Chapter 77 ~ Textual Relations

The month of August passed in such a flurry of sand, sun and social obligations that Rachel had been astounded when she found it Labor Day and she was on a plane bound for California, and away from Jon.  Meetings in that week had demanded her presenc on the West Coast, while Jon’s non-music obligations, along with the last minute details Bon Jovi’s Greatest Hits album release, had kept him on the East Coast.

Which meant now, three weeks later, Rachel was suffering a carpal tunnel flare-up from servicing herself during phone sex, when she should’ve been on tour with him in…  Well, she wasn’t quite sure where he was at the moment, but she definitely knew that it hadn’t been her bed.  If it had, she would’ve been sleeping better – in post-orgasmic bliss.

Despite her lack of quality sleep, bat-shit-crazy clients who were never satisfied, and her aching wrist, Rachel found herself spending this Sunday afternoon poolside, feeling unusually relaxed.  The peace and quiet of her yard, where the California sun was still as blazing in late September as it had been in July, allowed her knotted muscles to ease into a rubbery state as she spent some time putting a little extra glow in her fading tan.  Of course, the twenty laps she done in the pool hadn’t hurt, either. 

That feeling of physical exhaustion was a good one, but it wasn’t doing much to ease her mental and emotional restlessness.   

Used to being on her own, and even being independent when she wasn’t, Rachel was more surprised than anyone could be that her thoughts continually turned to Jon.  She wanted to read him a blurb from the morning paper.  She wanted him to make her the coffee that she couldn’t ever quite get right.  She wanted to fall asleep next to him after mind blowing sex and wake up to the same thing. 

In plain, simple English, Rachel missed him.  Big time. 

Her physical state of relaxation gave way to her mind’s restlessness and she swung her legs over the edge of the chaise until her feet touched warm concrete, thinking that maybe the mundane act of rinsing the chlorine from her swimsuit would ease the ache her heart and body felt.  Or at least provide a distraction.

But she was wrong.  Even standing over the laundry room sink, she couldn’t escape the ‘ghost’ of Jon. 

If he was here, he’d probably be screwing my brains out on the washing machine.  And then he’d turn on the spin cycle. 

The thought brought a smile to her face at the same time it pierced her heart. 

My job is becoming a pain in the ass.

For the first time, Rachel wondered if she truly needed the sense of independence and fulfillment that she’d always vehemently sworn that her career provided.  If it wasn’t for her job, she would be straddling her man in some random hotel and being fulfilled in a whole other way – a way that she missed like she’d never missed her work. 

You are not quitting your job, she ordered herself as she pulled a Lean Cuisine dinner from the microwave and took it to the family room, sitting in Jon’s favorite chair.  Damn if his very distinctive and sexy scent didn’t puff up around her when she sank into the cushions, making her tingle with anticipation.

 You’re just horny.

It was funny how your body got used to another body.  Where she once, not so long ago, had gone to sleep by herself without a second thought, now Rachel would lie in the darkness, looking at the ceiling while she ached. 

Yes, ached.

Like a damned Harlequin romance novel heroine, Rachel actually ached to feel Jon’s skin against hers, to the point where the softness of the sheets became uncomfortable.   She physically craved those callused fingertips skimming over her ribcage, and his breath warming her cheek as he snored.

Ugh!  I’m pathetic!

Her shower and lotion didn’t help matters, because she would never again be able to put moisturizer on her body without thinking of Jon – and sex. 

I have got to get my mind on something else!

Hoping to ease the restlessness she was feeling, Rachel locked up the house and plopped into her big (lonely) king-sized bed to read.   People Magazine was always a good distraction – or it had been once upon a time.  Until she’d caught herself reading about celebrities she’d actually met.   Now it was sometimes felt a little creepy and intrusive.  Better than the tabloids, but still…

Demi Moore’s crumbling marriage was the cover story in this issue.  She’d never met Demi Moore, and Jon didn’t know her well as far as Rachel was aware, but her crumbling marriage just didn’t interest Rachel in the least.  She tossed it to the nightstand in frustration. 

