75 - Amen

“Where are we going, baby?” she hummed up at him, all but clawing his flesh through the fine cotton of his dress shirt as they walked along the edge of the beach.  “Our hotel is the other way.”

Repeat after me.  “I will not throw her down and fuck her on the sand.  There might be paparazzi lurking somewhere.”

Damn how he wanted to, though.  When she’d stolen his phone away, calling it an “unwelcome nuisance” and stuffing it down the tight bodice of her dress, Jon’s fly had tented higher than the friggin’ gazebo.  His palm tenderly rode the slope of her neck down the tempting, tempting bare flesh of her shoulder. 

He didn’t know his teeth were capable of itching, but itch they did,  to bite that beautiful golden flesh and suck until a strawberry love-bite formed on the ball of that succulent shoulder.  All he could say was that his tasty beauty of a wife was screwed when summertime rolled around.

She better start looking for some kinda coverup makeup now.

“We’re not staying there tonight.” 

That drew her up short in her tracks, and the lust fogging her eyes parted with a bit of concern.  “We’re not?  I wish you’d told me I needed to pack a bag.  I can’t live without a toothbrush and clean panties.”

“Keep moving,” he ordered quietly, shepherding her along with a domineering arm at her waist.  “Not that you’re going to be wearing panties, but I had everything packed and moved.”

“Moved to where? “ Her elegantly groomed brows puckered with displeasure.  “Do you know how dry my current panties are getting with this practical conversation?  I’m not happy about that.”

Growling, he dropped a hand to pinch her right butt cheek.  “Christ, woman...  I chartered a yacht so the other hotel guests couldn’t hear you screaming your wedding night vows.”

“Mmm.” The lust fog rolled back into her eyes, thicker than before.  “I think that fixed the problem.  Where’s the boat?”

He dipped his head toward the village of lights just down the beach.  “Marina’s right there and it’s not a boat, it’s a luxury yacht.  This is not some Gilligan’s Island kind of operation you’ve hooked up with.”

“Gilligan’s Island.  Yeah.  They’re dry again.”

That earned her another sharp pinch to the ass.  “You won’t be dry once we get there.  Guarantee it.  When I wrap my lips around that sweet little clit and suck on it like a straw…  Baby, you’ll give me enough to fill a Big Gulp cup.”

A long, decidedly unfeminine snort filled his ears and she threw her left hip into him as she giggled.  “You’re such a guy.”

“Hey.  I ain’t bashful about the truth and you’re not a reporter, you’re my wife.  I see no reason to censor myself.”

“I suppose that gives me permission to do the same.”

She was going to talk crude and dirty?  Hell, yeah! The mere thought of it had his tent pole stirring again.  Thank God they were within feet of the boat dock.

“You have more than permission.  I’m afraid I’m gonna have to demand no censorship, especially when it comes to sex talk.  I’ve seen the fancy and erotic words in your writing, but I wanna hear the raunchy stuff dripping from those sweet, sophisticated lips.”

“But I’m a lady.”

He treated her to his best wolfish grin.  “Not in bed, you aren’t.”

Sheridan blushed under the fluorescent lights of the marina, and he thought her even more beautiful.  “We’re in the proverbial living room, Jon.  You have to allow me my pedigreed illusions.”

“Yes, dear,” he recited obediently as they glided to a stop beside the Lady Lola and then dipped his head to rumble in her ear, “You can hang onto that illusion for about three more minutes.  After that, I’m going to throw it against the bedroom wall and shatter it to hell.”

“Yes, dear,” she murmured just as obediently before the captain stepped out to welcome them aboard.

Sheridan couldn’t say that she paid a bit of attention to the man who highlighted all of the yacht’s extravagant features.  Frankly, as long as there was a bedroom, she didn’t much care about anything else.  It didn’t even have to be a bedroom.  Some kind of flat surface would do fine.  They just needed enough space and privacy for him to be on, over and in her as much as the laws of physics and biology would permit.

