Ch 44 ~ S.S. Poseidon

Jon had seen that evil eye for most of his adult life, but couldn’t imagine what on earth his ex-wife would have to be upset about.  The trip had been flawless so far, in his opinion.  Everyone seemed to get along well.  Exceptionally well, he thought.    

“What’s the problem, Dottie?” he asked when they were out of the group’s earshot. 

“What’s the problem?  What’s the problem, Jon?”  Her voice was quiet, but it practically resonated with emotion.  He would’ve guessed the emotion was anger, but there was something lurking behind that evil eye that made him second guess himself.  “The problem is that you told Rachel that Jake was an accident and that we only had Romeo so he wouldn’t grow up alone!”

Maybe it was the sand, the surf and the sun muddling his brain into a vacation haze, but he still didn’t get it.  “And this is a problem, why exactly?”

“Oh for God’s sake, Jon!”  The evil eye intensified in power, as did the mystery emotion in the background.  “How could you share such a personal secret?  That was supposed to be just between us!  To this day, my own sisters don’t know about it, but you lie in bed with some new woman telling her our deepest, darkest, most personal things.  Things that fall under the sanctity of marriage and should stay private between a husband and wife.  What the hell were you thinking?”

Seriously?  This is what had flipped her switch? 

“Okay, first of all, Rachel is a helluva lot more than some new woman.  And, besides that, it’s not that big of a deal, Dottie.”

“Not that big of a deal?” she hissed.  “That was a confidence that only we shared.  Not your stupid ‘secrets to the grave’ antics, but a real personal history that is none of anybody else’s business.”

Okay, so maybe this vacation wasn’t going as smoothly as he’d thought.  Clearly Dorothea had some issues with Rachel’s presence that he hadn’t picked up on.

Or maybe she’s just realizing that you’ve really moved on and she’s a little bit hurt.

That startling bit of clarity stunned him.  He wasn’t usually the guy to read the deep shit that women kept buried and referred to in vague metaphors, but this one hit him right between the eyes.  It would account for that other lurking emotion…

Hurt.  You’ve hurt her again.

Well, he was sorry she was hurt, but he wasn’t sorry about what he’d done.  Some things were just painful, no matter how gentle you tried to be. 

“Listen,” he explained soothingly, trying to soothe her agitation and ruffled feathers.  He genuinely didn’t have any desire to be mean or spiteful – and it wouldn’t do anybody any good to have a big brouhaha in the middle of their trip.  “I didn’t plan on ‘outing’ you.  Rachel and I were just talking about our kids, their births – the usual stuff you share when you fall in love with somebody and wanna share your life.” 

“But that was sacred between us, Jon.  I mean….  How could you betray us like that?”

Betrayal was the same as hurt, in his thesaurus.  

Huh.  Imagine that.  He had been right. 

You’re a fucking woman psychic now.  Ha!  Take that, Sambora! 

As much as he enjoyed being right, this was one occasion that he’d rather have been wrong. 

He reached out to the woman who’d held his heart for most of his life, easy fingers curling around her elbow to urge her closer.  “That’s unfair, Dorothea,” he pointed out softly.  “Don’t make a production out of something so innocent.  There’s no betrayal here.  Rachel isn’t some random girl I picked up on the side of the road.  She’s the woman I love and hope to make my wife, and she’d never do anything that would hurt me or the kids – or you for that matter.”

Dorothea sighed and let her body sag out of its fighting stance, and the tears that puddled in her lower lids touched a soft spot in Jon that made him hurt for her. 

He brought his fingertip up to swipe one of the escaping tears from her cheek and asked, “What’s this really about, sweetheart?”

Dorothea’s mind was awash with a rapid-fire recollection of memories.  The deeply guarded shrine of their time together, whose catacombs held all the skeletons they’d hidden safely away right alongside the perfect moments in time that no one else had been privy to.  The things that only she and Jon had shared. 

She’d thought she’d always have that special marriage vault of recollections locked away that only the two of them could access, but the vault had been left open for someone else to peek inside.  The marriage was over and Jon would be plundering around in there, finding things to share with his girlfriend…wife…whatever Rachel was going to be. 

Dorothea’s most prized, cherished, painful and personal memories could and would be shared by a third person.

That was… excruciating. 

“You’ve effectively given some woman carte blanche to invade our most intimate moments and I have no say about it.  Things that were private between us?  They’re up for grabs and up for discussion with your new woman.  As though your fucking around on me wasn’t enough, now it feels like I’ve been betrayed all over again, Jon.”

He sighed and reached for her again, but she brushed him away.

“C’mon, Dottie.  It’s not like that.  Rachel I really don’t discuss the intimate things.  There are plenty of private memories that will always be between the two of us.”

“Unless you decide to share them with Rachel,” she corrected.

“Or YOU decide to share them with Ted,” he countered.  “Rachel is a wonderful woman and she’ll be devoted to protecting me – AND this family.  You’ll never need to worry about her revealing anything she shouldn’t.”

“SHE JUST DID!” 

The uncharacteristic outburst escaped before she could control it.  Her shouted words were lost in the pound of the surf and shouting of little boys for the most part, but Ted’s eyes found hers across the distance and concern welled in them.

