*14 - Need

“Cassidy?”

She bit off the end of her melodramatically prolonged Judy Garland finale, a tiny bit embarrassed to be caught singing in the shower by Jon Bon Jovi.  That was silly since he was a singer, after all.  He probably had his own guilty pleasure song that he belted out in the shower, even if it wasn’t Judy Garland. 

“Yeah?” 

The glass shower enclosure allowed her to plainly see he wasn’t in the bathroom with her, but his voice carried clearly through the door that was only an inch short of being closed.  “I’m ordering room service.  What do you want?”

She ate so little nowadays that food wasn’t really even on her radar.  Before coming to Tennessee, she’d been dieting pretty stringently, so there was no way she was eating any of the crap at Tully’s.  Microwave entrees, sandwiches, fruit and salad were the extent of her meals in recent weeks.  ““Uhhh… Salad with vinaigrette?  I’m pretendin’ to be a vegetarian this week.”

His laughter made her smile as she turned off the water.  Laughter was good.  It suggested that the unidentified demons plaguing him earlier must have retreated.  It was also reassuring and allowed her to believe that there wouldn’t be a repeat of his earlier behavior. 

Reaching for the towel draped atop the shower wall, she couldn't help but feel sorry for the man.  Rich as Jesus and famous as God, Jon should be living life as though he had the world by the tail.  She’d honestly thought his quiet reservation at Tully’s had been a ploy to keep interested parties – her – at bay, but now she knew differently. That gray haze that he carried like a cloak of gloom obviously made him miserable, yet he held onto it with a stranglehold, as though it protected from whatever was trying to hunt and devour him. 

The only exception so far had been this morning, when the gray haze had burned off like morning fog, leaving him as a regular person instead of a zombie-esque being.  She liked him much better without the gray haze and whatever had beaten that critter into submission was something Jon should be pursuing.  Happiness should be the rule, not the exception.

Cassidy hung up the towel and reached for the hotel hair dryer, eager to blow away the last remnants of grease stench along with the wetness.  Naked, she bent at the waist to direct attention to the underside of her hair until it was merely damp instead of wet and righted herself with a slight shake of the head. There was no need to fuss further with the coppery cloud.

This color was striking but it was such a nuisance to maintain.  She could see that a touchup of the roots would be necessary within the next week and it would be the third one so far, making her grateful she’d gotten a cosmetologist license before moving on to loftier things.  At least she wasn’t paying someone else to keep her looking like a natural(ish) redhead.

A thoughtful frown creased her face as she considered whether or not to apply fresh makeup.  She wanted to look nice, but it would only have to be washed off again in a short few hours before going to sleep.

You’ve only spent one night with the man, and you’re here because of your looks.  Put on the makeup. 

Out came the little cosmetic bag and, in turn, each of its magic potions.  Cassidy applied one at a time until her face revealed only a few slight imperfections that she were beyond concealing. 

One was the tiny scar on the point of her chin that she’d gotten during a childhood fight with her cousin Gerald Ray.  The miniscule wound from a GI Joe bayonet was cradled in the slight cleft there, so she didn’t worry about it too much.  The others were mostly lines at her eyes and mouth that were getting too deep to cover without spackle and a trowel, and she preferred to think of them as wisdom instead of imperfections.

Now for clothes…

“Don’t.”

Her head snapped up to the mirror and discovered Jon’s reflection lounging in the now-open bathroom entryway.  Sullen blue eyes connected to hers in the glass, and it took only a split second for Cassidy to recognize that brooding Jon was present and accounted for.  The cloak of gray wretchedly dulled what she knew to be a radiant smile and hair that was more salt than pepper stood haphazardly on end.  He’d obviously been running his fingers through it, but even a messy head borne of torment didn’t deter from his magnetism.  Jon didn’t need picture perfect hair to be magnificent.

“Don’t what?” she inquired with a sweet smile, hoping to shoo the cloak away.

“Don’t get dressed.” 

The soft words confirmed her original assumption about his intent, but she had wanted to hear him say it anyway.  To avoid misunderstanding and all.

“I’m not accustomed to dinin’ in the buff.”

Rather than take her teasing lightness and run with it, he hugged the damnable melancholy cape tighter.  His mouth drew taut at the corners and the eyes that still held hers captive wavered with doubt.  “I know I was a pig, but I’m hoping you won’t deny yourself an orgasm because of it.”

The nerve endings at her very core flared to life with the suddenness and force of an electric chair. 

Simple.  Straightforward.  Why did that turn her on about him?

It gives you permission to be the same.

“Because you want me?” she probed with intent. 

If he was going to stand there and be reticent, it would be careless not to exert the upper hand it afforded her.  She was inordinately curious about why he thought her special enough for a second night and, since he’d invited her to persuade more information out of him, Cassidy would be a fool not to use all the tools at her disposal.

“No.”

“I see you’re stickin’ with the brevity thing,” she called out Jon’s reflection, softening the accusation with an ineffective smile.  His subdued countenance didn’t even flinch in response, and blue eyes remained riveted to blue.

“It’s no longer a matter of want.” 

The eventual elaboration was quiet and accompanied by his entry into the bathroom.  Bare feet were silent on the tile as he took the minimum amount of steps necessary to stand directly behind her.  However, the only touch her naked skin registered was heat.  He was close enough to share warmth, yet there was no contact between them.  The only connection they had was through the mirror, where their faces were now reflected side-by-side and his hovered above her right shoulder. 

“I need you, Dixie.”

This time she found the brevity to be nothing short of perfection, and goosebumps danced a sexy tango over each inch of her exposed skin.  Her reaction was blatantly obvious, and Jon couldn’t possibly miss the way her nipples constricted under his gaze.

“Tell me it’s okay.”  The gentle plea was nothing more than a puff of air across her shoulder.  “I won’t lay a finger on you until you do.”

Those goosebumps went from the tango to the Macarena, and she was sorely tempted to close her eyes to savor the sensation.  In fact, her eyelashes fluttered heavily with the determination to do just that.  It was only the heat of him at her back combined with the magnetism of his reflection that prevented them from closing. 

She’d never experienced such an unusual – or potent – bout of foreplay and wondered if it was all the more provocative because he wasn’t specifically trying to arouse her.  Jon was only making sure things were right between them before taking what he wanted.

Needed.

“Why do you need me?”

“I don’t want to explain it,” was his weary refusal.  “Can’t you just be happy knowing you’re the only goddamn thing in the world that’ll satisfy me tonight?”

His beautiful face was so tortured that she would’ve done almost anything to ease his pain, and Cassidy turned from Jon’s reflection to the man himself, instinctively seeking to soothe him.  Deep blue eyes swam with thoughts and emotions that he fiercely withheld.  Whether it was due to stubbornness or self-preservation didn’t matter.  She was still helpless to do anything except yield to his need.

The palms she lifted to his chest were so much kinder than the ones that had pushed him away. They sought to bring him close.  The kiss she dusted over his lips was so much softer than his had been.  It begged to take away his distress.  Her whisper was so much more delicate than the angry words.  It spoke her willingness to be what he needed, no matter why.

“Yes.  I can.”

He expelled a pent up breath into the air above them, reaching to palm her naked backside as he bent for a markedly gentle kiss.  Rather than bruising her, his lips coaxed her.  They caressed her.  They asked permission for his tongue to slide against hers, and Cassidy sighed in consent as her arms slithered up to enfold his neck.

“Wrap your legs around my waist.”

She did as he bade, the edges of his leather belt digging erotically at her inner thighs as he carried her to the bedroom.  

Sex with him last night had been good, but it had been wholly physical.  If pressed, she would’ve described it as an enjoyable romp between the sheets that pleasantly scratched an itch – for both of them.

Jon had taken tonight to a different level with his distinction between want and need.  It was no longer an impersonal naked workout, it was personal for both of them.  She craved to exterminate the gloomy gray haze that suffocated him, while he “needed” her and seemed to be intent upon compensating for his earlier behavior.

