Rip Off!

It had been ‘one of those’ days. Hell, who was he kidding? It had been ‘one of those’ years. Murphy’s Law was not only the absolute truth, but it sucked too! Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong, but he’d been dealing with it the only way he could. Drinking. Alcohol helped dull the pain, even if it was only temporary.

And, he had more pain than anybody should have to feel. Jon and the others had been there for him, more times than he could count, but there was only so much they could do. Jon might be considered a miracle worker when it came to writing a song or turning what could have been a washed up over the hill band into hit makers again, but Jon couldn’t bring back his dad or unfile his divorce.

Alcohol had become his closest friend. He’d lost count of how many times he’d found himself in the bottom of a bottle. His ‘brothers’ had called a ‘family’ meeting though and convinced him that he and his newest best friend just weren’t the buddies he had thought they were. He agreed with his brothers and went into a rehab for detox.

He’d been home a month now and felt better everyday. A week ago, he’d actually laughed, if you could call it that. The sound he’d made had sounded so rusty, he almost didn’t recognize it and started to go get something to "oil" it with. Now, he found himself laughing at the smallest things and even cracking jokes and making his ‘brothers’ giggle like kids again.

But then there was...Today.

It all started with an early morning phone call from Jon, who somehow never seemed to remember that it was three whole hours later in Jersey than in L.A.

"Rich," Jon said without preamble when he sleepily answered the phone, "go check your email. I sent you something you’ve got to hear."

"Jon," he replied, his voice still gravely from interrupted sleep, "what time is it?"

"Uh," Jon answered, as he looked at his watch, "a little past 8, why?"

"Damn it, Jon," he replied, his words lacking any real heat, "it’s only ‘a little past’ 5 here."

"Sorry," the singer mumbled.

"I know," Richie answered, like a million other times he’d said the same phrase, "you forgot about the time difference."

"No, actually," Jon corrected, "I just didn’t give a damn about the time difference. This shit is huge!"

"Nothing is huge at 5 a.m," Richie stated.

"Rich," Jon said patiently, "somebody’s ripped off one of your songs!"

"What the fuck?"

"Thought that would get your attention," Jon told him, smugly. "Go check your email and then call me back."

"No, just stand by while I make some coffee, I’ll call you back after the caffeine’s working."

He rolled out of bed, pulling on a pair of jogging pants and grabbing up the cordless phone before he stumbled down stairs to the kitchen. Thanking the caffeine gods that he had gotten the coffee pot ready the night before, he pushed the button to start it dripping.

Within a few minutes, he had a coffee cup in hand and was sitting at the bar in his kitchen with his lap top open. Quickly, he hit the speed dial button that would dial Jon’s cell, as his email loaded.

"Have you checked it yet?" Jon asked in way of an answer.

"It’s loading," Richie answered, "so what am I looking at?"

"Just open the email you dumb fuck," Jon teased, "even you know how to do that. Then just click download to download the attachment. It’s the song."

"How’d you get it?" Richie asked, clicking on download.

"Obie sent it to me, don’t know how he heard it, but you know how crazy his taste in music is. It’s some one-hit-wonder artist that’s obviously a fan of your solo stuff. But I gotta warn ya, the guy sucks."

Richie loaded the song in his media player, and leaned back in the chair. He recognized the opening notes of the song almost immediately, but when the guy began to sing, Richie burst into laughter.

If the Lord was a female,
would she catch your eye,
if she wore your tuxedo shirt,
and your favorite red tie.

Richie couldn’t help it; he laughed so hard his sides hurt. He finally clicked the mouse to turn off the song.

"I can’t believe you find this funny," Jon told him.

"Aw hell, Jon," Richie said between bursts of laughter, "I gotta laugh or go stark raving lunatic on the jackass. If he was gonna plagiarize my stuff, the least he coulda done was made the shit good."

Crossroads

Chapter One

He wasn’t sure why he had agreed to this shit, but he wasn’t quite as unhappy about it all as he had been yesterday. Yesterday- before he had actually seen her up close and personal. Now he found himself standing in the shadows at the side of the relatively small venue watching her and her band go through sound check.

Mostly, he just watched her.