She stood in the master stateroom, spinning in a slow, one-hundred and eighty degree turn to fully appreciate the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that provided a panoramic view of everything that lay in front of the yacht.  The marina was twinkling in the dusk at her periphery, but the water ahead was dark.  It beckoned to share its intimate isolation as their place in the world tonight – rudely excluding humanity as a whole, just the way a honeymoon should be.  Nothing and no one existed outside this boat.

Luxury yacht, she mentally corrected herself with a smile. 

“Hey,” her new husband greeted quietly, slipping his arms around her waist and drawing her back against his frame.  “We should be underway in a couple minutes.”

“Mm.  Pretty view.”  She nodded toward the windows.

“There’s only one view I give a fuck about.” 

His hot breath found her neck and his teeth found the meaty section between her neck and shoulder.  Sheridan hissed as his bite registered, then moaned when her flesh was sucked sharply into his mouth. 

“Mine,” he murmured against the throbbing skin after a healing swab of his tongue.  “So fucking beautiful and all mine.”

Her head lolled to the side, giving him unfettered access in a silent request for more.  “You make me crazy doing that.”

The zipper rasped against her spine when he inched it down and his phone tumbled from the now-loose bodice of her dress at the same time ivory chiffon formed a billowy pool at her ankles.  She was left with nothing but an ivory g-string and desire-laden breasts as, with a helping hand, she stepped out of the circle of the dress.

“You make me crazy looking like that,” he countered when she spun to push his suit coat away, so that it hit the floor right beside her dress. 

Then she was tugging at the knot of his tie, and his belt, and his zipper, and his buttons.  He couldn’t get naked fast enough to suit her.   She wanted him.  This gorgeous, crude, thoughtful, sex-crazed, possessive, loving man did things to her.  She craved that he do things to her.

“In a hurry, Kitten?” he asked with a heavy-lidded smirk when she grunted with frustration at his cufflinks.

“Yes, damn you!”

She’d no more growled the words when she found her bottom bouncing on the huge mattress.  He ripped impatiently at the cufflinks as he ordered her to lose her panties, which she was quick to do. 

Not as quick as he was, though, because she wasn’t even sure they had fluttered all the way to the floor before he was covering her, his lips hungrily devouring hers.  His tongue was insistent, demanding admittance to her mouth and Sheridan gladly gave it, fingernails scraping over his shoulder blades with pent-up anticipation and desire.

Greedily gobbling the flavor of sparkling grape juice that was dwelling in the recesses of his mouth, she whimpered with need.

“What?” His lips glistened wet in the moonlight as he loomed above her, a masculine force like no other.  “That not what you want?  Huh?”  Pearly white teeth nipped at her collarbone.  “Too rough for ya?”

“No…  God, no!”   She squirmed her hips under his.  “Rough, soft, anyway you want as long as you fuck me.  God, Jon…  Please!”

She cried out as he caught the soft flesh of her breast in his vampire bite.  “You know how fucking sexy that is?  You know how sexy you are?  Huh?”

“Then SEX me already!”

The weight that he threw forward with a hearty grunt forced a wispier version from her lungs.  His weight on her felt so good.  It was such a turn-on to feel his hairy stomach scratching against her as he stretched her wide.  So much sensation, so much…

Her head fell back with a scream when his thumb found the magic switch that took her from climbing to falling.  Sheridan dug her heels into the muscles of his backside and her fingernails into his back.  Her pelvis slammed into his and she ground against him, savoring each individual drop of the release as he gave it to her. 

Clenching her inner muscles, she created that little bit of additional resistance and effectively set the fuse to his detonation.  It was only a matter of strokes before he, too, was…

“Nnnggggggg!  Fuckkkk!”

… rocking the boat.