The mattress sank under his weight as he slowly eased Cassidy into the pillows.  Another nice, but unheated, kiss covered her mouth and his tongue was torturously slow and lazy in tasting her.  His hands simultaneously roamed her breasts and tested their weight in his palms before expanding his fingers to create multiple trails of sensation across them.  When a thumbnail raked over her right nipple, she inhaled with pleasure and surged into the touch.

His mouth separated from hers, and open lips tugged amorously over her jaw, down her neck and across her shoulders.  The damp trail left behind cooled quickly, obliging the goosebumps to rise again as he latched onto one of her nipples and suckled. 

It wasn’t a simple pull either.  He opened his mouth wide, encompassing the entire front curve of her breast, and then let the softness slide free until he held nothing but the firm nipple.  His tongue curled around the hard tip like a piece of candy and then flicked briskly against it.  After a sharp bite, he let it go to dive lower, this time drawing the flesh into his mouth forcefully enough that she knew it would leave a mark.

“Hey,” she panted, tapping him on top of the head.  “What happened to no love bites?”

His lips shone and sculpted cheeks were flushed with color when he looked up.  “Did it hurt?”

“No.”

“Are you married or otherwise in a relationship?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not sorry.”

Cassidy regarded him intently, trying to discern the thoughts that were churning behind his eyes, but Jon was too practiced at concealing them.  She saw only what he wanted her to see – nothing – before he dipped his head to pepper her with more open-mouth kisses.

This time his lips skated over her torso.  Wide, callused hands splayed across her rib cage, then skimmed down her curves as he inched lower and lower.  Thick thumbs dragged along the crevice of her thigh, easing in to the edges of her folds.

“Hey.”  She slipped her hands down to his.  Not that she didn’t appreciate oral sex, but she didn’t need special attention to find satisfaction.  She would take care of herself and wanted him to do the same.  “I’ll make sure I enjoy the ride, no matter what.  Please yourself.” 

Again, his eyes hinted at untold thoughts, but he stuck with what he did best – brevity.  “I am.”

Persevering hands slid out from under hers to continue on their mission, parting her for a carnal kiss.

“Ohhhhh,” Cassidy hissed when she felt the wet heat of his mouth on her most private parts.  His first assault was a short one and, instinctively, her pelvis rose to track the retreating source of pleasure – his tongue.

The separation wasn’t long, and he delved back into the slickness to lave her as completely and thoroughly as she’d ever experienced.  She would swear to feeling each and every one of his taste buds scraping against the throbbing bud of her clit, and the sensation was nothing short of ecstasy. 

The coarseness of his hair tickled between her fingers as Cassidy gently, yet firmly, grasped his head and directed him to where it felt best.  She’d told him she wasn’t bashful, and that included not only doing it for herself, but telling him how to do it.

Being all man in bed, he tolerated that only briefly before broad shoulders muscled in, nudging her thighs as wide as they could possibly go.  He silently demanded and commandeered complete access to... everything.

“I need it all,” Jon mumbled, almost to himself, before lapping at what he’d so fully exposed.

Cassidy felt a finger push inside as he sucked her clit, and when it channeled deep, her muscles instinctively clamped with the insistence that it stay and keep her filled.  The ploy worked, because he didn’t withdraw but added a second finger to the first.  They worked in tandem to massage the delicate tissue that was eager to weep its appreciation.

His voice was nearly inaudible as he burrowed in to deliver another perfect swipe of the tongue.  “Give me more.”

Her body lurched in response to the lascivious mandate, and he obligingly flitted his tongue over the spot that ached the most.  The spot that, if given the proper attention, would give him the “more” he demanded and she craved.

“Come on, Dixie,” he coaxed, bearing down with an arduous onslaught that would bring her to her knees if she wasn’t already on her back.  His fingers stuffed her, his mouth annihilated her.  Each graze, each nudge, each fondle became increasingly impossible to endure.

“Oh my,” she gasped when her clit was captured in his teeth for a brief instant before he washed it in lecherous apology.  He was just a little right of center from where she wanted him to be, and Cassidy used subtle force against his jaw to guide him to the perfect spot.  When his broad tongue came in contact with it, her hips writhed, wantonly pressing closer to the source of her pleasure.  Between her hips pushing and her hands pulling, he might suffocate, but she was close.

So… so… sooo… clooose…

“Uhnnnhhhh!” 

Cassidy bent into a taut bow, convulsing against him when she normally would have retreated.  There was no other choice.  Now that he’d been escorted to the perfect spot, he refused to cease his sensual battering of it.  His movements against her hypersensitive core were fervid and persistent until he was finally convinced that she’d given everything she had. 

“Fuck, that was good, but I’m gonna die if I don’t get inside you,” he muttered, rising to strip his shirt and reach for his belt buckle.  “I’ve thought of nothing else all goddamn day.”

That was unexpectedly revealing and intriguing as Cassidy watched him from her promiscuously vulnerable position.  His body bunched and rippled with muscled perfection when he hopped from the bed and out of his pants.  Completely different, yet similarly perfect, muscles flexed when he dug in a pocket to locate a condom and roll it on. 

Cassidy didn’t move when he rejoined her on the bed, allowing him to dictate what he wanted.   When his hardness immediately split her still-throbbing softness, she inhaled sharply with the sensation, but remained passive. 

“Mo…ther…fuck…er,” he groaned with a decadent swivel of his hips once he was fully seated. 

The blatant appreciation for what she could give him stole Cassidy’s contentment in what he’d already given her.  She wanted more.  She wanted more for him.  She wanted to him to find whatever he was looking for in her.

“Get movin', handsome,” she breathed, locking her legs around him and tapping his backside with her heels to spur him on.

He wasted no time in accepting the encouragement she offered.  Narrow hips rolled back to rocket forward again with deep penetration, and he repeated the pattern.  Then again... and again. 

The plunges were deep, but slow until the friction ignited him to a faster pace.  Greedy thrusts then sought to consume her, or perhaps himself, and he dropped to his elbows so that he could hide his face in her neck. His groans were painfully arousing when placed directly in her ear, and Jon breathed her name, begging her to break so that he could follow, but she couldn’t.  It was too soon.

Give him what he wants.

Her hand slipped between them with a well-practiced maneuver that had his groin bumping the fingers she used for extra stimulation.  Repetitive flicking of just the right spot while he pounded in and out of her was the ideal combination to light a second set of fireworks…

“Ohbabythereitiskeepgoingkeep-“ 

The shrill piercing cry clawed its way up from the depths of her womb, but seemed like it traveled a much further distance before she heard it.  When the noise finally did register, she was pleased to find it intertwined with Jon’s hoarse release. 

It was a distinctive harmony that represented their combined pleasure. 

Melodic.

Unique. 

Powerful.

It was quite possibly the most enthralling thing Cassidy had ever heard.

13. A Very Bad Day

The remainder of Cassidy’s drive was blessedly uneventful and devoid of law enforcement presence or any other random cause for heart palpitations.  Even if she had seen a police officer, they would’ve had no reason to take notice of her because she was the model driver.  She kept a close eye on her rear view mirror and was irrationally overcautious, coming to a full stop at every stop sign and keeping her speed two-miles-an-hour under the posted speed limit. 

In spite of her motorist paranoia, she enjoyed the remainder of the commute.  What wasn’t to enjoy when you were producing encore-worthy performances with the star-studded cast of Lightning 100 FM?  Alicia Keys, Lady Gaga, Train, American Authors and Adele were all privileged enough to receive Cassidy’s exemplary vocal accompaniment and, if they were aware of it, she was sure they would all be vastly appreciative. 

The guy in the car next to her at that last traffic signal certainly liked her voice well enough.  He hooted and offered a shrill whistle through his fingers as she pulled out from the light.

Jon was the only one in recent history who hadn’t seemed to be particularly impressed with her voice.  To be fair, she couldn’t recall that he’d ever said anything positive or negative, so maybe he simply found her mediocre.  It didn’t really make a hill of beans in the long run, but she was still a bit puzzled as to why he blew off the gratitude she’d expressed at the chance to sing with him. 

Then again, he’d also very nearly demanded that she join him again tonight, and she couldn’t figure that out either.  The man clearly had a complex mind, which he didn’t like sharing, so she may never know.

Unless you come up with a way to “persuade" him.

