Thank you for stopping by. This is a short story; it was the first in my "Encounters" series...
I hope you enjoy reading my story. It is now complete.
If you'd like to start at the begining, you can click here. Just keep clicking on "Newer Post" at the bottom of each chapter to progress through the story.
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Faithfully,
Hathor
TheGoddessHathor@gmail.com
Welcome!
Epilogue
It’s been 5 years since that night in my game room. 5 years of wondering what would have happened if that game had ended differently. It’s been a wild time. The shop has never been busier. The guys come in every couple of months, when they can, and the place goes nuts. In the beginning, we had to shut down for the day, just so they could get done without being mobbed. The first time they came in, I caught one of the girls taking a lock of hair from the floor. They’re pretty used to it now. I will say: turnover in the salon is at an all-time low.
I still do Jon’s hair personally. He doesn’t want anyone else, and frankly, that’s fine by me. Believe me, it’s no hardship working with that glorious hair. He still lets me do what I want with it, so it’s been pretty much the same since the first time I cut it. There’s no sense in changing something that isn’t broken, right?
In the past five years, I’ve been so many places, seen so many things, it’s hard to keep track. I’ve been all over the country and all over the world, and –
What? Did you think I sunk that shot?
I could have.
It would have been the easiest shot in the world to make. I mean I couldn’t have had the balls lined up any better if I had placed them there myself.
I mean, really, our three-year old could have made a shot like that. In fact, she has. She’s quite the little pool shark. She gets that from her Momma. When she was learning, she pouted when things didn’t go her way. Her little blue eyes got dark and crinkly, and her nose wrinkled just a little, and those tiny little frown lines that formed between her fine, light brows? She gets that from her dad.
Chapter 16
“You’re on,” I said. “Some ground rules.”
“Ground rules?” He was smiling at me, happy that he got his way. We’ll see how happy he is when he loses. If I let him lose; I haven’t decided yet.
“Yeah. Keep your hands and your other bits and pieces to yourself. NO distractions.” He laughed at me. “I mean it, Jon,” I said, giving him my very best schoolmarm stare. “If you have to cheat to win, well, then you don’t deserve me.”
“That goes for you, too, you know,” he said, still chuckling.
“I don’t have to resort to such tricks to win. You might.”
“Best of three?” Jon asked.
“You got it, Jersey. “
I broke the set with a might crak! (that’s why I love the 23) and we were off. “Show me what you got,” I taunted. I didn’t even get a shot. He lined up each shot carefully, methodically, and planned where the cue should wind up. With each stroke, he stuck his ass out a little more, and it was all I could do not to pinch it. While I sat there, slack-jawed, he cleared the table. When he straightened after sinking the 8-ball, I shot a look at him as he racked up the balls for game two. He looked quite pleased with himself.
“Nervous, Brooklyn?” He was grinning like the Cheshire cat. God, I couldn’t wait to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face.
“Nah,” I said. “Anyone can clear the table after the break.”
“Oh really?” he said.
“Yes really. Break the balls. Baby.”
Jon lined up his break carefully, and swore when nothing sunk. He stood back to let me take my shots. Wanting to give as good as I got, I leaned over the table deeply, making sure my ass was sticking up a little. I leaned low over the cue, and took a couple of slow strokes before jabbing the cue with my stick. God, it even sounds naughty. I made shot after shot without stopping. I’d played this table for years, and I could get the cue to go anywhere I damn well pleased. When I lined up the 8-ball shot, I looked back over my shoulder at him. I maintained eye contact with him as I stroked with the stick again, sending the 8-ball gently home. He gaped at me. I love it when men think they’re better at something because they’re men. I winked at him and set about racking the balls.
“Last game,” he said. “Remember what happened last time? Get ready to pack.”
“I wouldn’t set about booking my flight just yet,” I countered. I bent down to examine the line up of the cue ball, shifted its position slightly, and let ‘er rip. The break sent one of the two balls in the back corners flying into the corner pocket. That’s my most favorite trick. I can do it every time.
I stood, leaned my cue on the table, and stretched out my arms, linking my fingers and cracking my knuckles. “Don’t you know better than to try to hustle a shark at her own table?” I sunk each of my balls in turn, taking care before each stroke. With every sunken ball, Jon was getting more agitated. I’ll admit, I was too. The 8-ball was all I had left to sink, and I’d win. It was a sweet shot, straight line to the side pocket. One powerful slam of the cue, with just a little backward English, and I’ll have won. A gentle kiss of the cue, and there was the danger it would follow the 8 into the pocket, and I’d lose. Pucker time. What was I going to do?
Did I really want to win this game?
Jon was pacing.
“What’s the matter, baby?” I asked, stopping and straightening up, resting my cue against the table.
“I don’t like to lose,” he said, sulking like a little kid. “Especially when there’s so much at stake.”
“I don’t either,” I countered, “but you haven’t lost yet.”
“True, but it doesn’t look good for me.”
I reached up to kiss him sweetly on the lips. He held me close, and I could see regret and sorrow in his eyes when I finally pulled away.
I grabbed my cue and lined up for the final shot.
Chapter 15
After drying and dressing, we went into the kitchen. We need protein. Massive amounts of protein. And caffeine. Two of my favorite “eens”. Nothing will give you a jolt of energy like a hearty breakfast, so that’s what we had. We made eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, fried potatoes, and damned if we didn’t eat it all. We also went through a pot and a half of coffee before Jon asked,” So, where’s this game room I’ve heard so much about?”
“Stack your dishes in the sink, and follow me,” I said.
I led him back upstairs and down the hall past my bedroom and the rumpled sheets that if it weren’t so gross, I don’t think I’d ever wash again.
We passed through a door at the end of the hall, and Jon stopped, staring. I smiled wide at being able to surprise him. Again. God, a girl could get used to that gobsmacked expression on his gorgeous face. The door opened into the middle of the huge room that sat over the three-car garage below. Directly in front of us was a nine foot pool table; rich mahogany wood with ball-in-claw feet, dark green felt, and an old-fashioned Budweiser pool table light hanging over it. There were eight matching pool hall chairs, covered in heavy burgundy brocade. They were scattered around the pool table, paired up and matched with high tables. A full four feet of wall was taken up with cue racks; full of sticks of different weights, lengths, and colors.
On the near side of the left side of the room was an arcade-quality air hockey table. On the far side, there were dartboards lined up along the wall. The right side of the room was dominated by a full bar, complete with mirrors behind, shelves of liquor, and the smoothest, shiniest expanse of mahogany Jon had ever seen; a perfect match for the pool table. There was a brass foot rail running along the length, and an even dozen burgundy leather-topped stools lined up in front of it.
“This is amazing,” Jon said, just gaping at the room.
“Yeah, I know,” I said immodestly. I am incredibly proud of this room. “It’s my favorite place to be, aside from the salon.”
“I can see why.” He walked over to the bar, and asked a question with his eyes. I nodded, and he raised the hinged section to pass behind. He looked around at the glasses, the beer taps, fountain soda taps, freezers, fridges, touching everything. He’s such a guy.
“So, how does it compare to yours? What am I missing?”
He grinned at me. “It’s very similar to mine, actually.” He looked around more. “You know, you aren’t missing anything.” I ambled up to the bar, and sat on one of the stools. “What can I get you?” he asked, slinging a hand towel over one shoulder. He was too cute.
“Hmmmm. There are so many choices. I could go with the Slippery Nipple, or the Blue Orgasm…” Jon burst out laughing. I smiled and said, “But my all time favorite is Sex on the Beach. I’ll have that.”
Jon set to making my drink, still chuckling at my banter. Glad to know that at four in the morning, he has a sense of humor. I watched in amazement as he tossed and flipped the bottles flamboyantly, as good as any mixologist I’d ever seen. He saw the look on my face and smiled. “I still have a trick or two up my sleeve.”
“I guess you do.” He was at home behind my bar. I still can’t quite believe he’s here in my house, behind my bar, making me a drink. With a flourish, he put a napkin in front of me and centered a perfectly colored drink in front of me. He even garnished it with a slice of orange. He made himself a cosmopolitan, and came out from behind the bar to sit with me. We chatted for a while about the band’s plans for the summer, and Jon told me all sorts of stories about their younger days on the road. They were wild men. He said he’d really enjoyed those days, but if they were still like that today, the pace would probably kill them. They were too old for that shit.
“Not old,” I said, with a twinkle in my eye.
Jon groaned. “Don’t say it; I beg you.”
“Just older,” I said.
“Argh!” Jon dropped his head to the bar and started bouncing it against the wood.
“Jesus!” I said, laughing. I jumped up and pulled him from the stool. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t know that bad jokes made you suicidal.”
“Just the really bad ones,” he said, laughing. “I begged you not to.”
“I know, I know.” I looked at his forehead. There was a little red mark, but that’s it. All I needed was for him to go back to wherever he was going looking like he had been in a fight. That thought sobered me. The night, morning, whatever, was almost over. We’d be each going back to our own lives. My little fantasy was coming to an end. Unless I wanted to give up my shop and follow him.
