*107:Boring

“Have I mentioned how much I love this house?” the counselor asked as she bounced onto the bed with a plastic bottle of woman goop and wearing one of Jon’s t-shirts.

Putting his book aside, Jon rolled onto his hip with a lazy smile and propped an elbow into the mattress, cradling his head with that hand.  The hours spent at her parents’ house hadn’t been easy, with all the rehashing of history and playing the “shoulda, woulda, coulda” game with so many strong personalities that were all determined to be heard. 

At the end, though, they’d finally come up with a solution that could be executed on the original timetable – two weeks from today, at the anniversary party, which satisfied him and all the opinionated Del Vecchios. 

It didn’t get much better than that and, by the time they left her parents’ house, Chiara was more buoyant than he’d seen her in… ever?  “Confessing her sins” had been clearly been good for the soul, and seeing her soul so untroubled was good for his.

“You said you liked the house, but I don’t recall ever hearing ‘love’.”

“Well, I do,” she pronounced simply, squirting subtly-scented lotion into her palm and then smoothing it over one leg.  “It’s so homey.  You and Dorothea did a fabulous job with it.  Too bad it’s so far from the city and you can’t enjoy it all the time.”

Watching her repeat the squirting, smoothing action again, Jon admitted to himself that this version of the counselor was so enamoring that he’d consider moving here full-time if it meant Carefree Chiara would stick around.  It was probably for the best that he didn’t get to express that musing before the conversation flowed light-heartedly along.

“Can I ask you something?” she posed thoughtfully, massaging the residual lotion into palms, fingers and forearms.

“Of course.”

“Do you honestly – and objectively – believe I could earn a living with my art?”

“Yes.”  His affirmation came without delay and he laid an open palm out, silently beseeching her hand.  When she laid it atop his, Jon closed his fingers and went on to staunchly pledge, “You really do have a gift, and it’s not just me that thinks so.  Everyone I’ve shown my mural pictures to has been liberal with their praise.  I’ve actually refused to give out your contact information so far, since you were still deciding, but I’ve been asked for it more than once.”

Rich irises sought his as her mouth pulled into a thoughtful line for a long moment before she dropped her chin in a decisive nod.  “Do it.  I’m going to give my notice at work.”

“This have anything to do with what your dad said?”

What he referred to had stemmed from a worst-case scenarios discussion about divorce settlements she’d been having with some of her family members while Jon talked to Vince and Dom about exactly how they’d like to see Owen pay for his crimes.  Chiara feistily remarked that, if the judge awarded Owen palimony, she could at least make it painful for him by giving up her lucrative career to become a starving artist.

Her dad had forcefully ordered her to do it.  From what he overheard, Edward conceded that the counselor had done the “right” thing for long enough.  That, if there was ever going to be a time to pursue what made her heart happy, it was now – and he’d be proud to see her do it. 

Her unabashed grin of pleasure had sealed it for Jon.  He was going to get along well with the counselor’s father.

“Well, his endorsement wasn’t the only reason.”  The words may have been huffy and even a little pious, but her eyes twinkled like chocolate diamonds, confirming to Jon that it played a significant part in her decision.

“But it sure as hell didn’t hurt.  I’ll make the calls tomorrow.  Hey.  I just realized tomorrow’s Monday.  Are we going to see Millie?”

“No.” Her hand slid free of his to pick up the lotion and transfer it from her lap to the bedside table.   Swiveling back around and rising to her knees, the counselor nudged Jon’s shoulder until she could straddle his supine form.  “I told her Vince would be delivering her coffee and bagels because my Prince Charming was whisking me away to a castle.”

“And you ended up at the beach instead.”

“In your castle, which I prefer simply because of the royalty in residence.”  Her irises were warm pools of cocoa tonight, and they brimmed with emotion as soft as her words, “Thank you for… everything.  I told Izzie that you’ve given me the world and, since there’s no way for me to repay that, all I can do is love you.”

“You can’t keep score when we’re on the same team, Counselor, so stop trying.”

