Chapter 42

“Oh my God.”

Cilla couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could barely breath. She stretched out a hand and encountered a hard, hot, sweaty male next to her. “Are you trying to kill me Jon?” She had never had so many orgasms in one night, let alone in a few hours. Jon laced their fingers together, “nope, just don’t want you to forget about me while I’m gone.”

She gathered her energy and rolled over, “never happen; especially after that.” She looked up at him, “where did you learn to do that thing with your tongue?” Jon grinned, pleased with himself, “you don’t really want an answer to that question do you?” Cilla trailed her fingers down his chest, “I guess not.” She tweaked his nipple and he grabbed her hand, “ow, hey!” She soothed the pinch with her tongue, “just don’t forget how to do it.” He dragged her closer, kissing her lightly, “I won’t.”

Finding the energy to move Cilla got up, pulled on her robe. “Are you hungry?” she called out as she headed into the kitchen. Jon stood in the doorway wearing only his jeans, “I could eat. You wanna order out or something?” She opened the refrigerator “I think I can fix us up something.” Even if she had to make peanut butter and jelly she would. Cilla didn’t want anyone intruding on their last few hours together.

Twenty minutes later they were back in her bed, a plate of food between them and a bottle of cheap wine on the night table. She hadn’t been reduced to peanut butter and jelly, but sandwiches were all her refrigerator afforded her. She had made BLTs for them and with the potato salad she had purchased at the deli, they had a make shift picnic on her bed.

When the last bit of salad was gone, when there was just a crust of a sandwich left on the plate Cilla laid back on the bed and groaned, “I can’t believe I fed you bacon lettuce and tomato sandwiches and potato salad for your last dinner home for six weeks.” Jon set the plate on the floor, and crawled over to lay with her, “I happen to like BLTs and potato salad.” He tugged on the tie of her robe and let it fall open, “although if you’re really feeling that badly about it, you can make it up to me with dessert.”

Cilla rolled to her side and walked her fingers up and down his chest, “I guess I could. Is there anything special you want?” He rolled back onto her back and pressed kisses across her upper chest, his mouth caressing down, tasting a nipple, tracing circles across her stomach, stopping, hovering over her mound. She could feel the heat of his breath on her skin and she shivered involuntarily. “Jon?” He looked up at her, “how about something with a creamy filling?” he asked before lowering his mouth and tasting her.

When the alarm went off Cilla reached out a hand and hit the snooze. She hadn’t really slept but maybe for an hour or two. She knew Jon hadn’t either. They had loved each other long into the early hours of the morning, stayed tangled together, talking quietly, dozing lightly until her alarm had sounded.

Jon pulled her closer against him, his voice a husky whisper in the early morning light, “do you have to?” She rolled and pressed a kiss to the base of his throat, “I do. I’m the chief cook in my kitchen.” He tilted her chin up, “I’ll miss you Sweets. I’ll come by before I leave to say goodbye.” She nodded and kissed him again “okay” but didn’t move to get up. As much as she knew she had to, she couldn’t make herself leave the comfort of his arms just yet. She gave herself the length of the snooze, a precious nine minutes more of being wrapped up with him.

Cilla pried herself away from Jon when the alarm sounded a second time. Standing in the shower she let a few tears fall, but she was determined not to cry in front of him. It’s only six weeks Cil she told herself. She could do this. She had been alone for nearly seven years, six weeks should be a piece of cake.

When she came back into the bedroom Jon was still lying in the bed, watching her. His blue gaze followed her as she went from dresser to closet, as she slid into her underwear and pulled on her black cropped pants. When she pulled the pink camisole over her head he crooked a finger at her, “come here.” His voice was husky with sleep and want. There was something about watching a woman put her clothes on that was almost sexier than when she took them off.

As she sat on the bed next to him he stroked a finger over her shoulder “no bra?” She shook her head, “not today.” His lips grazed where his fingers had been sliding across her skin and his fingers curled around her breast, lightly pinching the quickly hardening nipple. Turning her head their mouths met and he gently urged her back on the bed. He needed her, needed to be with her one more time before the craziness that was his life during a tour dragged him away from her.

Cilla pulled her mouth from his, “Jon?” She tried to push him off, “I can’t, not now…”

He shushed her with his mouth. “One more time baby, I need you Sweets, once more” he whispered pleadingly against her cheek. Looking at him she relented, she couldn’t say no, not when she wanted it just as much as he did. Nimble fingers divested her of the pants she had just pulled on and in one smooth motion he was seated fully inside her.

Pushing at her top his mouth found one hard nipple and licked and stroked it with his tongue as he moved, thrusting in and out slowly. He watched her as she came, her eyes closed, her hands gripping his shoulders, her head arched back as a low throaty moan fell from her lips. Keeping his pace slow, he pushed her again, and again, finally letting himself fall with her, letting her muscles drain him of all he had for her.