*50:Lover

Charlie had no idea what to make of the abrupt announcement that he was coming over, other than to take it at face value.  He wanted to have sex and that was okay by her.  It was far preferable to thinking he was coming to demand that full explanation when she hadn’t decided how or if that should go down just yet.

She and Nana had gone to her parents’ house for a good part of the day, which had provided a wonderful distraction from the defunct state of her marriage and how it was messing with what could be the beginning of a relationship she would enjoy.  Her mother was making sfogliatella and crostadas for a fundraiser at church while her father was cursing at pre-season football on television.

With Charlie as the only one there, she enjoyed the time just hanging out with her parents.  On a daily basis it would get old hearing about who did what at church and what quarterbacks should be traded or retire, but for one day… it was nice.  It just hadn’t given her a flawless script that answered all the questions he would be asking.

Sketching captured her interest again upon coming home, and shading had become more interesting than working on that script, too.

Now, though, it was irrelevant as she quickly shaved her legs and brushed her teeth and hair.  He wasn’t coming to talk, he was coming to fuck.  That bluntly stated intention should be insulting, she supposed, but since that’s what they’d been about from the beginning it felt pretty natural.  For now, they were on the same page, and if there came a day when she wished that he craved her company instead of just her body, they would hopefully be on the same page then, too

She would have to wait and see.

By the time Nana was tucked into her condo for the night, the doorbell was chiming and Charlie’s bare feet flew over the stairs as she went down to answer it.  She was still wearing her cutoff shorts from earlier in the day but now had on a cute yellow top instead of a t-shirt, and the ponytail was replaced with loose waves.  Clothes had never mattered with Jon, since they didn’t stay on that long.

“Hi.”  She stepped immediately back to allow him inside, noticing that she wasn’t alone on the issue of clothes not mattering.  He was wearing navy blue gym shorts, plain gray t-shirt, a Notre Dame cap and sneakers. 

“Did you look to make sure it was me?” he asked, pushing the door shut behind him. 

Jesus.  What?  He was going to turn into one of her brothers? 

“Yes, I looked.  I also have a gun.” She reached to withdraw the nine millimeter from her waistband, showed it to him and then tucked it into the foyer table drawer. 

“Damn.  You planning to pop a cap in me?”

She laughed at him standing back against the door with his arms crossed.  “Cop brothers, remember?  They’d shoot me themselves for answering the door without protection after dark.”

“Considering the volatile nature of our relationship, I should be scared shitless that you have a gun.  What kind of idiot am I for being turned on instead?”

The question was posed with a bemused smirk and twinkling eyes, yet he didn’t make a move that might substantiate it.  He stood right there against the door with arms still crossed.

“We could probably do more about that if we weren’t standing in the foyer.  You plan on holding that door closed all night?”

The smirk dwindled and the twinkle faded away.  “I know I said I didn’t want to talk, and I don’t.  But I’ve gotta know one thing.”

Sighing, Charlie knew that it had been too good to be true.  “What?”

“Are you planning to get a divorce?”

Since he didn’t specify long- or short-term plans, the answer came easily.  “Yes.”

“Then I don’t give a fuck about anything else right now.  C’mere.”  One arm extended so that he could hook Charlie’s wrist and tug until she was close enough for his arms to loop around her waist.  “Kiss me.”

Denying him didn’t even cross her mind.  After that middle-of-the-night call last night, she felt lucky to be close enough to touch soft lips to his.  To dart her tongue out and lick the seam of his mouth until he opened to admit her entry.  To lean into him while splaying both palms over his chest and feel the beat of his heart kick up a notch.  To be the aggressor instead of the recipient.

Coming home from the road should always be this good, Jon thought as she besieged him with sensuality.  Evocative hands stroked over his shirt, scorching him through the fabric.  Pliant lips framed a tantalizing tongue that mated against his with a purr that could be called animalistic.  Suggestive hips rocked into his and then swayed with the expertise of his Queen of New Orleans. 

Jon could make her say that she wanted him, but it would be redundant.   A blind man could see her desire. 

Heavy arms unlocked from her waist so that he could plunder silken waves of hair that cascaded down her back.  The way it slithered against the webbing of his fingers was as erotic as her tongue’s wet slide along the inside of his lips. 