Months ago, when he and Richie had come up with the idea to make the song a duet and to use a country artist, he had called his buddy, Keith. It really was a shame that it hadn’t worked out. Using a big name would’ve been nice, but the girl the label had practically thrown at them had worked out okay. Better than okay, actually.

Little did he know, that this would come from that simple collaboration. CMT had contacted Bon Jovi Management; one thing led to another and here he was preparing to do an episode of Crossroads with her. Correction. Bon Jovi was doing an episode of Crossroads with Sugarland. He needed to quit thinking of it as just him and her.

He hadn’t walked into this without doing his research. He knew she was happily married, but he had always loved a challenge. Somewhere between yesterday and today, his attitude about the whole thing had changed, and he had decided working with her might just turn into an adventure.

They’d all finally been in a room together for the first time that morning. Modern technology had allowed them to put the song together without having to come face to face. He had liked her Southern charm, her genuine smile, and her sense of naivety. Success hadn’t gone to her head yet, and that Southern drawl had wrapped around him, and lust had reared it’s head. He and Lust were old friends; they had danced on many occasions. He smiled to himself in the shadows as the line from his song flashed across his mind. I’ve slept with romance, and I’ve danced with lust. Both were true, but Lust had been his dance partner way more often than romance had been his bed partner.

Suddenly, he realized the music had stopped and that she was talking quietly to the male guitarist. What was his name? Oh yeah, Kristian, or as she called him, Kris. Quietly he slipped out the side door and headed for the privacy of his dressing room. Only privacy wasn’t awaiting him there, Richie was.

Sitting with his guitar in his lap, Richie raised his dark head as Jon walked in the door. "Hey, Bro, I was beginning to wonder where you were."

"I was listening to them do sound check," he answered.

"Jennifer’ll be here in a few to go over material together," Richie informed him.

"Nice of the two of you to let me know ahead of time," he grumbled, taking a seat in the chair across from the sofa Richie was currently occupying. Jon slouched in the chair, stretching his legs out in front of him.

Frowning at him, Richie asked him, "Where’s your head, Jon? We talked about that this morning."

Maybe they had, Jon conceded silently. That must have been the background chatter that was going on while his old friend Lust was screaming in his head the same phrase over and over.
"Fuck her!". While they had talked around him, he had nodded politely, but he hadn’t heard anything except good ol’ Lust screaming in his head.

"The camera guys should be here pretty soon," Richie interrupted his thoughts.

Shit, Jon thought. That’s right, must remember, they’re shooting a television show here. They wanted footage for the show of the three of them working together. And, let’s not forget the interview segment they were going to shoot later. Things were going to be so hectic, he wasn’t sure how he was going to find the time to give in to Lust’s request. Oops, demand.

A soft knock on his door interrupted his silent musings and Richie’s idle strumming. "Come on in," he called out, "the more the merrier."

She opened the door and stuck her head around it. Smiling shyly, she asked, "Are y’all ready for me?"

"Sure, baby," Richie answered, "come on in."

Jon didn’t hear Richie’s voice. All he could hear was Lust screaming in his head again, as he watched her long blonde hair caress her shoulders. Her every move was poetry in motion. Even though that was such a cliche, he couldn’t help but think it, even as Lust yelled incessantly, "Fuck her!". He shook his head to dispel Lust’s screams and smiled at her as she flopped down on the couch next to Richie.

"I just gotta tell y’all how happy I am ta be here," she gushed, her Southern drawl tickling Jon’s ear. "I’m a big fan. I’ve loved you guys since I was a kid."

Ouch! That kind of statement could really deflate an ego and make you feel old. I’m not old, he told himself. Forty-three is not old!

"Ouch," Richie voiced Jon’s thoughts out loud. He had the nasty habit of doing that; it often seemed like they could read each other’s minds. But then, that’s what a twenty-plus year friendship did to you.

The camera crew knocking on the door saved him from making a complete ass of himself. An old ass. Somehow, he managed to make it through the whole ordeal without the camera catching the drool or the microphones picking up Lust’s voice once again screaming in his head.

Chapter 2

Holy shit, she couldn’t believe she was actually here! That she and the band had made it to this point was blowing her mind. When she had been asked to do the duet with Bon Jovi, she was really flattered, but meeting them this morning had left her feeling like a silly schoolgirl.

