their Christmas
turkey into a million pieces all across the back lawn.
“What, Jon? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing. But you knew this was going to be more than
just us all along. Maybe a dozen or so
couples.”
This had the makings of
being the longest New Year’s Eve in history, and he hadn’t even dressed yet. Sheridan wasn’t sure how well that boded for
the rest of the evening, but, if he didn’t get to the point, he may not live to
see it anyway. Any female jury in the
world would consider it justifiable homicide.
“Okay… So that still doesn’t solve the mystery of
your obsession with my dress.”
“Can’t you quit bustin’ my
chops and just change into something a little more Pamela Anderson and a little
less Hillary Clinton?”
She mentally added another
tick mark into the ‘pro’ column for justifiable homicide.
“No, darling, I can’t,”
Sheridan explained with exaggerated patience.
“Since I refuse to change clothes without a good reason. Give me one and we can discuss it.”
Jon sighed and ran a hand
over his face. “Dave called you
matronly.”
“Excuse me?” Sheridan couldn’t have heard that
correctly. ‘Matronly’ was the source of
this waste of time and oxygen?
He plopped down on the bed,
looking annoyed. “Jeff Kazee is one of
our friends who will be at the party.
Since he hadn’t ever met you, he asked Dave what you were like, and he
said ‘matronly’. Like somebody’s old
mother. It pissed me off.”
She would never understand
men. The strangest things set them
off.
“Well, since matronly means
motherly, that’s not untrue, but I have no idea why you’re pissed.”
“Seriously?” His blue eyes were wide with disbelief. “That doesn’t make you mad? To be thought of as old and frumpy?”
Green eyes narrowed with
censure. “He didn’t say old and frumpy –
you did. That makes me mad.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph...” He sighed and gave his neck a sharp twist
that resulted in several loud pops before standing to once again approach her. “I
don’t think you’re old and frumpy. I think
you’re quite possibly the hottest piece of ass walking this earth.”
His arms curled around her
waist and splayed palms covered the globes of that aforementioned ass, giving
it an affectionate squeeze.
“You have about five
seconds to get to the point, Bongiovi.”
“Christ, fine! You want me to spell it out?” He frowned down into her face. “I’m Jon Bon Jovi and I don’t want my friends
thinkin’ I’m married to a fuckin’ lunch lady with a hairnet and all that
shit. I want them to be jealous as all
hell because they will never get to hear you beg to be fucked while you tear
the hell out of their back. Now change
your clothes. Please.”
The corners of her mouth twitched. She should really chastise him for wanting to
exploit her body, but she couldn’t muster up enough indignation. The truth of the matter was, it kind of
turned her on to know he could still be possessive after all this time and two
challenging children. It turned her on
enough to no longer care about her hair and dress.
“You can pick out another
dress for me,” she promised complacently, twining her arms around his neck and
leaning in close. “Right after we fuck.”
His nostrils flared. “You’re gonna hafta beg for it.”
Bedroom door was
closed. The part-time nanny had the
children properly supervised. They had
over an hour before they were expected at the Bryans. It didn’t get any more private than this, and
Sheridan had never had a problem giving him whatever he wanted in private
because he never lorded it over her during or afterward. He encouraged and expected her to be completely
without inhibition in their bed, rewarding her handsomely when she pleased him –
which was always.
She pushed red-tipped nails
through his hair, mussing it the way she liked while she hiked one leg and
curled it around his thigh. “Oh baby,
please fuck me. Please? You know how I love it.”
His growl put flames into
her panties that were instantly doused by her arousal and his hands pushing at
the offensive skirt of her dress. “Jesus
that turns me on. Beg some more. And get this fucking dress off!”
Putting the necessary
distance between them, she shimmied out of it as soon as he’d rasped the zipper
down. Sheridan kicked it to the side,
along with her pumps and reached for his hand.
“Please, baby,” she
beseeched, backing toward the bed and licking her lips at the thought of the
romp they were about to have.
Jon, however, wasn’t to be
moved. In fact, his eyes had glazed
completely over as he took another inspection of her. This time he found her appearance far more
favorable than he had the first time around.
“Where did you get that?”
he croaked.
She pulled her bottom lip
between her teeth and batted her eyes at him.
“Do you like it?”
‘It’ was a supple black
leather lingerie set comprised of an open-bust halter bra that barely covered
her nipples – or kept her breasts elevated – and a lace-up garter G-string with
the requisite black stockings. For a
woman who had gone from favoring serviceable cotton to fine lace and silk, the
daring leather ensemble had been a risk that was well out of her comfort zone.