“What’s the matter, D?” he asked me; concern in his eyes.
“Nothing,” I said, embarrassed at the tears that were forming in my own eyes. I quickly turned away and downed the rest of my drink. “C’mon,” I said, “let me beat the pants of you in a game of 8-ball.” I strode to the cue rack and picked out my favorite; a 23-weight, cherry stick with a hot pink base. “I’ll break.” C’mon, Jon, take the hint. Change the subject. Thankfully, he did.
“Alright,” he said, the playfulness fading from his face. Shit. I went and ruined it. We were having such a good time, too.
Jon selected a cue, racked up the balls, and stepped back to let me break. He stood close behind me, and leaned over my shoulder, whispering in my ear. “You think you can beat me?”
“I know I can,” I shot back.
“Care to make the game interesting?” he said.
“Maybe. What do you have in mind?”
“If you win, I’ll make sure the guys all come to your salon when they’re in town,” he paused.
That sounded good to me. The boost to business once word got out would be huge – and word would get out. Plus, my staff would be beside themselves. What’s the catch? “OK, what do you get if you win? And, that’s a big ‘if’ Jersey.”
Jon laughed. “I get you.”
Gulp. “You’ve already had me. What do you mean?”
“You come with me when we go on tour.” Jesus, he was serious. He took my cue from me, set it down on the table, and took my hand. “I want you with me, Diana. I want to see you there in the audience or in the wings, and know that you’re there for me.” He was squeezing my hand so hard I thought he’d break my fingers. “I want you to travel with me, cuddled up to me in the jet, maybe even joining the mile-high club with me. I want to go back to the thousand nondescript hotel rooms I’ll see with you and have you brighten them up. Consider it a trial – see if you like the pace and the guys before deciding whether to take me up on my offer.” He stared at me. “Well?”
I thought about it for a minute. It really was a win-win for me. It would give me a chance to see if I could still hold on to the salon and manage things without being there. That would make the decision much easier. My clients wouldn’t be too happy; they’re a fiercely loyal bunch. I’d just have to find someone I trust to take care of the place. I could take on the previous owners as partners, even for a short time. Am I really considering this?
Yep I am.
Holy Shit.
Chapter 14
After that, we were spent, literally. We napped again – this time I slept with him. I set an alarm though, so we wouldn’t sleep too long. I didn’t want the entire night to slip away. When the blaring horn of the alarm clock went off, I was momentarily disoriented – it was quite dark and there was a heavy arm draped across my body. It took a minute to extricate myself from his grasp to reach across to turn off the offensive device. Jon grouched into my hair, “What time is it?”
“It’s nearly two,” I said.
“Shit.” He sat up and rubbed a hand roughly over his face and through his hair. “Where’s your bathroom?”
“Across the hall,” I answered,
Jon kissed me and stood. God, he looks good naked, all rumpled with a pillowcase crease on his cheek. Sexier than any man has the right to look – and he doesn’t even have to try. He smiled down at me. “Give me five minutes, then come in after me, okay?”
“Okay,” I said. I wasn’t quite awake yet, and watched the muscles of his legs and ass move as he left the room. I tossed on a light robe and scooted downstairs to use the other bathroom. When I was finishing up, I heard the upstairs toilet flush and the shower start. That’s why he wanted me to give him five minutes. I hurried back upstairs and crept into the bathroom. He didn’t hear me, and I stopped dead in the doorway. Jon had his arms braced against the wall, letting the spray pummel his face. He had his head tipped back, and his eyes closed, and I took another mental snapshot.
Jon sensed me watching him, and said, “Are you just gonna stand there all day and stare at me, Brooklyn, or are you gonna come in and join me?”
“Give me a break, Jersey,” I said. “This is a lot for me to process, you know.”
“Why?”
What? Is he shitting me? “Are you kidding me? You do know who you are, right?”
Jon chuckled. “I thought I was just some guy who needed to lighten up?”
“You are,” I laughed, “but you’re also Mr. Rock Star, and the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, so excuse the hell out of me if I have to pinch myself once in a while.”
“I’ll do that for you, if you’d like,” he said with a leer.
“No, thanks, I can manage.” I shook my head as I dropped my robe to the floor. “Move over and quit hogging all the hot water.” I opened the shower door, but he didn’t move. “What?” I asked.
“Are you sure you won’t come with me?” Jesus, he was serious. “A guy could get used to having you around, and I still have ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-eight more times to make love to you.” I laughed out loud, and he smiled and continued talking. “I meant what I said before you know.”
I shoved him playfully out of my way and stepped into the steamy shower. “Which part did you mean?”
“All of it. I want you around me. I genuinely like you, you’re fun and you make me laugh. You’re funny and bold and beautiful and you have a way with hair, well, I’d be remiss if I didn’t try to get you on my team.”
I looked at him. “I’m glad you phrased it that way, putting the hair skill thing last,” I said. I let out a big sigh. “Look, this is a big decision for me. I’ve owned my own business for years, and it’s hard to give that up. Give me a little time to think about it.”
“But, it’s not a ‘no’ anymore?” God he looked like a little kid asking his mom for a puppy. How could anyone deny this man anything? I guess not too many do. I wrapped my arms around him and gave him a kiss, molding my body to his.
“It’s not a ‘no’.”
We celebrated my non-rejection in grand style (does he ever run out?) and ended up collapsed in an exhausted heap on the shower floor.
Whatever it is you’re thinking? Yep, we did. Twice.
Ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-six to go.
Chapter 13
I threaded my fingers into Jon’s hair and gripped his head with one hand while the other stroked the side of his face lovingly, tenderly. Jon broke the kiss to look at me. He looked into me, actually, and I knew he saw the surrender there. I knew he could see that I was absolutely, irrevocably his for the taking and I didn’t care. If he wanted me, I’d be there. No matter what that may mean.
Jon’s stroking continued, getting faster and harder as he felt me clenching around him. “Stay with me, D,” he said, as he watched my face. He could see that I was on my way to oblivion. He leaned down to kiss me and slowed his pace. I could see the tenuous hold he had on his control. He was as close to losing it as I was, and just for a moment, I saw something other than lust in his eyes. It had to be the situation. Just had to be.
I raised my head to lick his lips, and he captured my tongue in his mouth. He thrust his own tongue into mine, and we dueled. I started slipping over the edge, and locked my ankles around Jon’s waist. I wanted him joining me on the fall. I squeezed around him as hard as I could manage, and pinched his nipples. Hard. Hell, it works for me, why not for him, right? It worked. Jon’s eyes rolled back, and as my vision blurred I felt him explode inside me. I screamed from the sensation, and Jon surfed my waves of pleasure all the way in.
Jon slowly lowered himself onto me, and I held him tightly. His arms snaked under me, and he held me just as tight. He rolled us to the side, slipping from my body, and cradled me to his chest. I could hear his heart, beating fast like a bird’s. I smoothed a hand over his chest, stroking lightly. I felt Jon’s arms start to relax and looked up at him. His eyes were open a little, not much, and they were unfocused – he was drifting off to sleep. I hooked the covers with one foot and dragged them up over us. Jon mumbled, “Thanks my love; just have to rest a minute,” and floated off. OK, it wasn’t a declaration, just an endearment, but I still had a tear in my eye hearing him say “my love” to me that way.
I had that Aerosmith song playing in my head:
Don’t want to close my eyes
Don’t want to fall asleep
‘Cause I’d miss you, baby
And I don’t want to miss a thing.
That summed it up for me. I was not going to miss out on any of this night, even if I had to get out of this bed and brew truck-driver strength coffee and drink the entire pot. I watched him sleep, his face relaxed, fine, light eyelashes against smooth, tanned skin. There was a faint smile on his lips, and I’d like to think he was dreaming about me. I knew he must need the rest, but I couldn’t resist leaning up to kiss him lightly on the lips. He murmured in his sleep and shifted a little, but didn’t wake up. I laid there in the circle of his arms for a long time, wondering when he’d wake up; wondering when I would wake him up. And how. Well, the how was a no-brainer, I guess; it was just when.
Jon moaned something in his sleep, and tightened his arms around me. I kissed him again, and whispered his name. “Jon, are you awake, sweetheart?”
“Mmmm, no,” came the sleepy response, although I could tell that at least one part of him was.
I chuckled. God, he was such a guy. I trailed a hand down to the part of him that was stirring and said, “Well, you just let me know when you are. I’ll find something to do to keep myself occupied.”
Jon laughed a little. “God, sorry, Diana, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Although,” he was rubbing my back lightly now, sending little shocks and shivers through me, “it is very nice waking up with you.”
“Don’t worry about it. It gave me plenty of time to gawk at you.” I was stroking him gently, and he was growing hard. Jon pulled one of my legs up over his hip and brought a hand down to stroke me. His touch was very light, but I was still so electrified from the last time that the sensations were powerful. I could immediately feel the waves building up again.
