*68:Anything. Everything.

The doors of the private elevator slid open, activating the automatic lighting in Jon’s apartment and, while stepping out with the counselor’s overnight bag on his shoulder, he inquired, “Want a drink, or have you had enough for tonight?”

She took silent inventory of his newest home, surveying the dining room on the right before turning left to the living room.  He assumed that that was the intended destination, but the staircase at its edge waylaid her. 

Stroking the nickel banister with the touch of a lover and with her eyes roving the matching tangle of trees that tumbled down the stairs’ edges, she murmured, “I’d like to get a little drunk with you and do things I wouldn’t normally do.”

“What kind of things?” Jon asked against the curve of her neck after approaching from behind.  Both of his hands settled comfortably over hips that were curved to fit them. 

“Mm.”  Chiara’s head tipped to one side, providing him with complete access to the delectable column of flesh.  “Anything.  Everything.”

His cock jumped, immediately angry about being confined inside a pair of jeans while the promise of “anything” and “everything” was on the table.  Dropping her bag to the floor beside the column near the base of the stairs, he pressed both palms flat against the counselor’s stomach and drew her to him. 

“What’s got you so adventurous tonight?”

After gently grinding her ass against his bulging denim placket, she turned in the embrace to loop lazy arms around his neck.  “Never know what tomorrow might bring.”

Funny, she’d never been the philosophical type before now.  Did this have to do with the pending talk about her marriage? 

“There’s something you might wanna know about me,” he ventured thoughtfully, rearing his head back to peer down into eyes darkened by shadows.  “I’ve never run from a problem in my life.  Not once.”

Arms that were comfortably seated went lax and slid free as she stepped out of his embrace with a subdued smile.  “Not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but didn’t you say something about a drink?”

“Hey.”  Hooking her elbow prevented the escape she was trying to make.  “You wanna go ahead and get it over with?”

“Maybe you weren’t listening the first time around, so I’ll repeat myself.  I wanna get drunk and have unforgettable sex.”

The condescending tone was reminiscent of bitchy Counselor Charlie, and it didn’t sit well with him.  They’d come too far for her to start that shit again, and pushing past her to swing around the stair rail, he steadily climbed toward the master bedroom and second living room.

He didn't look back when saying, “Your drink is upstairs.”

“Jon…”

Not slowing his pace, he didn’t acknowledge her, trusting that she would follow him.  He was at the little wet bar, working the cork from a bottle of the wine she’d gifted him with when the smack of sandals on marble proved his assumption to be correct. 

The sandals crossed from marble to hardwood and crept closer until he could feel her presence behind him.  He would’ve known she was there even without the confirmation of her quiet, “Hey.”

Frustration was still simmering below the surface, but it didn’t stop him from enjoying the weight of her hands at his waist.  “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

Returning the wine opener to its station and tossing the cork carelessly onto the counter, he withdrew two glasses from the rack overhead.  “Sorry for what?  Being a bitch or pretending to be stupid?” 

“Being a bitch.”  The answer was just loud enough to be heard above the gurgling of Pinot Grigio from the bottle.  “I’m sticking with the stupid thing for tonight.”

Annoyance festered anew, and the wine bottle bore the brunt of it, forcefully hitting the counter beside both filled glasses.

It made him nuts when people refused to acknowledge reality, because trying to hide from the inevitable only delayed it and created misery in the meantime.  Why someone would choose avoidance over facing the situation head-on baffled him.  It made so much more sense to deal with an issue and move on.

Scooping up his glass, Jon left her to get her own while he crossed to the main seating area by the terrace doors.  He sipped from one hand while using the other to unlock and swing the doors open, inviting in the soft night air and muted sounds of the city.

When he turned around, it was to find her dark dress splashed over the light center cushion of one of the two opposing sofas.  The woman herself was perched on the edge of it with her wine glass cradled between the fingers of stacked hands.  She hadn’t wasted any time with it, Jon noted.  The previously filled glass was already half-empty.

“Owen doesn’t know he’s getting a divorce.”

