35 - Saturday Morning

“Dammit…” he breathed, dick knocking angrily against his zipper.  He’d spent too much time with Social Sheridan the last couple of days.  Kitten had snuck out and sunk her claws into him while his head was turned.  “This side of you floors me every time.”

“Floor?  It would be a shame to pay all this money for a nice suite, and then do it on the floor.”  Hands still immobilized over her head, she arched her back and propelled her breasts toward him.  The blatantly stiff nipples protruded through the thin layers of her clothing and gouged his bare chest.  “Don’t you think?”

“Little girl…”  Jon rolled his hips, proving that his erection was every bit as hard as her nipples by burying it in the soft plane of her belly.  “I’m about to drop your panties around your ankles and bang your sexy, smart ass right here against the wall.   Don’t try me.”

Angling her head a bit to one side, she sighed softly against his ear and mused, “I think I just came.”

Jesus H. Christ, he enjoyed this sex kitten.  Ready and raunchy, she was any man’s bedroom fantasy come to life.  She knew just which buttons to push and, with her around, he would never need any damn little blue pills.

A crude hand plundered under her shirt, ruthlessly roaming the smoothness of her abdomen and then roughly palming a heavy breast.  “Nah.  You scream louder than that when I make you come.”

She hissed.  Honest-to-God hissed against his jaw and bucked her hips with enough force that he had to plant his heels in the carpet to keep from going off-balance.  “Then stop screwing around and make me scream.  Tequila can wait.  I can’t.”

This was absolutely nothing like what he had planned, but he was up for it.  Damn, was he up for it.

Abruptly releasing her wrists, his hands went to the button at her waistband and pulled with no mercy until it popped free.  Zipper was the next victim, quickly followed by jeans and panties being shoved impatiently down to her thighs.  It gave just enough leeway to force his hand into the gap and find her saturated slickness.  Two fingers voraciously burrowed into her grasping heat while his thumb attacked the pulsing nub that breathed with a life of its own.

Her surprised gasp at the abrupt intrusion melted into a porn star whimper when he withdrew his fingers and gave a hard flick of his thumb. 

“My girl is so fuckin’ wet and ready,” he growled, his other hand executing a punishing grip on her left hip.  “If I put my face down there, I’d drown.”

“God, you’re filthy.”

His dick surged at the breathily moaned words.  Jon couldn’t stand it anymore.  He spun her by both hips to the nearby couch.  The teeth of his zipper rasped in a timbre that matched his voice.  “And you crave my filth.  Now grab the arm of the couch and bend over so I can get my dick inside that hungry pussy.”

She shoved her jeans down to her ankles while his dropped to his thighs, bending as he asked without a peep of protest.  On the contrary, she peered over her shoulder with such lust, that when the pink tip of her tongue licked over her top lip, his dick jerked with another surge of blood.

“Hold on.  Gonna be hard and rough.”

Her keening cry was as that of a cat in heat, and it magnified into a full-blown yowl when he slammed into her without further warning.  The delicate white globes of her bottom jiggled from the impact and he groaned at the visual, his palm itching.  Still buried deep inside her grasping channel, he landed a firm ‘smack’ on one cheek.  Sheridan’s squeak of surprise had her inner muscles clutching at him even as his handprint materialized in a rosy shade of pink.

“Jon!”

“I warned ya, Kitten.”

With that, play time was over.  One wide hand splayed over her hip and the other stretched forward to twine in the cascade of blonde waves as he pummeled her from behind.  The dainty grunts that rattled in his ears as she accepted his punishment only made him swell bigger and pound harder.  Jon curled both hands around her waist for support when the couch slid a bit from the impact. 

“Is that all you’ve got,” she panted, knuckles white against the cushions.  “I thought...  you were going to... make me scream.”

Another sound ‘pop’ gave her butt cheek a second handprint and she growled, grinding her hips into him.  Challenged and ready to blow, Jon bent low over her back, his punishing right hand now snaking around to find the hard little pearl straining to escape from her humid folds.  It stood stiff and proud, demanding attention that he was eager to give.  Flicking, rubbing, tugging and teasing….