That was a challenge that had been lingering in the back of her mind all day.  It had provided interesting fodder for thought as she performed menial tasks at work, and she’d been grateful for the distraction while cleaning out the vat of oil that reeked of chicken and pickles.   She’d had a far better time unleashing her creativity on persuasion-worthy tactics than she would have pondering the gunk in the bottom of the deep fryer. 

It wouldn’t be long before she found out whether or not that creativity was going to pay off.

Unbelievably enough, Cassidy was only running about five minutes late when her black stiletto Mary Janes came to a standstill in front of the same Omni suite that she’d visited the night before.  Hiking the overnight bag higher onto her shoulder, Cassidy lifted her fist to knock on the nondescript door that gave no indication of who its famous occupant was. 

She waited for him to answer with the realization that the anticipation fluttering in her stomach was an entirely different variety than that of last night’s anticipation.  The uncertainty had been removed and she knew – more or less – what would happen on the other side of this door tonight.  This anticipation was pleasurable instead of nerve-wracking. 

The door swung inward, and her stomach leapt with a burst of excitement. 

Jon stood partially shielded by the heavy door, but he remained visible enough for her to see that today’s t-shirt was a dark blue only a few shades lighter than that of the dark-wash denim jeans.  She also immediately recognized that this wasn’t the man she’d left behind this morning. 

Brooding Jon had returned and his smile lines dug deep to emphasize tightly compressed lips that were far from smiling.  They strongly mirrored the grooves that dug into his forehead and between the eyebrows that were drawn low.  Dull denim eyes had come to replace the ones that were sparkling the last time she’d seen him, and barely suppressed dissatisfaction swam in their murky depths.   

While she’d rather see him happy, Cassidy wasn’t daunted by the man who beckoned her inside with a silent jerk of his head.  She knew that she could improve his mood, so she simply summoned her usual cheery smile and stepped through the door with a bubbly, “Hi, handsome.”

The door clicked shut behind her, and Cassidy glided over to deposit her bags in the same armchair nearest the door, finding it odd that he still hadn’t spoken.  She was just turning to ask him why when savage fingers clutched her bicep and swung her around to fully face him. 

Jon’s eyes were no longer dull.  They were backlit with a fire that had nothing to do with passion, and he locked her other arm in a matching grip.  That dual grasp propelled her into a forceful backward march that ended only when her head and heels hit the wall with a muted thump. 

Her gasp was swallowed whole when angry lips crashed down with a demanding greed that had the edges of her teeth cutting into the sensitive flesh lining her mouth.  Unaware, or uncaring, he drove harder. His tongue boorishly plundered battered lips, hell-bent on its mission to brutishly devour her and, when he sought a more satisfying angle, their teeth clacked together with jarring force.  

Jon thrust his body against hers so that invasive hands could grope beneath her shirt and fumble into the waistband of her pants. 

Cassidy was stunned.  In their previous encounters, he had never even hinted at this kind of aggression.  If he had, she would have set immediate boundaries or, better yet, never come here in the first place. 

She didn’t know who the hell this guy was, but it surely wasn’t who she’d come here to see. 

Straining against his grip, she bent her arms to wedge her forearms between their torsos.  The heels of her hands were forcefully jammed into his sternum and she did her best to make it hurt when shoving with all her might.

“What the hell is your problem?” she demanded through the tender lips that had been torn free when he took a staggering step backward.  The torment that flooded his eyes was painfully visible, but she wasn’t interested his torment.  All Cassidy cared about in this moment was the reason for his insulting behavior.

Jon regarded Cassidy in silence as he rubbed the tender spot her escape had left in the center of his heaving chest.  He couldn’t decide if the pain was from the blunt contact or the intensity in which oxygen was moving in and out of his lungs – or from sheer mortification at his actions.   

There were no words to bring acceptability to what he’d just done, and his conscience felt nearly as bruised as her lips appeared to be.  Her bruised and unsmiling lips.

You are a fucking moron.

Every memory he had from their short acquaintance featured her smile.  She was smiling in every single mental picture he had of her, but she wasn’t smiling now.  The angry confusion that marred her pretty features didn’t belong on a woman who exuded perpetual happiness, yet he had put it there. 

Because he’d had a shitty, shitty day.

It had started off beautifully because of her.  She had given him a renewed glimpse at the former nirvana of his life.  She’d provided an inner peace and clarity which allowed him to write – really write something of substance – for the first time since…

Since Richie left.

After Obie’s visit, things had steadily gone downhill and, with each lousy step that took him further and further down into the abyss of his fucking life, the chasm between him and that nirvana had grown.  As it steadily progressed toward insurmountable, his mood had begun to sour, and all he could do was obsess over it and the woman who could obliterate it.

Like a drug addict, he had craved what she could give with a desperation that couldn’t be comprehended by someone who hadn’t experienced the high.  The later the hour had become, the more his anxiety had built. 

He’d opened a bottle of wine and drunk most of it in an effort to get a grip on himself, but wine didn’t offer its usual calming effect tonight.  It had done the exact opposite and made him so jittery that, when she’d been late in arriving, he found himself on the verge of some kind of psychotic panic, thinking that his supplier wasn’t coming and that he wouldn’t get his “fix”. 

By the time she’d finally gotten here, he’d slipped off the deep end with relief and become some Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde nutcase.

You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t walk out of here and send the cops back in her place.

“I am a kind woman.”  Her gentle Southern lilt eradicated the silence. “So I will choose to believe you weren’t trying to be a self-entitled son of a bitch just now.  Instead, I’ll very graciously assume you were venting your frustration over a very, very bad day.”

One would think her forgiveness would ease his conscience, but that wasn’t how his psyche chose to play the hand it was dealt.  Rather than accepting the absolution, his bruised conscience hemorrhaged and labeled him as the self-entitled son of a bitch she’d named him.  Whether she chose to believe it was irrelevant.  The label stuck. 

Frustrated and incapable of forming coherent sentences, Jon growled in vexation and spun on his heel to stride toward the window.  When he reached the point where his options were to stop in front of open curtains or continue through the nineteenth floor plate glass, he planted his bare feet just short of the wall.  Both hands were crammed harshly into his pockets in lieu of punching a hole through the window – or breaking his hand without benefit of a hole – and he scowled at the inappropriately beautiful Nashville sunset.

He cursed himself.  He cursed Richie.  He cursed Obie.  He cursed Clay Adams.  He cursed the fucking antidepressants. 

He cursed everyone but the woman who noiselessly joined him.  Jon hadn’t heard Cassidy move, and her presence at his side wasn’t something he saw with his eyes, since he refused to look.  He could simply feel her manifestation like some kind of ghost of the Confederacy. 

Tension coiled all of his muscles as he waited for her to lay into him – to curse him the way he cursed himself.  Cassidy, however, did no such thing.  She shared his view of the city skyline for an infinite amount of time without saying anything, until the silence was no longer acceptable.   

“You’re gonna need to say somethin’.”  Her quiet mandate bounced from the glass in front of her.

He was very well of that, and would be happy to do so if having some fucking command of the English language wasn’t required to make it happen.  He had a pretty strong feeling that “see Spot run” wasn’t going to be of any use here.

“You were right,” he churlishly offered after too long, hating the attitude that coated his earnest surrender.  “I had a very bad day.”

“I see.”  A single beat passed after her soft acknowledgement.  “Did a loved one pass?”

Exploratory eyes slid toward the petite woman whom he currently hated for giving him what he’d been missing, since he couldn’t seem to hold onto it with both fists.  She was right there at his side, interchangeably conjoined with the woman he’d spent most of the day yearning for, and they both perused the twilight sky. 

“No.”

“You were diagnosed with a terminal illness, then?”

“No.”

“Did you get pulled over by the police?”

“No.”

“Did you work eight hours for minimum wage, just so you could put gas in your car?”

Jon’s eyes fell shut on a sigh, and he turned back to the skyline.  “No.”

His peripheral vision told him when Cassidy finally pulled her own focus away from Nashville.  He could feel the air shift as she pivoted on sky-high black heels to scrutinize him with an intensity reserved for sideshow freaks.

