*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.