Jon shoved splayed hands into the silken strands of hair that sought to conceal her freshly scrubbed face.  Scraping them back exposed features that he’d always been attracted to, but without unrest and anger shadowing them, her beauty radiated from within. When she was living a life free of Owen’s threats along with Owen himself, and was practicing art instead of law…  Damn if his counselor couldn’t end up as happy as those Disney characters she liked so much. 

“I’m just trying to make sure you aren’t getting screwed in an undesirable way is all.  You’ve had enough of that from me.  Now, can I ask you another question?”

He appreciated her desire to make amends for the overzealous divorce settlement she engineered for Dorothea, but the counselor was on the verge of beating a dead horse with it.  That’s why he completely disregarded it.

“You can ask me questions without prior permission,” he chuckled, gradually releasing her hair so that it cascaded in a loose waterfall of dark silk. 

“Duly noted.”  Her lopsided smirk accompanied the migration of delicate palms from the waistband of Jon’s shorts to the center of his chest.  “I notice you have four-poster beds here and in New Jersey.  You ever find yourself tied to them?”

Pushing his own splayed palms up to slip under the shirt’s hem and cradle her hips, he arched a dubious brow.  “Nooo… and I never will.  In case you missed it, I’m not exactly the submissive type.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“Got nothing to do with trust,” Jon countered with a two-handed squeeze of her buttocks.  “Got to do with my dislike of feeling helpless, and I’ve felt plenty helpless enough with you lately.  You’re not tying me up.”

“Mm.” 

“Don’t ‘mm’ me, Counselor.”  He captured the mischievous fingers that were frolicking along the ridge of his clavicle and nipped punishingly at the ends.  “It ain’t happenin’.”

“Okay,” was her ready acquiescence this time, and tendrils of hair went tickling over Jon’s chest so that her lips could dust a feathery caress over his jaw.  “We’ll save it for when you get bored with the usual stuff.”

“Bored?  What the fuck?”  A finger hooked around her chin enabled him to peer into eyes that revealed none of the feminine insecurity he’d half-expected.  She met his gaze with open confidence.

“The ‘new’ will wear off after a while, Jon.  That’s just the nature of physical relationships.  You learn my hot spots.  I learn yours.  Pretty soon it’s not quite as exciting as it once was.”

Jon wasn’t sure whether he should be insulted or relieved that her expectations were so low.  It was a toss-up for a minute, but being an Italian man without physical self-esteem issues, he eventually committed to insult. 

Jackknifing into a sitting position rocked the counselor backward, and his knees bent so that she came to lean against hard thighs.   

“You and I aren’t bashful, so let’s just lay this out on the table,” he suggested, with his nose mere centimeters from hers.  “I didn’t tell you this before, but Dorothea was concerned that I didn’t know what I was getting into with you.”

“And?”

Ignoring her smartass amusement, Jon forged doggedly ahead.  “And she was having a hard time believing the sex was that good.  My response?  It’s that good every damn time.  So don’t be taking our phenomenal sex life and making it plebian and mundane.”

“Phenomenal, huh?”  Lamplight bounced off her attempt at a cocky smile, making in ten times brighter than normal as she rifled the back of his hair. 

“Phe-fucking-nomenal.”

“Then why are we still wearing clothes?”

Not only was she beautiful and educated, she had a healthy supply of common sense, too.  “Brilliant rebuttal, Counselor.”

While her smile was merely an attempt at cocky, he was a seasoned professional and it hit full-force as he stripped the t-shirt from her in a single swoop.  The dark cloud of hair settling wildly over her shoulders was the only thing that now covered her, save for a skimpy pair of panties that he could snap with one hand. 

Like a cat with a ball of yarn, Jon was drawn to the gingerly bouncing breasts that were staring him, literally, in the face.  The counselor had a lot of fine assets that he enjoyed on a regular basis, but he really didn’t spend enough time with these assets.  He should do something about that.

The outsides of his palms scraped tender flesh as he drifted over her ribcage to balance one of the decidedly feminine orbs in each hand.  Soft and pliable, they weren’t perfectly sculpted by a Los Angeles surgeon.  They were so much better with a perfectly asymmetrical shape that gave way under his touch as he worked the nipples.

“That feels good.”

