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.

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….”