Ch 82 ~ A Bongiovi Christmas

“Jesus Christ I need a drink.”

Rachel looked up to find Santa Claus – aka Jon’s brother Tony – as the person in need of alcohol-infused reinforcements, and she laughed.  Pointing toward the counter, she revealed in a low voice. “There’s the grownup egg nog.  I think both of your brothers have spiked it at different times.”

He pulled down the white curly beard and wrinkled his nose distastefully.  “Santa don’t like nothin’ in his Jack but Jack.  Where’s the real booze?”

Despite his obvious state of distress, Rachel couldn’t be any happier as she closed the door on her nearly-cooked prime rib.  Christmas was her favorite holiday, by far, and there was nothing quite like having a house full of family on Christmas day while she busied herself in the kitchen preparing a feast. 

Especially the Bongiovi family.

She’d never had the experience of a big Italian family, and it was…. Interesting to say the least.  Jon’s children, brothers, sister-in-law, niece, nephew and parents were in various nooks and corners of the New Jersey house, filling it with the warmth and love that should accompany the Christmas holiday.  Along with a little loud “discussion” now and then.

Which brought her back to one cranky Santa, currently foraging through her cabinets in search of something with the word “proof” on the label.

She turned to him, smirking, one hand propped on a hip.  “Surely it isn’t that bad?  Jon said you do this every year for the kids.”

He snorted rudely.  “Yeah, well I’m thinkin’ this may be the last one.  Matty’s kids and Romeo are still little enough to appreciate it, but the others… not so much.”

“Oh?”

He kicked up a sardonic eyebrow at her.  “Jake is at the age where he’s now suspicious of Santa, so he’s givin’ me the hairy eye trying to determine if I was the real deal or not, and Jesse decides to help him out by being a little shit and saying Santa was going to go back up the chimney when he left.  That it didn’t matter there was a fire going, because Santa was fireproof.”

Covering her mouth with one hand, Rachel barely stifled the giggle that wanted to escape.  “Oh my word.  What did you say?”

“What the fuck am I gonna say?” he grumbled, finally resorting to the eggnog when a quick search of the cabinets didn’t produce a bottle of undiluted whiskey.  “That Jon has the house under a no-fly zone so I had to park the reindeer out back and leave through the garage.”

“Ha!  I bet Jon loved that.” 

“Hey.  Better he ruin Christmas for his kids than me.”  His face distorted in displeasure at the first sip of eggnog, but the aftertaste must have been okay because he crooked his head to the side and shrugged.  “Not bad.  More booze than nog.”

“I told you both of them spiked it,” Rachel reminded him amusedly at the same time Jon came through the kitchen door. 

“You better get outta that suit,” he warned Tony.  “Kids are headed this way.”

“Ehhh, fuck.”  Tony dropped the glass eggnog mug and beat feet for the garage, with a hearty “Ho, ho, ho!” over his shoulder – along with a Jersey salute for his naughty brother.

Jon barked out a laugh before dropping a kiss on Rachel’s expectantly upturned face.  “When’s dinner?  I’m hungry.”

“Mm.  The meat comes in in ten minutes, then it needs to rest for a bit.  Half an hour?”

“Christ, woman,” he whined.  “You’re starvin’ me.”

She shook her head and offered a condescending pat to his cheek.  “You’ll live for another half hour.”

“I don’t see why we can’t have some kinda appetizers or somethin’ around here,” was his grumpy reply.  Clearly Tony wasn’t the only one who was cranky. 

“I’m hunnnngry!” Jacob declared dramatically on the heels of his father’s complaint, entering the kitchen with a doleful face.  “What happened to the cookies?”

“Yeah!  Where are the cookies?” Romeo echoed from right behind him.  “I’m dyin’ here!”

It took everything Rachel had not to laugh at the three pitiful Bongiovis who were clearly about to waste away to nothingness in the next thirty minutes.

To the boys and their cousins who had just trailed in, she said, “I hid the cookies because they’ll ruin your dinner.”  She pinned Jon with a look.  “Just like appetizers would.”

“Well, then you’re gonna have to make dinner earlier next year,” Jon declared, arms folded across his chest. 

Next year.  It was nice to have the comfort of expectations for next year – and beyond. 

Rachel smiled.

“What?  My imminent starvation is humorous?”

“Actually, yes, it is.”  She made a motion that gathered up all the famine-struck orphans and shooed them back through the kitchen door.  “Take the kids and entertain them while I make sure the rolls have risen enough.  And if your mother or Desiree happen to ask if they can help, send them this direction, would you?  Don’t ask.  Just if they offer.”

His face wrinkled with annoyance.  “You’re bossy.”

“No shit.  I’m trying to get Christmas dinner on the table for a dozen people, and you’re trying to ruin everyone’s appetite.  Stop screwing with my plans and I won’t have to be bossy.” 

Wrinkles smoothed out and the handsome man she loved kicked up the corner of his mouth in a half smile.  “We seriously could’ve catered, yanno.”

“Are you crazy?”  Lifting back the plastic wrap on the rolls, she pinned him with a look that she only hoped could convey how stupid she thought he was.  “There’s nothing in this world that I’d rather do than cook Christmas dinner.  Family and food is really what Christmas is all about.  Gifts are…”  She waved a careless hand in the air.  “Just a pain.”

He propped his hip against the counter, and grinned.  “Does that mean I can take yours back?”

She pitched the cellophane in the trash and wiped her hands on her apron as she snickered.  “You hate the effort of going out to shop in the first place.  You expect me to believe you’re going to take the time to return it?  Yeah, right.”

When he didn’t pop off with some wise crack, Rachel glanced over her shoulder while opening the oven door.  “What?”

The prime rib was perfect.  Perfectly seasoned, perfectly cooked…  It could’ve been the centerfold in a holiday cooking magazine, she thought proudly.  Now it only had to rest for a few minutes to let the juices seal.  She parked the main dish on the potholders she’d placed on the center island for just this purpose and picked up the pan of rolls, which she promptly popped in the oven and dialed up the thermostat.

He still hadn’t said anything and she turned to fully face him.  “Jon.  What?”

One lazy shoulder lifted in a shrug.  “I dunno.  I guess it fascinates me to see you doing the Suzy homemaker thing.  You’re such a capable businesswoman, that I find it hard to believe you’re so good at this, too.”  He stepped forward to loop his arms around her in a loose hug, careful in not allowing her apron to transfer anything to his black sweater.  “You’re pretty damned impressive.”

Rachel would be lying if she said the words didn’t warm a spot inside her that she didn’t know could use a little warming.  Yes, she loved all things Christmas and delighted in making a nice holiday meal for everyone and would do it without a word of gratitude, but to have her efforts appreciated was… nice.

“Well, thank you,” she told him before leaning in for a kiss.  “I think you’re pretty impressive yourself.  And I intend to show you just how much after everyone goes home.  Now…”  She took a backward step and reached around to pat him on the backside.  “Go entertain the kids and ask Stephanie if she’ll come help me for a minute.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he groused good-naturedly.  “But I thought you wanted Mom or Des?”

“Changed my mind.  It’ll be easier for me to order her around than your mother,” she admitted. 

His laugh warmed her insides even further.  “I love you, yanno.”

With that and a kiss on her nose, he set off to do her bidding. 

Precisely twenty minutes later, the family was seated around the table oohing and aaahing appreciatively over the display of food before them. 

