*119:After Dinner

“Please.”

The sweet plea came from the woman sprawled on the bed in front of Jon.  Puddles of melted milk chocolate begged, strands of bittersweet chocolate draped the pillow, inviting knees were parted wide in enticement and a bracelet that represented his love cuffed her wrist. 

It was a fantasy that any man would kill to live, yet it didn’t fulfill him the way it should.  Was she right?  Was the sex appeal fading?  Was that the source of his discontent?

He didn’t think so, but then again, thinking defeated the objective of the moment.

“Please what, Counselor?” 

He brought both splayed hands to the inside of her knees and inched them forward, caressing each and every pore that coated her inner thighs on his way to something softer.  Then both thumbs teased satiny lips that were parted as invitingly as her knees, exposing the glistening shade of pink that pervaded a man’s wet dreams.

“Please anything,” she implored, fingers stretching to comb through the silver forest blanketing his torso.  “Take me.  Fill me.  Fuck me.  Whatever puts you inside of me, where you belong.”

That helped to minimize the hollow spot inside his gut, and Jon dredged his cock through honeyed flesh until he was as slick as she before grabbing one of her ankles to throw atop his shoulder.  With her as open, exposed and unprotected as she could possibly be, he lurched forward into the pot where the succulent honey brewed. 

A sharp inhalation was followed by a deep sigh of contentment before his lover rolled her hips with the sensuality of a porn star.  Those puddles of milk chocolate were bubbling with added heat as she drew a plump bottom lip between her teeth.  The sounds of pleasure that simmered in the back of her throat tempted Jon into pushing palms to the mattress on either side of her torso amd swooping low to capture a nipple.

“Yesss.”  Nails scraped over the back of his head while she helped him find the age-old rhythm of pleasure, procreation and pornography.   “Have I mentioned how glad I am that I’m not dependent on a vibrator anymore?  How much I love your hot, hard flesh in, over and around me?”

The pliancy in his mouth vibrated with Jon’s chuckle as he drew in the nipple one last time before releasing it with a soft, wet sound that was the perfect harmony to their mating melody.

“Yeah, but I’m egotistical enough to wanna hear it again.”  He grunted with a particularly forceful possession.  “From somebody who matters.”

The honey pot was working overtime, manufacturing the sticky sweetness that couldn’t be found anywhere else.  That couldn’t be replicated.  Nothing could act as substitute for a slippery, wet pussy – especially a greedy one that kept luring him deeper and deeper because she couldn’t get enough.  It made him unable to get enough, and Jon’s balls drew tight when rounded nails scraped his nipples through the fur.

“I’ll tell you over and over.” 

Her breathless promise kicked his heart into overdrive, along with his hips.  He rammed deep and held the position to grind against her clit.  It was enough to incite a lioness’s growl as those fingernails circled around Jon’s back to make their mark.  Her fervor marked his skin with the outline of ribs on his next possession, and her head fell back with a whimper.

It left the column of her throat exposed, and the satiny perfection of skin had his mouth watering.  Without missing a beat below the waist, he leaned forward and bathed the creaminess with his tongue, her pulse throbbing against him.  Jon tasted every dip and hollow, imagining that her honey seeped from the pores until he found a spot sweeter than the rest.  Then he couldn’t simply lick the flavor away;  he had to take a satisfying bite.

“Onnnggghhh!”  Her scream came with a fierce bucking of hips as he persisted in devouring her neck like some deranged Dracula.  Enflamed by her cries and writhing sensuality, Jon sucked repeatedly, without ceasing, until there was a mark the size and color of a red grape contrasting with her pristineness.

“Did you come?  Huh?”  The heated taunt was pushed into her ear by lips nuzzling their outer shell while Jon rode her like this was his last rodeo.  “Tell me, Chiara.  Talk to me.”

“Yes.”  Her nails were lighter on his back now, but they were still cutting a wild pattern that he believed to mirror her thoughts.  “But I want it again.  Don’t make me let you go.  Not yet.  I can’t.  I won’t.”

God, he loved her sex talk.  Her unfettered thoughts became verbalized in a waterfall too powerful to be subdued by the filter of her mind.  She spoke whatever she thought, and it turned him on like little else.

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

He meant the words beyond the confines of this bed.  It wasn’t just another orgasm he was sticking around for, but now wasn’t the time to plumb those psychological depths.  Now was the time to plumb her.

“I’m glad,” she hissed against his cheek.  “I don’t care how many places I have to park panties.  I want to be with you.”

A sizzle of electricity started in the center of his chest and worked outward as he repetitively dove into the stream that was becoming a river.  God, he wanted her.  He wanted to own her like he never wanted to own anyone else.  With her fucking fiery temper and even more fiery body, she was the other half to his flaming self – yet she was so sweet and soft sometimes, too.

His Counselor.

His Chiara.

She was the perfect combination of woman and warrior, submissively battling him until the glorious end.

