Ch 27 ~ Whatever It Takes

Rolling his neck from side to side, Jon crammed his keycard into the slot with a weary sigh.   Ever since he kissed Rachel goodbye earlier that day, he’d done nothing but look forward to arriving in Las Vegas. 

Not technically true, of course, he silently amended as he shouldered himself and his leather duffel through the door.  He’d done other stuff.  There was that whole work thing and the show in Los Angeles.  He’d left his guts on the stage just like he always did, but when he wasn’t working the crowd or digging down to his liver for those high notes in Prayer...  His mind had always drifted back to Rachel. 

It had been a damn good feeling to know that when he dragged his weary ass into another luxury hotel suite, that she’d be there.  So good, in fact, that he’d declined the band’s offer for a drink at the hotel bar without a second thought. 

Rachel was waiting for him.

The duffel hit the floor of the marble foyer with a nearly soundless ‘plop’ and he looked from left to right, trying to decide which master suite she would have chosen for them.  Jon’s gut guided him to the left and, when he discovered the soft glow of lamplight behind the bedroom door, he discovered that his instincts were still good.

With the duvet thrown back, she was a splash of color lying on the pristine white sheets.  She wore the same red, satin pajama top she’d been wearing the night he’d practically broken down her door, insisting they had unfinished business. 

On that night, she’d come down the stairs, too stunned to speak, but the image of her perky little nipples protruding through the fabric had made a lasting impression.  They’d taunted him and beckoned to him so that he’d barely been able to keep his hands off her from the minute he’d walked in the door.  It had been months since he’d seen her and there had been something about the sight of those smooth, bare legs as she stood on the staircase…  Combined with the open-invitation that her nipples were issuing, it had been like instant helium to his dick.  It had inflated faster than the Macy’s balloon on Thanksgiving Day.   

He was a guy, after all. 

On that night, though, he hadn’t had the right to touch her at will.  Tonight was different.

She was his. 

Again. 

And she was sound asleep.

Ah well.  At least I can cop a feel before I pass out. 

But Jon wasn’t in any hurry to crawl in bed and disturb her.  He merely leaned against the doorframe and just watched her sleep, grateful to know that if he chose to wake her, she would respond to his touch and whisper all those little words he loved to hear.  

That knowledge and her mere presence was enough to fill Jon with a serenity that had been all too scarce in recent years on the road.   Because of that – because of her – on this night, his post-show bottle of wine didn’t seem so pathetically lonely.  No, tonight the wine was his pleasant company while he stretched out on the sofa and unwound enough to crawl into bed with Rachel.  Then he would pull her delightful little body close against his and fall into the same blissful slumber she was now enjoying. 

Life was good again.

“Hey.”  Rachel’s hushed, sultry voice came from the hallway, and when Jon looked up, he saw the same bare legs he’d been daydreaming about.   “It’s not very rock star-ish to be drinking by yourself.” 

She tucked her legs under her knees when she sat down next to him, fingers rubbing the top of his head.  Jon threw his arm across her legs and puckered his lips for the kiss he knew she’d give him, talking against her lips.  “I dunno.  I’m kicked back in a swanky Las Vegas hotel suite with a lot of expensive wine and a hot, half-dressed blonde.  Sounds pretty rock star to me.”

“Geez,” she moaned, rolling her eyes.  “No wonder you’re known for writing nothing but hopeful, optimistic songs.  You can put a positive spin on anything.”

Jon took the liberty of sliding his hand higher up her thigh, fingertips creeping under the pajama top.  Before he ever came in contact with the one little bit of fuzz that was left after her bikini waxes, he had known she wouldn’t have anything on under that silk top. 

And I fuckin’ love knowing it.

He wasn’t even particularly horny.  He just liked knowing that anything she had, he was entitled to touch.  No matter how intimate it was. 

In fact, for good measure, he let his middle finger slip past the patch of fuzz until it found the bump of her clit.  He didn’t play, he didn’t tease or entice.  Jon just casually stroked it and retreated to the patch of fuzz and then the crease of her leg.

All mine.

“I got news for ya, baby.  It ain’t hard to be optimistic when I’ve got you sprawled out in my bed, waiting for me.”

She giggled softly and pressed a kiss to his ear.  “I can see how you get all those groupies out of their panties, you smooth talker.” 

“No smooth talk, baby.  Just truth.”  He palmed her thigh and squeezed before letting his fingers loose to roam in Fuzz Land again.  “I never had a hotel bed look so good.”

“Is that bed okay?  I wasn’t really sure which one to crawl into.  There’s two bedrooms, plus a private massage room, a conference room and gym.   Why do you need this much space?”

“I wanted you to have a view of The Strip from the bathtub.” Jon shrugged. “I thought you’d enjoy that.”

“I did!  It’s gorgeous and amazing to watch the fountains while covered in bubbles, but there must be 5,000 square feet in this place.”

“Think it’s closer to six, but you’re the real estate expert,” he deferred.

“Six thousand square feet for one guy? Maybe there’s a little more rock star in you than I thought,” she teased, pushing her hand under his t-shirt and rubbing her palm across his stomach.  He loved it when she touched him with the same privilege he felt with her.

“Actually, I almost forgot about the fountains.  The motivating factor was that I thought you’d like the view of the Eiffel Tower from here.  You said you hadn’t been to Paris, and I figure this suite cost me a helluva lot less than a trip to the real Paris.  I killed two birds with one hotel booking.”