Prime rib, mashed potatoes, homemade yeast rolls, Brussels sprouts, broccoli salad and – in deference to the children – macaroni and cheese.  The burgundy tablecloth was the perfect background for the gold-edged chargers that sat beneath the simple white china and the stemware sparkled beneath the light of the chandelier as wine, lemonade and tea were poured.  The centerpiece blended everything together with its sleigh full of burgundy poinsettias and artificially frost-tipped branches.

Rachel couldn’t possibly be any more pleased with what she considered the perfect holiday scene.  Norman Rockwell had nothing on the Bongiovis this Christmas. 

She had just settled into her seat when a gentle, repetitive striking of silver against crystal brought everyone’s attention to the end of the table where Jon’s father stood. 

“Before we dig into this fabulous looking meal,” he declared in the quietly authoritative way that he had.  “I’d like to take a moment to express my gratitude for being here today.  Rachel has gone out of her way to not only open this home to us, but prepare a feast on top of it.  For that, we thank you from the very bottoms of our hearts.”  He dipped his chin to Rachel.

“Hear, hear!” Matt echoed along with his mother and wife, his glass raised in the air as Jon winked at her.  

“I’d also like to tell everyone how very proud I am to be the patriarch of this family,” the elder Bongiovi continued.  “Each and every one of you – that means you, too, Rachel – are good, decent human beings that do their best to make this world a better place while looking out for one another.  You are the best family that a man could hope to have, and I’m blessed this holiday season to call you mine.  God bless us all.” 

There was clinking of glasses, murmurs of appreciation and squeezing of hands and shoulders among the tight-knit clan.

“That was so sweet of you, John,” Rachel spoke over the rumblings. 

“You may as well call me Dad,” he instructed, taking his seat.  “You’re as good as my daughter-in-law.”

She dipped her chin with obedience and dutifully repeated, “Dad.  Jon and I are beyond ecstatic that you all agreed to spend the day with us here and I would love to do nothing more than tell you individually how much you’ve all come to mean to me, but…”  She pointed to the prime rib with a smile.  “If we don’t eat that before it gets cold, I’m going to feel like my entire day was a bust.”

Laughter erupted around the table and serving dishes were passed as plates were filled and wine flowed. 

It was her first real Bongiovi family Christmas, but Rachel knew it wouldn’t be her last.  This was merely the first stepping stone in a long future of family traditions with the people seated around this table.  People who had accepted her as whole-heartedly as anyone could dream of being absorbed into a family unit.  They made her belong and she hoped that they felt as though they belonged here – in her and Jon’s home.  Not just today, but any day. 

Because that’s what family was.

Rachel would always love Christmas...especially a Bongiovi Christmas.

Merry Christmas to you all!

Love,

Blush & Audra

Ch 81 ~ Home For Christmas

It really is the most wonderful time of the year, Rachel marveled as the crisp December air chilled her nose.  Having Jon’s hand wrapped snugly around hers as they strolled Main Street in Red Bank felt better than anything had in the weeks they’d been apart.  Call her crazy – or stupid – but ever since the reporter incident, she actually felt closer to him.  Odd to think that a near-indiscretion could do that for a relationship, but the way she chose to look at it, a man who would come to you admitting that he desired another woman could – and would – come to you with anything.

There was something undeniably appealing to her about that.

That’s why, from the moment they’d reunited in New Jersey three days ago, everything just… clicked.  Possibly tighter than it ever had before.  There was no awkwardness or adjustment period before they got comfortable again, and being together was more natural than breathing for both of them.  Jon had even remarked about how good it felt not to have to think or try to be on when they were together, but to have the comfort just to “be”. 

She loved that, and she was going to revel in the “being” for the few short weeks they had before life once again forced another challenging separation upon them. 

And “being”, in this moment, involved blithely pretending that she was in one of those Hallmark Channel Christmas specials as she strolled down the picturesque street with her lover after a quiet Christmas Eve dinner.  Downtown Red Bank was packed with last minute shoppers, and they’d had to park further away than expected, but she didn’t mind the walk in the least. The scene was beyond charming as the twinkling holiday lights danced along the old-fashioned streets, seeming as excited as she was to usher in her very favorite holiday. 

She didn’t know if the lights were particularly bright here in Jon’s part of the world, or if the world just seemed brighter in general this year.  It was the first Christmas in recent memory that hadn’t had a dark cloud of sadness hanging over it, and she was easily happier than she’d been on this holiday since Nick and the children had died.

The only thing that could make her Christmas better would be snow.  The weather here was cold and crisp, a sharp contrast to Christmas in California where temperatures in the 60’s or even 70’s were common during December, but the skies so far had been clear and cloudless with no sign of snow in sight.  As a California girl who had been hoping for a white Christmas, Rachel was disappointed beyond words.

“Earth to Rachel,” Jon’s voice came like a fabric softener commercial, interrupting her Hallmark Channel special.

“What, baby?” she answered, smiling up into his face.  It didn’t matter.  He was the hotter than any of those Christmas movie actors, anyway.  That’s probably why there wasn’t any snow – he radiated too much heat. 

“I was asking if you wanted to stop in a get a cupcake at that shop you like so well?  It’s just a block up.”

“Oh,” she murmured, twisting her eyebrows thoughtfully.  She was still awfully full from dinner, but those cupcakes were to die for.  Should she….?  “No.  Unless you want to.”

“We have cookies at home.  I got no interest in cupcakes.” 

The man loved his cookies, and this was one of the very few times of the year that he cut loose enough to enjoy them.  The day after Christmas, he would be back on the treadmill banishing the extra calories away until next year. 

“Rachel…?  Where’d you go?  I feel like I’ve been talkin’ to myself since we left the restaurant.”

Jon’s nose was red from the cold and as Rachel tucked her hand into the crook of his arm she thought he was the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on.  The pressure of touring was temporarily at bay and he was relaxed, thrilled to be home for the holidays.  It was rare that he didn’t have his mind on something, and when he was completely unwound, Jon was a different man.

The guy whose arm she clutched tighter was more playful, more sexy, more….Jon.

“Christmas Past,” she finally answered.  “I went to Christmas past for just a minute.  Sorry about that.”

“You thinkin’ about Lauren and Tyler?  And Nick, of course?”

“They’re a little more on my mind than they might normally be, but that’s not what I meant.  Just now I was thinking about last Christmas, and how miserable it was without you.  Or, more accurately, how miserable I was without you.  That emptiness was almost unbearable,” she confessed.  “I met you and you swept me off my feet, making me feel alive again, only to find myself back down that rabbit hole of despair when we went our separate ways.  It seemed unspeakably cruel to find happiness again and have it snuffed out again so quickly.”

Jon nodded and blew out a breath, “Yeah, it wasn’t a banner year back here, either.  I had dinner with the kids and then came back to your house, where I drank myself to sleep on your couch.”

No matter how miserable she had been, the visual he’d just painted was enough to make her feel sorrier for him than she had for herself.  It was heartbreaking, really.

“Oh, my poor baby,” Rachel stopped on the sidewalk and twined her arms around his scarf-wrapped neck, looking up into his eyes at just the same instant that a single snowflake appeared from nowhere and landed on his eyelash.  “But because of your unwavering belief in us, look where we are now, Jonny.  Last year at this time, I couldn’t have even dreamed that I was only weeks away from you walking back into my life and kicking down my door.”

“Literally,” he laughed, clasping his hands together at the small of her back.  “Well, actually, I did have a key.  I think your subconscious knew I’d be back and you better not have changed those locks.”

Whatever her subconscious thought then, right now it commanded Rachel to lever up on tip-toe just far enough to capture his lips, the warmth from her heart spilling into the kiss that couldn’t possibly get her close enough to him, even as her bare fingers stroked the hair over his ears and his tongue slipped into her mouth.  Time stood still even as the world shook just a little bit on its axis, as it did every time he kissed her.  If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was back in California and this was a 2.3 shimmy on the Richter scale. 