I stopped my hand’s motion, and pulled Jon toward me with the leg that was looped over his side. He fit into me easily, comfortably, and perfectly. He rolled us so he was on his back, and I sat astride him and, started a slow, sensual roll of my hips that had his eyes closing again, but not in sleep. His head tilted as far back as the pillows would allow, and his lips parted. I moved faster over him, my movements hurried as I approached climax. I wanted to share this with him, to bring him with me over the edge, as he brought me with him earlier.
“Come with me, baby,” I said to him, panting.
And he did.
Chapter 12
I pointed with my free hand, giving him directions to my place. It wasn’t far, and I was tempted to take the long way, to see if I could make him orgasm on the bike. But, I didn’t want to have to explain the accident we’d be sure to have to the insurance company, so I led him on the shortest route to my modest house. Hell, I was so juiced up that the vibrations of the Harley and the closeness of this man to me nearly sent me over the edge. I wanted to get him naked. As soon as possible.
Jon parked the bike in the driveway, and I jumped off. Jon moved little more slowly than I did; I think the tightness of his jeans was making him have trouble moving. He took the helmet off, and shook out his hair. I just stared. I wanted to memorize every second that was ticking by. I didn’t want to forget a thing.
Jon smiled that full-on rock star smile and I sighed. I cocked my head toward the door, and he followed me up the stairs to the porch. As I fit the key into the lock, he fit his body to the back of mine, his erection pressing into the small of my back. He swept my hair to one side and planted delicate kisses along my neck, making me shiver. I leaned back into him, and he wrapped his arms around me and squeezed; one hand reaching up to cup a breast. I looked into his eyes and smiled. He smiled back and kissed me gently.
He kept his hands on me while we crossed the threshold into the house. Jon kicked the door closed behind us and spun me around to kiss me properly. I sighed into his mouth and melted into his body. He scooped me into his arms and held me close. “Which way, Diana?” he asked, his voice a whisper.
“Upstairs, first door on the right,” I answered, my own voice thick with passion. I kicked my shoes off and let them fall to the floor.
I looped my arms around Jon’s neck and rested my head on his shoulder as he carried me up the stairs. He entered my bedroom and stopped a moment to look around. I tried to see it through his eyes. The room was done all in white, from the thick, rich carpet to the walls, curtains, and bedclothes. There were splashes of feminine colors here and there: palest pinks, yellows, and lavenders. Definitely a woman’s room; a girly-woman’s room.
Jon strode to the bed, pulled down the covers, and sat me on its edge. He locked eyes with me as he let my shirt fall from his shoulders. I unzipped the jeans that were threatening to cut off all his circulation, and pushed them toward the floor. I wrapped a hand around him while he toed off his boots and kicked away his clothes, and began to stroke him.
Jon’s breathing was growing heavy. He pushed me gently away, and lifted the hem of the t-shirt up and over my head. My arms got tangled in it, and he left them that way; pushing me to the mattress so my arms stayed tangled together and draped over my head. He trailed his hands lightly from my jaw down to my collarbone, skimming over the tips of my breasts, until they finally reached the button of my jeans. He undid them, and peeled them off me; dropping them over the side of the bed. He scooted me up onto the pillows, and trailed butterfly-soft kisses across my face and neck. I sighed and shifted restlessly on the bed.
He was seducing me, and it was working. I knew I should resist; that this was a one-night thing, but shit, I was on the brink of giving in all the way to the fantasy. And, I was seriously reconsidering his job offer. If these were the perks, damn, it would be worth selling my business for.
“Diana,” he whispered, between kisses. He was working his way to my breasts now.
“What is it, baby,” I answered.
“I want to make love to you.” Kiss. “A thousand times.” Kiss. “A hundred thousand.” Kiss. “I want to learn every inch of your body.” Kiss. “Want to know every spot that will make you scream when I kiss it.”
“That’ll take a long time,” I said, flailing my arms to free them from the t-shirt. I needed to touch him; wanted to believe him.
“That it will,” he said, trailing his tongue down my abdomen and dipping it into my navel.
“Good thing you’re starting now,” I said, finally getting my arms free. I sat up and pulled Jon into the circle of my arms. I held him tightly to me and kissed him deeply. Jon cupped the back of my head and deepened the kiss even more. He lowered me back to the pillows, and without breaking the kiss positioned himself between my legs and thrust into me. He stilled for a moment to give me a chance to adjust and to get himself under control, and then started slowly and steadily stroking in and out of me. His tongue was matching the rhythm and I was lost.
Chapter 11
“Except what?” I asked, though given where his hands were, I had a pretty good idea. My own hands were playing with the sprinkle of chest hair that just intrigued the hell out of me. They trailed down to the waistband of his jeans, and pulled at the zipper.
Jon chuckled. “Tease. You know what.”
“Mmmm, I’m sure I do, but I want to hear the words,” I said, as I latched my mouth to one of his small, brown nipples, and turned his chuckle to a groan.
Jon pulled at my head, and bent slightly to look me dead in the eye. Those gorgeous baby blues were looking straight into my soul, burning me, branding me. “I want you naked under me,” he said. Oh yeah. I’ll be hearing that in my mind for the rest of my life. “I want to spend the night with you,” Jon said, shocking me. That’s not what I expected. “Let me check out your game room. Or come with me back to my apartment. Either one. Not that this isn’t great,” he grinned a slow, sexy smile at me, making my knees weaker than they already were, “but I want to make love to you in a proper bed.”
I looked at him, skepticism apparent in my expression. “You’d trust me to know where you live?”
“Aren’t you the one who said I was a good judge of character?” he challenged right back.
I smiled. “I did at that. OK, Rock Star, you’re on.” I licked his lips, took a step back, bent to pick up my jeans, and stepped into them. I tossed Jon my discarded shirt; I wasn’t ready to give him back his t-shirt just yet. He put it on without so much as a raised eyebrow, and left it unbuttoned – it looked white against his tanned skin. God, he was just beautiful.
Donning my shoes, I reached into a locker to grab my bag and dug out my keys. “I just have to lock up, so anytime you’re ready…”
“Darlin’,” he said, pressing his erection into me, “I’ve been ready for quite some time. Let’s get out of here.”
He trailed me through the salon as I turned off lights and equipment. When we got to the front desk, and I locked the cash register, Jon grabbed a lollipop from the basket on the counter and asked, “Hey, so how much do I owe you for the cut and the shave?”
I stared at him. “You don’t really think I’m gonna make you pay, do you?”
“Why not?” he asked, as he unwrapped the sucker and put it in his mouth. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from what is mouth was doing. Oh yeah, he asked me a question.
Why not, indeed. I didn’t have a really good answer to give him; it just seemed wrong to take money when he’d already given me something way better than money – I have memories that are going to last me a lifetime. He could sense where my thoughts were turning, and he laughed. “Are you saying you’ve already taken it out in trade, so to speak?”
I chuckled and blushed. “I’m thinking if that were the case, you’ve already paid for a lifetime of free haircuts, for you and your friends.” I shook my head. “Please, let’s just say the first one’s on the house.”
“Alright,” he said, shaking his own head. “You win this one. Let’s go.” He reached a hand out to me, which I took gratefully.
I set the alarm, locked the door, and jumped up to grab the handle on the security grate. Once it was lowered and latched, I turned to find Jon grinning at me. “What?” I asked.
“That was just too cute,” he said, kissing my nose. “I would have reached it for you, you know.’”
“It’s an old habit, now. I’ve been pretty much doing that five nights a week for the last fifteen years,” I smiled. “Thanks anyway. Now, where are you parked? You can follow me to my place.” I wanted to be able to remember him in my space. Wanted to have him in my bed.
“You don’t wanna ride with me?” Jon looked crestfallen, but the twinkle in his eye gave him away.
I had to kiss that fake sad look off his face. God, he’s too much. “Jersey, you know better than that,” I chided. “I’ll ride with you or on you; you’ve gotta know that. I just thought it would be easier if I took my bike. Then you wouldn’t have to bring me back here in the morning.”
“Your bike? Maybe I’ll ride with you.”
“You wanna drive?” I already knew the answer to this question – the look in his face said it all. I laughed at him and tossed him my key. “C’mon, follow me.”
Around the side of the building was a locked lot. I undid the padlock, and motioned him inside. There, a lonely Harley stood, bathed in the soft light of the moon. I swear, Jon gasped like he’d never seen a bike before. “This is yours?”
“Is that so hard to believe?” I asked, trailing my hands across the beautiful machine. I loved this Harley almost as much as I loved my job.
“It just seems like a lot of bike for such a bitty thing like you,” he said.
I laughed, and held my hand out for the key. “Gimme my key back. I’ll show you just how well I can handle something big and powerful.” I arched an eyebrow at him, mimicking his expression almost perfectly.
“Shit, no way, darlin’,” he said laughing. “You drive us back. I’m driving now.”
