*4 - Noel Nookie

Jesus Christ on a crutch.  Why was he sexier when she was mad than at any other time?  It was enough to make her forget the past two sleepless nights and the constant nausea of anxiety.

Even when he actually tried to be sexy with the whole Playgirl pose, he couldn't stir this kind of reaction.  Lying on one hip with a hand propped under his head, he'd once attempted to seduce her with a come-hither look that only made her laugh.  

When sparks of anger flew between them, though...

There wasn’t a man anywhere alive that she’d rather have than her husband.  He told her to shut the hell up and estrogen spewed like her ovaries were miniature versions of Old Faithful.  She spat “asshole” while wanting to kiss him as fiercely as she wanted to wipe the smug smirk off that luscious mouth. 

A psychologist would have a field day with their relationship, but it she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Dammit,” she grumbled.  “I love to hate you as much as I love being loved by you.”

“Back at you, Counselor.” 

Strong hands clamped her waist, and it was his turn to lead in the tango of intimidation.  Backward he walked her to the disheveled island of their bed, and when side rail touched her calf, he lifted and effortlessly threw her into the center. 

He wasn’t a big man by most people’s standards, and the strength he possessed was always a bit of a surprise – and a turn-on. 

“Lose the pajamas,” he ordered in a timbre designed to antagonize.  Thick leather and a heavy belt buckle were already separated, and the buttons on his fly popped like popcorn.  “You have five seconds.”

Normally, she made him work a little harder for it, but they’d been apart for a week.  The promise of his hard, sweaty body trying to dominate her was more enticing than the menial power play tonight. 

His shoes and shirt went flying as Charlie shucked plaid flannel and panties in one swift motion. 

“Get a move on, Counselor.”

“Kiss my ass,” was the retort muffled by the thermal Henley she was tugging over her head.  Hair and hands pulled free, and the soft red fabric got wadded into a ball that she threw at his head.

He only swatted the shirt away with a leer and laugh intended to piss her off. 

It worked. 

“You think you’re God’s gift to women, don’t you?”

“Not women.  You.”

The godforsaken man was good.  So very, very good that her womb screamed like it was 1964 and the Beatles just rolled into town. 

“Keep workin’ it Bongiovi,” she goaded as his kicked pants landed somewhere near the window.  “You might get away without an encore tonight.”

The mattress dipped under his knee, and wicked intent gleamed a tell-tale shade of blue.  “What if I want an encore… Bongiovi?”

Even after six months, her last name was still like a new toy to him.  Maybe because Jon hadn’t expected his hard-nosed lawyer wife to take it, but that term didn’t describe Charlie anymore.  She was a volunteer, artist, mother, bonus mother and wife.  All but one of those things hinged directly on the last name she’d secretly been proud to take, and the only thing that didn’t…  Well, she thought she’d been a better mother, too – until the baby bomb dropped.

Her stomach churned, but she pushed away the worry and anxiety.

Don’t think.  Feel.

A skitter of expectancy goose-pimpled inner thighs when he parted her knees without an ounce of finesse.  From her position lying open and exposed against the pillows, he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen.  His finely sculpted jaw was coated with whiskers that were going to burn in all the right places.  Perfectly shaped lips were parted just enough to see his peek-a-boo tongue.  Cerulean eyes shimmered with devilry as he roughly stroked himself to readiness. 

When his thumb swiped away a droplet of readiness and rubbed it into the bulging head that should be planted inside her, Charlie’s uterus contracted.  She reached up to roll achy nipples and breathed, “I hope you slept on the plane.”

“I did.”

That was the moment she expected him to drive in to the hilt and fuck her silly, but he wasn’t playing by the usual set of rules tonight.  Jon sat on his knees and continued to leisurely fist himself while a proprietary gaze flicked back and forth from kneaded nipples to the weeping slit that craved its partner.

“What the hell are you waiting for?”

Her irritability only made that one side of his mouth curl with amusement.  “For your temper to be hot enough.  Your pussy to be greedy enough……….  For you to beg.”

“You’ve lost your friggin' mind if you think I’m begging,” she growled, knowing that it was only a matter of time until she made a liar of herself.  This was part of the game and he was the game master.  He knew exactly how to play her.  He always had.  “You’re the one who’s in the doghouse.”

“No, I’m not.” 

Jon’s voice was deceptively soft, and that stroking hand took a detour to squeeze the balls that were taut with expectation.  She didn’t blame him, but she sure as hell wasn’t getting left behind.  Charlie’s right hand glided down her torso, leaving the left to pinch its chubby bit of flesh while her right found another bit of flesh – one that was thudding with the pulse he made dance.

“What delusion makes you think that?”

Charlie’s middle finger dipped into the pool of want that was starting to overflow under his watchfulness.  She swirled in the sauna until the pad was slippery enough to play nice with her clit, and then flicked over it with a soft whimper.  Whatever his game was tonight, she wished he’d get on with it.

“You love me.”

“So?  It might be a well-appointed doghouse, but your ass is still there.”

Jon’s chest creaked with the love that swelled inside him.  He loved her in a way that made no sense and yet was the key to mysteries of the universe.  She was passion.  She was beauty.  She was honor, loyalty, strength, confidence, independence and dedication.  She was everything he valued most, and she held his heart like no one else before her. 

Oh, and she was one more thing.  Forgiveness. 