When the Richter settled back down to zero, and their lips gradually drifted apart, Rachel sought the depth of his eyes and spoke as earnestly from the heart as she ever had.  “My beautiful, stubborn man….  I am grateful every single day that you wouldn’t take no for an answer.  You’ve made me happier than I could ever have dared dream, and I’m so proud to be yours.”

Jon tenderly swept a new snowflake off of her cheek and dusted her lips with a kiss that was lighter than his whisper.  “You sound like you might really love me, huh, Rach?”

He didn’t do romantic.  They didn’t constantly do ‘I love you’ until it had no more meaning than a fortune cookie.  When they said the words, they counted and he was telling her now that this counted.  Big time. 

Her eyes filled almost to the point of overflowing before she reminded herself to breathe. 

“I do.”

And in the millisecond it took him to snort like a hyena, the romance bubble popped audibly and was followed by Jon’s eyes lifting to the now snow-littered sky.  The intensity was broken when Jon pulled back with eyes raised to the sky.  “Lord, God, Jesus!  Am I dreamin’??  Because I sure as hell thought I’d never hear you say those two little words to me.  Now that I know you can do it, whaddaya say we go and say ‘em in front of somebody official?  A Christmas Eve wedding would guarantee I’d never forget our anniversary – or New Year’s Eve.  That’d be a fun way to wrap up the year.”

Rachel laughed when his man-ness would’ve hurt most women’s feelings, and that was part of the reason they worked so well together.   She may not exactly speak his language, but she could read his mind well enough to compensate.  For him – and her – love wasn’t about hearts, roses and diamonds.  Okay, maybe it was a little bit about diamonds, but still…  It was more about who was still standing after hearts had been broken and roses had pierced you with their thorns.  That’s who they were.  They were the ones still standing, side by side.

“You’re not fooling me, Mr. Businessman,” she informed him with a twinkle in her eye that easily matched his.  You don’t want a wife, you want to rack up another write-off for your taxes.  You’re looking for a tax write off, aren’t you, lover.”

“I can honestly say that never crossed my mind,” he chuckled, tucking her in close to his side and moving once again toward the car.  “But now that you mention it, a guy can never have too many write-offs.”

“Asshole,” Rachel scolded him affectionately, smiling as the snow began to fall in earnest.  “You’re only after me for my brain and the deduction I bring to the party.”

As they approached the SUV, Jon unlocked the doors and boldly cupped her denim clad backside as she stepped up and into the vehicle.  “I won’t deny your brain is one of the things I love about you, Rach, but if I had to pick one part to ‘only’ be after…  Well, it’s really your boobs.  Have I ever mentioned –“

“Yeah, yeah.  I know.  You love my boobs.  Same song, different key.  Close the door and get the car started so we can have a little heat, will ya?”

As Jon made his way around the back of the SUV and climbed in the driver’s side, he wore a contented smile and a liberal dusting of snow on his hair and shoulders. 

I guess that wasn’t an earthquake I felt earlier.  It must’ve been somebody shaking the snowglobe.

The realization was enough to place a smile on Rachel’s face that matched the contentment in Jon’s.  She snuggled back into the seat as he revved the engine and flipped the switch for the seat warmers. 

“Rach?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I’m a happy guy.”  A flick of his wrist had the wiper blades swishing away the layer of moisture on the windshield.  “Home for the holidays with the people I cherish most.  Lucky enough to find true love for a second time in my life.  Lotsa guys don’t have it this good.”

“Good to know you appreciate what you have.”

“I do.”  He nodded, then slanted his eyes in her direction with that one eyebrow kicking up knowingly.  “And knowing that I have so much when other guys aren’t so fortunate…  Well, that’s the only reason I’m lettin’ your ass slide on this marriage thing.  Again.  But don’t think I’m gonna do it forever, ‘cause that ain’t happenin’.  Capisce?”

Okay, so there may be a little – big – part of Rachel that found his persistence and determination a huge turn on.  On an idyllically shared evening that fell on what was arguably one of the most magical nights of the year, she even briefly entertained the notion of becoming Mrs. Bongiovi by imagining a diamond band snugged up next to her obscene ‘commitment’ ring. 

She may have changed the subject when he brought up marriage again, but she simply didn’t have it in her to tell him he was wasting his time by continuing to do so.  After all, hadn’t she just told him how his stubborn persistence was responsible for her happiness today?  Maybe the man knew what he was doing.

She had to at least entertain the notion.  Right?

“Capisce.”

Moral of the Story

When her phone pealed out a familiar tune, Rachel looked up from the listing she was putting together with a smile.  She couldn’t keep track of the time difference between California and Australia, but she knew that – up until today – Jon had been calling well before her clock read its current eleven in the morning.

They must have had a label party or something that ran late.

“Hey you,” she answered lightly.  “I was starting to wonder if you’d gotten drunk and passed-“

“I have a plane waiting for you to bring you to Australia.  I don’t want a big discussion – I just want you on it.”

Her eyebrows immediately knit together, but not as tightly as her stomach knotted.  Even if his snapped orders hadn’t grabbed her attention, the underlying tension in his voice had set off all kind of alarm bells inside of her.

“Wait, what?  Why?  What’s wrong?”

“I want you here.”

Sitting on the edge of her seat, she waited for something more.  Something that would clarify the emergency so dire that she had to drop her entire life and come running to Australia during the busiest weeks of the year in the real estate world.

All she got was, “Are you on your way?”

She cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes in concentration, as though that would help her more quickly puzzle out what was going on here.

“Nooo…  I’m waiting for you tell me what’s happened.”

And if she thought he’d snapped at her before, it was nothing compared to his barked, “I’m sick of you being on one continent and me on another.  And beyond that – I’m sick of pretending I’m not fucking sick of it.  I want you where I can get to you, not all the way on the other side of the fucking globe playing Monopoly with other people’s money!”

It took every iota of self-restraint she possessed for Rachel not to hang up on him – after telling him to go fuck his pompous, arrogant self – but she managed.  Barely.  However, her molars were now missing a layer of enamel thanks to the grinding that they were currently being subjected to.

You know how he is when he’s upset.  He becomes irrational and pious.  Ignore the insults and stay calm.

“I’m going to ignore that, since you’re obviously really upset about something that has nothing to do with my career choice.  Talk to me, Jon.  Use your words, not your attitude.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a goddamn toddler throwing a temper tantrum!”

She inhaled through her nose, pushing back the growing annoyance with behavior that pretty well mirrored a toddler temper tantrum.  “Then stop acting like one,” she suggested reasonably.  “And tell me what has your non-existent panties in a twist.”

There was a harsh exhalation on the other end of the line, and she would almost bet there was a cloud of smoke around his head as a result.  Since she’d known him, Jon had been very conscientious about not smoking, but there were times when he remarked that he was hovering between smoking a cigarette or killing somebody.  This morning – tonight, whatever – it sounded like maybe the cigarette had won.

“Jon…” she prompted.  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or should I roll my dice and collect two hundred dollars for passing Go?”

His snort was probably an indication that he found her Monopoly reference amusing, but he didn’t want to.

“I’m going to fuck this up if you don’t get over here.”

“Excuse me?”  His words had been so quiet that she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly.  “What exactly is it that you’re going to fuck up?”

The pent up breath he released this time wasn’t so much harsh as it was… weary?

“Us.  I’m going to fuck us up.”