There was nothing that was going to come close to easing that restlessness, other than Jon himself.  Granted, a text message wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do until she could find out whether he was awake somewhere in the world and up for a little visit. 

And with any luck, he’ll talk dirty to me.

[7:32 PM]RACHEL:  Whatcha doin?

She impatiently tapped the side of the phone with her fingernail, willing him to hurry up and answer.  When no response came after ten minutes, the only logical assumption to be made was that the man was sound asleep. 

Rachel screwed up her face in deliberation. 

She could call always call him, she reasoned.  Agreeing that, if one of them really needed to talk at any time of day or night, they both had their phones set to always ring through for one another.  It didn’t matter if he had the rest of the world silenced, his phone would ring if she called, but her sexual agitation wasn’t exactly earth shattering – for him, anyway.  If he’d actually managed to get to sleep, Rachel wouldn’t wake him. 

With a sigh that was deeper than the others she’d been emitting, she resigned herself to channel surfing the bedroom TV until she could find sleep for herself.  She was just contemplating buying a new set of luggage from QVC when a text message chime interrupted her. 

“Oooh!”  She snatched up the phone and swiped across the screen with a sense of excitement and anticipation. 

[8:09 PM]JOHN BONGIOVI:  workin

Working?  At this hour? 

Of course she really had no idea what ‘this hour’ was where he currently stood.

[8:10 PM]RACHEL: Are you in the middle of a show?

[8:10 PM]JOHN BONGIOVI:  ya  u ok?

Dammit!  So much for dirty talking.

He couldn’t very well get her off in the middle of a show.  Could he? 

It wouldn’t hurt to throw that out there, just in case.

[8:11 PM]RACHEL:  I’m horny! 

When his response time hit forty-eleven seconds, Rachel flipped from the messaging app to her email.  She may as find out where he was at, so she could figure out how much longer he wasn’t going to be any help to her sexual appetite. 

Her heart jumped when she saw “San Jose”, but quickly plummeted back to its usual spot when realizing it was followed up by “Costa Rica” instead of “California”. 

“That would’ve been entirely too convenient,” she muttered to herself. 

A quick Google search had his venue pegged in a time zone that was only an hour ahead of her.  That meant he’d be on stage quite a while yet, and likely not interested in indulging her newfound fetish for phone sex. 

Crap.

Nonetheless, he did continue to text her between songs, which was a miracle in and of itself.  He normally stayed very focused and didn’t like distractions during his shows, so it made her feel just a little bit smug that he was voluntarily allowing her to be a distraction. 

[8:24PM]JOHN BONGIOVI:  u & every woman here

She grinned at the phone.  They may be horny, too, but he kept coming back to her.

{8:25PM}RACHEL:  Oh yeah?  Any favorites in the front row?

This time, as she waited, she decided to search for a live stream of the show.  Surely some techno-geek would be working illegal magic with their cell phone, right?  She’d yet to be at a show where there weren’t thousands of phones up in the air for the majority of the night.  Who knew what they were doing?

She sighed.  Again. 

If a stream of the show was out there in cyberspace, Rachel wasn’t geek-savvy enough to find it.  She was just about to go take another shower and make use of the hand-held showerhead when her phone finally chimed.

[8:40PM]JOHN BONGIOVI: brunette in a see thru mini

See-through mini?  That actually might be useful.  Maybe if she could get his mind on sex, he’d be more likely to help her ease the pain of Jon-induced nymphomania. 

[8:40PM]RACHEL: Nice boobs?

[8:41PM]JOHN BONGIOVI: maybe better than urs

For the first time today, Rachel found herself actually laughing.  Out loud. 

[8:41PM]RACHEL: Oh come ON!  Nobody that’s going to PAY to see your show has better boobs than me.

Her heart sang a happy little diddy.