“Oh Goddd….” It wasn’t a scream.  More of a quiet mantra that Sheridan repeated over and over, punctuated with short hisses of sucked air.

“You will scream… for me,”  he predicted ominously, harsh breath rattling in Sheridan’s ear.  He would make damn sure of that.   Her hair tickled as he nosed it out of the way. 

By God, he might not be able to dance, but he had unfailing rhythm.  Fingers skated in the pot of sex honey, while his hips fervently pounded a different, staccato beat.  Both were a sensual onslaught that had her hair damp from the exertion of holding back. 

“Don’t ever…  deny… what I can do to you.”  With that, Jon’s teeth greedily sank into the curve of her neck.

He may as well have been chewing through her restraint, because Sheridan let loose with a wail.  Her strangled shriek peaked and ebbed with the contractions of her inner walls, and the rippling of that sensitive tissue along his length had Jon singing along in perfect harmony. 

❧❧❧

“Hi.”  Sheridan looked up from her spot on the suite’s sofa and couldn’t stop the easy, contented grin from sweeping over her face.  She was completely and totally relaxed, thanks to the massage Jon had so thoughtfully scheduled for her this morning.  The massage therapist had been outstanding, and although Sheridan didn’t say anything, she had picked up a few pointers during the fifty minute session.

“Hi.” 

Jon swept off his hat and flicked it onto the coffee table before stooping to kiss her.

Wrinkling her nose, she shrunk back after only a quick peck.  Sweat may look sexy, but it didn’t feel, smell or taste all that sexy. 

“What?”  He put on a playful scowl, and chucked her under the chin with a wink.  “I run five miles on the beach to keep my ass in shape, and this is the thanks I get?”

Unfazed, she arched a haughty brow at him as he fished for a bottle of water in the mini-bar.  “Excuse me?  I believe you and your in-shape ass were paid sufficient homage last night.”

The unrestrained laughter that resonated throughout the suite delighted her.  Carefree Jon was a guy she really liked, and Sheridan was smart enough to know that he wasn’t always this way.  Even though he was ‘taking a break’, she’d spotted Workaholic Man in brief, intermittent spurts during their time together.  It wouldn’t take much for him to take the weight of the world on his shoulders, so she appreciated this for what it was worth.

“True enough,” he admitted dropping heavily onto the couch and slumping toward her.  “But that homage was a two-way street.”

Without a doubt.  After the first round of hedonism, they had gotten around to tequila shots, and Jon sipped from her as though she were fine crystal.  She could still feel the texture of his hair-covered stomach on her tongue, and taste the tang of his lime-drenched skin.  Tequila sex was off-the-charts good, ranking near the top of her ‘do-over’ list. 

“No argument,” she readily acquiesced, dropping her hand comfortably onto his thigh and fingering the hem of his long running shorts.

He returned the favor, wrapping his fingers around the knee that was exposed by the opening of the plush hotel robe.  She hadn’t felt like putting anything more on when the masseuse left a little while ago. 

“How was your morning?” he asked conversationally, picking up her hand and folding it in his.

“It was amazing.  Thank you for arranging the massage.”

“You’re welcome.”  He touched his lips to the back of her hand.  “I thought you should be on the receiving end once in a while.”

“Mm.”  This felt so normal.  So right.  He was so easy to be with.  Going home and back to their regular lives would be a bit of a letdown. 

But you’ll have the holidays to keep you busy, and your new project.   It wouldn’t hurt to mention that to Jon, so he doesn’t get blindsided by it.

She would, but not right now.  Right now she wanted to hide under a big umbrella on the beach with a matching miniature umbrella sticking out of her drink glass.

Sheridan shifted onto her left hip, cheek resting comfortably on the back of the brightly patterned floral sofa.  Jon followed her movement, pivoting his head so that their noses were only a short distance apart.  The need to touch that ruggedly handsome face became overwhelming, and she lifted her free hand to stroke lazily along the contour of his jaw.   The salt and pepper stubble tickled her palm.