And they say women are confusing...

“You’re gonna have to be more specific, baby.  I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There was a prolonged pause before he said, “I love you, Rachel.  I know I don’t say it very much, but I do.  As much or more than I’ve ever loved anybody.  I need you to know that.”

The knots in her stomach grew thorns.  If he had to preface this with a declaration of love, then whatever he had to say wasn't good.  And if it wasn't good, she wasn’t sure was ready to hear it even though she'd die if he didn't say something and put her out of her misery already.

“I do know,” she responded evenly, with no outward evidence of her inner turmoil seeping through.  This should be the point where she reiterated that she loved him, too, or assured  him that whatever it was would be just fine.

But she couldn’t make herself. 

All she could do was silently wait for the other shoe to drop, and drop it did.

“Rach, there was this reporter before the show.  Then she came to the show.  And, after the show, I invited her back to my room.”

Naturally the other shoe is a mother-fucking stiletto heel.

A million thoughts and emotions fought for attention in Rachel’s mind, but all she could catch were snippets of each.  Anger, hurt, nausea, indignation and insult all clawed at one another, trying to be dominant, even as reason tried to poke at the pile of negativity with a pitchfork.

He doesn’t have to tell you this.  He has more clandestine skeletons in his closet than half the free world combined.  He could have fucked her night after night and you never would’ve known.

Okay, then.  So why was he telling her?  To ease his own guilty conscience by making her feel like yesterday’s news?  If so, she hoped he choked on his guilty, immature conscience.  Was he ever going to grow up, or did he plan to always perpetuate the rockstar dream of fucking the most beautiful girl in the crowd - just because he could?

The logical thing would’ve been to ask one of those questions, but she wasn't feeling all that logical so she launched a semi-sarcastic, "I hope you wore a rubber.”

“No, no!" he jumped in with both feet, anxious to vindicate himself.  "That’s not what happened - I didn’t fuck her!  I swear to God, Rach, I didn’t!”

Because his response was so immediate and vehement that Rachel's first instinct was to believe him.  Did that make her naïve and gullible or simply in tune with her man?  

If you'd been soooo in tune with him, you'd have known he was chasing someone else's skirt.

“If you didn't fuck her, then explain to me why we are having this conversation.”

Another sigh echoed across the oceans, and she hoped it was one with disgust at himself.  God knew she was pretty well disgusted.  Her hope was affirmed with the tone of self-loathing when he quietly admitted, “Because I wanted to.”

Great.  Not only did she hate every word he was uttering, she had to drag it out of him in sentences that were as short and stubby as his fingers.

“Oh for God’s sake, just tell me already,” she demanded, this time letting the tiniest bit of annoyance to creep into her words. She was trying to be the 'cool' girlfriend here and not blow a gasket or - God forbid - have a crying jag, but he was pushing the boundaries of her patience.

“I wanted to fuck her,” he expounded. “I got caught up in the euphoria of the stage and there was just something that kept drawing me to her.   I swear nothing like this has ever happened when we’re apart, but tonight  -  I just lost it somehow.  I can claim Richie’s drinking is stressing me to the breaking point or I can tell you I’m so horny I can’t see straight or that I just miss you like crazy, but I know none of that makes any difference.  I was wrong.  And I don’t want to screw this up between you and me.  I love you…and I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry, Rach.”

Relief seeped into her bloodstream and her stiffened back and shoulders relaxed.  She was still annoyed, but his groveling monologue gave her hope that maybe - just maybe - he wasn't going to be a rockstar Lothario his whole life.  

"Are you telling me that nothing at all happened with her?"

"No! God, I don't know.  Maybe.   I mean…I kissed her."

She swallowed a lump of what she presumed was bile lodged in her throat. The lips that she was so intimately familiar with - that had been so intimate with her - had been plastered against those of a woman he'd wanted to have sex with.

"I assume I don't have to tell you how shitty that makes me feel?"

"No shittier than I feel!  Jesus, Rach, do you see why I want you with me?  I don't wanna be all pussy about it, but I'm not sure I can do this monogamy thing without you."

Okay, now she was just pissed.  Seriously?  The man was almost fifty years old and just now experiencing the ramifications of monogamy?  That was just pathetic.  

"Well, you're going to have to figure it out, buddy, because I can't - won't - shame you into being faithful.  You either want to or you don't."

"This would be a hell of a lot easier if you'd just marry me,"he groused.

"Did that make any difference with Dorothea?  You said it yourself – a marriage certificate is just a piece of paper. All the rings and ceremonies in the world aren't going to stop you from screwing around if you want to.”

"Well, I don't want to! I want you for the rest of my life, but this is all kinda new to me. I know I destroyed my family and marriage with Dorothea because I wasn’t faithful.  I get that and acknowledge women are my Achilles heel, but I'd like to get a steel-heeled boot or something, because I don’t want to do that anymore.  That's not who I wanna be anymore."

And he meant it.  The sincerity in his voice was completely unmistakable.  This was NFL franchise serious to him.  Yeah, he was confused by the fact that he felt like a piece of dog crap about wanting a woman, but he was adamant that he didn't want to feel that  way again.  

The hurt, anger and disgust Rachel had felt with Jon’s admission he’d desired another woman began to dissipate and was replaced with love.  This was huge for him, and took them to a whole new level of trust and commitment.   

One which mandated she put her hurt aside, be thankful he was able to talk to her about this, and reassure him that he was on the right track.

“You aren’t that man anymore, baby.  If you were, you’d be rolling around between the sheets with Lois Lane.  Instead, you called me."

“You’re the one, Rach.  Without any doubt, you’re the only one.”

Yes.  A skanky Australian reporter was a milestone in their relationship.  A good milestone.  Who would've thought?

“Good answer.  Now....  The moral of this story is….?”

“That your ass should be on tour with me, so that when I’m horny I can fuck you blind and go to sleep instead of being up half the night arranging flights to get you here.”

Rachel laughed, knowing in her heart that she'd made the right decision in not freaking out.  He may not be perfect, but he was hers.

“No, honey, the moral of the story is that Superman has morals.  Enough sexual morals not to fuck Lois Lane.  I understand that’s something new and different for you, so it may take a while before you get used to not whipping out the Rod of Steel on a whim, but I’m confident you’ll master it.  Eventually.”

It was a little overwhelming, Rachel thought, the whole love thing.  When you let yourself give into it and allowed another human being to hold your heart so completely and fully, you also gave that person permission to drag you from the highest heavenly cloud to the depths of hell while trusting that they’d lift you up again when it was all over.  So far Jon hadn’t violated that trust.  He may have made some questionable choices, but he’d ultimately done the right thing and, no matter if they were in heaven or hell, Rachel was right there beside him.

Chapter 79 ~ Old Habits Die Hard

“Well, thank you for the interview, gentlemen.”  The impeccably shaped reporter pushed her sky-high heels to the floor, and her equally impeccable breasts nearly spilled from the cups of a strapless blouse when she leaned over for her bag.

Fuck.Me.  Please.

Jon loved Australia, and Perth might have just become his new favorite city, thanks to the journalistic jewel that was just adjusting the leather trim on her flowing, Grecian-style top, thereby ensuring her modesty.  Of course, even if it had slipped, the rich honey mane of waves cascading from her crown was long and thick enough to make her a Lady Godiva stunt double.

But there’s not enough to go all the way down.  Damn jeans.

Jon cleared his throat and flashed a smile that was several shades brighter than the one he typically gave reporters. “It was our pleasure, Jessica.”