Her breath of appreciation brought Jon’s gaze to the doe eyes that were assessing his performance while color crept high in her cheeks.  A hand continued to alternately tug and twist at one raspberry peak, while the other found its way between lips that suckled with the same need as a newborn babe. 

Aimless hands tunneled through Jon’s hair, and blunt fingernails grazed his scalp as a full breath was released in a prolonged exhalation.  Smiling and pushing his nose into the yielding flesh, he sucked in the rosy brown aureole along with the nipple to slowly release it through scraping teeth.

“Ahhhhh….”

The sultry sigh coupled with the tug of fingers knotting in his hair prompted Jon to do it again, and the sigh switched over to a groan.

Smiling against her flesh, he released the nipple with a wet pop to sweep his tongue around it, and then travel the length of her sternum to that little hollow at the base of her throat.  He lapped the flavor of her skin from it before reversing his travels to claim the other nipple. 

“Jesus…”  His eyes flicked up to find Chiara spellbound by the mouth drawing on her breast, and he curled a heated tongue sharply around the nipple.  “I could watch you do that all night.”

Jon spanned her ribs with splayed hands, nudging his thumbs into the indentation were breast met torso to scoot outward.  Releasing the sweet pebble of her nipple he lifted his face the sensitive flesh beneath her jaw and nipped lightly. 

“I could watch you all night,” he countered heatedly in her ear, while he intuitively roamed her torso – ribs, shoulders, waist, spine.  Nothing was spared his touch, because she had nothing that wasn’t his.  “So fuckin’ sexy seein’ you get turned on.” 

Not happy about his shift of focus, she crushed her chest against his, but Jon chose to disregard the aggressive hint.  Instead, his right hand settled low on her back stability as hips lifted to nudge a burgeoning erection into the heated seam of her panties, while his left shoved into the underside of her hair to steer passion-riddled eyes to his.

“The way your eyes go black with desire makes me hard.”

A gentle buck of that hardness had the counselor rising on her knees and tearing his shorts down to liberate it before shimmying out of the scrap of silk that was their only remaining barrier.  Placing an insistent hand on Jon’s shoulder and pushing forced him to recline against the pillows as a panting Chiara mounted him, and he hissed with pleasure at being immersed into her hot, silken sheath. 

His hands found hers and fingers were notched together so that they were palm to palm as he levered hips up.  There wouldn’t be any space between them if he could help it, and knew she felt the same when her heels dug into the mattress so that the counselor could bounce to bring her full weight down on him with a gasp.

“Those parted lips are the embodiment of my very best fantasies,” he growled, disengaging hands that were too greedy to be confined to only one small part of her.  One settled over a hip to provide more stability as he pounded up into her, and when Chiara ground her clit against him, she lifted her to the ceiling with a primal, almost inhuman noise.

“When your head topples back with a scream, my balls go tight because I know it’s getting closer.” 

Balancing herself with both palms against his pectorals, she lifted and fell on him repetitively, as fast as impeccably toned leg muscles permitted.   Jon met every stroke with his own push, eyes greedily devouring the stark intimacy that was created every time her body opened to accept his. 

“Jon…  I’m close…” 

The direction of his gaze changed in a heartbeat, and Jon draped both palms over her hips with sharp fingertips stilling her so that he could take the reins.

“The hot flush of your skin when you’re about to come turns me into a goddamn rutting animal.”

Frantic… fervent… rutting that couldn’t get him close enough.  Deep enough.  Hard enough.  Yet he tried again and again and again while the mattress quivered with the effort. 

Until that moment she held her breath.

“That...” he bit, without slowing.  Afraid to slow lest it staved off the tidal wave about to crest.  “The absolute… stillness… just before you surrender to orgasm… turns my dick inside… fucking…. out.”

Her encounter with ecstasy rattled his ears as the shudders rattled her body, and Jon followed the trail of tremors from deep inside her to his own rapture.   When it hit him, a howl fit only for animals was ripped from his guts and a savage grip held her immobile, necessitating that Chiara accept the consequence of what she did to him. 

What she did to him every damn time.

“You turn me inside-fucking-out, Counselor,” he murmured, gathering her close for a soft kiss that sealed their union.  “And that’s never gonna get boring.”