He took the helmet off the handlebars and strapped it on. God it made him look dangerous. All you could see were those blue, blue eyes peering out through the slot in the mask.
He threw a leg over the bike, and damn, what it did for his ass is just – well – words fail me. I climbed up behind him and plastered myself to him wrapping my arms around his waist. I let one hand dip into the waistband of his pants, and rest on the cock head that was threatening to poke out. Jon hissed, but otherwise didn’t seem to mind. I let my nail score gently back and forth across the tip of him.
He started the bike and with a full-bodied, throaty roar, we were off.
Chapter 10
Jon eased back into my chair, his eyes intent on mine. “Finish your story while you shave me,” he said, eyes twinkling. “You were telling me how you were just the ticket to put fun back in this new guy’s life. I’d love to hear just how you propose to do that.”
“That’s not exactly what I said, and you know it.” I gave him my sternest look. “Now, no more talking,” I said, “unless you’d like me to slit your throat – accidentally of course.” I held up the razor. It did look menacing. I made a show of swiping the blade along the strop, back and forth, probably more times than was necessary. Jon shut his mouth and leaned back in the chair, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. Usually, I raise the chair and lean the man back to shave him, but not today. I wanted to be able to look into his eyes. Giving a guy a shave can be a very sensual activity. Try it sometime. I lowered the chair all the way down, and wheeled over a stool for myself.
I handed Jon the hot towel, and he applied it to his face, never taking his eyes from me. I took the opportunity to swish the soft brush through the warmed shaving foam, and when Jon was done, I aped tucking my lips in, and Jon copied me. I gently brushed the shaving cream across his face, from his high cheekbones down under his chin. I took the towel from him and laid it across my lap, and leaned in to start shaving.
“Just relax, Jersey,” I said to him. “This won’t hurt a bit.” As I scraped the razor across Jon’s left cheek, I started talking to him in a low voice. I wiped the razor on the towel on my lap, and picked up my story.
“So, this guy,” I said, keeping my eyes on the blade, while Jon’s eyes stayed on me. “This guy’s job makes it incredibly difficult to be able to just relax. He pretty much needs to always be ‘on’, if you know what I mean. In my opinion, he needs some off time.” Scrape, wipe. “That’s where I come in. I won’t say I’m not impressed by his job, because I am. But…” Scrape, wipe. “But I can see past the job, and once you do? Well, he’s just a guy,” I stopped to look dead into his blue, blue eyes and smiled my sweetest, most innocent smile. Shit, I deserved an Emmy for that. I told him, “I know how to have fun with a guy.”
Jon’s eyes widened at that. I paused for dramatic effect, congratulating myself for shocking him. I waited another minute. Scrape, wipe. Then, I relented and explained, “I can do most of the things that guys find relaxing.” I gave him a pointed look, daring him to make a comment about our earlier, uh, activities. “I learned to shoot pool better than any shark you’ve ever met. I can throw darts. I’m banned from the local poker games because I can and will bluff you out of your underwear. I know all the stats on the Giants and the Yankees, and can talk sports until the cows come home. I ride a Harley. I can out-drink men twice my size. And man, can I ever dance.”
I smiled as Jon realized I wasn’t talking about being a slut. Told you I wasn’t. Scrape, wipe. I put a finger under Jon’s nose, and lifted slightly, so he’d have to expose his throat to me. Scrape, wipe. One more pass of the razor, and this side was done. I lowered his head, made a show of wiping his cheek with the clean side of the towel, and ran the back of my hand over it. “Mmmmm. Very smooth.” I gave him a little kiss, and wheeled my stool behind the chair and over to his other side. Jon watched me the entire time in the mirror.
“So, where was I? Oh yeah, dancing.” Scrape, wipe. “This new guy, well, he claims he can’t dance, but I’ve watched him when he didn’t know I was looking. He’s got moves that make me wanna get him horizontal.” Scrape, wipe. “And, hey, it’s not just me. My girlfriends have seen him move, too, and they agree with me. But I got to him first. Or, I should say, he came to me. Or in me; take your pick.” I smiled at the slight blush that crept up the shaved side of his face. I chuckled.
“The main problem with his relaxing, as I see it, is that he can never really go anywhere around here without being noticed. That’s OK; I have a game room over my garage that would put most pubs to shame. We can have our fun privately. Or not. Whatever. Doesn’t matter to me.” One final pass of the razor, and I was done. “The main thing is this guy needs to have some fun.” I used the towel to wipe the remaining little straggling bits of shaving cream from his face.
“How do you know he isn’t having any fun?” Jon actually looked like he wanted to hear my opinion.
I thought about how to answer. “Sweetheart, I’ve seen at least a thousand people in my chair over the years. Up close and personal. I spend a lot of time looking at peoples’ faces; into their eyes. I’ve learned how to read expressions, and this guy? Well if I read him right, and I’m pretty sure I did, he has sadness and pain in his gorgeous eyes, and it’s hard to have much fun when there’s all that other.” I shrugged.
Jon was quiet for a minute. Did I go too far? He cleared his throat. “I guess I can see that this guy does need to let go and relax a little. Can he trust you? I mean, you’ve only just met each other. How can he be sure that you’re, you know, what you seem to be?”
I started getting annoyed. Then I realized he was right. We may know each other intimately (for which I will be eternally grateful) and it feels like I’ve known him forever, but really we don’t know each other. “Well, he can either have faith that he’s as good a judge of character as he thinks he is, or he can cut bait.” I busied myself cleaning up my supplies, and stood. “I’ll tell him to his face, I’m not looking for love, or long-term anything. I’m looking for someone to have good, clean – who am I kidding: clean or dirty – fun with. I can always use more friends. And,” I winked at him and wet my lips, “friends with benefits are few and far between for me. He’s one of those, I think.”
With that, I turned to bring my stuff back to the other room. The ball was in his court now; let’s see what he’ll do with it.
I didn’t have that long to wait. Jon followed me into the back room and waited for me to put my things away. When I was done, he took me into his arms and held me close. “It sounds like this guy is pretty lucky to have found someone like you,” he said to me.
“No, baby,” I said smiling. “He’s lucky to have found me period.” I turned serious. “There’s nobody else quite like me. Listen, I meant what I said. I’m not looking for anything from you. I’m content to have some fun, whatever that may be, and I know how to keep my mouth shut if that’s what you need.”
Jon nodded. “Frankly, I don’t really know what I need except,” he dipped his fingers under the hem of the t-shirt and found me wet and waiting.
Chapter 9
“What’s wrong, Diana?” he asked when I didn’t start snipping.
“It’s just,” God, how do I say this without sounding like an idiot? “I’m really nervous about doing your hair.” There, I said it. It wasn’t too hard, I guess.
Jon laughed at that. “Don’t think so hard about it, just do it.”
I closed my eyes and took a steadying breath, trying to get myself under control. When I opened my eyes, I grinned. “OK, here we go.” After that, it was easy. He didn’t wince or otherwise discourage me, so I went with what I liked. I trimmed a little around the front, so it would stay out of his eyes. I thinned out the layers some, and took just a hair (ha ha) off the length in the back, neatening it up. Once I was satisfied, I rubbed a little product into my hands and put it through his hair, standing in front of him to do it. I was in autopilot mode now, moving shanks of hair this way and that, and didn’t notice right away the wide smile on his face.
“What’re you smiling at, Jersey?”
“You are just so, I don’t know, into this,” he teased. “It’s like you’re somewhere else. You don’t even know I’m here.” He sighed. “I don’t think I’m explaining it right.”
“And you make your living with words? Hah,” I teased back at him, whipping the cape from him and exposing that marvelous chest again. I was close to drooling, and nearly forgot what I was going to say. “Of course I’m into this. I’m good at my job, I love it, and it shows.” I considered the half-dressed man in front of me. Really looked into his face, and saw something there. Do I go there? Yep. “Kinda like this guy I met recently.” I dared him to pick up the thread of the conversation.
Jon’s eyes narrowed. “A guy, huh? What’s he like?”
I smiled. “Well, I’ve just met him, so I don’t know him all that well. But, what I gathered so far is that he’s basically a regular guy, funny and cute, with a very visible job that he does exceptionally well. He loves his job, but lets it consume him sometimes. Not that that’s a bad thing,” I hastened to add when small frown lines formed between his eyebrows. “But I think he forgot how to just relax and have fun. That’s why I’m glad I met him when I did.”
“Oh really?” he said, a wary smile on his face.
“Yeah, really.” I started to answer, but picked up the hair dryer instead. The look on his face was priceless. I dried his hair for him, arranging it just so, and doing a damn fine job of it too, I might add. As I was standing behind him, making adjustments, Jon cleared his throat.
“Are you forgetting something?” he asked, clearly waiting for me to continue the explanation I had started.
I smiled at him. “Oh! You came for a shave, too! Hang on a sec.”