Because for a millisecond it didn’t feel as if they were a gazillion miles apart.  He wasn’t on a stage in another country earning his keep by soaking women’s panties with a single glance while she was alone with her own wet panties.  However briefly, in this comfortably bantering moment, they were connected.

Funny.  It only makes me miss him more. 

[9:24PM] JOHN BONGIOVI: ha!  cocky much?

[9:25PM]RACHEL: It’s why you like me.

[9:25PM]JOHN BONGIOVI: like u better on ur knees

Rachel smirked. And why wouldn’t he?  She was good at that, but it wasn’t the only thing she was good at.

[9:25 PM]RACHEL: I’d fuck you senseless tonight, that’s for sure! 

And…. silence. 

This damn show is interfering with my powers of seduction!

[10:11 PM]JOHN BONGIOVI:  could a guy finish his show without all this sexual harassment?

Rachel giggled.  Sometimes the responses were worth the wait.

[10:11 PM]RACHEL:  You love it and you know it!

[10:11 PM]JOHN BONGIOVI: more than my next bottle of wine.  Encore.  Call u later.

Well, dammit.  Just when it was starting to get fun.

Nonetheless, Rachel couldn’t resist sending one last text – and accompanying it with a provocative selfie. 

Okay, maybe provocative was too tame a word.  Pornographic.  That might be more appropriate.  But not hard core porn. 

[10:13PM]RACHEL:  Looking forward to it, baby.

                                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You sadistic little minx,” Jon scolded the instant Rachel answered her phone.  “You can’t send me naked pictures of yourself when I haven’t had sex in weeks!  Jesus, c’mon!”

“I’ve gone without sex for the same amount of time,” she volleyed right back at him, with a laugh that made him smile.  He actually loved to hear her laugh, even when she was being a cock tease. “So you’re not the only one deprived around here, mister!” 

That sure as hell wasn’t his fault, but he didn’t think that pointing out would get him anywhere he wanted to be, so he went with something a little less acidic.  “Yeah, well…neither one of us would be in this mess if you didn’t have to be in meetings all day Tuesday.  You’d be here with me and I’d let you follow through on that promise to fuck me senseless.”

“Oh! Get this…”  She let out an unladylike snort that belied her usual behavior.  “James cancelled Tuesday’s meeting.  So, as it turns out, I actually could have gone with you this week.”

No good, cock suckin’, pink sweater wearin’, troublemakin’, gonorrhea-ridden sonofabitch.

“Just for one fuckin’ day, I’d like to go without hearing that cocksucker’s name,” Jon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Knowing what he thinks of me, the sumbitch probably never had meetings scheduled in the first place.”

“Have you always had such a suspicious nature, or is this new since you met me?”

“Since I met James, actually, and I don’t wanna talk about that piece of fuck anymore.”  He pushed a tired hand through his hair and leaned back against the headboard of his hotel bed, scratching his bare chest.  “So if you don’t have meetings that require your presence, why isn’t your sexy little ass on a plane headed for Costa Rica?”

“I… Well…” Jon smiled at her hesitation.  Evidently, she hadn’t thought to ask herself that question.  “Well, I honestly don’t know why I’m not.”

His smile turned to a wide grin.  He loved it when he was right and she didn’t even want to argue with him about it. 

Fucking loved it!

“Good answer,” he approved.  “Now pack your goddamn bag, because I’m sending a plane.”

Her giggle made him want to do dirty things to her.  Very dirty things.

“And don’t wear panties,” he ordered gruffly.  “I’m gonna want breakfast as soon as you get here.”

Ch 76 ~ Splinters and Softails

Oh my word, James didn’t just say that!

Rachel was pissed.  Beyond pissed.  She didn’t care if James was her immediate boss or the Pope, no one was going to insult Jon that way as long as she had a breath left in her body, and she was going to take great pleasure in extracting a pound of flesh from the man she’d thought was her friend. 