It had been his pleasure, anyway.  He couldn’t recall the last time that he’d enjoyed one of these pre-show drivel sessions so much.  Not only was the Ms. Godiva clone hot as hell, she was intelligent and well-spoken.  She didn’t ask the usual inane questions, but they weren’t the crazy, off-the-wall kind either.  God help the last chick who had asked him if he had a colon cleansing routine.  He’d cut that interview off faster than you could say “exit only”.

No, the fair-haired Jessica was more like a friend he’d invited over for a cup of coffee or a glass of wine instead of a reporter.  But maybe that was just him.  He couldn’t technically speak for his three counter-parts, who were seated beside him.

Richie, David and Tico looked as bored as they usually did during these things – until the lovely Aussie jewel had bent to retrieve her bag.  Then Sambora’s Boobage Alert System had gone into overdrive, and he leaned forward like the letch that he was.  The other two had been more subtle, but their eyes had definitely been riveted on two of Perth’s loveliest mountains. 

“You gonna stay and catch the show?” Jon asked, standing along with the buxom beauty.

Her grin was enough to spread sunshine into every wallaby’s ass across the nation.  “Oh, yeah.  I had my ticket long before I got the interview assignment.”

“We do appreciate our loyal fans,” Sambora schmoozed from right behind him before nudging Jon with an elbow.  “Isn’t that right, Jon?”

“Of course,” Jon stepped in seamlessly.  “Jessica, do you have any particular favorite that you’d like to hear tonight in appreciation of your loyalty?”

Her grin dimmed more to that of a Mona Lisa smile.  “I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t want to muck about with the infamous setlist.  You’re rumoured to be quite territorial about it, Mr. Bon Jovi.”

David’s snort rolled over him from behind.  “Sounds like somebody’s got your number, boss man.”

“Nah,” Jon denied, refusing to turn and acknowledge the Jew who was making him look bad.  He smiled the boyishly charming smile at Jessica.  “Somebody’s gotta do it, so it may as well be me.  The only limitations are my vocal cords and my ability to remember the song.”

“Well…” she pondered in what he chose to interpret as a come-hither purr, even though reality would peg it as no more than a thoughtful introduction to her to her next statement.  Regardless, he knew that if she named the most obscure song they’d ever done, the guys were going to be pissed about the last minute rehearsal he would call to get it down before show time.  He was that intrigued with this woman.  “I have been particularly enjoying your performances of Bad Medicine this tour.  In fact, I quite love them.”

He breathed a silent sigh of relief.  That one he could do in his fucking sleep, and probably had on more than one occasion.  He could sass it up a little and make it all about her.  Depending on how that went….

“Bad Medicine it is,” he pronounced as the timed knock on the door came, signaling that her interview time was over.  “If you need a better ticket for the show, let Paul know, okay?”

Amusement and sparked in the depths of cocoa eyes, one of which gave him a slow, knowing wink.  “Again, I appreciate the consideration, but I’m in the Diamond Circle.  It doesn’t get much better than that, unless you’d like to let me sit on stage with you.”

“Hehe,” he chuckled, wondering at the feasibility and simultaneously knowing that would be a PR nightmare.  “Sorry.  No can do on that.”

“Then I’ll see you from the crowd” she demurred, knowing good and damn well there was no way he would have ever agreed to it.  She turned her attention to the other men in the room at the same time as she sauntered out the door in her perfectly fitted, ass-hugging jeans and high wedge heels.  “You blokes have a good show, now.  Buh-bye.”

“Buh-bye,” Richie parroted shrilly, before whirling on his heel toward Jon with a laugh.  “Liked that one did you, JB?  Yanno, we could’ve gone in the hall while you fucked her.  All you hadda do was give the high sign, like old times.”

“Shut up.  She was a good journalist for a change, that’s all.”

David lifted one eyebrow at him while concurrently squinting the opposite eye.  “Suuuuure.  Her insight at asking the meaning of the album name was genius.  Nobody’s done that before.”

“Fuck you, Bryan.  At least she didn’t ask about my hair or my pre-show rituals.”

Holding up an invisible cigar a la Groucho Marx, David leaned into Richie with an accompanying impersonation of the late comedian, “It’s too bad she didn’t ask about post-show rituals.  You could’ve invited her to cum and see.”

There were days when Jon wished he was a solo act, if for no other reason than for some privacy.  Seriously.

~~~~~

“Richie Sambora on the guitar, ladies and gentlemen!”

Jon was sweating like a pig on a spit, but he was in the groove and he knew it.  Halfway through tonight’s extra special rendition of Bad Medicine and he’d seen that the lovely Jessica was enjoying herself.

Now it’s time to enjoy MY-self…

He pulled the mic from the stand and punched his fist into the air at the same time Tico hit the drums.

“That’s what I gotta say,” he spoke into the mic walking to the opposite side of the stage from where the buxom reporter was stationed, before choreographing another punch/drum hit with Tico.  He whirled around, bringing the mic back to his mouth and addressing his band.  “They're payin’ attention tonight.  I see nothin’ but snap-“ Punch.  “Crackle…”  Arm in the air.  “And pop.”  Throw the elbow.  All expertly coordinated with his drummer.  “Allll night.”

He dropped back and thrust his hips lightly to the next loud drum beat, casually, yet purposefully making his way to Jessica’s side of the stage.

Laughing, he strode to the point in the stage that would have him looking right down at her and bent forward to give her his infamous duck lips.  He held that pose, waiting to see what she would do and, when she blew him a kiss, he brought his left hand to his own mouth and blew her a big one right back.  Nothing like a little flirting under the guise of being a rock star. 

“You love me, huh?” he asked as though she’d screamed the words instead of the hyperactive girl bouncing up and down next to her.  “That’s because you don’t know me.” 

He bent forward once again to stare into the sparkling depths of the lovely Australian who had occupied his mind and attention for a good portion of the show.  “No, you don’t know me.” He shook his head, continuing the banter that made sense to no one but him.  But he didn’t care, as long as it got her attention, which it had.  Her eyes were firmly locked into his.  “There’s a dark side to this man.  It could be hazardous to your health.”

And mine, God willing.  

It was her turn to shake her head, that bow-like mouth of hers curled into a Cheshire grin.

“You don’t think so?”

Again, she shook her head and wiggled her fingers in a come-hither gesture as she mouthed, “Bring it on.”

“It’s what you need, is it?”  Jon laughed while turning and walking away from her. 

Oh Lord a’mighty.  When was the last time being on stage felt good enough to worry about sporting a boner into the next song?

“As usual,” he addressed his guitarist, pointing back toward Jessica.  “It’s all about the girl.”

He laughed again and continued his trek toward the opposite side of the stage in an effort to get himself under control.  “People ask me why I still do this,” he conversationally told the audience.  “That…”  He pointed behind him in the general direction of Jessica.  “That’s why.”

Because, occasionally, even after all these years of women upon women upon women, there was one who piqued his interest.  One in a crowd of thousands.  Hell, collectively, millions.  One girl – no, woman – who made him think very bad thoughts.  Someone so different that she had him completely forgetting that he was a grown man because she made him feel like a randy schoolboy looking to get laid for the first time. 

You’re in a relationship.

Yes.  He was aware of that.  Acutely.  But still….

“It’s startin’ to get a little bit crazy up here tonight,” he observed to his band and did his best to put Jessica out of his mind as he continued the song.  He even refused to let himself look in her direction when he belted out a couple of hip tosses that had the crowd screaming with approval.  But it didn’t matter that he didn’t make eye contact.  Hers was the face he saw when he was thrusting his hips at the crowd. 

And this goddamn stage is not where I want to be thrusting my hips.

But that’s where he was and he had a job to do.  And a girlfriend-slash-fiancee-slash-would be-wife.  He pulled Richie into his circle of hell, dragging him alongside as the song went on, and they picked up the back half while Jon argued with himself.

“I neeeeed a respirator….”

You need your fucking head examined.  Didn’t you fight tooth and nail to get Rachel back? 

It didn’t help that there were 50 foot high naked legs writhing behind him on the screen.  In fact, it made it worse.  Considerably worse, because now he was already horny and now felt like he had fucking ants in his pants. 

This is a bad idea.  Whatever it is you think you’re gonna do… it’s bad.

Monumentally bad.  There was no doubt in his mind, but he couldn’t help himself.  He screeched out the last note and, when the stage went black, he ducked into his quick change room beneath the stage.  There, his wardrobe mistress was awaiting him with a towel and a fresh shirt for him to change into while Richie was doing his solo song. 

“Dawn, tell Matt I need to meet that reporter after the show.  In my room.”

She quirked a disbelieving eyebrow at him while disposing of his sweat drenched stage gear.  “And what reporter would that be?”

“The blonde.  Jessica something-or-other.”

Again, she gave him the eyebrow, but she’d worked for him long enough to know when it was better to bite her tongue than call him out.  He damn well paid her well enough to know. 

“I’ll pass along the message,” she agreed blithely.

