25:Distraction

It was either a million questions flashing in her eyes or one question repeated a million times.  Jon presumed that lawyers were stereotypically a curious lot, given that their careers revolved around unearthing answers, and this counselor seemed to fit neatly into that pigeonhole. 

Yet she remained abnormally silent.

“You’re about to bite your tongue in two,” he observed with humor, his thumb stroking the warm silk of her inner thigh with surprise that she hadn’t pushed him away.  She must be making a genuine effort with that muzzle thing.  “Spit it out already.”

“If you must know, I’m connecting the dots, but they aren’t coming together in the shape of a bunny or flower.  I have a feeling I must have missed something somewhere.”

“I don’t think you did.  Montauk, Martha’s Vineyard, night at sea,” he recapped absently while trying to decide whether this slow burn beforehand was better or worse than their usual antagonism. 

“Three dots constitute a straight line,” was her flat rebuttal, as though any fool could see that.  “A straight line is not a real picture.  I need accessory dots in between those dots to create an actual picture.  How are we getting from Montauk to Martha’s Vineyard?  What are we doing in those places?  I thought we were just going to screw all night.  Wouldn’t a Holiday Inn have been a hell of a lot simpler?”

Stereotypical lawyer in the house and now speaking freely.

Moreover, the lawyer was theoretically right about her scenario being simpler.  Some nondescript hotel would have been more direct and to the point, but he’d learned long ago that straightforwardness didn’t allow him the freedom and anonymity he wanted for tonight. 

Fans were great.  He loved them and seldom minded the photos and autographs they invariably requested, but he wasn’t interested in the distraction from his agenda for the evening.  Namely, the exorcism of Counselor Charlie, which he feared wasn’t going to be simple or easy.  It would require his complete and undivided attention. 

On top of those basic factors, there was also the issue of his damn moral compass.  He was normally proud of that character trait, but this was one time he didn’t care to acknowledge it.  That would remain as an unnamed influence on the choreography of tonight’s plans.

“Borrowed yacht,” he succinctly answered each question in the order asked, while backing the edge of his hand closer to her crotch until the heat warmed the full length of his pinky.  “Board in Montauk, disembark in Martha’s Vineyard for dinner, board again and drop anchor somewhere between the two points.  Spend an eventful night and, in the morning, back to Montauk and home.  Holiday Inn brings its own complications, and this way you can scream as loud as you want when you come.”

“Oh.  Thanks.”  She turned away from him to look at the closed privacy panel.  “Sure would be nice to get that first one out of the way. This whole deal is making me a little edgy.”

She was obviously uncomfortable and there mere fact that she allowed him to see it made him uncomfortable enough to shift in his seat.  He didn’t know how to deal with anything other than the vocal, obnoxious, in-your-face woman who had been fighting with him for months, in one way or another.  This woman was a stranger, and Jon felt like he was left with two choices. 

One was to explain the moral compass motivation behind tonight’s schedule of events.  The down side there was that it involved a level of honest sincerity that he’d never done with her and wasn’t sure he wanted to.  As vindictive as she’d proven herself to be, it might very well come back to bite him in the ass.   Unless he glossed over it in the vaguest possible way.

It might be the first option, but it sure as hell wasn’t his first choice.

The other thing he could do was start an argument with her.  It would put things back on their usual footing and help her find her sea legs, as it were.  Of course, that really only transferred her anxiety to him, because she would naturally retaliate and probably piss him off in the process.     

Not exactly an improvement over option number one.

Then again…  Maybe there was a third option.

She was seated on his left, and that was the hand he had wrapped around her thigh while keeping half of the car seat empty between them.  Choosing door number three, he scooted closer and reached over to put his right hand on her other thigh and push with the quiet order to, “Open.”

“What are you doing?” came her immediately suspicious question, even as she complied by parting her knees a good eighteen inches.  He could deal with her suspicious distrust in his sleep and would.  At least the uncertainty and discomfort weren’t taking center stage in her eyes now.

He distractedly took note that her panties were more than a stringy thong today, but their sheer delicacy was just as easily shoved aside to provide the necessary access.  He pushed a thumb between slick lips with years of practice and a God-given talent allowing him to unerringly finding her clit on the first try.  Firm pressure was applied so that he could maneuver it in a hard, slow circle until it started to swell and press back.

“Oh, Jesus!”

Making a woman gasp with that particular sharpness fed his ego better than a packed arena.

Now that she was starting to show signs of arousal, his thumb glided more easily against the sensitive bump that he planned to taste tonight.  His middle finger swam easily through the slippery pink river to dive deep inside its source.