Good looks, yes, but more importantly, he’s got a good heart.  Does it get any better than that?

“You’re a pretty likable guy, Bongiovi.”

He snorted softly.  “Don’t you mean fuckable?”

“That, too,” she teased with an affectionate smile, acknowledging that he was fuckable and then some.  “But I like you aside from that.  Enough that I’m not looking forward to the end of this little pit stop in paradise.  Are we still set to fly back tomorrow?”

“Funny you should mention that…  I was gonna ask if you’d like to stay an extra day.  I’m not quite ready to let go of the sunshine and seclusion.”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

“Good.”  He inched forward until their lips touched in a soft kiss.  “I’ll call Dot and then grab a shower.  Whatcha wanna do today?”

She grinned against his mouth.  “Besides you?”

“Besides me,” he chuckled, releasing her hand so that he could slide his under her robe.  Palming the smooth bare thigh he found, he reminded her, “I’m an old man.  We have some time in between rounds.”

“You’re not that old, but I’ll show you a little mercy,” she conceded, slipping from his grasp and standing to cinch the belt on her robe a bit tighter.  “Santa Monica Pier?”

“Sounds good.  I haven’t been there in years.”  He pushed against the couch cushion pushing himself more fully upright, leaning forward and propping his forearms on his knees.  Smiling at some unspoken memory, he looked up at her, saying, “Last time I stayed here, I don’t think I went more than ten feet outside my door.  Just far enough to hit the sand and sun.”

That was the second time he had mentioned a previous visit.  Sheridan couldn’t help but wonder who had accompanied him on that visit.  Was this a spot he frequented with his women?  It wasn’t really any of her business, but she was curious just the same.

“So you’ve been here often?  Or just the one other time?”  Yes, it was a stupid ploy to get information from him, she thought, freeing her hair from its ponytail, then re-tying it.  Amazing how a forthright woman was reduced to subtlety and roundabout coercion when the ghosts former girlfriends and wives nipped at the edges of Nirvana.  She should just ask if he brought all of his bed buddies here.

“A couple times.  Once by myself, and once with a friend.”

Friend was code for woman.  Right? 

“A friend like me?”

Oh for God’s sake, Sheridan!  Stop playing games already.  If you have a question, ask it in no uncertain terms.  If not, move on!

Jon pushed to his feet, meeting her eye-to-eye.  “You’re not my friend.  You’re not even my lover.  You’re my girlfriend, Sheridan.  The only one since the divorce.  Is that what you wanted to hear?”

She respected his forthrightness enough to offer him the same.  Never dropping the blue-green visual connection he’d made, she said plainly, “No.  I like hearing it, but I don’t need our relationship status repeated on a recurring basis.  You were clear about the role you wanted to play in my life, and I expect that you’ll tell me if that changes.  What I really wondered was whether you made a habit of bringing women here.”

Eyes wide, he cocked his head to the side.  “I’ve liked your honesty from the beginning, but are you always going to be so blunt?”

“I…”  She was a little bit embarrassed.  “Probably.”

He laughed and curled his fingers around the robe’s belt, pulling until she topped forward into his chest. “Good.  And what if I do make a habit of bringing women here…?”

She arched a snobby eyebrow at him.  “Then you’re a tacky creature of habit.”

“Tacky creature of habit?”  He shuddered melodramatically and rocked his head back and forth.  “Thank God I’m not one of those.”

“You’re not?”

“I’m not,” he confirmed, sweeping in for a quick kiss.  “Not this time, anyway.  John Shanks and I holed up here for a weekend during the Lost Highway era.  No women.  Ever.”

The fact that her heart sang at that tidbit of information made her something emotionally equivalent twelve-year-old girl.  Sheridan was certain of it, but she didn’t care.  Having a man’s respect was something to giggle about in her world.

“Have I mentioned that you’re a pretty likable guy, Bongiovi?”