~~~~~

Jon was hot, tired and sweaty when he pushed open the door to his suite. 

Logically, he knew that Jessica couldn’t possibly beat him to the hotel, but he hadn’t wanted to linger at the stadium on the off chance she did.  He’d chosen to jump into his hired car with a towel covering his soaked hair to avoid the chill of the night air and had instructed the driver to take any shortcuts possible. 

Now, he shucked out of his stage gear and shoved it in the closet as he strode toward the shower. 

Bad idea.  Bad idea.

The two word litany had been incessantly repeating itself in his head ever since he’d received confirmation from Matt that Jessica had agreed to come to the hotel and… clear up some final details.

He put his face into the warm spray of water in an effort to drown out the words.  Worse than that, he started humming – something he almost never did – in hopes that his physical voice would override his mental one. 

Scrubbing his hair and running soap over all the necessary cracks and crevices should’ve also been a distraction, but his libido was in overdrive.  It had been bad enough being on edge about the reporter, but when another pair of beautiful Australians had flashed him their beautiful pairs of breasts, adorned with “Fuck Me Jon” in Sharpie.  With their shirts covering their faces, and nothing in view but tits and blonde hair… Well, his mind had gone all kinds of crazy with that, wondering if Jessica’s tits were that nice and having an insane, uncontrollable urge to find out.

Bad idea.  Bad idea.

“If she wanted a ball and chain on me, she shoulda married me like I fuckin’ asked her to,” he muttered to the voices.  “Repeatedly.”

Because, really, if he were married to Rachel, this would be a non-issue.

Bullshit.

Okay, so he had screwed around on Dorothea.  He’d been young, and she’d known it hadn’t meant anything.  Things would’ve been different with Rachel – if she’d married him. 

What about that ring of yours she’s wearing, asshole?  What’s that mean?

It meant she wouldn’t marry him.  End of conversation.

Pretty convenient, isn’t it?

He snapped off the water and reached for his towel, pushing the damnable voice to the side so he could dry himself and pull on some jeans and a t-shirt.  The button had just popped into place, when a knock came at the door.

Last chance….

Stubbornly ignoring himself, he ran a hand over still-damp hair and padded barefoot to the door.

“Hi,” he offered to the woman who looked every bit as good as she had when he first met her six hours ago.  “Thanks for coming.” 

“Thank you for the invitation – I think.”  She entered the room, walking just past him as he nodded a curt dismissal to Matt.

“Uh, Jon…” his brother began.

“Unless somebody is bleeding or dying, it can wait.”

A silent nod was all the reply he got from his gargantuan bodyguard baby brother before the door was closed in his face. 

“So…”  Jessica took a casual step toward the spot where Jon remained rooted, just inside the entryway of the suite.  “Was there something you wanted to follow up on for the article?”

He cleared his throat, oddly uneasy.  Jon hadn’t been awkward with a beautiful woman since he was fifteen.

“No, not exactly.”

The buxom blonde put her bag on the foyer table and turned toward him, not stopping until she stood toe-to-toe with him.  In her platform shoes, she stood about an inch or so taller than him, so Jon had an excellent view of her soft, welcoming smile.

When her hand slipped up the front of his t-shirt, it was clear to him that she didn’t particularly care why he’d asked her here.

“Then is this an invitation to get to know your dark side?” she asked softly, her breath tickling his ear.

He couldn’t form words, or maybe he just didn’t want to.  Maybe it was just easier to put one palm on each side of her face, tilting it at just the right angle for him to taste the lips that had been taunting and teasing him during the entire show.  Once his mouth touched hers, God knew it sure as hell felt better than any amount of talking could.

Her mouth was like a warm pool of fine wine, ripe for sipping.  Her flavor coated his tongue and his dick immediately stood at attention, excited by the exotic taste.  When her hands fisted in his hair and her breathy moan filled his lungs, arousal robbed him of any breath he had left.  He ate at her mouth, devouring the succulence like a carnivore deprived too long of meat.  The plump flesh of her lips seared against his with a hiss that he would swear was audible and his mind became pleasantly, numbly vacant.  There was no thought.  There was no voice.  There was nothing but the Nirvana of Jessica’s mouth and her flesh pressing against his with a heat that would sear asbestos.

He wanted her.  God he wanted her.  He wanted to perform many, many vile and wicked carnalities with the beautiful woman whose fingernails had just grazed his painfully rigid cock and almost made him cream his jeans with that simple touch.

“Mmm,” she purred against him, her hands moving away from his dick and to seemingly explore the rest of his body all at once.   “Just tell me what you want, baby.  Tell me what you like...”

Ch 78 ~ One Step Closer

Despite the late hour at which he crawled between the sheets, Jon’s eyes cracked open at very nearly the same time dawn cracked.  That was unusual for him the morning after a show, but he’d tossed and turned to the point where he decided it would be better to get up and catch a workout in before Rachel arrived.  God knew that, once she was there, he didn’t want to waste the ambiance of the secluded Costa Rican resort by sweating in a way that didn’t involve orgasm. 

So Jon found his way to the workout room that was blissfully secluded at this hour of the morning.  His feet pounded the treadmill in a hypnotically rhythmic pattern, summoning the mental clarity that only came with physical exertion, while adrenaline pumped through his veins and sweat coursed down his torso.   

Adrenaline was a good thing.

Part of it came from the purely physical reaction of exertion, but he knew the anticipation of Rachel’s unexpected visit was another contributor.  Whatever adrenaline remained was simply cleansing away his frustration. 

And that was a very good thing.

What Jon typically found a semi-comforting routine of travel, soundcheck, show, hotel and travel again had become…  stressful.  The well-oiled Bon Jovi machine wasn’t moving quite as smoothly as of late, and it was nagging at Jon like an amputee’s phantom itch, meaning that the problem might not really exist, but it sure felt like it did. 

Was it his exacting perfectionism that made Richie’s on-stage goofiness seem sloppy instead of the choreographed antics they generally gave the fans?  Or was Richie’s drinking getting out of hand? 

It wasn’t like Jon had a problem with drinking, but not before a show and not to the point where it interfered with work.  He could not afford to have his livelihood screwed with, so he’d been making an extra effort to detract attention from his guitarist’s questionable behavior and it was starting to take a toll on him. 

