137: Thankful

November 26

Thanksgiving morning was still young, with milky light just beginning to trickle through the windows in Jon’s New Jersey bedroom.  It was dim enough to let Charlie knew she could sleep a while longer, but bright enough to hurt eyes that squinted at the bedside clock. 

It was already six-thirty, when it seemed like just minutes ago that she went to sleep beside Jon.

 Rolling over in the big four-poster bed, she found that he was still asleep, sprawled on his back with one arm flung up to expose an underarm while his legs were bent into a figure-four under the blankets.  Silver hair stood straight out on one side and he breathed through lips that were barely parted, probably because of the stuffy nose he usually had when waking.  It didn’t seem to distress him, though, since his whiskered features were perfectly relaxed.  

He was comfortable in his own bed, and even with the ravages of sleep making him just a man instead of Jon Bon Jovi, he was still beautiful.

He was also hers. 

Easing slowly toward him, the warmth stirring in Charlie’s lower belly held a cool swirl of regret over rebuffing his advances last night.  He sought her out after the kids were in bed, finding her in the corner of the living room that she was using for a makeshift studio for the holiday weekend.  Seducing hands snuck under her sweatshirt, fondling as he asked her to come to bed because he was horny.

So close to finishing the governor’s portrait, Charlie put him off for “just a couple minutes”.  That couple of minutes had turned into a couple of hours, and when she finally set aside the brushes it was two in the morning.  By that time, he was bundled under the covers and snoring softly, so she snuck in beside him and whispered an unheard, “Sweet dreams, baby.”

Despite her limited amount of sleep, she was alert and aching for the physical intimacy that went with the emotional connection that was growing stronger.   

They’d just come through the best eight consecutive days of their relationship.  Not one time since the night he ordered her to sell the brownstone had they argued, and she found him to be more focused on appreciating the relationship they had rather than the one they didn’t.

That was a very big deal.  It alone was worth celebrating, but that wasn’t all she appreciated about the past week.  Everything was good.

Daylight hours were spent independently, for the most part.  The notable exception was Monday lunch with Millie, who finally agreed to let Vince bring her out to Jersey for Thanksgiving dinner.  Charlie was delighted to know that their friend would be celebrating the holiday in a warm house among friendly faces, and Jon was hoping that she’d stay for the entire weekend.  They’d have to see how the independent woman responded to that later. 

No matter that their days sent them scattering in different directions, their nights always ended in bed together, and at least half their evenings involved dinner with anywhere from two to six of their kids. 

In fact, on one of those evenings Jon ate her rubbery, over-garlicky shrimp scampi and defended it to the kids while doing so.  It was only after that he told her how lousy it was – when she caught him sneaking a slice of the pizza that Noah made after declaring “that crap” inedible.

If that wasn’t love, there was no such thing. 

Charlie had even good-naturedly suffered through the embarrassment of her oldest son giving her a cooking lesson last week.  What could she say?  The kid knew his pizza. 

Although Caleb didn’t get directly involved, he hung around to watch and she took that as another baby step in the right direction.  He was still slowly working through his anger and grief, and Charlie had no option but to give him time, space and love while carrying on with their normal lives.

She caught Jon talking to him while they were both cleaning up the shrimp scampi dishes, although he wouldn’t tell her what the conversation was about.  The only thing her boyfriend would say was that Caleb was “getting there” and everything would be fine – and she accepted that without further questioning. 

Talk about a big deal.  She didn’t accept anything from anyone without question, and that included Jon up until this week.  Not to say that she was going to follow behind him like a puppy, but she trusted him more than anyone else.  Owen may have had her hand in marriage, but Jon had the rest of her in real life.  That meant so much more.

Seeking out the physical closeness that was an extension of the emotional bond forging between them, Charlie ducked her head under the covers and scooted down the mattress while easing toward Jon’s side of the bed.  There was no need to worry about him not being accessible since he slept without clothes, and she paused just short of touching his naked form.  Taking a deep breath, she savored the subtle musk that was unique to him. 

She always heard that memories were most closely associated with the sense of smell, and she was living proof.  Oddly enough, it didn’t hold true for the cologne he sometimes wore, but catching a whiff of Jon or one of his leather jackets conjured up a scrapbook full of memories for Charlie.  All of those memories were good ones, and some were good enough to be very bad – wicked and carnal in a way that made her squirm. 

There were times when it took nothing more than an innocent hug to arouse her.  Those muscular arms around her, creating a heat that carried his scent was enough to make her do weird things – like licking the crook of his neck.  Initially, it was to see if he tasted as good as he smelled, but then Charlie wasn’t happy until she’d tasted all of him.  That was fine with Jon as long she let him do his own share of licking, usually until she screamed. 