The scream that he released into her neck mingled with the keening cry of a woman satisfied to her flooded core.   A woman quivering with the same tremors that wracked his buckling arms as he came to lay atop her, unable to do anything but breathe. 

“I love you, beautiful man.” 

Fingertips that had been brutal were now soothing and mopped the sweat beaded on his back while his head bowed forward so that the pillow took it from his brow.  His chest was still contracting and expanding with breaths too big for his lungs when Jon lifted his face to find her features replete with contentment. 

Inky lashes lay dusted onto cheeks infused with the color of rose petals, and berry-ripe lips parted with the breaths that she, too was struggling to take.  This sexually sated beauty was the living definition of ‘afterglow’, and his poet’s soul wrote a dozen songs as he watched her with a heart filled more with emotion than blood.   

“I love you, Chiara.”

The lyrics came and went as he rolled to the side and cradled her face for a soft, slow kiss while he mentally waxed poetic in a way that only Shakespeare could appreciate.  The temptation to voice his thoughts was strong, but unlike his lover, sex didn’t free his tongue tonight.  It made it go still and held the words back like a dam, keeping them bottled inside his head and heart.

For now.

“I’m going to assume you’ve had sex with a lot of women,” the counselor ventured against his lips as she petted his prickly jaw, and Jon went from poetically lax to taut with apprehension.  Conversations that started this way never ended well, in his experience.

“A few.”

Her soft laugh washed over his lips.  “Relax.  I’m not going to judge you for your experiences, only assume that you have a lot to compare this to.  What I’m really doing is being a typical woman by wondering how our sex life stacks up to the infinite conquests of a rock star.”

“Didn’t we cover this already?”  Raking his fingers through the tangled strands of silk that were her hair, he enjoyed the tickle of it on the webbing of his fingers and went back for another pass.  “On the Vineyard, you told me the thing we had was us.”

“And you said ‘that’s what I thought’,” she reminded.  “You never really said anything… definitive, I guess.”

God, women.  It didn’t matter what you told them or how many times, they always wanted to know they were at the top of your list.  It was enough of a reality check to pull his head out of his romantic ass.

“I also mentioned that I told Dorothea the sex was that good every time, Counselor, but in the interest of providing a ‘definitive’ answer, I’ll tell you again.  Just don’t expect me to repeat this shit once a week or you won’t like what that answer turns into.”

He softened the threat with a wink, knowing that she’d still get his point.  Chiara wasn’t insecure and he’d given her no reason to be.  That bracelet on her wrist should tell her everything she needed to know, but he’d give her the words she was looking for one more time, if that’s what it took.

“Never mind then,” she sniffed, sticking out her tongue and rolling onto her back.  “I don’t need your stupid answer.  If you’d had better than this, you’d still be tapping it.”

“That’s my girl,” he approved, pushing up onto one elbow to grin down at her.  “You know as well as I do that we have a chemistry that most people would kill for.  Factor the emotional side in and there’s no touching it.”

Brown eyes slid his way.  “Mm.  The emotional side makes this a little overwhelming sometimes.”

“Little bit, but it also means that monogamy isn’t a hardship.  That brings something else to mind, by the way.”

Tousled hair was gathered in one feminine hand and, upon release, it slithered across the snow-white pillowcase like a living creature, capturing his attention long enough for her to finally prompt, “What?”

He shifted his gaze from the pile of dark chocolate silk to her eyes so that Jon could present the thought that had been tugging at his subconscious since purchasing her bracelet.  “If you get it in your head that you want me wearing a Team Monogamy bracelet, I will.  Just find something that doesn't make me look like a sissy – preferably leather – and put the inscription on the inside.”

Damn if she didn’t look like the cat that swallowed the canary.  “I might.  Millie did such a wonderful job helping you shop that maybe I’ll ask her to help me.”

“Sure, why not?”  If she showed up with a Love bracelet, he wasn’t going to wear it.  “Just stay away from Cartier.  Oh, and I’m supposed to deliver the message that she’d like to see you Thursday.”

“Did she say why?”

“No.”  Not caring the reason, he lifted the wrist frosted with diamonds and kissed the soft pulse that beat on the inside of it before positioning her fingers around his wrist.  "Where's your phone?"

"My phone?" Marks of befuddlement creased her forehead.  "Why?"

Because he fancied himself to have an artistic eye.  Because he considered himself to be an amateur photographer with professional training.  Because...

"I want a picture of you wearing the bracelet."

"Oh.  Okay."  Confusion cleared to make way for affection, and she stretched her free hand toward the nightstand to present the requested phone.

He flicked it to life and brought the scene into focus: the bracelet shackled her wrist while her fingers shackled his, and as he'd anticipated, Jon liked the way it looked.  Liked the symbolism that completely filled his earlier void.

For now.

God forbid he share that bit of insight, though.  He just texted the snapshot to himself and handed the phone back to dust soft lips across her forehead.  "Thanks."