Before he could react, I patted his shoulder and went in the back. His chuckles followed me while I went to warm up the shaving cream and to grab a hot towel and my straight razor. I told you I did it the old fashioned way. I actually had a strop tied to my chair that I used when I was feeling dramatic. I think I was feeling dramatic tonight.
“Alright,” I said, as I came out from the back. “Are you ready for – ” I broke off, watching him, and my stomach dropped. He was standing in front of my mirror, turning his head this way and that, trying to look at the cut I gave him. “Is there something, wrong? I can fix whatever it is you don’t like.”
Jon turned quickly; I guess I startled him. “No, Brooklyn, nothing’s wrong at all. I’m just trying to get a good look at your handiwork.” I put down my supplies and handed him a small mirror and turned him by the shoulders so his back was to the big mirror. He nodded at what he saw, sifting his fingers through his hair. Putting the mirror down, he leaned against the counter, crossed is ankles, and crossed his arms across his chest. Kinda wish I had a camera, you know? “You, my dear, have a permanent job with me if you want it,” he said to me. “I mean it. I can’t remember the last time I actually liked the haircut I got.” He smiled. “And the others could use a trim, too; they’re getting pretty scruffy.”
I laughed at that. “Thanks, Jersey, but I like being my own boss.” What? What did I just say? I think I just turned him down. Never thought that would happen – never in a million years. “Tell ya what, though; anytime you want a trim, give me a call. I’ll leave Thursday nights open for you. Hell, I’ll make room for you any damn night of the week.” I considered him for a minute. “The others, well, they’ll have to make appointments. Not everyone gets, um, shall I say special treatment?”
He looked surprised that I turned him down, but smiled at me. “Alright, D, you have yourself a deal. I’ll tell the guys.´ Jesus, he was serious. “Now,” he said, “how’s about that shave?” He opened his arms, inviting me in. “I’m thinking hot lather would be,” he nuzzled my neck and dropped his voice to a husky whisper, “just the thing.” He kissed my neck, nipping at it gently.
Gulp. He’s good at this. “Have a seat, Jon, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter 8
Jon collapsed on top of me, crushing me comfortably under his weight. His slick body, hot from the exertion of the last hour, stuck to me. I giggled, imagining the sucking sound he’d make when he finally peeled himself off of me.
“What are you laughing at, Brooklyn?” Jon sounded a little insecure, and I immediately felt bad, and turned my head to kiss him.
“Nothing at all, Jersey,” I said. “Just thinking – our bodies stuck together like this, well, it’s gonna make a hell of a dirty noise when you get off me.”
Jon laughed then, a laugh tinged with relief. Jesus, he really had a number done on him. He kissed the back of my neck and whispered in my ear, “I guess I’ll have to stay on top of you until we dry.”
“Darlin’,” I said turning back to look into those beautiful eyes, “having you on top of me isn’t a hardship, you know. But,” I winked at him and smiled broadly. “But, I can think of more comfortable options than bent over the arm of a couch.”
Jon raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Is that so? You aren’t done yet?”
“Hey Jersey, didn’t anyone ever tell you that Brooklyn girls are insatiable?” That made him chuckle. God, I loved making him laugh. The genuine happiness in his face makes him just breathtaking. Do you know what I mean? He’s a beautiful specimen of man, but when he smiles a real smile, well, there’s just nothing on God’s green Earth that can compare.
Jon wrapped an arm around my torso, and I angled my head back for a deep kiss. Before I knew it, he had pulled me up, and I was standing in front of him, still plastered to him. He turned me so I was against the wall again and kissed the shit out of me. His hands were buried in my mane of hair, and mine in his. His mouth devoured mine. Our tongues were dueling, teeth were clashing, and we took from each other until we were breathless. Jon broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against mine.
“Diana, darlin’, I’m sorry, but I need a minute.” He was looking a little sheepish and shy and it just melted my heart. He pushed a hand through his hair impatiently.
“Don’t apologize, baby,” I said to him, kissing him gently. “Come with me.”
I took his hand and led him back across the hall to where our clothes were dropped. I snagged his t-shirt and pulled it over my head. God, I hope he doesn’t want it back. It came down to mid-thigh on me, which suited me fine, and I could tell by the look in his eyes that it suited Jon just fine, too. I tossed his jeans to him, which he pulled on but left unsnapped, then led him back out to the salon. Damn, he should always wear just jeans. No shirt, no shoes, no socks, just tight denim, unsnapped so he’s ready for action. Drool.
“Have a seat, Mr. Kidd,” I said, as I gently pushed him into a chair. Jon’s eyes never left mine as I raised my arms to wind my hair back from my face. There was a hunger in them that made me tingle. I had him once again lean back to put his head in the sink. I dispensed with the towel and cape (I couldn’t bear to cover up that chest, not just yet) and turned on the water. This time, I made sure the temperature was perfect, before picking up the sprayer, and managed to wet him down without falling on my ass. When I stretched to the shelf above the sink to pump some shampoo into my hands, the t-shirt pulled tight against my chest, and crept up my legs a little higher, making Jon’s breath hitch. I was enjoying every minute of this.
After rubbing my hands together to make a thick lather, I bent slightly to rub the foam through Jon’s hair. God, the feel of that wet silk in my hands was intoxicating. Jon’s eyes closed, and he groaned as I slowly worked the lather through his hair with strong fingers. My hands still buried in his hair, I leaned down to kiss him sweetly and he smiled at me. Sigh. I rinsed the suds from his hair and put a detangler through it. When he was all rinsed, I told him to sit up, and he surprised me by grabbing me and sitting me across his lap.
Jon gathered me close and whispered to me, “Ready when you are, babe.”
Water droplets trickled down the sides of his face and I got a flash of what he’d look like coming out of the shower. I was more than ready for the next round, but wanted to get through this fantasy before indulging in the next. He leered at me, and I giggled like a teenager and tweaked his nose. “Now, you have to wait for me,” I said. “You don’t understand how long I’ve fantasized about having you in my chair. You are not going to deny me this.” With a smacking kiss on his lips, I hopped off his lap, eyeing the bulge that had, just moments before, been pressing insistently, seductively into me. I reconsidered for a moment, but smiled.
I had all the time in the world.
At the very least, I had twelve hours until we opened shop again.
Chapter 7
When Jon knelt at my feet to pull my jeans down, I felt like a queen. When he leaned in to slide a tongue under my thong, I felt like a Goddess (and I arched from the wall with a scream caught in my throat). He ran a tender trail of kisses up and down my inner thighs until I thought I would collapse. I tried fisting my hands in his hair, but had to brace them against the wall instead to keep upright. I could feel him grinning against my leg as my breath hitched, and my body trembled. After what seemed an eternity of torture, he surprised the hell out of me by literally tearing the last remaining scrap of fabric from my body and throwing it over his shoulder.
“Oh,” he breathed, touching the smooth, tanned skin where curls ought to have been. Surprise! His mouth followed his fingers, and I think I had a coronary. He looked up at me with those clear blue eyes; eyes that have fueled the fantasies of millions of women. Blue eyes that right now were wide, sparkling, and boring through me, settling on my soul. I was never going to forget that look, never in a thousand eons.
“I take full advantage of all the services we offer,” I said on a whisper.
“You sure do, darlin’,” he said. “There isn’t a tan line on you. And this,” he stroked my mound again gently with his rough-tipped fingers. “This is quite unexpected.” He leaned forward to kiss where his fingers had been stroking, and I groaned. Good Lord, his lips felt like heaven.
Jon kissed his way down to my core, and licked a long, slow stroke that had my knees actually buckling. He held me against the wall with one hand while the other spread me open to his view. I had a sudden flash of what this must look like, but that was quickly driven from my head when Jon drove his stiffened tongue into me. As he thrust in and out of me, his thumb teased my clit, making me crazy. I could feel myself starting to contract around him, and my head lolled from side to side in helpless abandon. When he sensed I was close to release, Jon latched his lips onto my clit. With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he sucked that little nub deep into his mouth. I exploded immediately and forcefully, screaming his name. He moaned a little and set to licking me clean.
Oh my God!
I never wanted to come down from this high. This was the feeling that people died for. Hell, this was the feeling that people killed for. Jon kept kissing me gently, easing me back to Earth. When most of the tremors subsided, he trailed a hand up the inside of my leg while he rose to kiss me. In one motion, he thrust his tongue into my mouth and two long fingers into my pussy. He worked his fingers slowly, giving me a little chance to adjust. One traitorous leg wrapped around his waist of its own accord, and he chuckled into my mouth. I reached down to pinch his ass for laughing at me. His chuckle turned into a groan, and he angled his head to kiss me harder, as his erection poked at my hip.
I ripped my mouth from his and took a deep gulping breath. My heart was racing and I was panting and mewling and having a hell of a time staying on my feet. Foot. Whatever.
“What’s the problem, Brooklyn?” he asked huskily.
“Not a damn thing, Jersey,” I retorted, “except I can’t breathe, and I think I’m gonna fall down in a minute.”