“James!  Don’t you dare speak to him that way!  What in the world is wrong with you?”  Her palm itched to slap him, but she restrained herself.  Barely.  “That has to be the rudest, crudest thing I’ve–”

Just as she was getting a good head of steam built up, Charles interrupted by cupping her elbow – firmly – and turning her in the direction of the bar.  “Come along, Rachel.  I see Joe McLemore over by the bar.  Do you remember meeting him?  No?  Then I shall introduce you.”

It took every ounce of willpower that she possessed for Rachel not to shake out of the older man’s grip and tell him get his fucking hands off of her, but she managed to do it.  Only because her livelihood depended on him – her boss’s boss, as it were.

“But...”  Her eyes flicked back and forth between her current lover and her former one, both of whom were locked into a silent stare-down.  Jon’s jaw muscle was jumping with barely repressed anger, and telling the full tale of how James’s socially unacceptable comment had affected him, while James wore an aura of condescension as ugly as his pink sweater. 

She couldn’t walk away until she was sure this had been properly taken care of.

“Now, now, my dear,” Charles murmured under his breath as he very nearly dragged her away from the awkward scene, unconcerned about her wishes.  “No man wants a woman defending him as though he’s tied to her apron strings.  I’m sure your partner can take care of himself quite ably.”

What? I would never do that! 

However, in essence, that’s exactly what Rachel had done.  She hadn’t even hesitated to see what Jon might say, just jumping in with both feet, intent upon avenging his good name.  Like he was inept and incapable of taking care of himself, when that’s absolutely the last thing in the world she would ever consider him.

He didn’t get where he is in this world by having someone fight his battles for him, and he certainly doesn’t need to start now. 

So it was with a resigned nod and a lingering glance over her shoulder that Rachel accompanied Charles to the bar, leaving Jon to deal with James in whatever way he saw fit. 

As he stared into the eyes of the cocksucker he’d like to sucker punch until he writhed on the ground and cried like a little girl, Jon made a mental note to thank Charles later.  It was time that Jon and James had it out once and for all, and having Rachel there would present a distraction.

“Listen, you jealous sonofabitch,” he growled through one of his fake press smiles.  It wouldn’t do anyone any favors if the other partygoers realized what was about to go down here.  “My fiancée has to work for you, so – out of respect for her – I’m gonna do my best to be civil as long as you do the same.  You cross the line like that again, though, and you’ll be looking for a way to get grass stains outta that stupid pink sweater, because I’m gonna put you flat on your back.  Do we have an understanding?”

“No, we clearly do not,” James scoffed.  “Because you might have the rest of the world fooled with that gaudy ring she’s wearing, but I know it doesn’t mean shit.”

“You don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground.”

“Oh really?”  The other man’s eyes narrowed and he leaned in, lowering his voice in a taunting manner.  “Has she actually said she’d marry you, Rock Star?”

No, but she would.  However, Jon didn’t feel the need to justify himself to this asshole.  “Fuck you.”

James’s laugh was as derisive as his next words.  “Let me help you out there, high school graduate…  No.  She hasn’t said she’d marry you.  And do you know why?  Because she doesn’t trust you.”

“I said it once and I’ll say it again:  You don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground.”

Jon sincerely believed that the egotistical cocksucker was pulling shit out of his ass and throwing it, in hopes that something would stick, but his statement still stung Jon just a little bit.  There were a lot of things he could blow off, but not having Rachel’s trust was a big deal in his book.  If there was just a sliver of truth in James’s accusation…

“I mean, can you blame her?”  The dark-haired man’s shoulders lifted in a sympathetic shrug.  “Your sexual exploits have been well documented, and it’s not like they’re old news.  Two women in your bed is enviable from my point of view, but I’m sure Rachel doesn’t quite feel that way.”

Jon’s fist clenched at his side.  It had been a long time since he’d gotten into a fist fight, but his next one was getting steadily closer.  If there weren’t a hundred Hamptonites– all connected to Rachel’s livelihood in some way or another – milling about, he would’ve flattened the smack-talking son of a bitch already. 