From the look on Jon’s
face, it looked as though it was a risk well taken.
“If you like it, you better take
it off,” was the growling answer she received as his clothes began flying. “Because I am very likely to destroy it gettin’
my dick inside you before it explodes.”
The laughter bubbled up
from her throat and she felt a strange combination of power and peace sweep
over her. This was her life and she genuinely
cherished it – perfectly pedigreed outside and perfectly raunchy inside the
bedroom. Nobody had it better than she.
By pulling aside the
G-string, she saved both him and the lingerie, purring, “Stop talking about it
and do it.”
The last syllable hung on
her lips when he entered her with the force of a freight train, stealing her
breath and rumbling, “I’m gonna do you, ya little hell cat.”
The slide of him deep
inside of her felt so good that her initial grunt morphed into a sweet moan of ecstasy. He knew just how to set her off and with
another controlled thrust of his hips, he had her writhing against the bed in
eager anticipation of the fireworks ahead.
While she was solely
focused on the way he fit so deeply inside her and always managed to hit just
the right spot, he was busily shoving at the leather demi-cup so that he could
curve his lips over the nipple he unearthed.
The sharp suction brought her shoulders off of the bed and had her
fingernails firmly implanted in his back, raking him from shoulder blade to
waist.
Jon swore around his fleshy
treasure, releasing it with a wet pop so that he could move further up. Humming with satisfaction, he bit into his
favorite spot – the meaty slope between her neck and shoulder – and was
immediately gratified when his dick was wantonly assaulted by the force of her orgasm.
“Told ya,” he bragged
directly into her ear. “Every damn time.”
“Unnnh! Shut up and do it again.”
Jon accommodated her
without hesitation, this time sinking into the other shoulder. His incisors dug, pinching in a peculiar form
of pleasurable pain as he pushed himself into her faster… harder… deeper.
“Yes, yes, yesssss! Oh God, yes!”
Sheridan had lost track of anything outside the bubble of pleasure that
her husband had expertly sealed them in.
The only thing she could feel was his body rocking with hers. His skin setting hers aflame. The friction that threatened to set the whole
bed aflame.
And those gorgeous teeth.
“Baby?” he murmured into her shoulder after he had
rolled them both to their sides.
“Hm?”
His tongue laved the
undoubtedly discolored skin he’d created.
“I love you.”
Without opening her eyes,
Sheridan let a smile of utter contentment curl her lips. “Do you remember the first time you said that
to me?”
“You gonna smack the shit
out of me if I say no?”
She was too pleasantly shattered
to summon the energy to smack anyone, but she did manage a quiet laugh before
she made him admit he had no idea. “It
was New Year’s Eve four years ago. We
were in the kitchen making food for all the kids. I was worn out and no doubt looked completely
haggard, yet that was the moment you chose to profess your love. It still amazes me.”
“Mm.”
The mattress jostled and
Sheridan cracked one eyelid to see why.
What she found was Jon stretching as far as he could toward his side of
the bed until he finally hooked his fingers around the knob on the nightstand
drawer and gave a tug. He fished around
inside for a moment before rolling back and holding his upturned palm in front
of her face, in which he held a black velvet box.
“Christmas was last week,”
she remarked, studying the box curiously.
“And this was on
backorder. So now it’s a gift for the
fourth anniversary of my undying love.”
She couldn’t help the
laughter that came spilling out. Her
husband definitely knew how to work the angles, and she wasn’t above
benefitting from it.
Plucking the box up,
Sheridan wasted no time in snapping open the hinge to reveal a stunning pair of
white gold and diamond earrings. It was
no surprise to find the Piaget logo nested in the top of the lid.
“More Possession merch, I
see.”
With a roll of his eyes, he
swatted her on the backside. “Yes, dear,
I know they’re lovely. Thank you for
mentioning it. You’re welcome.”
“They’re beautiful,” she
chuckled obediently, wholly amused by his fabricated pique. “I love them, and I love you.”
“Good damn thing,” was her
husband’s dourly grumbled reply. “Because
I could save a lotta cash by buying a Sharpie and writing on your wrist once a
week, yanno.”
“And I would love that just
as much.” She rolled forward and dusted
his mouth with a gentle kiss, grateful for him, their children and their life. Karma had been kind to them, day after day
after day and Sheridan didn’t take that for granted. “But I’m keeping the diamonds.”
His loud snort bounced off
of the walls as he rolled up into a seated position, swinging around to put his
feet on the floor. “You do that. I’m going to pick out your dress.”