When their manager had called and told them CMT wanted them to do an episode of Crossroads with Bon Jovi, she and the rest of the band had literally jumped at the chance. She was still having a hard time believing that she was going to be sharing a stage with him - the man she’d had a crush on since she was teenager, Heaven help her!

Now here she stood on stage doing sound check for what would perhaps turn out to be the most exciting show of her life. Less than five minutes into sound check, she had seen him enter through one of the side doors. Knowing he was watching had made her extremely nervous, but she tried to ignore his presence so that she could do her job. Ignoring him had been the hardest thing she’d ever tried to do, but somehow she had made it.

Turning away from the microphone, she had walked as calmly as she could over to Kris.

She whispered excitedly, "Oh, my God, Kris, he’s here!"

"Who?" She rolled her eyes, Kris was so clueless sometimes.

"Jon," she told him, exasperated.

"Of course, he is the Bon Jovi in Bon Jovi," Kris told her, grinning like an idiot, "he’d pretty much have to be here."

"Shit, Kris," she said, grabbing his arm, "I mean, he’s here. Now. Watchin’ us."

"So?" Yep, clueless.

"Never mind," she told him, finally losing patience. Turning to walk away, her eyes fell on Kristen. Maybe she would.... naaa, no way she’d get it.

The sound engineer gave her the okay, so she rushed to her dressing room. She ran a brush through her hair and checked her makeup, wanting nothing out of place once she came face to face with him again. Putting on fresh lipstick, she met her own gaze in the mirror.

What am I doing? she asked herself. He’s just a man, and you have a husband waiting at home.
Briefly, a memory flashed across her mind. She and her husband had been joking one night, and he had told her about having always had the hots for a certain female celebrity. That had been the night they made their "Free Pass lists".

Joking and teasing all the while, she had chosen three male celebrities and he had chosen three females. They had agreed to allow each other a free pass to sleep with the celebrities on their lists...if, the opportunity ever presented itself. He had been on her list. This had been a few years ago, long before fame fell in her lap, long before she was going to share a stage with him.

She smiled at her reflection. A free pass to sleep with him- too bad he probably wasn’t interested in helping her use it. After all, he was happily married with four kids.

Tossing her lipstick down on the counter, she turned and hurried out the door. The four feet of hallway seemed like the longest walk of her life, but all too quickly she was standing outside his dressing room. Realizing her palms were sweating, she wiped them quickly on her jeans then knocked on his door. She heard him answer and stuck her head in the door. When Richie answered her telling her to ‘come on in’, she self-consciously took a seat on the sofa next to him.

"I just gotta tell y’all how happy I am ta be here," she said excitedly. "I’m a big fan. I’ve loved you guys since I was a kid." The grimace that flashed across Jon’s face told her how bad that sounded. Right that second she wished she had something big enough to pry her foot out of her mouth.

Then almost left to go find something, when Richie responded, "Ouch."

Lucky for her the camera crew arrived and saved her from making an even bigger fool of herself. Yep, no way she was going to be using that free pass now.









Chapter 3

While the cameras rolled in his dressing room, they worked on a few songs together. He and Richie had paused when she suddenly asked, "Y’all know what I think is so funny? ‘Cause I’m so Southern...and y’all aren’t Southern. So whenever we’re singing the words, it’s like," then she started to sing, "I need a little less hard time, I need a little more bliss." Then speaking again, "I almost have a two syllable bliss." He laughed with Richie, but couldn’t help thinking how bad he’d like to give her a "two syllable bliss."

He hid behind his sunglass for most of the interview segments. They had discussed the characters in their songs and his first trip to Nashville. And the whole time Lust had been screaming in his head again. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her, and he was pretty sure Lust had a hand in that as well. Trying very hard to stay aware of the cameras on the three of them, he looked away, only to turn to look at her once more when she started speaking again, her Southern drawl velvety smooth on his ears.

"To me, the live show is all about the exchange of energy between the stage and the audience. I want to connect with them and be able to do it in such a genuine way that the emotion translates."

What do you know? She has some brain cells in that beautiful blonde head. Silently he checked with Lust. Nope, his old buddy wasn't impressed. At least, not anymore than he already was. "Fuck her!" Lust screamed. Was she a natural blonde? Now, where had that thought come from? Probably, Lust.

"For me it’s all about lookin’ good in tight pants," he joked.