So, instead, he just smiled that press smile a little bigger, dropping his head back for a canned laugh.  “Grasp at straws, James old buddy, because that’s all ya got.  You don’t know shit about my relationship with Rachel.”

James adopted the same wide smile and phony laugh, clapping Jon on the shoulder with a “friendly” thump and a wink.  “I know more than you think I do, Mr. Pinky Swear.”  With that, he turned to meander off toward the bar, repeating over his shoulder, “I know more than you think I do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After rejoining her at the bar with a murmured, “Later,” when she opened her mouth to ask what had happened with James, Jon had been pensive for the remainder of their time at the party.  He had smiled and laughed at the right times and made the appropriate responses when spoken to, but there was an underlying tension that Rachel was likely the only one to notice. 

The car doors had barely closed and Jon was just putting the key in the ignition when Rachel reached the limit of her patience.  “Well?  Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”

“Nothing happened,” he told her blandly as he pulled the vehicle onto the road.  “He waved his dick around, said what he wanted to say to put me in my place and that was the end of it.”

Rachel’s forehead furrowed and she turned in the seat to frown at his profile.  There was no way in the world the man sitting beside her would take a verbal tongue lashing from James, of all people, without some kind of retaliation.

“I don’t believe you.  There has to be more to it than that.”

He shook his head and made the turn that would bring them into the driveway, ending their short commute from Charles’s home.  “Nope.  That’s it.”  He was out of the Chevelle and in the process of closing the door when he realized she was still sitting inside, just staring after him.  “You comin’?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head in disbelief, crossing her arms and settling back into the seat.  “I’ll just stay right here until I get back from the alternate universe I’ve apparently drifted away to.  Because nowhere in this universe would Jon Bon Jovi allow himself to be bested by the likes of James.”

“Suit your fuckin’ self,” Jon muttered and slammed the Chevelle’s door.  He stalked toward the house, leaving a flabbergasted Rachel behind. 

I don’t need this shit.  What I need is a bottle of wine and a blow job. 

Inside the front door of the place that he’d called his summer home for many years, he strode to the bar, choosing to pursue the one thing on that short list that was a sure thing.  May as well go for the wine because, the way it was looking, he wasn’t going to get the blow tonight. 

The front door banged shut about the same time he worked the cork loose from the bottle and, when he lifted his chin to take the first drink of the night that he might actually enjoy, his eyes found Rachel.  Her French-manicured feet were belligerently planted on the opposite side of the bar, and she had that look about her. 

The one where she was looking inside his head as though his skull was made of glass. 

Absently, as the sweetness of his beloved Pinot Grigio slid down his throat, Jon wondered why he’d thought it such a good thing that she knew him so well.  It was times like this, when he didn’t particularly want to admit his thoughts out loud, he wished she would just chalk his behavior up to a rampant bout of dickdom and move on with her night while he quietly got drunk and sulked inside his head.

It wouldn’t be unusual for him to have an outbreak of dickdom – and he should’ve had a major outbreak with that cocksucker James – but the truth of the matter was that he’d gotten distracted by the sharp point of the stupid sonofabitch’s words. 

Not sharp like a dagger that could bleed him out, mind you.  More like a splinter.  Just a quick prick and then a lingering irritation. 

Kind of like James himself.

“You can tell me now,” said the blonde pit bull he called his.  “Or you can tell me at three in the morning when you’re tired of me keeping you awake.”

One corner of his mouth slid upward, and he swirled his wine in the glass while he tried to play this off.  “Depends on how you’re keeping me awake.  If you do it right, then I ain’t gonna mind a bit.”

“Jon…”

Great.  Now she was even starting to resemble a pit bull with the set of her jaw and the low growl. 

“Yanno, Rach… this shit isn’t worth the trouble.  Stop making a dramatic production out of everything.”