This is nothing you can fix.  This is nothing anyone can fix, so don’t even try.

Jon put himself between her and the rest of the family, blocking their view as he spoke in a low voice. 

“She didn’t reveal a damn thing, Dottie.  She talked to you about something she was well aware that you already have knowledge of.  Hell, she was probably trying to find some common ground with you.  Something to talk about to break the awkwardness.”  He lightly caressed her upper arm with an open palm and beseeched, “Give her a chance.  Get to know her and I bet you’ll like her.  She’s an amazing woman, and the two of you could be great friends someday – if you’ll meet her half-way.” 

Great friends with Jon’s new lover?  

Her bruised pride stomped its foot like a petulant four year old and screamed, “No, no, no, no, NO!”

She didn’t want to be great friends with her.  She didn’t want to have to always wonder what the other woman knew.  She didn’t.  She just didn’t. 

But standing behind her bruised pride was mature logic saying that, surely, their family was important enough to give it her best shot.  Important enough to give Rachel the benefit of the doubt.  After all, Jon seemed to trust her, and Jonny didn’t trust anybody. 

Mature logic would win out.  Doing best for her children would win out.  Being a good example for them would win out.

But not today. 

For now – for today, anyway – she was going to let her bruised pride get the attention it needed and deserved.  She was going to lick her wounds until they didn’t hurt quite so badly. 

And if her pride wasn’t healed by tomorrow, she’d put it to bed while she straightened her spine and did the right thing.

After all… tomorrow was another day. 

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

Rachel lay between the cool sheets and reveled in the gentle rocking of the ocean against the yacht, relishing her tequila buzz. 

When Jon told her Dorothea’s feelings had been hurt, she had been mortified and immediately gone to apologize.  Jon’s ex-wife had thanked her stiffly, but she hadn’t truly accepted the apology.  Rachel knew because the mood among the adults at the beach bonfire dinner that evening were…  tense, to say the least.

It had never been her intention to cause Dorothea any pain.  She’d never dreamed her off-hand comment would have that kind of effect and, considering how hard she was trying to get along with the other woman, it frustrated her to the ends of the earth. 

She should have stayed home and let Jon do his thing, the way they’d always done.  This whole family vacation thing was way more stress than she could have imagined. 

Which was why, when one of the crew was taking provisions back to the boat, she’d make her excuses and caught a ride back a little earlier than the rest of the family.  Which was also why she accessorized her evening bath with a stiff, tequila-laden cocktail.  And enjoyed another one while she went through her lotion regime. 

“Hey,” she purred when Jon slipped his naked body between the sheets and fitted himself against her back. 

“You handled yourself really well today, baby,” he murmured into her neck as his hand skated over her outer thigh.  “Held your own, showed the appropriate amount of compassion.  You did good.”

“Mm.”

She didn’t want to think about it.  The warm bath combined with an excessive serving of tequila made Rachel’s mood conducive to anything but analyzing the day’s events.   Her mood was particularly conducive to the hand that had pushed its way to her inner thighs.

“Don’t talk to me,” she breathed at the same time his fingers dove into the warm, waiting pool of desire ebbing at her core.  “And don’t make love to me.  I want you to just fuck me the way we love it.  You know what I mean, don’t you, baby?”

He buried his face in her neck, his nose smashed up against her jaw when he breathed, “Fuck yeah.  You want it rough, and hard, and fast.  Damn good thing, too, since that’s about all I can handle.  Having to watch you in a bathing suit all day is torturous foreplay.”  

The carnal undercurrent that always ran so strong between them jump-started the erotic blend of relaxing bath and the alcohol.  Together with the callused hand plundering and invading her deep, dark recesses it was the perfect mixture for a sexual bomb that was quickly ticking down to detonation. 

“Good.  Because the tequila is flowing through my body - I can’t feel my thumbs, and that’s a good sign that I’m at my most fuckable.”

She was barely aware of the words that crept out on a groan.  For the first time since this damnable vacation had begun, the tension building inside of her was the good kind of tension.    

She softly yelped as his thumb skillfully brutalized her throbbing, aching clit. 

“No, no.  You can’t scream like you do sometimes, Rach,” he warned, even though he showed no signs of slowing down the fingers and hands that always, always, always made her scream.  “Keep it together, k?”

“Mmf.”  She couldn’t really be bothered to hear him.  Didn’t care enough to answer him as those magnificent fingers vacated her sheath to make room for...  “Unnggh!”

Attilla the Hun couldn’t have invaded anyone any better than Jon had just invaded her.  Slamming into her with a fierce smacking of skin on skin, his fingers burrowed into the flesh of her hips and held her steady for one punishing thrust after another. 

The delirious haze of liquor combined with pure, raw lust had her seeing passion red behind her closed eyelids.  “That’s it, baby,” she panted.  “Harder!”

“Shh...”  A hand slipped up to cover her mouth, muffling her mindless sex talk with her own scent.  “Keep quiet or I’ll stop fucking you.  You don’t want that, do you?” he grunted without slowing his pace. 

Rachel jerked her head away as the last of the short fuse on her personal time bomb incinerated.  She buried her face in the pillow to stifle her screams, because there was no way she couldn’t scream.  Not when his manhandling was all she’d dreamed about since they’d boarded the Poseidon.