❧❧❧

Sheridan was conked out, her body looking as limp as a well-loved rag doll, but Jon couldn’t get his mind to slow down enough to sleep.  He smiled when she emitted a decidedly inelegant snore, startling herself into a semi-conscious state.  She was awake just long enough to flip away from him, mumble incoherently and tuck her hands under her cheek.

It wasn’t unusual for his thoughts to keep him awake, but these thoughts weren’t what he would have expected to have him staring at the cabin ceiling – particularly considering that they would be dunked back into reality tomorrow.  These thoughts were pleasantly free of any annoyances or stressors, filled instead with Sheridan.

His wife.

Tonight, she had unashamedly flaunted  what he would have previously called her “sex kitten-ness”.  Now he thought of it as her “Jamaica-ness”.   On that fateful – Karma-ful – night , the rumpled woman currently wiping drool from the corner of her mouth had found a spot in his forever memories.   The minute she’d declared a need to empty her honor bar before she could go any further… that was when he knew he’d never forget her or that candle-filled night.

How could he?  She was bold and beautiful, yet gracefully reserved.  She had morals that she was willing to shed for the right man.  She knew what she wanted and asked for it, even if it scared the hell out of her.

There was no one else quite like her.

Amen.

A buzz of excitement started at the base of his neck.  That’s where the fine hairs stood on end before a tingling vibration ran down his spine and to the center of his chest.  The hairs on his arms and legs followed  the lead of his neck and stood at perfect attention.

It had been a very long time since this feeling had swept over him with such a vengeance, and there was no way he was going to ignore it.

Folding the covers back carefully, so as not to wake her, he slid from the bed and dipped into his bag for a pair of shorts.  The elastic band settled quietly around his waist as he headed down to stairway to the main deck.  Jon was pretty sure he’d spotted a Steinway there as he breezed through earlier.

Not only did she have all of those sterling qualities that he’d mentally recited a moment ago, but…

Damned if she’s not a muse, too.

He really was the luckiest bastard alive.

❧❧❧

What’s that noise?

Sheridan levered up onto her elbow, and pushed the hair from her face.   Peering over her shoulder, she found the other side of the bed rumpled, but empty.

Above the low purr of the yacht’s motor, she could make out another sound – a much more pleasant sound.  It was almost... melodic?

Rubbing heavy sleep from her eyes, she threw back the sheet and blanket and snatched his discarded dress shirt from the floor.  Shrugging into and buttoning two of the middle buttons, she found the stairway that led down to the main deck.  Every step that she took brought the sound closer until she was able to clearly identify it as a piano.

She silently crept into the main salon, which was lit only by a small lamp atop the piano.  It was just enough light to see by, and her husband lifted his hands from the keyboard to scribble something onto a torn sheet of paper. 

His handsome face was riddled with lines of concentration as he spread his fingers to execute another chord.   Softly humming under his breath, Sheridan saw Jon’s lips move as he formed a few quiet words, his forehead crinkling with determination to find just the right pitch. 

This is what he does.  This is the musician in the midst of his creative process.

Completely uneducated in the field of music, Sheridan felt as if she was intruding on a secret ritual – or a religious experience of some sort.  The man seated at the glossy black piano, his hair sticking up every which way, wasn’t someone she readily recognized or felt at ease to interrupt.

She mutely turned to go back the way she came, but misjudged how far she’d come past the sofa.  After rotating only about halfway around, her big toe rammed into the hardwood sofa leg and elicited a muffled swear from her mouth.

“You okay?”

Wrinkling her nose in a display of disgust, Sheridan gradually spun back around with a ready apology on her lips.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to disturb you.  Once I realized you were working I was just going to go back to bed.”

“Nah, you’re fine.  Sometimes it’s not work.  Ya know?”  He scooted to one end of the leather bench and patted the space next to him.  “C’mere.”

Taking the seat he offered, she asked curiously, “What do you mean that it’s not work?  Doesn’t feel like work or you aren’t going to use it for an album?”

“In this case, it might be both.”  The keys tinkled under his suddenly restless fingers.  “You wanna hear?”