”If nobody’s dead and you’re not dyin’ or in jail, there oughtn't be anything else worth gettin’ your shorts in a wad over.”

Obie and his unspoken prophecy of doom for Bon Jovi, the damnable fickle nature of happiness, his fucking piss-poor mood in general and anything associated with football.  And let’s not forget the self-loathing that had reared its head since she arrived. 

All of that was definitely wad-worthy.

“Don’t presume to tell me what’s important in my life,” he foully threw back her assessment.

“Then don’t presume to use me as your whippin’ boy.”

Her words weren’t angry, as they should have been – as his would’ve been in her place.  That wouldn’t be natural for her.  Cassidy’s voice carried nothing more than a maddening tranquility, and she pivoted ninety degrees further to move in the direction of her belongings.

“Whipping boy”.  The one person that has offered me the tiniest bit of solace, and I’ve used her as a “whipping boy”. 

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, effectively letting the excess hot air out of his big head so that remorse could take up residence.  She hadn’t done anything besides try and put things in perspective, and there was no reason to compound his abysmal behavior by being a dick.

He turned to find that she was across the room, where she hefted both of her bags to one shoulder and regarded him disinterestedly.

“One of two things is going to happen right now.  I’ll either be takin’ my leave or takin’ a shower.  If you have an opinion on the matter, now’s a good time to give it.” 

His opinion was that he needed her more than the antidepressants.  If she left now, he was afraid he would never get back to where he’d been this morning.  That he would end up being a depressed and unemployed fuck for the rest of his life.

“Stay.”

Cassidy’s ponytail tipped to one side in accordance with the tilt of her head.  “That whole brevity of words thing you’ve got goin’ on is somethin’ I’ve appreciated until now.”

There was no way in hell he was telling her the thought process that had just taken place.  Talking about his thoughts and feelings wasn’t something Jon did.   Sensitivity and openness wasn’t part of the Jersey culture, and he’d just met her for chrissake. 

Thoughts and feelings were reserved for songwriting.  Cassidy was due an apology, but it didn’t require spilling his guts.

One hand was pulled out of his pocket, and he pushed it into his hair to scrub back and forth over his scalp.  “I’m sorry.  Sorry I had a shitty day, sorry for… using you as a whipping boy.  Sorry I’m not a particularly nice person.”

“I’m sorry you had a shitty day, too.” 

There was no pity in the sentiment, nor acceptance of the way he handled it.  There was only a simple authenticity to her words that he found a little endearing. 

“Look,” he sighed.  “I was an inexcusable dick, so I understand if you don’t want to spend the night, but stay and have dinner with me.  It’s the least I can do.”

She studied him, probably gauging him for a bullshit factor.  His sincerity must have come through, because her chin dipped in a quick nod. 

“Okay.  But, for the record, you weren’t completely inexcusable.”  The bags were hiked up a little higher, and she stepped close to buss his cheek with a kiss.  “I’m a better listener than I am a whippin’ boy.  After my shower, we can talk about your day.  If you want.”

With nothing more, she slipped away to round the corner into the bedroom.

“Hey, Dixie?” he called after taking a couple of steps in her wake.

Her coppery ponytail made a reappearance around the same corner.  “Yeah?”

“Did you get pulled over tonight?  Is that why you were late?”

The ponytail – and she – disappeared back into the bedroom.  “Yeah.”

She obviously didn’t want to talk about it, and that was fine.  He figured it couldn’t have been too serious since she was only ten minutes late, but Jon had wanted to clarify why that scenario had come into the conversation in the first place.   

That minimum wage thing for gas in the car really happened, too.  Wanna clarify that? 

Jon scoured both hands over his face, fingers digging into his eyes.  He had enough problems of his own.  Willingly taking on someone else’s was beyond him right now, and there was nothing sad or pitiable about working hard for what you wanted.  His entire career had been built on that very premise and around that theme. 

Taking a step toward the coffee table, he hooked the remaining half bottle of wine in the fingers of one hand while the wineglass was scooped up with the other hand.  When said glass was overfilled with his favorite poison, he plopped down on the chair with a weary sigh as his eyes caught on the flash drive that he’d dropped to the table earlier today.

Exchanging the wineglass for his Mac, which was also on the table, he flipped it open just as the melodic lyrics of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” came drifting in from the bathroom.  The flash drive went into the USB port, and he recalled that she’d expressed an interest in doing that song yesterday at the studio.  Time and her stamina hadn’t allowed for it, so he took a moment to appreciate the impromptu performance while he reviewed the track list. 

I’m gonna have to ask what the deal is with her and that song.

12 - Smokey the Bear

Jon was just getting out of the shower when he heard someone banging on the door.  Cassidy had left a couple of hours ago and, since then, he’d gotten a fair handle on one song and consumed at least a pot of coffee.  Breakfast would probably be good at some point, but today, as most days, it just didn’t seem worth the effort. 

He slung a towel around his waist and made wet tracks from the bathroom through the bedroom, and progressed into the living room, crossing to the door of the suite.  A quick check of the peep hole confirmed his initial suspicion.    

Obie.  Of course.  Who else would it be?

“About damn time,” his buddy groused when the door opened and he invited himself into Jon’s room.  “I’ve been standin’ out here for ten minutes.”

Jon rolled his eyes and turned back toward the bathroom, suggesting as he went, “Try sending a text next time.  If I don’t answer, don’t show up.”

“Yeah, yeah.  So, I’ve been thinking…”

Dangerous territory, Obie’s mind.  Last time he’d been thinking, Jon found himself in a rural Tennessee dive bar. 

That didn’t turn out so bad, now, did it?

“You need an engraved invitation to tell me?  Talk already,” Jon called from the bedroom, scrubbing a towel over his wet hair and reaching for the jeans he’d worn yesterday.

“I’ve been thinking about Cassidy.”

Thinking what?  Jon hoped it wasn't anything like he was – and had been – thinking because he wasn’t done with her yet.  It turned out that her happy was contagious, and he’d like to acquire a more lethal dose before he broke ties with the sassy and unfiltered Ms. Starr. 

Hence, that whole weird ass conversation before she left. 

It was the first time in his recollection that a bed partner hadn’t at least hinted for a return invitation, even though he seldom issued them.  It sure as fuck was only time he’d had to browbeat a woman into accepting the offer. 

Back in Jersey, he’d thought of her as only one of a million women who wanted to share his company.  He couldn’t have been more wrong if he’d called her a man.  Cassidy Starr was uniquely distinctive in every sense of the word from the time she’d offered that “gettin’ to know you orgasm” right until the minute she demanded to understand why he wanted her to come back. 

And the way she flatly stated her “hoo-ha ain’t all that special”.  Jesus.

Jon zipped his pants while shaking his head.  “What about her?”

“I think she might be something special.”

Welcome to the club.

He scooped up a white t-shirt from his bag and proceeded to the doorway that connected living room to bedroom, pulling it over his head along the way.  This was a conversation he’d prefer to conduct face to face, and he used a wide stance to fill the doorway.

“Elaborate.”

Obie perched at the end of the couch that Cassidy had used to put on her shoes.  “I wasn’t kidding about a duet on the new album.  Her voice gives you a depth you haven’t had since…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, because he didn’t have to.  Jon mentally filled in the blanks without having to strain a single brain cell. 

Since Richie left.

Every single fucking day he woke up thinking, “this is the day” – the day when he was no longer bitter about Richie’s abrupt and ill-timed choice to eliminate Bon Jovi from his life.  Jon was ready for that day to come.  Honest to God he was.  He didn’t want to harbor resentment toward a man who’d been as close to him as any other person.  It wasn’t healthy and it made him feel like shit, but he just wasn’t able to let it go yet.

Unfortunate as hell, but it wasn’t a fact that could be disputed any more than the damn bottle of antidepressants Jon now required in order to function on any meaningful level.  The Catch-22 in that particular scenario was that, in order to make him functional, the drugs dulled his mind and stole his previously admirable command of the English language. 

So he could either lie listlessly in bed and compose motherfucking sonnets or endeavor to make a living by stringing together “see Spot run” lyrics.  How were those for choices?