“Aw, now we can’t have that,” he said, slowing his pumping and making me writhe against the wall. “I guess I can stop if you need me to.”
The look I gave him made him laugh out loud. (I tried giving him an evil eye, I really did. It apparently came across as cute and not evil.) “You stop now, and I’ll shave you bald.” He sobered at this a little and kissed my neck as he eased a third finger into me.
“Now we definitely can’t have that,” he said, smiling.
I had one hand braced on Jon’s shoulder, and the other on the arm he was pumping me with. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted him to go harder or faster or what. I could feel the tell-tale tingling in the soles of my feet that let me know there wasn’t much time before I had another orgasm. I could feel it building; could feel myself tightening around Jon’s fingers. He had to know what was happening, but he was apparently content to keep me pinned to the wall, licking and kissing my neck.
My knee buckled again as waves of pleasure threatened to overtake me. Jon withdrew his fingers from me, causing the waves to subside a little. With a final kiss, he turned me over the arm of the couch, and drove into me from behind. I called his name as my fingers dug into the cushions. Jon’s fingers found my swollen clit and pinched gently as he stroked in and out of me. He’d withdraw almost completely, making me whine, and then bury himself to the hilt in one rough stroke. He was big and hot and harder than I could have thought possible. My eyes rolled back as the waves approached again. I tightened around him and he moaned my name, drawing it out, “God, Dia-a-a-ana.” THAT is a sound I could definitely get used to hearing.
I begged him, “Jon, harder, please.” I was so close, I could hardly stand it. He grabbed my hips with both hands, and thrust himself in and out of me roughly. The sound of our bodies connecting was wonderfully erotic. We were all sweaty and panting, and when I turned my head to look at him – God, that’s what I needed – the visual. Head thrown back, eyes closed, and the veins on the sides of his neck bulging. His chest was heaving, and the muscles of his six-pack were flexing enticingly. Jon’s thick, corded arms were holding fast, and his fingers digging into my flesh were exciting me. I wondered if he’d leave a mark, he was holding me so tight. God, I hoped so. I braced myself as best I could and arched my back ever so slightly, to take him just that little bit deeper. I could feel the fuzziness surround me as I came, screaming his name.
Jon growled deep in his throat, and emptied into me, my name on his lips like a prayer.
Chapter 6
I sat back on my heels and looked my fill. Each breath Jon took had his cock bouncing. His hands were braced on the dryer, making his arm muscles bulge. The strong thighs in front of my face were flexed from the exertion of keeping him upright. His taut calves tapered into his boots. Oh, I had to see the rest of him. God help me, I wanted a closer look at his ankle tat – how deranged is that? I reached for one of Jon’s legs, and took his boot off and dropped it behind me. The other boot quickly joined its mate, followed very closely by the rest of his clothes. Good Lord. He was now gloriously, shamelessly, and unabashedly naked. I put his left foot in my lap, and traced the tattoo on his ankle with a light fingertip before kissing it. Sigh. I put his foot back down so he had a wider stance; he was gonna need it.
I ran my nails up the inside of his legs, from ankle to balls, over and over again. The sound they made against his skin and hair was beautiful. The sound Jon made was even more so. A girl could get used to that sound. With each pass, I lightened my touch, until I was barely skimming the hairs on his legs. I could see his legs tremble. What a sense of power. Finally (at least, I think that’s what he groaned under his breath) I danced my fingers over his cock. Just barely skimming the velvety soft skin that covered the steel-hard shaft.
Argh, I couldn’t stand not knowing his flavor a minute longer. I ran my hands around behind him to squeeze his perfect, smooth, taut ass. I could feel his glutes tighten when I slid my mouth over his length, taking him in completely. My tongue whirled around his tip as I slowly drew my head back and forth. Jon’s hands were fisted in my hair again, this time trying to get me to hasten my movements. NO fucking way was I speeding this up. I was going to make this last as long as humanly possible.
I gently clamped my teeth around his base, making him freeze. His breathing was ragged, and his whole body was tensed. It wouldn’t take too much more before I had my first taste of Jonny Juice. “Diana,” he said on a whisper. “I can’t take much more of that. It’s been too long. I need … aahhhhh!” He trailed off as I sucked him hard. We’re talking golf-ball-through-a-garden-hose suction. Looking up at him, I saw his head thrown back, those gorgeous eyes closed, and his delectable mouth opened slightly. He was making a guttural sound in his throat, and I felt his vein pulse a split second before he came in my mouth.
Oh my God; this was truly the nectar of the Goddesses. It was a little sweet, with a bit of musk and something else – lust perhaps? I kept up the pressure until he slumped back, heedless of the cool metal of the dryer. I let him slip from my mouth, and rested my head on his thigh, while I lightly stroked his subdued member.
This time, when Jon reached for me, I let him pull me to my feet. He lifted me up, and turned us so he could sit me on the dryer, and move to stand between my legs. This was incredibly sweet, but a bad move on his part. Take an overheated body part, a pretty cold, metal appliance, and what do you get? Yep. You get Jon swearing like a sailor. It was cute, actually, and I laughed out loud at him.
“And just what the hell is so funny,” he demanded; although his eyes twinkled, knowing damn well what I was laughing at.
“That’s some pretty colorful language there, Jersey,” I said. “Everything OK?”
“You wouldn’t be laughing if your bare ass was sitting on that dryer instead of a clothed one.” He carefully bent over to kiss me, keeping himself well away from the cold.
“Oh, and now who’s fault is that?,” I said, looking at him. “I certainly didn’t climb up here all by myself, you know.” God, the banter was fun, but I was wound so tight, it was a wonder I didn’t just explode. “But, if you’d like, there’s a couch in the tanning room across the hall. We could…” Before I could finish my thought, let alone my sentence, Jon had scooped me up off the dryer, FORCING me to wrap my arms around his neck. Oh the hardship. To compensate, I thrust my tongue into his ear, which may have been a mistake, because he crashed into the wall, and nearly dropped me.
He kicked open the door across the hall, and made for the couch. He let my legs drop to the ground, and slid a hand up the back of my neck to cradle my head, tilting it as he kissed me thoroughly. My heart was pounding so hard, I felt sure he could hear it. So distracted was I by his assault on my mouth that I didn’t notice when his other hand slid to my cleavage, and with a practiced motion, flipped open my bra. I gasped when his callous-roughened fingertips gently caressed my skin. Jon chuckled into my mouth at my reaction, and thrust his tongue in harder and deeper than he had before.
I could hardly stand anymore. My head was spinning from the kisses, and my pulse was racing from the gentle assault on my breasts. When Jon pinched one puckered nipple, I screamed into his mouth and gripped his strong, broad shoulders to keep from falling to the floor. Jon broke the kiss to lean back and look at me. His eyebrows rose when he saw the small sunburst tattoo that encircled my right nipple. Chalk it up to stupidity, but I got inked in college on a drunken dare. I was drunk enough to take the dare, but at least we went somewhere reputable, and the art looked good.
“This looks like it hurt,” he murmured, as he stroked the ink.
“Hmmm? Yeah, it did, like a bitch,” I said. “That’s why I only got one done.”
“It’s nice,” he said, licking the tat, and making me shiver. “Very sexy.”
As he bent his golden head to suck the pebbled tip into his mouth, Jon wrapped a corded arm around my back – which was a good thing; otherwise I would have melted into a puddle at his feet. I dug my hands into his hair, massaging his scalp with my fingernails. With his other hand, Jon kneaded my other breast, being sure to tease and pluck at its rosy tip.
He maneuvered me around the side of the couch to lean me against the wall; pinning me to it with his body. I couldn’t move now even if I wanted to. Jon finally stopped the assault long enough to concentrate on unsnapping my jeans. They were tight enough that he couldn’t quite reach inside which was fine by me – that meant he had to take them off.
I smiled to myself.
I had another surprise in store for him.
Chapter 5
The taste of him was intoxicating; better than any wine I had ever sampled. Better than the most decadent dessert I had ever had. I’d have to say that his kiss was better than any sex I had ever had. Yet. I had the feeling (both in my head and pressed against my leg) that sex was definitely in my future.
Jon’s hands left my hair and I nearly cried from the loss. Then I felt them trail down over my shoulders and sides, to come to rest on my waist. I let my hands wander down his chest feeling my way down the rough terrain of hard muscle, until I came to his jeans. I grabbed a fistful of the soft blue T-shirt he was wearing and hauled it up. With the other hand, I traced light patterns on his chest, feeling the soft fuzz that was growing back. I grinned.
Jon broke the kiss to look at me. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing at all, darlin’,” I said. “Just glad to see that your chest hair is growing back in. The mags may like you smooth, but damn,” I blushed a little, continuing to stroke his chest. “I like you a little fuzzy.”
Jon chuckled low in his chest, and smiled like I’d paid him a great compliment. “I think you may be the only one. Everyone else thinks I should keep up with the waxing, but,” he blushed himself a little, “damn it, it stings.”