Pushing his nose into the curtain of mahogany that concealed her ear, he murmured, “We’re gonna get on a boat, in a bed and do this for a while.” 

His dehydrated index finger joined its mate in the pussy pool, and her head lolled back against the seat with a sigh. 

“Deeper,” she breathed, opening her thighs even further to encourage whatever he wanted to give her. 

There wasn’t time to give her what he wanted, but he proceeded as though they had all the time in the world.

“Then we’ll share a civil meal, just like we’ve managed to do a couple times before.” 

Both fingers hooked forward to find the hot spot that wasn’t quite as smooth as the rest of her, and he pressed hard, fast circles against it. 

“Except this time, maybe I’ll grope your pussy under the table.  Think you can smile politely through it?”

Her hips bucked into the touch and he flicked a teasing thumb over her clit, causing her to buck harder.

“Afterward, we will go back to the bed on the boat so I can eat groped pussy for dessert.” 

Oh, yeah.  She liked that idea.  Between the hot whisper and his g-spot work, he was getting drenched by a cascade that coated his fingers and trickled down beyond.  Taking advantage of what Mother Nature and the counselor had so willingly provided, he started pumping his fingers in short, hard jabs. 

“Later I’ll let you scream obscenities while I pound you from behind.”

“Fuck me now,” she panted, bouncing shamelessly against his hand.

With her head thrown back, legs spread wantonly wide and the flush of orgasm sneaking up her chest, she was any man’s wet dream.  He wanted to pull her onto his lap and do exactly as she so sinfully asked, but they were almost to the marina.  There would barely be time to impale her on his dick before they got there. 

“Not now.”  His voice sounded rough, even to his own ears and he slowed the tempo between her legs.  If he didn’t get to come yet, neither did she.  “Soon, Chiara.”

“Now, goddammit!” Her petulant demanded came with a fierce rocking of hips to compensate for his dwindling rhythm.  “Right now!”

The eyes that locked on his were teeming with hatred and desire.  Profanity and plea.  Bitch and begging.  Him and her.  Irises the shade of cocoa acted as a projection screen telling the story of their entire “relationship” without a single word.

Freud would have a field day dissecting that story, or even Jon’s reaction to it.  Personally, he didn’t want to know the psychology behind his suddenly tight chest and queasy stomach.  As long as it wasn’t a heart attack, he didn’t need to know.

“No,” he countered with a thread of steel as they passed through the marina gates. 

Jon resolutely extracted fingers from muscles that didn’t want them to go and slicked them up her center one last time.   Then he very deliberately restored her panties to their rightful spot before wiping some of the dampness from his fingers onto them.  Patting her mound as he would her dog’s head, he finally tugged down the hem of her dress so that she was somewhat covered.

“Then why in the hell would you start something like that?” she foully demanded, sitting straight up in the seat and setting her dress more to rights than he had done.  When it appropriately covered knees that were now clamped together tight enough to make a nun proud, the counselor turned her accusing gaze on him to press for an answer.  “Well?”

Sucking the last of her flavor from his fingers, he popped them out of his mouth and wiped them on one denim-covered leg.  It left a wet spot and he scrubbed at it with his thumb while mumbling, “Giving you dots.”

“Excuse me?”

Looking up at her without lifting his head, he clarified.  “You were trying to make a picture with dots.  I’d say you have enough for the Mona Lisa now.”

“You cruel, sarcastic son of a bitch.”

So much for the muzzle.  Ring the bell for round one.

“Listen up, Counselor,” he snapped, completely losing interest in the wet spot on his pant leg.  “You were about to hyperventilate or some such shit, so I gave you a distraction.  You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t ask for your damn distraction!”

“And I should’ve fucking known that normal foreplay was beyond you.” 

Leaning in, he harshly grabbed her chin and angled it to receive a hard, fast kiss, which he delivered and withdrew to the other side of the car.  As the still-panting woman at his side shot him seething daggers, Jon did his own share of seething and hoped like hell that nobody expected him to shake the hand that had just been buried in her hilt.

Just tell ‘em there was something sticky in the back seat and you put your fingers in it.

That was exactly the perverse bit of humor that he needed to chase away his anger, and a grin that wouldn’t be contained stretched wide across his mouth as the Lincoln pulled up next to the dock. Anybody would think that was pretty damn funny, and the chuckle that followed drew the attention of his un-muzzled date. 

“What the hell are you so happy about, you frigging Sadist?”

Okay.   Maybe not anybody, but anybody who hadn’t just been denied an orgasm.  For sure. 

He adjusted the fit of his jeans and chuckled again.  “Not a damn thing.”