“I beg your pardon,” she snorted, stepping forward to prop her hands on the edge of the bar and leaning toward him.  “From where I’m standing, you’re the one being a drama queen.  If you had just told me what happened the first time I asked, we’d be tearing the sheets off the bed by now.”

Yeah.  That makes it better, he thought sarcastically.  Knowing I could be gettin’ laid instead of doing this Oprah moment.

“I don’t want to do this, Rachel,” he sighed.  “Because I can already tell you what’s gonna happen.  You’re going to accuse me of not trusting you, which isn’t the case at all, and blowing something completely out of proportion.  Although, God knows, that’s already covered.”

Her hands flew up into the air.  “What?  Are we in junior high here?  When did you lose the ability to have an adult conversation?  Just.  Tell.  Me!”

Jon had backed himself into a corner.  There was no way out other than straight up the middle, because she wasn’t going to let this go until she had the complete blow-by-blow account, and he knew it. 

All I wanted was a bottle of wine and a blow….

“Jesus H. Christ!  Fine!  He said you don’t wanna marry me because you can’t trust me, and he implied that he knows more about your feelings and our relationship than I do.  Can we fuck now?”

“Oh, Jon.”  There it was.  That look of pity.  The one he hadn’t realized he’d been dreading until it settled over her perfect features in a display of sympathy that made him want to punch something. 

“Don’t,” he cautioned her, holding up a distance-saving hand when she reached for him across the bar.  “Just fucking… don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t treat me like some goddamn stupid kicked puppy.”  He slugged back another belt of his wine.  “I’m not insecure and I’m very aware that he was just tryin’ to push my buttons.  So don’t.”

One artistically shaped brow slid up on her forehead as she straightened her shoulders, folding her arms on the edge of the bar.  “Then get over yourself and stop being an asshole.”

“I wasn’t being an asshole until you nagged me to death!”

She shrugged, completely unconcerned with the accusation he flung out in frustration.  “I wouldn’t have had to nag you to death if you’d just told me in the first place.”

Jon closed his eyes. 

One… two… three…

It honestly wasn’t her fault.  He was irritated with that cocksucker, not her, but she was jumping up and down on buttons that had already been repeatedly pushed tonight.

Four… five… six…

He knew what he should do is just tell her why he was so damn annoyed, but he felt like that was pretty much equivalent to revoking his Man Card.  What red-blooded guy was going to admit that a dumbass like James had managed to get under his skin – even if it was just a little bit? 

Seven…  eight… nine…

No.  He was not going to go crying to his woman because some wormy, pink sweater wearing cocksucker had made him – just for a second – the tiniest bit insecure. 

Ten.

Jon plopped his wine glass on the bar and took three long strides around it, not stopping until he reached Rachel.  Firm fingers gripped her upper arm and he pulled her close, and he crashed his lips down on hers in a kiss meant to both vent his frustration and punish her. 

Punish her for what, he really wasn’t sure.  For making him love her too much?  For making him vulnerable to James’s bullshit?  He wasn’t at a point where he could make that determination.   Rational thought was just beyond his grasp, but Jon just knew he wouldn’t be feeling this way if it wasn’t for Rachel.

He plundered her mouth with a vengeance, bruising her lips in a mindless effort to rid himself of the unwanted feeling.  His tongue pushed inside her mouth, seeking out hers until it slicked against his in the way that always made his gut tighten with anticipation.  One hard suck on it had it had her whimpering with pain, and Jon’s conscience was pierced. 

He was being too rough.  She didn’t deserve to be brutalized because he had his thoughts in a twist. 

Jon was just about to break the kiss and step away when her fingers tunneled into his hair, holding him close so that she could return the favor and sucked on his tongue.  However, he didn’t whimper with pain.  He groaned with desire. 

Sex.  Sex would put his psyche back on track. 

Does James know about our sex life?

That thought wasn’t a splinter, it was a dagger.   Or a machete, maybe, because it stopped him in his tracks. 

That was the one thing he hadn’t mentioned to her yet.  James’s insinuation that he knew things about Jon’s relationship with Rachel.  Not just things, but private things.