She was embarrassed to admit that scene had played out more than once, and being trapped in the sheets with that lusty fragrance was arousing her.  With her mouth practically watering, she let her nose drag delicately over the smoothness of his hip for a closer sniff while working her way to the sleepy part of him that she wanted to waken. 

Jon was having the best frigging dream. 

The counselor was squatting in front of him, looking just like she had the night she was going to surprise him with dinner from Juliana’s.  Hair was messily pinned, and she wore that short ‘fuck me’ dress, which was riding up over the round part of her ass as she squatted on the strappy high heels that made him as horny as a the new issue of Hustler.

He could feel her breath against his groin, and Jon’s dick stirred in anticipation of being touched by the fingertips that were sneaking through the hair on his thigh.  Impatience made his legs restless, and he shifted from one foot to the other.

“Easy, baby.”

The words were a summer breeze against the burgeoning hardness that he wanted to bang her tonsils with, but she was being evasive.  Dressed like that, with her sexy ass hanging out, she should be deep-throating him like a pro.  When he reached down to fist hands into her hair and came up empty, Jon frowned without opening his eyes. 

What the hell?

It took a few seconds, Jon did manage to comprehend he was lying on his back instead of standing – and that the little kitten licks around the base of his cock were no dream.  Lifting a sleepy head from the pillow, he squinted in the dim light and took a survey of his surroundings. 

New Jersey.  Home. 

If he was home, then…

Movement beneath the blankets caught his attention, and he saw that there was a woman-sized lump.   When his hard-on slipped into a hot, wet orifice, he finally understood what his dick knew all along – the counselor was giving him morning head. 

“Fuuuck,” he breathed, falling back into the pillow.  There was the gentle knead of her hand on his thigh as her other one performed a more intimate kneading.  Between the erotic dream, her massage of his balls and the steamy mouth slip-sliding up and down his shaft… he feared blowing his load before he really got to enjoy it. 

A morning blow was one of life’s delicacies.  Rarer than a bottle of Dom or any fucking caviar in existence, he’d eat pork and beans the rest of his life if it meant waking up to this every day.  He had no idea what he’d done to deserve it, but one did not look a gift blow in the mouth – he fucked it in the mouth.

Grabbing one corner of the covers Jon flicked them back to reveal a pink-cheeked woman whose rich cloud of hair formed a dark halo around her face.   

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she purred, her pink tongue flicking over his slit before she bent forward to take him deep again. 

“No fucking kidding.”  His voice was morning-hoarse from lack of use and thick with sleep.  The only thick thing that concerned him at the moment was the cock she was swallowing and the creamy chaser that was sure to follow.

He rolled his hips to help out with that, devilish fingers destroying her halo and getting tangled for the effort.  It had him pulling her hair harder than intended, and with one dark brow arching, she traded her mouth for her loose fist to warn, “Easy there, caveman, unless you’d rather jack yourself off.”

The muscles in his lower abdomen contracted with desire. 

Fuck, he loved when she talked dirty. 

“Suck it,” was his growled demand, easing the offending hand from her hair to smooth over it. 

The thought of coming in her mouth took him five steps closer to making it a reality.  The wickedness in her eyes as she sheathed him with the perfect pink ‘O’ of her lips was another two steps, and he briefly considered stopping this so that he finish this by banging her into the mattress. 

They slept together every night during the past week but only had sex once.  It’s why he sought her last night.  This house was bigger than the brownstone, and they wouldn’t have to worry about noise. 

Rather than a satisfying orgasm, Jon had gotten his first taste of what it felt like to take a back seat to someone else’s work.  The understanding of what his loved ones dealt with on a regular basis had been humbling, but if the counselor was going to make it up to him like this every time, he had no complaints.  Not a fucking one.

When she popped the swollen head out of her mouth to place a soft kiss on the end, he wished he had a camera.  Morning sex had just moved up on his favorite list of things to do, and when she took his slick cock and slipped it between her titties… It hit the top of the list.

“Sorry about last night,” the sexy vixen apologized breathily.  “I didn’t mean to be so long.”

“Mm.”  Hips lifted of their own accord, trying to find the friction and pace that would grant his release.  “Make me come and it’s forgotten.”

Her smile was beautiful, and when Chiara inhaled him in one swift movement, Jon resorted to using his mental camera to capture the sensual scene.

Mahogany hair splayed over his thighs, tickling him as puffy pink lips bobbed up and down his length.  High cheekbones were the precise shade of arousal.   Soft eyes overflowed with love while lust rode roughshod over him.

She was the Mona Lisa erotica, and this vision would be the one he recalled on those lonely nights spent in hotel rooms.  Maybe it would make him miss her, but maybe he would just be reminded of what waited for him at home.

Whose home?

Orgasm was too close to pay attention to that nagging fucking voice, and Jon belligerently ignored it. 

"That's it, baby.  Almost there….”