 “And you know I’ll do what’s best for our family.  Every.  Fucking.  Time.”

She knew.  He’d done it over and over again.  He would keep doing it over and over again, because that’s who John Bongiovi was.  Rock star?  Undboutedly.  Humanitarian?  Absolutely.  Philathropist?  No kidding.  Those were all the things the world lauded him for, but when no one was looking – that’s when he shone the brightest.   

The man would die for his family, and Charlie was at the absolute center of that family.  Everything he did for her – and her sons, his sons, his daughter, their brothers, their parents and even crazy Lilah – came from a genuine spot deep in his heart.  His decisions might not always be popular, but they were always made in the best interest of his family.

The asshole was a Jerseyfied saint, and it was as annoying as it was endearing.

“Are you trying to ruin my angry fuck with love-making?”

In one sudden motion, she was full to the tonsils and had both arms pinned by the hard body on top of her.  His weight made it hard to breathe, but she would’ve lost her breath anyway when he whispered in her ear, “Welcome to the new and improved love fuck.”

At the little grunt that accompanied the roll of his hips, Charlie’s eyes fell blissfully shut.  This.  This was her life, and no matter what little complications came along, it was absolute perfection. 

“Harder.”  Her innermost recesses weren’t satisfied.  He wasn’t enough a part of her, and it was only the delicious scrape of their softest flesh made it tolerable.  She felt the ridge of his head catch as he slid free and then rammed with enough force to deflate her lungs. 

God, that’s good.

“Always harder.  Always deeper,” he mocked, but slammed home again, this time grinding for that extra inch.  “Never e-fucking-nough for you.”

“When you crawl inside of me to stay, it’ll be enough.”

That was her contribution to this love-fucking thing, and it earned her an affectionate nip on the neck.  His thrusts were slow, forceful and measured with a rhythm that only Jon heard, but Charlie felt it.  She felt it deep inside, along with the throb of her clit against fingertips that were now coming back to life. 

There was almost no friction between her legs.  Everything was so drenched that sodden fingerprints found no traction on her clit.  She had to push into her body and rub in tight circles to get the rush she wanted and did so with a warble of satisfaction.  Between his jarring thrusts stimulating the inside and her own handiwork stimulating the outside, it was only seconds before Charlie was on the verge of release. 

She was rising the crest and bracing for the free-fall, ready to savor every tremor… when he stopped.

“What the hell?” she shouted as he still inside her and forcibly removed her fingers from their appointed task to pin both hands high onto the pillow.  “I was almost there.”

“Just think how much better it’s gonna feel now,” the arrogant bastard panted while situating her ankles on his shoulders and leaning forward.  “What’s best for you, Chiara.  Remember that.”

She really did love him most in the throes of hatred, and it nearly split her at the seams as Jon folded her in half.  Kneecaps touched her shoulders, and her hands were still pinned high.  She was completely exposed and defenseless.  He held her entirely at his mercy, and Charlie hated how arousing it was to yield herself.

“Shut up and fuck me.”

Her husband’s laugh was short and strangled as his hips swiveled in a exasperating move that titillated but didn’t satisfy.  

“Beg me for it.”

Jon loved this little crack in her armor.  She seldom allowed herself to be weak, and when she did, it was in their bed.  He got off on her pleas to come.  They made him feel like the only one in the world who could give it to her.  He might not be the only one who could, but he was the only one who would, according to Team Monogamy standards, and it was damn satisfying.

 Almost as satisfying as her whispered, “Please.”

“Please, what, baby?”  The wait was torture.  His dick was about to explode from the root, but this had to be part of his orgasm.  The relief wasn’t the same without it.  “Please wear out your pussy?  Please shatter it in a million pieces?  Please pound you into oblivion?”

“Please.”  She was close to the breaking point.  He could hear it in that single cracked word.  “Please give it to me.”

That was a start, and as a reward, Jon pushed slowly inside the greedy sheath that clenched to hold him captive.   For a second.  Then he tugged free amid her protests.

“Give you what, Chiara?  Tell me.”  Jon dipped his head to taste one of the rosy peaks that was straining to reach him.  She’d already worked her nipples up.  He could simply enjoy the fruits of her labor and did, breathing over it, “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

Her spine arched, pushing the womanly softness against his face.  She liked to have them licked, and a lazy tongue obliged as she whimpered with frustration. 

“Make me come.”  The sweetness of the breathy surrender was almost enough to make him come.  “Do what only you do.  Please.  Kill me so I can live.”

Mother.  Fucker.

The time for talking was done.  All Jon’s blood had diverted to the little head, and it was hammering itself into a honey-slicked hot tub of happiness.  Her body was stretched tight and straining to keep him, but he fought through the suction to create that provocative slap of mating flesh.  

Liking the sound, he did it again. 

Flesh on flesh.

Faster and faster.

Harder and harder.

Desperation.

Frenzy.

Fury.

Wrath.

Rapture.

Until the pivotal moment that the beauty beneath him turned breathtaking as she reached the plateau of ecstasy. 

Her face contorted with euphoria as she splintered into the promised million pieces, and Chiara convulsed through her final submission to Jon's murmurs of praise and love.  When lethargic eyes finally unclenched to watch him seek his own ecstasy, they were filled with everything a man could ever want to see. 

Everything he could want to see.

Utterly bewitched, Jon stepped blindly onto a shooting star for an unforgettable ride with the love of his life.