Shitty.

“So you want me to sing with her.  On an album.  And then what?”  He was infuriated every time this affected his life in yet another new way, so blatant sarcasm dripped from his words.  “I’m supposed to bring her on tour with me, too?”

Both of Obie’s hands lifted defensively against Jon’s acidic reaction.  “All I’m sayin’ is listen to the playback.  We recorded two takes, both completely off the cuff, and they’re better than most of the shit playing on the radio right now.”

Fuck.

The new guitarist, Phil, was doing fine on backup vocals with Sambora gone.  Anything he wasn’t comfortable with, Dave was more than happy to jump in and cover.  They were keeping all the bases covered.  They sounded solid. 

But was solid enough to keep them afloat?  Fans had gone ape shit over the duet he and Richie had always worked into the live shows, especially “I’ll Be There for You”.  Was that going to leave an irreparable hole in his live show, or did he need to plug the hole with a new duet partner? 

Fans would likely cry sacrilege over anybody else singing harmony on “Diamond Ring” or “I’ll Be There for You”, but could they eventually get past it and appreciate whatever… depth Cassidy supposedly brought to Jon’s voice?

Jesus Christ.  Jon couldn’t manage to write a fucking song.  Why the hell did Obie think he was in a position to make a life-altering decision like this? 

Because you’ve kept the writer’s block a secret.  He doesn’t know there’s anything but business as usual.

“She’d sure look good on stage,” Obie threw out as if he was helping Jon make a decision.

He was not helping.

Jon rubbed his face with both hands, and then pushed them into his hair.  “Shut up already.  I’ll listen, but that’s it.” 

“Okay, fine.  That’s all I wanted.”  His friend stood, pushing a hand into his pocket to retrieve a flash drive and toss it to Jon.  “Mixing and editing won’t be done until I get home this afternoon, but here are the raw tracks.  Call me after you hear ‘em.”

The piece of metal and plastic felt like hot lava in his hand, and Jon immediately let it fall to the table.  “It’ll be later.  I’m meeting with Clay Adams in a little while.”

“Oh yeah?  What’s that all about?”

For the first time since allowing Obie into his room this morning, Jon smiled.  “He’s going to sell me part of the Titans.”

As long as Clay’s family approved, but that was a minor detail.  Jon would meet the mother, aunts and brother today to charm them and iron out the fine points of the deal.  He had no reason to assume everything would go other than smoothly, and the final sale should be recorded by the end of the week. 

He’d dreamed of it for so long that the prospect of being an NFL owner carried an excitement like no other.  The only thing that even came close in his antidepressant, anti-writing world was knowing that the next time he had sex with Cassidy… he’d be an NFL owner.

###

Cassidy checked the dashboard and found that it was six forty-five.  Perfect.  She had plenty of time to stop for gas and still make it to Jon’s hotel by the promised meeting time of seven-thirty. 

A quick left turn had her in the Kroger station, where it took only minutes to bump the Jeep’s gas gauge up to half of a tank, and she then slid under the steering wheel for the drive to Nashville.  A quick flick of the wrist gave her some music for company, and Cassidy merrily sang along to Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance”.   

Gaga had just requested leather studded kisses in the sand when Cassidy caught sight of the blue flashing lights in her rear view mirror.  A closer look found the markings of a distinctive tan and navy Tennessee State Police SUV.

“Damn, double damn, hellfire and damnation!” The hair on the back of her neck stood at attention, and her stomach knotted with a fear like she’d never known before.  If she’d eaten anything today, it would have been spewed all over the vehicle’s interior in that instant. 

This was it.  They’d found her.  She was about to be carted off to jail like those dumber-than-dirt domestic disturbance rednecks on the Cops TV show.  They would cuff and stuff her, and she would have to use her one phone call to let Jon Bon Jovi know she wouldn’t be having sex with him that night. 

Swallowing the bile and hysteria that tried to rise in her throat, Cassidy tapped the Jeep’s turn signal and eased toward the side of the rural road with a prayer.  “Lord, God, Jesus and anybody else that might be listenin’, can ya help a girl out here?  I know bein’ persecuted for the sake of righteousness is supposed to get me blessed, but do Ya think we could skip the persecution in favor of the blessin’?  Please?  In Jesus’s name, Amen.”

A trembling hand finally got the gearshift pushed into Park and the engine turned off, leaving Cassidy to take a huge, gulping breath.  She held it for as long as she could, letting it out in a slow, gradual hiss as the trooper exited the cruiser.  Topping his head with the traditional Smokey the Bear hat, he unsnapped the fastener on his holster and slowly approached her driver’s door.  One hand hovered over his gun as he did. 

Please don’t let him shoot me. Calliope will die of embarrassment.  If you have no pity for me at least have mercy on her, Lord?

It took a couple of shaky attempts, but Cassidy had the window rolled down by the time he came to a halt just behind her left shoulder. 

“Hands on the wheel, ma’am.”

Smile and be friendly, you ding-a-ling.

“Evenin’, sir.” Cassidy put her hands on the steering wheel, as instructed, and cordially greeted the mid-thirties law enforcement officer who was built like a brick shithouse.  He must have been six-and-a-half feet tall and nearly that wide with his bulging muscles.  “I didn’t think I was speedin’, but I got a little wrapped up in the radio so, if I was, I apologize.”

“No, ma’am, you weren’t speedin’,” Smokey agreed in a strong voice, and she noticed that his name was Robinson.  Smokey Robinson.  Ha.  “I’m gonna ask you to get me your license and registration, but let’s do it nice and slow, please.”

Turning her megawatt grin in his direction, she schooled her features into a mask of apology.  “I would love to do that, sir, but I lost my wallet on Sunday evenin’ after fellowship at church.  I’ve been working double shifts the last couple days and haven’t had a chance to get down to the DMV for a replacement yet.  I do have a temporary registration in the glovebox, though.”

He nodded his approval for her to retrieve it, and Cassidy leaned over to fish the little piece of paper from the glovebox.  She vehemently willed her hand not to tremble as she passed it through the window even as she frantically tried to keep herself from hyperventilating. 

Libby is damn near a pathological liar, and she’s your sister!  You can surely pass off this slight fabrication!

“Cassidy Starr?”

“Yes, sir,” she affirmed jovially.  “Just like Ringo.”

Mr. Trooper didn’t think that was quite as cute or interesting as Cassidy had hoped.  Neither had Jon for that matter.  She was going to have to come up with a different tag line to go with that, her hyperactive mind decided. 

“I’ll need your proof of insurance, as well, ma’am.”

This time she summoned a look that was a step beyond apologetic.  One that leaned toward embarrassingly apologetic.

“I’m so sorry, Trooper Robinson, but I always carry my insurance card in my wallet and, as I mentioned, that was lost just a couple days ago.  I’m afraid my work schedule hasn’t allowed me to get to the State Farm office either.”

The muscles around his chiseled mouth curved down into a frown.  “Where did you purchase this vehicle?”

“Oh, just right up the road here in Belle Meade,” she supplied, striving for utterly casually indifference with her smile firmly in place.  “Jerald Doochin’s place.  You know Jerald?  He’s a real nice fella.  Made me a good deal and was real honest.”

His frown didn’t turn into a smile, but the frown looked a whole lot less frowny.  “Glad to hear you say that, Ms. Starr.  Jerald is my wife’s cousin, and he does try and do right by folks.  He must’ve missed seein’ the burned out tail light on this one, though.  That’s why I pulled you over.”

Blessed.  Are.  The.  Righteous!!!  Thank Ya, Lord!!

“Oh dear.”  A damsel in distress maneuver was called into play, and Cassidy brought her fingertips to her chin.  “I surely had no idea.  You think Jerald might fix that if I took it back to him?”

“I’d say so.”  Robinson finally broke down and offered a friendly look, if not a smile, before passing the temporary registration back to her.  “We’ll just call this a warnin’, but you get that tail light fixed.  Your temporary tags are also expired, but you’ve got a couple more weeks before it’s a movin’ violation.  Make sure you get that taken care of, too, Ms. Starr.”  He tipped the brim of his hat.  “Tell Jerald that Cousin Wes said ‘hey’, and you have a nice evenin’, ma’am.” 