Now it was my turn to chuckle. “Well, whatever the reason, it works for me.”
Jon’s thumbs were making lazy circles on my sides, making me shiver a little. I scratched my manicured nails over his ribs, making him twitch. “It’s not right that I’ve got my shirt off, and you don’t,” I chided. He took a step back, hitched up the hem of his shirt, and hauled it over his head by the neck. The motion made his biceps flex enticingly, and his abs tighten. Good Lord, he was sculpted perfection.
“Better?” he asked, throwing his shirt carelessly over his shoulder.
“Better than I’d imagined,” I said, just mesmerized by the bronze skin pulled tightly over well-defined muscles. I couldn’t help myself, so I helped myself. I touched every inch of skin I could see, and followed it with wet, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. God, how could I not? Jon’s hands braced on either side of me on the dryer, and his eyes closed and his head dropped back, exposing his neck and that delectable Adam’s apple. I had to tiptoe to reach it, but it was worth it. As I scored my teeth across it, he hissed and grabbed me, pulling me hard against him. I wound my arms around his neck, and pulled, bending him to my will.
Thrusting my hands roughly into his hair, I pulled his head to one side, and God help me, I bit him. Bit right into that sweet spot between his neck and shoulder, tasting the sweat that was accumulating there. Sweat and the musk of a very turned on man. Yum. His arms tightened around me, but he didn’t flinch away. I soothed the bite with my tongue, and I swear, Jon growled. Actually growled like a glorious golden lion. That’s all I needed to hear. The boy liked a little rough play? Oh yeah. Catching him off guard, I spun him so his back was to the dryer, and slammed myself into him, ravaging his mouth.
Before he could react, I broke the kiss. Locking hooded, heavy, eyes with him, I took a step back, scoring my nails roughly over his pecs, being sure to scrape his nipples on the way down. As I scratched at his ribs, he flinched a little – I’d found a ticklish spot. Being a bit of a pain in the ass, I took my time counting each of his ribs with my nails, making him make these little noises in the back of his throat like a mewling kitten. When he reached for me, I gently pushed his hands away, shaking my head slightly. This was my fantasy, damn it, and I was going to do this my way.
I slowly sank to my knees in front of him, not breaking eye contact until I was eye to, well eye (ha ha) with his pelvis. I remembered seeing some of the photos of Jon’s “package” and thinking it looks real good (and seems to always be tucked to the left) but he must be stuffing. Nope. Not at all. With a trembling hand, I traced the lump in his jeans. Jon’s hands tightened on the edge of the dryer when I reached for his belt. Slowly, I unbuckled it and let it fall open. His sharp exhale emboldened me, and I unfastened his jeans and had them down around his boots before I lost my nerve.
God, he’s a man who still wore tightie whities. Wow. Boxers are sexy, but damn, this man fills out these Calvins like nothing I’d ever seen before (not that I’m a slut, mind you, but I’ve seen my share). I grazed a palm over the pulsing bulge reverently, and ever so lightly. I leaned in to press a kiss to it, and just the scent of him made me wet. Jon grabbed for me again, and I swatted at him. “Don’t make me bite you,” I said to him, my voice a rasp. I swear, he smiled, no, smirked at me, and reached for me again. I fit my mouth over the width of him, and bit gently. He growled and arched his back as a small wet spot appeared near his waistband. I smiled. What a rush. I’m pretty sure I was now thoroughly drenched myself, and he hadn’t even touched me yet. Not really.
I hooked my index fingers into the waistband of his Calvins and pulled them down slowly, revealing him inch by glorious inch. He was swollen and purple and pulsing, and just lightly dusted with fine light-brown hair at the base, I licked at the glistening tip of his cock as I slid the underwear down to join his jeans. Jon groaned and dug his hands into my hair, no longer trying to stop me. I bit him again anyway, lightly; just to make him make that feral growl again. I licked up the length of him as I tested the weight of his balls with my hands.
Jon’s breathing was getting ragged and heavy, and I’d only just started. God, this was going to be fun.
Chapter 4
“I thought you were coming right back,” he said, making me jump. I spun around, towel clutched to my chest.
“I thought you left!” I said, surprised as all hell that he was still here. “Sorry, I had to get out of that wet shirt…” I trailed off as I realized he was just staring. At me. With unmistakable heat in his eyes. He took a step into the room, and I instinctively tried to take one back, only to find the damned dryer at my back. I was unable to do anything other than watch as he advanced. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the muscles that rippled and clenched as he got closer. How did I not notice before that shirt that was painted onto his body? Oh yeah, I was distracted by his hair. No such distraction now.
He stopped right in front of me. Close enough to smell. Yikes! I had to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes. His hands came to either side of my head, and his fingers pushed into the knot of curls, finding the clips and dropping them to the floor. His eyes darkened even more when my hair cascaded down (God, I am SO glad I kept my hair long) and covered me more completely than that little towel I was holding. At his surprised expression, I said, “Looks like I have a few surprises of my own.”
“You sure do, baby,” he said, as he drove his hands into my hair and all rational thoughts from my brain. I groaned when his fingers started massaging my scalp and my eyes closed at that exquisite sensation. I could feel him leaning in to kiss me, but the touch of his lips on mine still took me by surprise. They were full and soft and strong and – oh! – wonderful. Mine parted on a sigh and he took advantage, thrusting his tongue into my mouth.
This new assault on my senses, God, the taste of him, nearly killed me. He tasted faintly of mint, like he’d brushed his teeth before coming to the salon. The salon. We’re in the salon. Oh boy. I broke the kiss reluctantly, and looked into his eyes. “Jon,” I said, “I don’t usually, I mean, this isn’t what – ”
He laughed softly at my discomfort. “Diana, I know none of this was calculated.” His hands were still playing with my hair, sifting it between his fingers, measuring its length, and generally driving me to distraction. “You have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen,” he said, combing his fingers through it. “It’s so soft, so thick. And the color. Is it your own? It’s gorgeous.”
What? Is he asking me something? I have no clue what’s going on other than this God of a man is bracing me against a clothes dryer, and playing with my hair. That’s all I need to know. Yep. I’m just concentrating on the hypnotic cadence of his voice. God, I’m so glad he came into my salon. Salon. Jesus. “Uh, Jon, we are in my salon. We’re not closed yet. Anyone could – ” he stopped me with a kiss.
“I locked the door and flipped the sign before I came back here,” he said.
“Pretty sure of yourself, are you?” I teased. I was thinking I should feel indignant, but somehow couldn’t muster it up. Nope. Not an iota of indignation.
“Not sure, just hopeful.” He searched my eyes, showing vulnerability in his. “I’m not reading you wrong, am I? Let me know if I am – no harm, no foul.”
I looked straight into his eyes. This was no arrogant rock star looking at me – this was a man who’d been badly hurt, who was taking some comfort from me. A man who was unsure of his potency; unsure if his advances were wanted. A man basically unsure of himself. Damn his ex-wife for putting those doubts into his head.
I dropped the towel I was still holding, and tunneled my fingers into the hair on either side of his beautiful face. “You’re not wrong,” I said, as I pulled him in for another kiss.
Chapter 3
I laughed out loud at that comment. Once you can get past the on-my-God-it’s-Jon-Bon-Jovi, he’s really just an incredibly funny guy with a good sense of humor. “You’re too much. Now, what do I call you? You going formal on me, Mr. Kidd, or can I use your given name?”
“Jon is fine with me,” he said, laughing.
“OK, Jon, let’s get you washed. Follow me.” I led him to the back of the salon to the row of sinks fronted by armless salon chairs. “Take a seat.” I reached over his head for a towel to wrap around his neck, and a smock to cover his clothes. I gathered his hair up and told him to lean back and to just relax. He settled into my sink and closed his eyes. His fingers were laced together over his chest, his legs slightly parted. Down girl. I turned on the faucets.
As I picked up the sprayer, he said on a groan, “I just love the sensual feeling of having your hair washed by someone else. It’s my very favorite guilty pleasure.” I jumped and hit the trigger on the nozzle, spraying cold water all over myself. Shrieking, I reached over to turn off the water. As I was bent over, damned if Jon didn’t jerk upwards and collide with my, um, shall we say, ample endowments? God, I was mortified. I jumped back, tripped over one of his feet, and fell flat on my ass.
“Shit, are you alright,” he asked. He was containing his laughter, but just barely.
I took one look into those eyes, the little laugh lines around them, and the twitch in one corner of his mouth and lost it. I threw my head back and laughed. Laughed my ass off. “Gimme a hand up,” I said, extending a hand for him to grab. Once safely on my feet, I scowled at him. “Dammit, Jon, you can’t say stuff like that. Not in that sexy voice of yours. Jesus, it’s a wonder I didn’t drown you with my hose.”
He let the laughter he’d been holding back loose now, rolls of it. That threatened to put me back on my ass. “Sorry, darlin’,” he said, not at all sorry.