Over Richie’s laughter, she replied, "Aw right, Huney! Bring on the snake skin." He smiled when her accent turned skin into a two syllable word, and his skin burned where she laid her hand on his shoulder. Was she interested?

Too many times during the interview, he had caught Richie’s eyes on him. He knew that Richie recognized the signs, and had it figured out that Lust was in control yet again. But they already had secrets that they’d take to the grave; this would just be one more.

All through their time on stage, he laid on the charm. Flirting with her shamelessly, and flashing that smile that had gotten many a woman to rip off their clothes for him. He wasn’t sure what it was about that smile, but had practiced it many times in the mirror until his wife had caught him one day.

Too many times, he had found himself eyeing her ass, and he’d lost count of how many times he and Lust had been hoping she’d fall out of that skimpy top. He was pretty sure she had picked up on the signals he was sending, and hoped that he had properly translated the signs she had been sending his way.

Between taping interview segments and staring at her ass, he had formulated a plan. Drinks. He’d invite her to drinks at his apartment here in the city. Alibi. He would tell Richie that, if asked, he hung out with them all evening. A simple plan he knew, but he’d learned over the years that the simplest plans were the ones that worked the best. If all went well he could satisfy Lust after all.

********************************************

Hoping against hope that she had smoothed over her blunder from earlier, she’d been sending out those flirtatious signals that had always worked in the past, all through the taping of the interview. Even going so far as to lay her hand on him whenever possible.

She had checked out his ass many times on stage. Several times, he had flashed that smile at her, the one that had almost made her want to shuck her clothes right there. She had been pleasantly surprised when he had actually wolf-whistled at her during the show. Shaking her hips and her boobs, she had smiled to herself. She was pretty sure he was hooked, because he was laying it on pretty damn thick.

If he didn’t make a move after the show, she planned on it. No way was she letting that "free pass" go to waste!

After the show, she had over heard him telling Richie, "...if you’re asked. All night. ‘Til she went back to her hotel."

She smiled softly at Richie’s nod and his answer, "Sure, Bro. And let me just say...Good luck. I want details later." Briefly she wondered if she could have them both. At the same time. But, unfortunately Richie wasn’t on her list, and the fact that Jon was would be the only thing that would save her marriage. If her husband ever found out.

Shrugging to herself and silently cursing Brad Pitt and Kenny Chesney, she shook off her regret at not having thought ahead and headed for her dressing room.

Carelessly she tossed her stuff in her bag, pausing to spritz on a little perfume before it too landed unceremoniously in the bag. Just as she tossed the last item in the bag, she heard a soft knock on her door. Quickly, she zipped up the bag and turned to go answer it.

Opening the door, she was unsurprised to see him leaning nonchalantly against the door jamb wearing that smile.

Her mouth began to water as she stared at those lips while he spoke, "Wanna go get a drink, Sweetheart?"

"Sure," she answered softly, "let me just grab my bag."

Chapter 4

"Nice limo you’ve got here, Jon," she said, smiling, as the car door closed.

Suddenly he felt like the big bad wolf. An old big bad wolf.

"So, where‘re we headed?"

There was just something about that slow Southern drawl that made Lust stand up and take notice.

"To a nice little quiet place I know," he answered, dropping the tone of his voice to that raspy, husky tone that usually left women squirming in their seats. How many times had he danced with Lust? He’d lost count a long time ago. He had all the moves down to an art form- when to lightly caress and where, when to use that smile, when to appear like he was gazing longingly into her eyes, and when to drop his voice to that husky tone. On stage, it might look like he couldn’t dance, but when it came to this dance, he was a regular Fred Astaire.

"I sorta thought Richie would be comin’ along."

"Naa, he had something else going on," he gave her that smile. "You sang your ass off tonight," he knew just when to compliment too.

She gave him an all too flippant smile and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "Right back, atcha."

He bent one knee and turned toward her in the seat, laying one arm across the back. If he moved his hand any at all his fingertips would lightly brush her bare shoulder.

"I hope you’re not disappointed," he paused, intentionally letting her wonder briefly what he meant, then continued, pointedly looking her in the eyes, "that Rich didn’t join us."

"Naa," she flashed him a mischievous grin, "not much, anyway."

