“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...”