If she didn’t have a strong bladder, Cassidy would’ve wet her pants with relief the second Trooper Robinson stepped away from the Jeep.  As it was, her head went light and spun like that teacup ride at the Georgia State Fair, making her wonder whether she was fit to continue the drive to Nashville.

You better get fit, because the only thing that’s gonna top this feelin’ is the mind blowin’ sex waitin’ for you at the end of the trip!

11 - Come Back

Cassidy’s eyes fluttered open and then closed again.  Everything was black.  Very black. 

The pillow covering her face was shoved aside, but that only provided a slight improvement.  Shadows were still heavy in the room and heavier than they should be for her cabin.  It was impossible to keep it this dark after the sun rose. 

Rolling over to seek out her phone, she experienced a twinge of tenderness between her legs.  A very specific tenderness that resulted from only one thing and that was sex.   Good sex, repeated multiple times. 

Jon.

She shoved up onto her elbow and peered at the other side of the bed, which was empty.  A glance at the clock showed that it was six-thirty, and that was way too early to be up and about after the night they’d had. 

Slithering out from under the covers, she padded her naked self to the bathroom for the usual morning business and, while washing her hands, she couldn’t help but notice his unzipped shaving kit sitting on the vanity.  It was wrong, it was intrusive and it was extremely poor etiquette, but that little black bag piqued her curiosity in the worst possible way. 

I’m not gonna take anything, I’m just gonna have a quick little look-see.  That okay, Lord?

Since there was no thunder to indicate a negative response, she took the liberty of poking around and discovered that the contents were absurdly mundane:  razor, shaving cream, toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush and medication.  One prescription for allergies, one for an antidepressant and one for…  Viagra. 

Oh, there’s no way in hell.  Last night was beyond the capabilities of a little blue pill.

The label indicated that a quantity of ten pills had been prescribed, so Cassidy twisted the lid and examined the contents of the bottle.  One, two, three, four, five…  All ten tablets were still present and accounted for, and confirmed her confidence in his natural virility.  That double-header last night had been all Jon, with no artificial assistance required.

Still, she took a closer look at the label and noted that it had been filled Friday – the day after she met him.  Quickly glancing at the dates on the other two medications, she saw that they were filled the same day, but it was two weeks before the Viagra.   Meaning they were probably regular monthly refills while the other was… new.

Cassidy wasn’t an egotistical woman.  She was confident that most men thought her attractive, but following that trail around to a spot that had Jon getting Vie day after they met because they met…  That was all just a little far-fetched.  It had to be sheer coincidence, and she should stop invading his privacy.  Right now.

Pill bottles were tucked back into the shaving kit just as she’d found them, and she left the bathroom without a backward glance.  Trying to un-see what her nosiness had uncovered, she pushed a quick hand through her hair and passed up the bed in favor of the bedroom door. 

She was still curious over Jon’s whereabouts and assumed he would be in the living room if he hadn't completely left the suite.  The lamp burning on the far end of the sofa allowed her to see that her first assumption was correct.  Jon was sitting in one of the armchairs, guitar balanced on his knee. 

“Hey.  Did I wake you?” 

Oh my Lord a’mighty. 

That very sexy body was minimally covered by a pair of gym shorts – and the guitar.  That’s it. 

His ab muscles rippled, his pectorals flexed and his biceps bulged, making her once again offer a prayer of thanks for the very fine parts God had pieced together on this man.  As though that alone wasn’t enough to make a girl googly eyed, for the very first time since meeting him, Cassidy was treated to a smile that extended beyond his lips.  His eyes shone with delight and the stress lines in his cheeks and forehead had virtually vanished.  By all appearances, he was… happy.

Brooding Jon had been indescribably handsome, but this jovial, half-naked version of him was truly a sight to behold.

A man shouldn’t be that pretty with bed head.  It just ain’t fair.

“Damn, honey,” she marveled appreciatively.  “Gettin’ laid agrees with you.  And no, you didn’t wake me up. Did you sleep at all?”

She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his hotness quotient racked up another ten points when he laughed. 

“Not much, although your outfit there makes me wanna go back to bed.”

Cassidy glanced down at herself with a chuckle.  His appearance this morning had flummoxed her so much that she’d nearly forgotten she was standing in front of him buck naked. She leaned over to retrieve her discarded clothes from last night and stepped into her panties, nodding toward the tablet page that held significantly more writing than it had when she arrived last night. 

“How’s the writin’?”

“I’ll take that as a 'no' on the bed thing,” he drawled.  “But that’s okay, since I’m being productive and might have actually put together a few lyrics worth saving.”

“Oh, yeah?”  She zipped her jeans and slipped arms through the straps on her bra while twisting her head to read what was on the paper.  “Like what?”

When he didn’t reply, she slipped her eyes toward him.  The smile was still in place, but she also encountered his indecipherable stare. 

“Sorry.  Is that top-secret information?”

The briefest frown creased his mouth before his messy silver head shook in negative reply.  “Like a phoenix from the ashes, welcome to the future, it’s a new day.”

There was no more perfect way to describe the change in him.  He’d been buried, dull and gray in the ashes, and now he was… She wouldn’t go so far as to say he was on fire, but he was something akin to vibrant. 

“Very inspirational,” was her impartial observation.  Although impartiality flew out the window in the next breath when she slipped the blouse over her head and tacked on, “And pretty damned appropriate from where I’m sittin’.”

His smile dimmed a little, with his features slipping toward a mask of contemplation rather than joy, and she once again found herself as the object of his scrutiny.

“Sorry.  None of my business.”  Her backside hit the couch cushion, and she bowed forward to snag her high heels.  “So, in case I neglected to mention it, I really enjoyed singin’ with you last night.  Thank ya for the opportunity.”

Jon visibly returned from wherever his thoughts had taken him, and that dazzling twinkle reclaimed his eyes.  “Minimum of two orgasms in my bed, and you tell me it’s singing you enjoyed?  Are you kidding me?”

Her attention swiveled from the buckle on her shoes to the ostensibly insulted man at her left.  “Honey, if you missed my enjoyment of that, then you’re not quite as bright as I’ve been givin’ you credit for.”

A bark of laughter filled the room, and he dropped his chin with a rueful shake of the head.  “Dixie, you’re hell on a guy’s ego.”

Dixie, huh?  She’d been called worse.

“Professional musicians don’t have fragile egos,” she observed confidently, with no concern whatsoever about his supposedly bruised ago.  “If they did, they would never make it to the professional level in the first place.”

His snort was something new that she hadn’t heard.  “You’re some kind of Confederate fortune cookie, aren’t you?”

“Could be.”  Cassidy pushed to her feet and reached for her purse at the same time he put his guitar aside.  “But this cookie wouldn’t mind singin’ with you again sometime, if you find yourself with time on your hands.”

“Duly noted.”

So, he didn’t share the same enthusiasm about the beautiful music they’d made together.  Being a man, he probably wasn’t quite as enthused about the “beautiful music” they’d made together in bed either.  Okay, so they were both more hard rock than ballads.  Neither experience was less gratifying for it, but she should go before she wore out her welcome.

“I gotta get goin’.”

Jon had risen at the same time as she and now accompanied her toward to the door.  When a hand extended in search of the knob, he stepped between her and the door to effectively block her departure. 

“Come back tonight.”

Cassidy drew up short, lifting an inquisitive eyebrow.  “That’s unexpected.”

“I doubt that,” he rebutted, copycatting the eyebrow maneuver. 

All joking and eyebrows aside, it was actually beyond unexpected.  Astonishing was more appropriate.

Finding him contentedly scribbling away and structuring chords, she had assumed her work here was done.  Distraction/stress relief achieved, he could get on with the business of writing.  That belief had been compounded by the singing interchange. She’d expected, maybe, a quick kiss at the door before being merrily ushered out to resume a humble existence and reminisce about her one wild night with a rock god. 

Yet he wanted her to return.  To repeat… it was unexpected.

“Why do you want me to come back?”

He lifted his hand to stroke a thumb against her cheek, musing, “Maybe my ego isn’t the only one injured here?”