He wondered what was going on behind those brown eyes, even as Lust started into another chorus of, "Fuck her!"

The car slowed and came to a stop. "Here we are," he told her.

She looked out the window. "This isn’t a bar."

"Nope."

The driver opened the door and Jon stepped out then held the door for her. He put his hand on the small of her back and guided her to the front of the apartment building. They were alone in the elevator on the way up to his floor.

"I keep this place here in the city for when I have to stay over for business," he explained.

She nodded. "And I’m bettin’ we won’t be bothered by photographers here."

"Nope," he grinned, "I told you, it’s a nice quiet place."

Once he had let them both into the apartment he motioned for her to take a seat, and went over to the bar. "What would you like?" he looked around at the bottles, "I’ve got a pretty good selection here, and I make a decent bartender."

"I’m easy," she grinned, "just a Jack and coke."

"Oh come on," he laughed, "that’s too easy. You can make it more complicated than that."

"Okay, over ice."

"Damn, I was hoping to get to use the blender."

"So make yourself something fruity," she laughed.

He put one hand up to his chest like she had wounded him. "You have got to be kidding."

Quickly he poured their drinks, then joined her on the sofa. He handed her drink to her, then sat like he had in the limo. He watched her take a slow sip and almost started singing along with Lust.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

That jerked him out of his own thoughts. "Sure," he answered, lightly stroking her shoulder with his fingertips.

"How’s your wife feel about extra curricular activities?"

He almost choked on his own drink. "Excuse me?" His jerked his fingers away from her shoulder like he’d been burned.

"I didn’t stutter."

"No...no you didn’t," he shook his head. "How does your husband feel about it?" he countered.

"Normally," she paused dramatically, "he wouldn’t be happy." She eyed him over the rim of her glass, and said mysteriously, "But I have a free pass."

"A free pass?"

"Yep," she nodded, leaning forward to set her glass on the coffee table, "you’re on my list."

"List?"

"Are ya goin’ ta repeat everything I say?"

"Uh," he shook his head, "I hope not." His glass followed hers.

"Are ya goin’ ta answer my question?"

"We have an agreement," he said huskily, even as he leaned forward to lightly brush her lips with his own. He and Lust were both happy they were as soft as they looked.

"What kind of agreement?" she asked against his lips as she moved to straddle his lap.

Using the tips of his fingers, he brushed her hair back off her shoulder and deepened the kiss. His tongue danced with hers, while Lust got louder in his head. It seemed to really excite Lust that her hair smelled like roses. Leaning forward, straining against her, he finally gave into the urge to caress one of her breasts through the satiny material of the skimpy top. No bra. Her nipple puckered for him and he smiled against her lips.

With Lust giving him almost super-human strength, he managed to stand with her still in his arms. He felt her legs tighten around his waist, as he headed toward his bedroom. He never broke the kiss, not that he could have with her hands clamped to the back of his head, her fingers threaded through his hair. Tightly.

He stumbled slightly through the door of his bedroom, then fell with her across his bed. Lust urged him to rip her clothes off, but he wanted to take his time. He broke the kiss long enough to jerk his T-shirt off over his head. There was a reason he spent long hours in the gym. He knew women liked to run their hands over the muscled skin of his chest and abdomen. So, he’d let her.
His teeth were grazing the silky skin of her neck, when he felt her lightly flick one of his nipples with a fingernail. Lust went crazy over that. He sucked gently at the hollow where her neck met her shoulder, as he worked at the button on her jeans. While he kissed a path down to the vee of her top, he managed to get her jeans undone. He didn’t have to work too hard to get them over her hips, since she raised them for him, without him having to ask.

When he went to work on her top, he paused, unable to suppress a moan as her hands moved down his chest to begin working on the button at his waist. He went back to work on the top, pulling it over her head before bending to take a nipple into his mouth. Sucking deeply, before pulling back to lightly circle the tip with his tongue. Her groans and whimpers became the music behind Lust’s lyrics of, "Fuck her!"

Lust let out a scream of joy when they were finally skin to skin. He was hard and ready, had been since he watched her lips as she drank from her glass. Both he and Lust let out a groan as he slid inside her. With her legs once again around his waist, her fingers threaded into his hair, and he let her pull his head back to her waiting mouth. Lust’s eyes opened wide in surprise when her tongue thrust past his lips to tangle with his. He let Lust lead him into a rhythm and was ecstatic when she matched it. Lust demanded he drive into her hard and fast, and he followed the order willingly. She gasped, and he felt her tighten around him. He and Lust both moaned with their release.