“Chiara,” he breathed, easing their lips apart as his chest heaved.  “Baby, let’s go to bed.”

That Bambi on her bedroom wall had nothing on the wide doe-like eyes that blinked up at him as wet lips shone in the glow of lamplight from the table. 

“What did you call me?” she demanded, as winded as he was.

“Chiara.  Just like I always do.”  His fingers were hopelessly tangled in her hair, but it felt so decadent scraping over his palms that he didn’t care.  She would have the appearance of being good and truly fucked before he got her pants off, and he liked the look on her.  Liked knowing that she could be wrecked by his touch.

“No.  You called me ‘baby’.  And meant it as an endearment instead of an insult.”

Are you fucking kidding me? 

He rolled his eyes and dragged her along behind him to the heavy wooden stairs.  “I call the entire fucking female population ‘baby’.  If I ever spit out something like ‘sweet angel’, then you can be stunned.” 

“Sweet?” she laughed, climbing the steps and docilely following him into the bedroom that was already awash with lamplight.  “If you ever call me sweet, I’ll have you evaluated for a concussion.”

“Please do.”  He leered wolfishly at the seductress who he’d pushed onto the fluffy white cloud of bedding.  “Spicy is more appropriate.”

“How about I apologize for bringing it up and you fill me with something salty?  Hm?”

Grinning, he kicked off his shoes, tossed his hat aside and stripped the shirt over his head.  “I’ll be damned.  Counselor’s got a little crude motherfucker in her, too.”

“I wouldn’t call you little,” she countered with a wink, shucking out of her shorts and panties.  “And you’re not in me yet.  Hurry up.”

“Bitch.” 

His muttered insult was playful as his shorts hit the floor.  Her bra soon followed and when she lay back to wait for him to join her, something caught his eye.  Jon couldn’t recall ever noticing that she kneaded her breasts or plucked at the nipples before, and it was kind of hot. 

Guns, titties, nipples.  It don’t matter.  She turns you on.  Period. 

She did.  The wanton way she sprawled and silently invited him to take anything he wanted was the hottest damn thing he could think of right now.  The dark-eyed, dark-haired beauty whose knees fell open with only a look was becoming his kryptonite.

She has been since that damn awards dinner.  It’s only now that you can admit it to yourself.

Was he admitting it?  Jon wasn’t so sure. 

“Calling me names isn’t going to get your dick sucked.”

“You kiss your mama with that mouth?” he chided with a condemning eyebrow while running open palms along the insides of her thighs from knee to crotch.  The skin there was so creamy smooth and soft against the calluses of his fingertips.  It was the angel-softness that contrasted – or was it complemented? – her devilish mouth.

She was Chiara.  She was Charlie.  She was both.

He needed both.

“No.  I only kiss you with it.”

Propped on his knees between her legs and a fist beside her right hip, he slicked two fingers of his right hand along her seam.  They went up and down, back and forth before plunging into the heat at her core and drawing a gasp of pleasure.  He didn’t again just because he liked the sound, and when she groaned deep in her throat and pushed against him, Jon’s dick started banging against his leg of its own accord. 

Kryptonite.

“Don’t give me that shit.  Bed is for truth, Chiara.  Remember?”  He lowered himself to kiss the base of her throat and, with this fingers still buried deep, he flicked a harsh thumb over her clit.  

“It’s where I play your body like one of my guitars.  I pluck you...” 

His thumb flicked again. 

“And pluck you...” 

Another flick, this one prompting a guttural moan and sharp buck of her hips. 

“Until you make those sweet sounds only I can get from you.” 

“MmmMmmNnn!”

The sounds were both sweet and spicy and, still working her like a custom Tak, Jon leaned back on his haunches to watch the woman who couldn’t keep herself from responding to him.  He watched her eyelids drift shut and her neck arch as she lazily rolled into his touch.  As she squirmed restlessly against the mattress.  As she fisted the comforter because she couldn’t reach him.

Chiaria was sexy as hell wearing the bliss that came with giving herself to him, and Jon knew he could keep her if he wanted to.  As addicted as he was to this thing between them, she would be his.  All he had to do was take her.

And get rid of her husband.