Pinky swear.

Jon’s lips wrenched free of Rachel’s and he sucked air like a runner who had just completed his first marathon as her glazed eyes registered confusion. 

“Are you telling James about our private life?”

“What?”  The glassiness faded and emerald irises became focused with a razor precision on his.  “Like our private, private life?  Of course not!”

He dragged his thumb along her cheekbone, really wanting to believe her.  It wasn’t that he didn’t, in fact.  His head understood quite logically that Rachel wasn’t a woman to kiss and tell, but his heart…  His heart was being a dumb fuck and wanted more. 

“Is this why you thought I’d accuse you of not trusting me?” she went on, when he didn’t speak.  “Because James claims to know things I’ve supposedly told him?”

Her eyes were conflicted.  He could see anger snapping in them, along with shades of that fucking pity again.  The pity was for him, Jon knew.  The anger, however, he wasn’t so sure about.  Was it for him – or for James?

“Pinky swear.  He said that to me, Rach.  Why does he know that?”

Anger simmered brighter, but the pity was replaced by exasperation.  “Because, last time I saw him, I was wearing the necklace and earrings you got me.  He said it looked interesting and I told him what it was.  I didn’t consider it classified information, Jon.”

It wasn’t.  Of course it wasn’t.  It wouldn’t have made two shits if James hadn’t presented it in the worst possible light. 

“But,” Rachel took her index finger and pushed his chin until they were eye to eye.  “I have never told him – or anyone – the details of our private life.  Your skeletons and my skeletons are still locked safely in the closet together, where they’ll always stay.”  Her mouth curled into a wry smile.  “Nobody knows that you use sex like truth serum on me.  Or how you dig your fingers into me when you’re about to come.  Or how my nipples harden when you suck my clit.”

Her nipples hardened when he sucked her clit?  Hell, he didn’t even know that.

“Oh yeah?”  Settling his hands at her waist, he pushed the hem of her blouse up so that he could drag his thumbnails over the smooth flesh there.  “What else does nobody else know?”

Nimble fingers unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and moved steadily downward, until his shirt was parted to each side.  “Nobody knows how bossy you can be in bed.  Or how much I like it.”

Jon grinned down into her face, his own fingers getting busy on her blouse.  “Oh, I know, baby.  I know exactly how much you like it, just like I know how much you’re gonna love me bending you over this bar and smacking your ass while I ride you like a custom Softail Harley.”

A soft moan confirmed it. 

“Do you trust me, Rachel?”

Her answer was instantaneous, with no thought given to the bra he stripped from her.  “Yes.”

“How much?”

Authoritative hands pushed her capris down to the floor and Jon immediately pushed his hand into the crevice between her thighs.

She was wet. 

So wet.

“Ohhh,” Rachel purred, arching into his touch as she pulled at his belt.

Jon jammed a single finger up into the hot channel that immediately clutched at him, eager to be filled with anything he had to give her. 

“How much, Rachel?  How much do you trust me?”

“With my life,” she squeaked when he hit her g-spot and applied firm pressure. “I swear to God, with my life!”

His pants hit the floor, and he kicked off his shoes to shed them before pushing Rachel back against the bar.  He was still giving her g-spot hell, and his hand was sopping wet as payment for his work. 

“Then you’ll let me put your hot little ass up on my bar and let me take pictures of you spread-eagle?  You’ll let me fill my phone camera with shots of your drippin’ pussy?”

She stiffened for a millisecond before reaching down to cup his balls and squeeze.  “Sure, baby.  As long as you let me take pictures of you on your hands and knees eating that pussy while you stroke that big dick of yours.”

Jon grinned. 

Tit for tat.  That was his Rachel, and that was her way of telling him she trusted him every bit as much as he trusted her. 

With his life. 

He spun her around and propped her hands on the padded edge of the bar.  “Who the fuck has time for pictures?  I got a Softail to mount….”