Maybe that’s why that, as excited as he was about Rachel’s visit, it irked the hell out of him that she hadn’t been here since the start of the leg.  James and his so-called “work obligations” were a crock of shit.  Jon would bet his left nut on it, but she had taken the cocksucker’s word as the living gospel and had refused to even consider accompanying the band.

Let it go.  She’ll be here soon, and there’s no point in wasting sex time by being pissed.

He wiped a towel over his face and decided he’d punished himself enough for one morning. 

Arriving back at the suite, he found that housekeeping had already come and everything was in pristine shape for Rachel’s arrival, except for him. Jon glugged down the last of his water and tossed the empty bottle in the trash can with a clatter that sounded especially loud in the quiet room.  Ignoring it, he toed his shoes off and made toward the huge marble bathroom, where he stripped out of sweat-drenched workout clothes and stepped into a spray of cool water.

His contented sigh bounced off of the glass shower walls. 

The only thing better than hot sex is a cold shower after a workout.

Of course his opinion would probably change when Rachel arrived…

                             

Rachel’s step was light and her heart even lighter when she approached the room number that Jon had texted her when the flight landed.  She needed this.  She needed him.

Somehow, when she hadn’t been paying close attention, he had become something that strongly resembled the center of her world.  As a modern, independent woman, she had enough self-awareness to see that he wasn’t the biggest piece of her world.  She had plenty of world besides him, but he was was most definitely planted smack dab in the middle.

And she liked him there. 

“Honey,” she sing-songed after the keycard she’d obtained from the driver allowed her to ease open the door.  “I’m home!”

His damp, tousled head snapped up and the grin that she’d walk a thousand miles for – okay, at least five – shone radiant in the stubbled lower-half of his face.  As he pushed his bare feet against the floor to rise, her eyes simply devoured every… single… delectable detail of his half-naked body.

The partially damp tendrils that framed his face, telling of a recent shower.  The broad expanse of bared chest that still made her thighs quiver.  The unfastened button at the waist of his only clothing – wrinkled jeans that he’d likely left on the floor all night. 

Surveying the way those jeans hung just a little loose, instead of snug against his thighs and ass had Rachel’s eyes zipping back up to his face.  Whereas she had initially been blinded by the smile that told of his obvious delight in seeing her, now she saw deeper than usual creases hiding under that stubble.  Cheekbones that were a bit more prominent than usual.  Eyes that sparkled, but bore the weight of the little bags that often materialized after a night of unrest. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked as his strong arms circled her in a tight bear hug. 

Chuckling, he pushed his hands down to the seat of the track pants that were her favorite travel-wear and pulled her hips in full contact with a part of him that obviously wasn’t as tired as the rest of him looked. 

“What’s wrong…”  He bent to nuzzle under the fall of hair until he found the crook of her neck.  “Is that your ass hasn’t been in my bed for entirely too long.”

“Agreed, but-“ His lips swallowed the rest of her inquisition, and his tongue took up all room for words as it sought to possess hers.   The minty tang of toothpaste that he carried was refreshing, but it didn’t hold a candle to the rejuvenating powers of this man’s hungry, soul-seeking kiss. 

In her quickly addling mind, she thought it no wonder that he was aging so well.  The man had restorative powers matched only by the Fountain of Youth.  He filled her with a flood of invigoration that had her floating with a buoyancy that she hadn’t experienced since the last time they were together. 

Damn, he’s good.  Maybe I should fasten that ball and chain around his ankle and marry him.

“Fuck, baby,” he sighed against her lips as his hands pushed their way under her top.  “If you knew how many times I’d thought about puttin’ my dick in you…”

Rachel grinned.  So he wasn’t longing to ply her with champagne and roses.  She still thought he was the perfect romantic – for her. 

“If you knew how many times your dick was plastic and battery operated…” she returned with a teasing lilt, while savoring the tickling softness of his hair sliding through her fingers. 

He pulled back with a scowl.  “Do not ever call me a Robo Dick.  Got it?”

She giggled as he swung her around, marching her backward toward the bed.  “I don’t know…  Your dick being perpetually hard and ready doesn’t sound like a bad thing to me.”

“It’s plenty hard and ready when you’re around,” he growled, pushing her down on the mattress and planting his knees on either side of her hips.  “Next thing I know you’ll be telling People Magazine that I take those goddamn little blue pills.”

“Hmmm…”  She batted her eyes up into his face.  “Is that why you wanted me to call from the airport?  So your chemical sidekick had time to do its thing?”

The next thing she knew, a resounding ‘smack’ filled the room and her left butt cheek was stinging. 

“What the hell?” she squealed.

“There will be no doubt cast on my fuck ability.”

The wicked gleam in his eye completely discounted her ‘punishment’, and had Rachel snorted in amusement. 

“Baby, ninety-five percent of women in the world consider you fuckable.  I don’t think that’s a problem.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you-“

His scolding of her purposeful misinterpretation was interrupted by a loud knock at the door, and the wicked gleam was replaced by an unmistakable air of annoyance. 

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Probably my luggage.”

He cocked an eyebrow upward as he rolled off of her.  “You and Sambora.  Neither one of you can pack light enough to carry your own bags.”

“I’m a woman, not a pack mule.  Your dick should be grateful.”

He laughed as he opened the door and waved the bellman in, digging in his pocket as he told her, “It is, baby.  It definitely is.” 

With a tip in his hand, the bellman was quickly ushered back out the door and Jon turned to find Rachel studying him with a slight frown on her face. 

“Dammit,” he sighed, propping his fists on his hips.  “I just wanna get naked with you.  Is that too much to ask?  You gotta come in and give me that look that says you’re thinking about starting some bullshit with me that ain’t even close to naked?  Christ, Rach.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” she commanded dryly.  “It won’t take two seconds for you to tell me why you look like you haven’t slept or eaten since the last time I saw you.  Naked will immediately follow.”  She smiled and used an index finger to make an ‘x’ over her left breast.  “Cross my heart.”

He groaned softly and took one long step toward her, clearly planning to make that two second delay as literal as possible.  “Probably because I haven’t slept or eaten,” he offered flatly before extending an arm and curling it around her waist to drag her closer.  “Now lose the clothes.”

Rachel couldn’t help it.  Irritation coursed through her in a sharp flash and she pushed at his shoulders, scowling.  He was so bad to try and carry the problems of the world – or at least his own – without any help.  It just reaffirmed her decision not to marry him when he proved over and over again that he didn’t need her.  He could, and would continue to, conquer the world without anyone’s help – even the woman he swore he wanted to marry.

She sighed quietly, a little frustrated that she’d let her guard down.  It wasn’t the first time she’d let herself believe he missed her the same way she missed him, but it wasn’t any less disappointing than it had been the first time. 

All he missed was the sex.

“Can we not play this game, please?” she requested neutrally, because there was no anger inside of her.  There was no hurt.  Only a purposeful lack of emotion at the blatant reminder of her relationship reality.  “I understand that you’re completely and totally invincible, but could you maybe pretend that you consider me woman enough to share the load you’re carrying?  Just for a minute?” 

Now it was Jon’s turn to scowl, but his tone didn’t convey the same tone that darkened his handsome features.  “Is that what you think?” he demanded, clearly confused.  “That I don’t consider you…  What did you say?  Woman enough?”

Oh my word, no.  We are so not going down this road.

“Baby, do us both favor and don’t make this into something it isn’t.  Because I’m not having some type of inferiority complex, I’m just annoyed that you refuse to let me in to help you.  Particularly when you could plainly use some help.”