I called him on it. “No, you are not sorry.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed. “That was too much fun. I don’t know why, but it gives me great pleasure to discombobulate you.”
“Ooooh, a fifty dollar word. So you’re more than just a pretty face, are ya?” I reached up to re-secure some of the hair that had fallen from the clips during my oh-so-graceful-ass-plant, and Jon’s laughter dried up. Shit. Did I cross the line with that remark? I looked in his eyes for some sign of what I did wrong. Gulp. They had narrowed a little, and darkened to the color of a perfect August afternoon sky. “Hey,” I asked, “what’s wrong?” Then it dawned on me. I swear, you could hear the light switch flicking on. Take pale pink cotton, add cold water, and what do you get? A peep show, that’s what. I think I turned the color of ketchup. Maybe the color of a Coke can; I’m not sure which.
“Oh my God!” I screeched. “I’ll be right back.” I all but ran from the salon (real professional, right?) into the back room. I stopped in front of the mirror back there and groaned. Yep, there was pretty much nothing left to the imagination here. The cotton was molded to my body; the outline of my bra clearly visible, not to mention my nips. Great. So didn’t need this embarrassment today. Not any day for that matter.
I chanced a glance back through the door into the salon, and saw the nearly empty chair. In place of that gorgeous hunk of man was a discarded smock and towel. Oh well. I guess I don’t blame him for taking off. This’ll still be a hell of a story to tell the girls tomorrow.
I turned my back on the salon and started unbuttoning my shirt, heading toward the laundry area and a warm, dry towel. I had slipped the wet shirt to the floor, and was bending to take a towel from the dryer when I heard a sharp intake of breath at the doorway, then a man’s voice. His voice.
Chapter 2
Turning on the dryer, I came out, rolling my sleeves as I went. Imagine the kick to the head I felt when I saw who was in my chair! Now, to be honest, I noticed the hair first. In my defense, I couldn’t see the reflection in the mirror, but damn, that hair! It was enough to make my mouth run dry. Shoulder length, sun-kissed dirty-blonde, lightly waved – oh my God! I was so looking forward to getting my hands into that! As I got closer, my angle of vision changed, and I saw his reflection in the mirror. I stopped in my tracks. “Holy Hell,” I said. I’m pretty sure I said that out loud.
Smooth as silk, he said, “Sorry for the fake name, but,” he smiled a little half-smile, “it’s tough getting around unnoticed these days.”
Understatement of the century, that. After a very public, very nasty break up with his wife (if you believe the papers, she was cheating on him with a long-time family friend. I mean really, if you had this at home, would you go looking elsewhere? Would you really cheat on this man? With him? Sure. On him? No way. I wasn’t alone on this train of thought – my sisters on the Topix forum were all with me) he was all over the tabloids every time he stepped foot out of his apartment. I guess that’s why he came here instead of his regular place? Why not just have someone come to him? Actually who cares! He’s here. In my chair. On purpose. This is literally a dream come true.
Giving myself a mental shake, I strode across the rest of the room, and offered my hand. “I’m Diana,” I said, pretty sure I wasn’t shaking too badly. “Thanks for coming in. How’d you hear about me?”
Then Jon grinned. Actually grinned that megawatt, eye-crinkling smile at me. I almost came right then and there. “A friend of a friend recommended this place on a Thursday night if I was looking to be somewhat incognito. I can’t get near my regular place lately, and,” he ran his hand impatiently through hair that refused to stay out of his eyes. “I simply can’t wait anymore to have this tamed,” he said as he indicated that gorgeous mop of hair.
“Well, I sure do appreciate it.” God, I sound like an idiot. “Sorry, I’m usually much more well-spoken. You surprised the hell out of me,” I said with a laugh that I hope to God didn’t come out as breathy as it sounded to me.
He just chuckled. “I do have that effect on people. Actually, that’s one of the best parts of my job.”
“Really?” I said, not quite believing him. “Huh. I would have thought the best part was having a job you love, where you actually enjoy going to work, like me.” I winked at him. “Either that, or the pots of money you make or the tons of women who throw themselves at – ” I slammed my mouth shut and clamped both hands over it. OK. I need to shut up now. Jon just arched one eyebrow at me. God. “Sorry,” I said. “Occupational hazard. I make conversation about whatever pops into my head. Don’t mind me.” I passed a hand in front of my face. “OK, the filter is back in place now.”
He laughed at that. A low, deep chuckle that had my toes curling in my Keds. Good Lord, I need to pull myself together. He’s a client, for Christ’s sake. “OK, so, what are we doing to your hair tonight?”
“Nothing too dramatic,” he said on a sigh. “I’d never hear the end of it. I guess keep it like it is, just shorter so I can see where I’m goin’.’
“Darlin’, it’s your head, your hair. I’ll do whatever you want, short of a buzz cut. Frankly, I didn’t like that ultra-short look on you., It showed off your cheekbones to perfection, but a little longish through here,” I put a hand into the hair on his forehead, and nearly passed out from the feel of it, “will really show off your eyes. Much sexier than the short ‘do. Besides,” I put a hand into the hair on either side of his face, and continued, “women like something to hold onto when you kiss ‘em.”
My witty repartee was met with a full throated belly laugh. What an intoxicating sound. “Jesus, Diana,” he said. “You’re good for my ego. I’ve been getting so much shit lately about the divorce, I feel like I’ve become one of those untouchable people. You, I like. OK, baby, I leave myself in your very small, delicate, but capable hands.” He grinned at me again. “Have your way with me.”
Chapter 1
I love hair. I always have. Since I was a ten year old playing with that creepy giant Barbie head, I’ve loved styling hair. The colors, the textures – even the way it falls to the floor under my scissors makes me smile. Laugh if you want, but I get to spend my days doing something I love. Can you say the same?
Now that that’s out of the way, let me introduce myself. Hi. I’m Diana, and I’m a hair-o-holic. Ha ha. I run a salon called “Style”. It’s an old-fashioned, full service salon, offering (in addition to the best hair care around) waxing, tanning, manicures, and a hot lather shave for the men. They love it. It’s my gimmick; my stamp on this place. The salon is tucked in between a DQ and a bank in an older strip-mall in Brooklyn, but it’s mine, and I love it. I’ve worked at this place for 15 years, and have owned it for the last five. I’m 35, if you’re trying to figure out the math. 35 and fabulous, if I do say so myself.
Today is Thursday, my late day. I have a few regulars who come in after work, but for the most part it’s quiet with a few walk-ins, and I can get my paperwork and ordering done, Today, though, I have someone coming in for my last slot of the night. Monica, my receptionist, noted it was a man called Mr. Kidd, who wanted a wash, cut, and shave. I smiled to myself. There’s nothing quite like giving a guy a hot-lather shave. Alright, let me qualify that – a young guy. OK, you got me there. He doesn’t have to be young, just hot.
This Mr. Kidd was due in half an hour, which gave me plenty of time to get my hair wrapped up, and to make myself presentable. Why do I have to wrap my hair, you ask? Well, there’s a lot of it. It’s thick, curly, and luxurious, falling to just below my waist. My natural chocolate-brown has been enhanced with strands of caramel that shine like gold in the right light. My hair is my one vanity. I don’t spend a lot of time or money on clothes or shoes, but I do on my hair. Hey, would you go to a salon where the stylist had crappy hair? I didn’t think so. I look at it as an investment in my business – as money well spent.
In any event, I’m by myself tonight, so I’ll be doing the wash. So, I’ve got to get this riot of curls up and back so it doesn’t get in the way at the sink. I grabbed some clips and used them to secure the knot I wound into my hair. A few curls escaped, making me look about 15 years old, but it couldn’t be helped.
I have a young face to begin with, which usually means I get carded when I go out. I’m not complaining about that. I do, however, complain about not getting taken seriously because of the way I look. In addition to the long hair and young face, I have moss green eyes, am 5’6” and am quite frankly built like a stripper. It’s hard to get people to look past the 38-26-28 to the valedictorian underneath. Yep, I'm a smartie. I can’t do too much about my face, so I do my best to downplay my figure.
Today was no exception. I knew I had someone new coming in, and didn’t want to give the wrong impression. Don’t get me wrong; when I go out on the town, I play up my – um – assets to the hilt. At work, though, I try to contain myself (ha, ha). Tonight, I’m slumming in skin tight jeans (alright, maybe I’m vain about my ass too – shoot me, why don’t you) and a loose man’s shirt; palest pink with a gray pinstripe.
I was in the back, just switching over another of the seemingly endless loads of towels when the door opened. “Hello,” I called.
“Hey,” a breathless, and annoyingly familiar voice answered. “I’m a little early for my 7:30.”
“No worries, darlin’,” I answered. “Have a seat at my station; first chair on the left. I’ll be right out.” It bugged me that I couldn’t place the voice; I’m usually quite good at that. The voice was smooth as aged whiskey and a low enough rumble to bring to mind a large, well-muscled youngish guy. Yum. Some days I just love my job.
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