It wasn’t a question that he posed from the arch of the open doors.  It was a statement that he dared her to deny and, with a disheartened sigh, the counselor moved from perching on the sofa’s edge to reclining into the cushions. 

“I thought we weren’t doing this until tomorrow?”   

“He doesn't know, does he?”

When the completely drained wine glass separated from her lips, Chiara’s jaw was set in the same obsidian stone that her eyes were carved from.  “No.”

Fuck.  Matt was right, and Jon was getting played.

He pivoted on his heel and strode onto the terrace, hoping that the night breeze would sweep away some of his anger and take the sense of betrayal with it.  Unfortunately, the cluster of buildings that crowded in to surround it made him claustrophobic and angrier. 

Jon hated this “main” terrace.  He needed space right now and this wasn’t providing it, leaving him to turn and re-enter the apartment as quickly as he’d exited.  Moving through the living room and past the counselor, who was refilling her glass, he navigated the short hallway to his bedroom.  That terrace was smaller but more open, with a distant view of the Empire State Building that wouldn’t have him feeling so penned in. 

Leaning both palms against the waist-high brick wall, with his glass beside them, Jon was staring at the bright white lights of that famous New York landmark when Chiara appeared.  She didn’t touch him this time, or even venture within touching distance.  The quietly unapologetic voice came from a distance of several feet, indicating that she spoke to him from the doorway.

“I always had a vague timeframe in my mind of when I’d file for divorce, but there was never a red date circled on the calendar or a count down.  It seemed sadistic to get excited about an apocalyptic event that will forever change my life in ways I don’t want it changed.  Filing day wasn’t something I looked forward to; it was merely a necessary evil to counteract another evil.

“So don’t get pissed at me because you came along and made me want to mark the calendar and start counting down.  I can’t help it that you’re the first person to make me think post-apocalyptic life might not be so bad.”

Jon pushed away from the wall to stand straight, the city lights finally losing his interest to the quiet tirade coming from behind him.  Even with only a scattered, residual light cast upon them, he easily made out the counselor with a wine glass dangling from one hand while the bottle dangled from the other.  Her features were schooled into a fierce mask of determination, and he crossed his arms to lean his ass against the terrace wall and watch as she continued doggedly on. 

“And don’t think this means I’m going to get into this whole ordeal now.  That’s not what tonight is for.  Tonight is for you to remind me that there’s a purpose for tomorrow’s pain.  And, if tomorrow doesn’t end the way I want it to, that tonight was worth that pain, too.  I need that from you.” 

His head shook with a quiet sigh that she obviously interpreted as refusal, because Chiara stubbornly tipped up her chin to add, “Please.”

Jon wasn’t refusing her.  He just didn’t always understand her, and that confusion was the source of his sigh.  In all likelihood, there wasn’t anything she could say that would make that much difference to him.  He wanted her, and they could get through this shit in about five minutes and move on if she’d stop being so goddamn obstinate.  Then she could find out for herself that tomorrow wouldn’t be anything other than Monday.

At the end of the any day, though, he was a just man.  Men loved sex and Jon particularly loved it with this woman.  There was no way in hell he would deny her, especially when she said “please”.

Holding out a hand, Jon wiggled his fingers in her direction.  “Gimme the bottle, Drinkerbell.”

She shared the hint of a smile along with the wine, and Jon tipped the bottle for a gluttonous guzzle that trickled from his lip.  Wiping it away, he pointed the neck back at her.

She took it with her eyes locked on him, and mimicked his every motion, right down to dragging the back of one hand over her mouth when she finished. 

It was almost as sexy as watching her come.

Reaching out, he curled fingers into the fabric of the stretchy dress and tugged until she stood between his legs.  When they were nose to nose, he angled his head and rumbled into her mouth. “Sex has been unforgettable every goddamn time and you know it.”

“Then don’t disappoint me now.”

She made him crazy in both the best and worst possible way, he thought, filling that feisty mouth with the breadth of his tongue.  Jon fought anger alongside desire more often than not when it came to this devil with the angel wings, and he aspired to be both saint and sinner with her.   