Husband was nothing but a title.  He was the lover who could make a simple graze of flesh into the prelude to orgasm.  The man who could get more out of her with two slowly pumping fingers than anybody else ever would with an orgy, and his cock jumped at the arrogant thought. 

He got off on being what she craved as much as he craved pulling back the erotic curtain on her uncensored thoughts.

“Talk to me, smutty sexpot,” he taunted, scraping calluses over the flatness of her stomach while she coated his other hand.  She was wet enough for him to slide in up to her throat.  “Tell me something real.”

“Nnngh!  Why don’t you…  huuhh!  Just climb on…  Mmmmphh…. Give me that salty stuff and stop talking?”

There she went tugging at her nipples again – both of them – as her squirming kicked up another notch.  She sucked an audible breath through her nose when he hit that special spot deep inside and tried to close her legs to drawn him deeper. 

It took only one determined hand for Jon to keep her knees separated and have her whimpering with frustration.

“Ah, ah, ah.  Not yet.  Give me what I want first.”

Color was beginning to flush in her chest, neck and face as her breathing started to go shallow.  He might not be doing enough between her legs to cause it, but her titty work was adding fuel to the fire.  She was so turned on right now that if he dipped down for a single lick, it would send her over the edge – and that wouldn’t do. 

That wouldn’t do at all.

He withdrew his touch from her pussy to drape both palms over her knees.  When she popped up with a dark and deadly scowl on her face, it was all he could do to bite back his smile.    

“What the hell are you doing?  Or not doing?”

Jon made his eyes innocently wide and shrugged.  “It ain’t complicated.  When you give me what I want, you get what you want.  Not before.”

“Ha.  That’s what you think.”

In the blink of an eye, she had scrambled around to climb him like clinging ivy.  Perfect aim and intimate knowledge of their bodies allowed her to sheath his hard-on with hot pussy with one swift move.  They were as intimately entwined as a man and woman could be, and as close.  There was scarcely an inch of space between them.  He couldn’t focus on the eyes that were too close to his and she determinedly wound delicate arms around his neck, holding on tight as she bounced in an effort to force him deeper. 

As though that was possible.  He was so far entrenched that he might never get out and, in this moment, that was cool with him.

“Now we both get what we want,” she breathed into his mouth before claiming it with a kiss laden with passion, desire, determination and attitude.  The very things that made her both Chiara and Charlie.  The very things that made her so goddamn attractive to him.

Jon pushed wide-splayed palms up her back to hook his fingers over her shoulders.  That grip was used to force her down as he pushed up with his lower body.

“Ohhhh, fuckkk.”  The air seeped out of her lungs as Chiara’s brow fell to his shoulder.  He could feel the heated pant against his skin and it made him as hot as she was around him.  “Again.”

“Talk to me,” he negotiated after performing the same maneuver again.  If she didn’t relent soon, it was going to be too late.  He was too deep.  He was too horny.  He was too in tune with her every movement, and it was making him crazy.

“Goddammit,” she hissed into his neck, wiggling futilely against him for relief.  “What do you want?!”

His grasp on the tops of her shoulders held her still when she would’ve risen of her own accord to take her orgasm.  As bad as he wanted to give her the salty stuff she asked for, Jon was trying like hell to hold it at bay.  He was slow, he was deliberate, and he was torturous with the movement he allowed.

“Who makes you feel like this Chiara?  Who knows what buttons to push?  Who knows how hard-“  He thrust up and pushed down with force.  “-to push them?  Huh?”

“You.”  The single syllable scorched his ear when she breathed it there, and he let her have another forceful push/pull.  “You’re the only one who’s ever known.”

There was the proof.  He could have her if that’s what he wanted. 

Fuck that and fuck her husband. 

He did have her.  She belonged to him.  He owned her body if nothing else. 

“Good girl.  Now come for me.”

As responsive as she was to him, even Jon wasn’t good enough to speak it into being.  The minutes it took to get there felt like seconds, though.  They were thick with kisses, caresses, pleasure, breathlessness, scratches, moans, cries, screams, sweat and…

Fulfillment.

Bone melting fulfillment that had both of them sinking to the mattress as one being, still coupled in an intimate human knot.  Connected and content.  Linked lovers living in the moment.