Her snicker was soft, and Cassidy shook her head in denial.  “My ego is just fine.  I know you had a good time, I just didn’t realize it would bear repeatin’.”

“Oh, it sure as hell bears repeating.” 

This smile that met his eyes could be dangerous in the right context - like any context in which he wanted her to do something that was against her better judgment.  Spending another night most assuredly fell into that category.  One night she could keep superficial, but two would be pushing it.  

“I have to work.”  It was the opening shift that ended at six, but that was a frivolous detail.

“Okay.”  His hand dropped from her cheek to his hip.  “Tell me what time you get off, and I’ll meet you at your place.” 

Her eyebrows knit together with confusion, and her head tipped curiously to one side.  She normally considered herself to be a smart cookie, but she was having the worst time wrapping her head around why he was hell-bent on an encore.  Shouldn’t he be thankful that she wasn’t going to form some type of freakish attachment to him?

Because it wouldn’t be that hard to do - forming an attachment, that is.

“I apologize for bein’ a little slow on the uptake here, but my hoo-ha ain’t that special.  That makes it hard to understand why you’re not relieved by my willin’ness to walk out the door and not look back.  You could have a new plaything by evenin’.”

Jon’s hands came to encircle her waist, and he propelled her backward until her shoulder blades came in full contact with the door.  Her waist was subsequently released in favor of her wrists, and he pinned those directly above her head before inching close enough for their chests to bump and the warmth of his breath to heat her face.

“I’m not in the habit of explaining myself.”  The low voice wasn’t meant to be menacing, just potent.  “I want you.  You wanna know more than that, figure out a way to persuade me tonight.”

Oh sweet Jesus.  Brooding Jon is sexy.  Happy Jon is beautiful.  This… This… aggressive Jon is panty meltin’.

“I-“ Cassidy’s voice squeaked embarrassingly, forcing her to clear her throat.  “I can be here about seven-thirty.”

Divine lips slid back to bare stunningly white teeth in a grin that could only be categorized as feral.  She half expected him to take her mouth in an equally feral kiss, but he did no such thing.  Jon simply released her wrists and executed a step back, allowing her to once again move as she wished. 

“I’ll look forward to it.  Thank you, Cassidy.”

*10 - God's Finest Parts

They left the studio separately, with no more than a cursory goodbye, presumably so Obie wouldn’t suspect that she’d be joining Jon for the evening.  Cassidy understood the need for discretion, and that scenario hadn’t bothered her in the least.  It had actually provided her a welcome opportunity to stop by the drugstore for some necessities and to freshen her makeup.

Now it was show time, and she exited the elevator on the nineteenth floor of the Omni Hotel in downtown Nashville.  There were only a handful of doors on this level and she quickly located the one bearing the same number she’d memorized when he recited it in the recording booth. 

She pushed an uneasy palm down her pant leg, then curled it into a fist to announce her arrival with a firm rap against the door.  This whole thing felt like one of those dreams she had been trying to have about the man, and she was still a little mystified as to why he was inclined to ask her to spend the night when he’d never so much as touched her. 

What was he expecting from her?  Weird, perverted things?  Because there were certain perverted things that she didn’t mind, and there were ones that she did. 

He’s given you no reason to think he’s a sexual deviant.  The only things you really know about him are that he seems a little too serious for his own good and he wants your company for the night.  Neither of those are cause for a sexual predator alert.

The door swung inward, revealing a masculine figure which still bore the same jeans and black t-shirt he’d worn to the studio.  The only physical difference between him then and now was his bare feet.  Even the guarded smile was the same.

“Hi.”  Jon stepped back, silently requesting that she enter.

Her nerves were becoming a little jangled, but she drafted one of her sparkly smiles into play and pleasantly returned his greeting as she slid by him.  When the door clicked shut, her heart beat accelerated with uncertainty.  Anticipation.

“I just opened a bottle of wine.  You want some?”

A quick glance told her that his room was, naturally, a suite and the bottle he spoke of was sitting on the dark wood coffee table beside two wineglasses – one empty and one nearly empty.  Wine wasn’t her area of expertise, but what he had open was a pretty shade of pale, and a little alcohol might go a long way toward easing her anxiety.

“Sure.  Thanks.”

She followed him into the room, past the open bedroom door, and put her purse on the first golden tan armchair as she passed it by to take a seat on the end of the matching sofa.  Everything was done in shades of gold and brown, she noted, taking in the patterned throw pillows and gold lamps perched on high tables flanking the sofa.  The twin to the first chair was directly opposite it at the other end of the coffee table. 

Seeing as he didn’t seem inclined to chat while filling her glass, Cassidy took the opportunity to skim over the rest of the items on the table.  In addition to the wine and glasses, there was a pretty flower arrangement perched on two coffee table books and a lined tablet with accompanying ink pen. 

“You been doin’ some writin’?” she inquired with a smile, spying a few words and notes scribbled across the tablet.  Further supporting that idea was the guitar resting across the second armchair.  It looked to be the same one he’d used during their duet tonight.

“I write shit, I throw it away.  It’s a vicious cycle lately.” 

His sardonic chuckle held no humor as he passed a glass into her hand.  The wry twisting of his lips couldn’t even really be called a smile, she thought, as he took up residence on the opposite end of the couch.

“Is it always like that?  Writin’ I mean?”  She bestowed an attentive smile and sipped from her wineglass, quite curious about his answer since she had never known anyone who wrote music.

“No.  Sometimes it’s as easy as signing my name.  It used to be anyway.”

“Mm.”  There may not be a suitable response to that, although it did offer an explanation as to why he seemed so… melancholy much of the time.  If a songwriter was unable to write a usable song, it would definitely have an effect on his mood.  Maybe that’s why he asked her here – as a distraction. 

The presence of that empty seat cushion between them erased any subconscious idea Cassidy might have had about him inviting her for a quick and dirty screw.  With his current demeanor and obvious contentment in sipping his wine, he very well may have changed his mind about the whole thing. 

If that was the case, she would do what she did best and make the most of the situation.  First, she needed to know if that was the case. 

“So...” She leaned toward the table and delicately seated her glass against its surface.  “I’m kinda stuck on there bein’ no misunderstandin’s, so I’m just gonna outright ask.  When you invited me to spend the night, did you intend on havin’ sex?”

The corner of his mouth, as it had in the studio, kicked up with amusement.  “Yes.”

“And have you changed your mind since issuin’ that invitation?”

“No.”

Well, that was a relief.  Now that the lay of the land had been firmly established, her nerves settled.   He wanted sex.  She liked sex.  As far as Cassidy could see, there was nothing left to do but turn her feminine instincts loose and make that happen – and make it good. 

She leisurely rolled onto the balls of her feet, propelling herself into a standing position and taking the single step required to stand before him.  One hand reached for his wineglass to gently relieve him of it, and she pivoted to bend and deposit it beside hers. 

Another graceful pivot and she was faced with the man whose eyes now brimmed with the same fire she’d seen in that recording booth.  She got a good, close-up look when she planted one knee on either side of his legs to straddle his lap, and settled her palms against his shoulders.

Cassidy let her lips lazily curl upward and channeled her inner harlot.

“Is there anything special you like?” she inquired, coquettishly trailing a single finger down the center of his chest.  “Because I’m thinkin’ we might wanna just get this ‘gettin’ to know you’ orgasm outta the way.  We’ll both be a lot less tense.”

“I think that sounds like a hell of an idea.”  His crooked grin migrated to a full-fledged smile that compelled her to return one in kind.

“Damn, you’re pretty when you smile.”  The compliment slipped easily and unintentionally off her tongue.

Jon smiled a little brighter, pushing splayed hands into her hair and angling her face down to his.  “I was thinking the very same thing.”

A pleasurable sigh eked from between her lips just before they met his.  He wasn’t tender or particularly passionate, but the pressure of his mouth felt good just the same.  When he pushed his tongue inside for a lazy exploration, she could taste the same flavor of wine that was coating her own taste buds, and it drove her to follow his lead by tunneling her fingers into his hair. 