Crude hands came to tug at the spaghetti straps while they kissed, yanking until they came down along with the top of the dress.  One rough paw over the strapless bra cup was all that was necessary to release the weight of her breast into his palm, and he repeated the action with the other side as her hands dug into his hair. 

“I want you,” she panted against his lips when the kiss became too much and not enough.  “So much.”

“How much?” 

The demanding question was as rough as the hands that mauled her naked torso and shoved at the fabric still caught around her waist.  Shoving impatiently at it, there was only a moment’s relief when it hit the wooden terrace floor, because she still wore panties.  He sought them out as she put her empty wineglass onto the banister and chugged another drink from the bottle. 

“Enough to swallow my cock?” he demanded balling the lacy fabric and wrenching it down to her ankles.  “Enough to bend over this wall and let me pound that sweet pussy while the bricks scrape your titties?   Enough to scream the city down when you come?  Tell me what you’ll do for me, Counselor.”

“Anything.  Everything,” she breathily repeated her earlier assurance as the Jon took possession of the bottle for another swig while she worked the buttons of his shirt. 

“Those are awful bold promises you’re makin’ to a very demanding man.  You drunk enough to not back out?”

“No.”  The wine once again passed custody.  “But I will be.”

Laughing, he shrugged out of the shirt that hung loose.  “Drink it all, baby.  We’ve got more inside.”

Chiara could sip her dirty martinis at a social event alongside anyone else, but he liked that she wasn’t above drinking his cheap wine straight from the bottle.  If she weren’t classier than most of his women from back in the day, Jon would say it felt a lot like his younger, more carefree years. 

“Okay.”  She waved the bottle in the air with a smile.  “It’s empty.  I’m ready.”

“Jesus, you actually drank it all?” That had been a joke.  He sure as hell hadn’t expected her to drain the remaining half-bottle.

“Yep.  Now I’m ready for anything.”

Taking the empty from her, he set it on the ledge and shook his head.  The counselor was completely naked and utterly unrepentant as she grinned at him, drawing Jon’s own reluctant grin.  

Angel and devil, for sure.

“Unbutton my pants,” he commanded while kicking his shoes off.

Grabbing for his fly, she started popping buttons without a second’s hesitation.  “You gonna do me out here?  I don’t think I’ve ever had sex out in the open this high up.”

The wine was obviously taking effect.  She’d never been shy, but watching her breasts sway with each opened button and recognizing that she couldn’t care less about being on open display was still a step out there.

“I’m gonna lay you out on top of that wall and finger fuck you while you dangle twelve floors up.”

Her fingers stuttered over the last button, and the counselor looked up into his face with raised eyebrows.  “I don’t think so.”

Catching her chin between his thumb and forefinger, Jon winked at her and teased lightly, “What happened to all your liquid courage, Counselor?”

“It evaporated at the thought of plummeting to my death in the throes of an orgasm.”

“There are worse ways to go,” Jon chuckled and gently grasped the piece of elastic that held her ponytail in place, tugging until dark waves tumbled free.  “But that kinda leaves me hangin’, so we can settle for something a little less daring if you want.”

“I think that’s a good idea, because God knows I’d hate to leave you hangin’.”  Her carefree laughter tinkled on the warm air and the moonlight danced in her eyes, transforming her into an enthralling creature of the night.  Watching her this way could easily prompt Jon into doing anything and everything.

A quick shove had his jeans on the ground, and he latched onto her wrist to gently tug toward the chaise lounge.  She stood beside it as he stretched out and then tapped the back of her thigh in encouragement to climb on. 

“You know,” Chiara mused while holding his cock steady and sliding onto it.  “Last time I was on top, we were saying goodbye.”

The slick heat that had become his kryptonite enveloped him with intimate familiarity, and his eyes fell shut at the pleasure.  With her full weight on him, he was buried as deeply as he could be and the connection was deeply satisfying. 

Soon, he would require more.  This would eventually mandate sex talk, slapping of flesh, maybe a revelation or two and at least that many orgasms with the final surrender.

For now, though, he just held her hips steady and peered up at her through the darkness.

“We’re not saying goodbye this time.”