“Hey.”  An unrelenting thumb pushed at her chin until she had no choice but to look into his eyes.  “I’m the kinda guy that takes care of my own shit.  It’s just the Jersey in me, and has not a fuckin’ thing to do with your woman-ness.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed, unsuccessfully trying to withdraw, but he held firm.  “New Jersey has nothing to do with the fact that you refuse to need anybody but yourself.”

When his eyes narrowed to nothing more than a slit, Rachel thought she’d pushed him from confused into being royally pissed.  To her eternal surprise, his head didn’t explode, it merely cocked thoughtfully to one side and held that way while she stood tall under his silent perusal.  One soundless moment stretched into two, then three before he finally spoke.

“You’re right,” Jon quietly admitted. 

Rachel was so stunned that you could’ve knocked her over with a feather.  She blinked twice to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating and that this was still Jon Bon Jovi standing in front of her.  The man who didn’t admit to…  Much of anything, really. 

“Uh.  I’m right?”

His smile was affectionate as his thumb softened enough to stroke her jaw instead of hold it prisoner.  “Partly right, anyway.  Jersey, and my being raised there, has everything to do with it, but you’re right about the other part.  I do refuse to need anybody.”

Okay, this was good.  Wasn’t it? 

“Why?”

One shoulder lifted in a half shrug.  “The last person I needed told me that I wasn’t what she needed.  It left a big ass dent in my ego, and…”

She gently poked him in the ribs, prompting, “And…?”

“And…”  His eyes locked into hers for the second time in as many minutes, before he glanced away.  “I don’t guess I’m over it yet.”

Dorothea.  Naturally.

It had taken Rachel a long time to find peace with the whole ex-wife thing, and she didn’t relish the thought of backsliding into that decidedly un-peaceful state of mind.  So, Rachel decided it was best for all involved parties to simply not address the matter.  It was a moot point, anyway, and opening old wounds – especially hers – held no appeal.  Bygones and all that.

“Do you know what you need?”  She very deliberately curled her lips into a smile and reset her sails.  A change of course would serve them both well.  “You need wine.  And art.”

“What… the fuck?” 

The poor guy could clearly not keep up with this conversation, and it had Rachel laughing.  At least now her smile was nothing short of authentic. 

“Wine and art,” she repeated, resting a gentle palm against his cheek.  It didn’t matter that Dorothea had fucked up Rachel’s opportunity for a real marriage with Jon.  Rachel would still love this man until the day she died.  “I saw a poster in the elevator for one of those classes where you drink wine while you paint.”

“No.”  There was no justification or other softening of his refusal, just the one flat syllable.

“No?  Why not?  You’re a Pisces.”  She waved her hand in the air.  “Aren’t you supposed to be all artistically angsty or something?  This should be right up your alley.”

“I said no.  And if that’s not clear enough for you, let me add HELL no.”

She snorted out loud.  Yes, this was infinitely better than working up a useless rage against his ex-wife.

“But-“

“No buts,” he declared, pulling her toward him.  “I’ve got my own wine and the ability to draw stick figures.  Deal with it.”

“Okay, fine.  I’m nothing if not a woman of compromise.  We can do tequila and body paint, then.”

His head dropped back and the guttural groan of despair delighted her to no end.  “What we can do is fuck like jackrabbits.  Sober.  Without art supplies.”

“Hmm…  I do have that jackrabbit vibrator that I like to call Jonny…”

And the next thing she knew, her top had been whipped over her head while her bra fluttered to the floor and her back hit the mattress.  Quick, crude motions made short work of her remaining wardrobe along with his clothes.  He was naked, hard and ready, kneeling between her open thighs and heat made his eyes glow cobalt blue.

“I’ll show you a fuckin’ jackrabbit,” he promised as he pushed abruptly into the crevice that had ached for him and was wet enough to prove it.  “You’ll think you’re doin’ the goddamn Energizer bunny by the time I’m done with ya.”

She gasped as he hit the spot – that spot – the one that he always found without effort.  The one that made her arch her back and flow like Niagara Falls. 

“Oh fuckkkk....” she gasped, and any banter she might’ve offered left her mind.  There was no room in her head for thought.  No room in her body.  Only feeling.

“Christ you feel good, Rach.  It’s been too long since that pussy greased my dick.”

“You…”  She grunted as he slammed into her again, digging her heels into those perfect buttocks.  “You fuck better than you pillow talk.”

A wide, wet tongue painted her right breast and left behind a glistening trail before he bit down on her nipple.  The quick rush of pain forced her clutching fingers to his scalp, where she pulled at his hair.  She couldn’t have said whether it was to get him to stop or to get him to do it again, but he didn’t need direction from her.  He never did.

The shiny saliva trail hadn’t dried yet before he dragged that gloriously furred chest up her torso.  It simultaneously dried and abraded the rock-hard tip, once again creating the painful sensation that was more aphrodisiacal than she could’ve ever dreamed.

Her lip was the next victim of his harsh nip before he dove in to possess the tender flesh of her mouth.  Their teeth clacked together under the connecting motion below their waists. 

“So good,” she purred from the back of her throat.  “Bite me, fuck me, do whatever you want to me.  Just make me come, baby.”

“Nnnggh,” was the grunting response she received as his chest and hips planted her deep into the mattress.  “Fuck you… so hard.”

“Harder.  Make me come, baby.  Make me come.”

She must’ve scooted up on the bed at least six inches with his next plunge.  There was no doubt that the heated flesh slapping together would leave an indelible impression on them both.  A memory that their minds may not keep, but their bodies would know forever.

The scraping of skin, the slickness of arousal, the rasping gasps for air, the sweat that dripped from the end of his nose, the humidity of his breath against her ear.  It all came together to build a hothouse of passion, where he forcefully coaxed her into blooming like the most erotic orchid.

“Yes…  yesss….” 

If she could open herself to him any more, she would.  She’d open up every pore, every cell and let him crawl inside to take possession.  He already lived in her soul, he might as well stay in her body, too.”

“Goddammit, Rachel, you’d better come right goddamn now!”

“Ohhh Goddd!”

She secretly loved that ridiculous God-like complex of his.  As though a woman could orgasm on his command.  And would, just because he ordered it.

“I said come, Rachel!  Come!!!”

Her lungs collapsed, convulsing as violently as the rest of her.  Every muscle seized to the point of pain, including her jaw.  Rachel clamped down on his shoulder with her teeth until he swore like a bawdy sailor and locked into position, completely overtaken with his own release.

When he crumpled into a sweaty heap of rock star on her chest, she curled her arms around him.  She pressed him close until their sternums touched, her subconscious thought being to ease the agonizing thumping behind hers while simultaneously keeping the physical bond between them. 

“Rach.”

She loved that deep post-sex throatiness in his voice.  Loved.  It.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Unhhh...”  He groaned quietly, pushing onto his elbows to peer down at her. 

There was a funny look on his face.  One Rachel almost didn’t recognize.  It held a soft, sleepiness that she identified as his version of ‘afterglow’, but it was accompanied by something that resembled… determination?

She brushed the floppy lock of hair away from his forehead as a shiver of trepidation stole her own afterglow.  “What is it, Jon?” she asked softly, not sure she wanted to know the answer. 

He turned his face into her hand, closing his eyes placing a kiss in the palm before returning his gaze to hers. 

“I think maybe Richie’s drinking is gettin’ outta hand.  That’s what’s been on my mind.”

And just like that, the trepidation was washed away in a flood of misty-eyed warmth.  He hadn’t exactly given her the moon, but she now had reason to hope that he might.  

Some day.