“Really?”  It was one of those surrealism meets realism moments for Sheridan.  Here he was, a member of the Songrwriters’ Hall of Fame – a bona fide composer – offering to share his latest creation.  Yet, at the same time, he was just Jon. 

Oh my word... I think I’m just now starting to truly understand who I’ve married. 

He palmed her bare thigh with a playful squeeze.  “Yeah, really.  It’s not done yet, but I’ve got the general gist of it.”

“Well, then... yeah!  I’d love to hear it.”

Jon’s chin dipped with a silent nod as his fingers found their position on the keyboard.  “I’m not a piano player, so don’t go expecting Beethoven.   Focus on the lyrics – which aren’t really done yet either.”  He laughed softly, hands falling to his lap.  “I’m a putz.  I should wait until it’s finished.”

“No!” she protested a little too quickly.   “You can’t tease me that way.  Can’t I at least hear what you’ve got?”

“You don’t mind a hack job?”

“Not a bit.”

“Alright then...” His fingers resumed their position on the piano and he ran them over a selection of notes before inhaling deeply.

“Last night I had a dreeam....

The dream I haad was true.

I fell through the staaars

Went walk-ing on the mooon

Burned liike a thou-sand can-dles in herrr aaarms

“The skin unn-der my finger tipss....

The honey suck-le on your lips

Sweeter than a maan de-serr-ves to taaaaste

Mercy, mercy, what else can I say?

“But Aaay-men....  Aa-aay-mennn... Aaay-men.

“Last night we were borrn to-ge-ther...

It was like we'd always beeen

She'll be with mee for-ev-er

If I don't seee her again

We pourrred the wiiine until our cup ran o-oover

“Aaay-men....  Aa-aay-mennn... Aaay-men.

“At the ban-quet ta-ble

A beg-gar at a feasst

I felt her tongue between my lipss

And I forgot to breeeathe

We stayed there 'til the can-dles burr-ned the carpet

“Last night I had a dreeam...

The dream I haad was true

Mercy, mercy, what else caan I sayy

Mercy, mercy, I laid dowwwn and praaayed... aaay-men.”

His hands came back to his lap and he turned to her.  “There probably needs to be a bridge in there and a bigger ending, but that’s the general idea.  What do you think?”

There weren’t any frills.  There weren’t any fancy pianist moves.  It was just a straightforward chord progression and hauntingly sweet melody that seamlessly intertwined.  The song was beautiful in its simplicity and, if she wasn’t mistaken...

“Can I be vain enough to ask if that’s about me?”

He angled on the piano bench to face her, leaning one forearm on the top of the piano.  “I don’t write songs for women.  That’s Richie’s job.”

“But... you wrote this one.”

“Yeah...  I guess I did.”  Jon nodded slowly.  “Look, I don’t have fancy vows Sheridan, but our first night always stayed with me.  Even if I’d never found you again, you’d still be with me forever.  I want you to know that.”

Sheridan didn’t care who you were, there was no denying that those plain-spoken words were heartwarmingly sweet.  She loved the realization that a poet’s soul lurked behind the CEO and businessman persona that he wore so well.  That poet might not make regular public appearances, but tonight he was sitting next to her, searching her damp eyes for a clue as to what she was thinking.   

The faint growth of whiskers scraped her palm when she cradled his jaw and whispered, “You’re a liar.”

“What?”  He jerked away from her touch, anger flaring in his eyes.  “That’s bullshit.”

A tender smile angled her mouth up on one end and she pressed a quieting finger to his lips.  “You didn’t let me finish.”

Mouth puckering with annoyance behind the finger that demanded his silence, he nodded once, prompting her to continue.

“Every time you call yourself unromantic, you are lying out your very fine ass.  But I don’t want you to worry.”  She leaned close, her soft kiss finding its way onto his pouting bottom lip.  “Your secret is safe with me.”