“There somethin’ you’re partial to?” Her lips didn’t stray far from his to repeat the earlier question.  “Or you just wanna go traditional?”

His hands drifted down the side of her neck and spread out across her shoulders.  “Your ass.”

“Aw, now, darlin’…” she murmured, relishing the fingertips that scraped her collarbone and using her own to explore the stubble along his jaw.  “I’m a hospitable Southern woman, but I don’t entertain guests through the back door.”

Those wide-spread hands had made their way down to the piece of anatomy under discussion, and he filled both palms with its fullness as he laughed. 

“I don’t want to fuck it, I’m just partial to it.”

“Ah.”  She dropped a kiss on that same jaw, the whiskers prickling her lips as she rocked into the hardness she could feel thriving beneath her.  “In that case, help yourself.”

Determined hands skated from her fanny to her hips and Jon forcefully guided her to her feet.  “The Levi's do amazing things for that ass, but lose them.  Now.”

A sizzle of electricity zinged around in her lower belly at the rough demand.  Now they were getting somewhere.

Cassidy bent to unbuckle the straps that circled her ankles and stepped out of the stilettos, slowly licking her lips as she reached for the button on her pants.  There was a short-lived moment of remorse that she wasn’t wearing sexier underwear, but she didn’t expect he was interested in her panties anyway.  She pushed them to the floor along with the jeans and daintily kicked them aside. 

He immediately sought the triangle of hair between her thighs, his fingers unapologetically sifting through the coarseness.

“You’re not a real redhead.”  That fact didn’t seem to bother him too much, seeing as he was driving his middle finger through the dark blonde curls to determinedly plunge it inside her.  “And you’re wet.”

“Don’t much get by you,” she drawled, hands reaching for her blouse and sweeping it over her head so that it could join her jeans and panties.  Her bra was quick to follow, and that maneuver had him abandoning her non-red pubic hair in favor of nipples that were pebbled with expectancy.

“Jesus,” Jon marveled, rolling the red tips between his thumbs and forefingers.  “You’ve got the biggest nipples.”

She doubted they were the biggest, but they tended to look big in her average aureoles.  One man had compared them to plump raspberries.

“You like nipples, huh?”

“They’re attached to tits, so yeah, they don’t suck.”  He abruptly released the current object of his fascination and used hard fingers to spin her away from him.  “This, though…”  He skated hot palms over every inch of her backside, squeezing and kneading as he went.  “It looks even better naked.”

“Yeah?”  She peered over her shoulder, glad he was happy with it and ecstatic that he was gifted in his handling of it.  If he thought she was wet before…   “You think it might look nicer with a bright pink handprint on it?”

His eyes darted up to hers, seeking the permission in her eyes before he branded her right cheek with a resounding ‘crack’.  There was no hesitation before he skimmed over it, soothing the sting with his touch. 

“Fuckin’ beautiful.”

Jon could lose himself in her ass.  Not in the ‘backdoor’ way she had implied earlier, but he would gladly spend an inappropriate amount of time admiring and fondling it.  While he stroked the handprint he slid his other hand between her thighs… and found that his wasn’t the only one there.  She was unabashedly fondling herself.

“Impatient much?”

“Mmm…  Honey, don’t take it personal.  I’m just not bashful type, and I won’t miss out on anything important because I didn’t put the proper amount of effort into it.  You know what I mean?”

Done.  He was done being passive and adhering to Cassidy’s schedule and timetable.  Passive wasn’t who he was.  Jon was the guy in charge.  Always had been.

Another resounding ‘crack’ rent the air and her gasp faded about the time the second matching handprint appeared, this time on the opposite side.  The smile it elicited from her was positively lewd, and it made him twitch fiercely behind his zipper. 

“Rest assured,” he intoned lightly, rising to his feet and tugging at his belt.  “If I’m fuckin’ you, you’re gonna come.  No effort required.”

“Ahhhh.”  That lascivious purr had the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.  “There’s the arrogant rock star I’ve been expectin’ all along.  You gonna bend me over that couch and put your money where your mouth is, or what?”

His guffaw split the air at the same time as his t-shirt and pants hit the floor with hers.  “You’re a bossy little thing, aren’t you?” he demanded, spinning her around and using hard fingers to pull her hips to his.

“Told ya I wasn’t bashful.”  Exploring hands found their way over his chest and shoulders, nails raking down his ribs.  “God surely blessed you with some of His finest parts.”

 Most people annoyed him when commenting on his physical attributes, but she spoke the truth the way he saw it.  He had little to do with his appearance, other than keeping those “fine parts” in good working order.  The rest was just a genetic fluke – or God, as she observed.

“Cassidy Starr, you are one interesting girl.”

“Oh, honey.  You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”  She bent to nip at the tendon in his neck and Jon retreated. 

“No love bites.”

Her tongue apologetically laved the spot.  “Of course not.  Now are we gonna get on with this while you’re still at full mast?” 

Decidedly un-bashful fingers curled around his mast and began stroking with confidence.  Cassidy clearly wasn’t worried about her technique being inferior, and for good reason.  Each pass of her hand was perfectly choreographed with the proper amount of twist, friction and compression to bring the most pleasure.

Jon cuffed her wrist with his fingers to undo the grip she had on him and strode toward the bedroom with her in tow.  At the edge of the bed, he released her and gave a light shove, gratified when all the appropriate parts bounced on contact with the mattress. 

She wasn’t stacked, but held a fair amount of assets up top.  Assets that were still firmly in place, yet naturally soft, and those damn big nipples of hers were freakishly fascinating. 

“On your knees, ass in the air.” 

His authoritative growl didn’t make her jump to obey in nervous anticipation as he’d hoped; it just made her eyes twinkle all the brighter as she crawled to the center of the bed.  This woman unequivocally refused to relinquish her happy, and that fascinated him even more than the nipples. 

The beauty of it was that Jon was mere moments away from discovering whether or not it was contagious. 

With her in the requested position, he put his knee on the mattress to join her. 

“Uh, uh, uh, darlin’.  You’ll be needin’ some protection before ya saddle up.”

“You on birth control?”

“I’ve had a hysterectomy.  It’s not babies I’m worried about, Mr. I’ve seen a million hoo-has and screwed ‘em all.”

“Hoo-has?”  What choice did he have but to laugh?  It’s not like he could fault her for being cautious with a strange partner. 

“In my purse, if you don’t have one.  I picked some up on the way.”

“I got it.”  A quick step into the bathroom and he was fishing in his shaving kit for a plastic packet, then ripping it open en route to the bed. 

When he was covered, Jon looked up to find her putting her “effort” in again, fingers buried in the folds that he was preparing to impale.  This woman was determined to be in charge of her own orgasmic destiny and his ego didn’t mind so much anymore.  If she was taking care of her, then he could take care of him.  No muss, no fuss and everybody was satisfied.

He was ready to be satisfied.

“Knees wider apart.”  A firm pressure against her inner thigh guaranteed her compliance, and he indulged his inner pervert by watching the mystical feminine finger dance she performed at her center.  There would be nothing bad about sex with her.  He could feel it.

A quick thrust of the hips had him seated deep in her “hoo-ha”, and his little Dixie girl offered a throaty moan of approval.  She was hot and slick just like a woman should be, and he clutched at her hips to hold her steady for his next plunge. 

“Oh, baby, that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

The indirect praise was enough to prompt a repeat.  Then another.  And another.

“C’mon,”  Cassidy breathed, greedily absorbing every pounding advance.  Her rump swayed back to meet each new onslaught, successfully striving to amplify the impact – and pleasure. 

Jon lifted a hand, letting it fall sharply against her buttock, excited by the way she reared and clamped down on his dick.  Priorities shifted with that game-changing move.  Relinquishing his grip on her backside, his hands planted forcefully into the bed to seek any extra leverage that he could rally into splitting this little girl wide open.

“That’s it, baby.  Ohohohoh.  Don’t stop.  Just like-“ 

Encouraging words were traded for a cry that was just like her singing voice – deep and throaty, yet smoothly honeyed.  It was the eargasm that triggered his orgasm, and he cinched an arm around her waist, forcing her to stay there and take everything he could give her.