“I should have known,” she sighed, the hand on his stomach stilling while she rubbed his scalp with the other.  “Always the practical businessman.”

“It’s what you love best about me.  Greed turns you on.”

“Mm.  Maybe – but just a little,” she snickered and smoothed over the deep grooves that he knew lived in his forehead at this time of night.  “You look tired, baby.  Rough night?”

“No more than any other.  LA is Richie’s hometown and he gets a little deep into the bottle sometimes when he gets wound up.   If that happens before a show – and it did tonight – it makes me a little tense performance-wise.  I have to be a hundred and ten percent on instead of just a hundred and nine.”

“Ah,” she acknowledged with a nod as he skated through the crease of her thigh.  “But I thought you didn’t drink until after a show.”

“I don’t.  None of us do, as a general rule.  Sometimes Richie indulges a little if people are around beforehand and they’re havin’ a good time.  Keeping him corralled has been a full time job lately,” he confessed on a sigh. 

“Well you’re off work now, so shouldn’t you do something kinda rock star-ish?  It is Vegas, after all.”

Jon leaned up for a kiss and rolled her bottom lip between his, never fully letting go.  His fingers still danced between her legs, now gliding along the edges of her lips.  “I guess I could slip off and marry you while I’m here.  I still don’t have a ring, but I could probably fashion one from the wire around the champagne cork in the ice bucket over there.”

“Oh, that’s so much better than the ring-less proposal from last night!” she teased, squirming under his touch.  “Let’s do the tacky Vegas wedding in front of the fake Eiffel Tower with a phony ring.  Right now!”

“I’m serious, Rach.  What difference does it make where we do it?  We could be married within the hour.  ”

Rachel leaned back just out of range of his lips and frowned.  The teasing glint that had been dancing in her eyes disappeared entirely under a confused brow and she swatted at the hand that had just re-located her clit.  There was only the slightest hitch in her breath before she responded.

“Did I miss something?  What makes you think we’re doing it at all, let alone in this wretched city where you’ve already gotten married once before?” 

Mellowed by the wine and warmed by the simple presence of this woman, Jon was relaxed.  She might still be like a skittish cat on the whole idea of marriage, but he wasn’t worried.  It didn’t threaten his masculinity or stir up the least bit of insecurity. 

It didn’t bother him at all.  At the moment, he was rather enjoying the mounting slickness of her flesh under his fingertips. 

On the subject of marriage, she’d come around.

And come around me before that.

“You don’t like Vegas, I take it?  Fine.  Pick somewhere else.” 

“Jon…”  Her fingers enclosed his wrist in an effort to stop his fingers from doing the walking.  “You can talk to me or you can sexually taunt me, but I can’t concentrate on both.  So YOU pick which you’d rather spend your energy on – talk or turning me on.”

Smirking, Jon immediately pulled his hand from under her pajama top and leaned across the sofa table to grab a glass for her.  He filled both hers and his with the entire contents of a second bottle of wine. 

“I may have made the mistake in the past of taking advantage of you while you were turned on.  I won’t do that this time.  So I pick straight talk for now.  I’m reserving turned on for later.”

Rachel accepted the wineglass with a little frown, pressing her body closer to his.  Jon called up his entire arsenal of self-restraint to suppress the jolt of arousal that rocketed through him when she scraped her teeth across the edge of his earlobe. 

“But we will do turned on, right?” she inquired on a seductive purr.

Jon twisted his head away from the tickle with a shit-eating grin.  “I don’t know about doing turned on, but I sure as hell plan on doing you.  Repeatedly.”  He puckered his lips, inviting a kiss that she willingly granted, along with a soft laugh. 

“You seem to be a lot more talkative than I remember.  Not that I’m complaining, but sex used to be our thing.  All the time.”

He touched her cheek with just the barest edge of his thumb and hoped that she could see the sincerity in his expression.  “This is beyond sex, Rach.  Sex between us is – always will be – off the charts, but you were right about marriage.  You said it’s a contract to keep people from throwing their hands up and walking away when things got tough, and I think it’s a good thing for us.”

“Why?  Because you think I’m going to throw my hands up and walk away when things get tough?”  She reached up to grab his hand, lacing his fingers with hers and shaking her head.   “I don’t run anymore, Jon.” 

Jon had to watch his step or she was going to go all defensive on him, so he chose his next words carefully.  “I didn’t mean to imply you would.  I was just saying that I think your view on marriage is a good one.”

“You didn’t always.  You said it was just a piece of paper.”  She tipped her head to the side and crinkled her forehead.  “I still don’t understand what’s made you go pro-marriage all of a sudden.”

Clearly, he hadn’t convinced Rachel of his sincerity.  She still didn’t believe that he was willing to do whatever it took – no matter what it was – to make her happy.  Anything that would keep her by his side was fair game. 

“Changed my mind,” he said simply, snugging her hand more tightly into his.  She had to get this.  How much he meant this.  He’d repeat it over and over a thousand times until she did.  “I told you, Rach, whatever it is you need – that’s what I’m willing to give you.  Gladly.  Without hesitation or reservation.”

She was already shaking her head.  Jon brought his other hand up so that he could touch his fingers to her lips and prevent her from speaking. 

“And… if that includes more kids… I’ll give you that, too.”