He heard Lust sigh in relief in his head, as he pulled her tighter against him.






Chapter 5

She got dressed quietly, then sat on the edge of the bed trying to put her finger on when it happened exactly. Somewhere between that morning and overhearing Jon talking to Richie, she had quit thinking of him as Jon Bon Jovi and started thinking of him as just Jon. Maybe it was when they had sang together. Or, maybe it was the casual way he had flirted with her, almost as if it came as naturally to him as breathing. But, it really didn’t matter when it had happened- it only mattered that it had happened.

Checking to make sure he was still sleeping, she continued her search for pen and paper. She must admit she was really glad he had gotten past all of his practiced flirting and had finally got down to business. She didn’t know why he had tried so hard- didn’t he realize he had her at Slippery When Wet?

Quickly she jotted down a note, then smiled one last time over her shoulder before she quietly left the apartment.

************************************

He woke up slowly, but lay there for several minutes, eyes closed, breathing in the musky scent of sex. Or, should he say Lust? His old buddy needed a shower!

Her scent still hung in the air, causing Lust to rear his head again. "Fuck her again!" his buddy screamed in his head.

He opened his eyes as he turned toward her side of the bed. Frowning, he picked up the piece of paper left laying on her pillow.

Thanks for helping me use my free pass and the lesson about fantasy vs. reality. -Jen

Captive

"Mr. Bon Jovi", Jon heard the voice say softly, tentatively. Slowly he opened his eyes, trying to reach up to rub his face with one hand only to find it unable to move. He heard the metal clank even as he felt it bite into his wrist. What the hell? He soon found the other hand was bound the same way along with both his ankles. He turned his head to look at the woman standing by the bed, the one who had spoken so softly.

"What the fuck is going on here?" he demanded menacingly, well as menacingly as he could laying spread eagle naked on a very soft bed.

She stood next to be bed, looking down at her clasped hands. Dressed in tight faded jeans, and an old T-shirt that was about two sizes too small, she couldn’t look him in the eye. Good. She had a great figure, large breasts, small waist, and the longest set of legs he had probably ever seen. What the hell did she want from him, he wondered, then shook his head at his own stupidity. What else could she want with him in this position.

He suddenly remembered how he’d gotten here. He had been leaving the venue after a show, and the woman before him had come up to him asking for his autograph. Someone had grabbed him from behind and put a cloth over his face that smelled strange, and all too soon he had lost consciousness. Where the hell had his bodyguard been? Oh yeah, he had left to get the car. Jon had assured him that he would be okay for a few minutes. How stupid.

She looked up at him then, through her glorious long light brown, almost blonde, hair. Her light green eyes wide and looking sad. "He told me not to talk to you, but I wanted you to know," she said in a whisper, "I’m not a fan. I’m not the crazy one here. Honest."

Jon frowned at her. What the hell was she talking about? "Then help me get outta here," he whispered back to her. Who knew if this unknown "he" could hear, or worse see, what was going on between the two of them.

"Oh, I can’t do that," she said in a near panic. "He would hurt me."

"Who is he?" he asked her.

"My husband," she answered, still whispering. "He’s lost his mind."

"What’s going on?" he asked her, trying to sound gentle.

"I’m so sorry," she whispered back, tears starting to roll down her face even as she began to take off her clothes.

Jon turned his head, intent on watching anything but her, but soon his eyes were drawn back to her. She really was beautiful; he guessed her to be in her early thirties. Desire began to roll through him, but he turned his head away quickly. He didn’t want to become aroused. He wasn’t going to help her if he could keep from it. Concentrating on mundane stuff, he tried to ignore her hand trailing lightly down his thigh. Good luck, Sweetheart, the sarcastic thought raced through his head. "What’s your name?" he asked, trying to distract her.

"Charity," she answered, whispering. Jon almost smiled over the irony in her name, but quickly squeezed his eyes tightly closed as she took his semi-aroused cock in her hand. He tried in vain to ignore her warm hand, softly, gently moving up and down, coaxing his manhood to life.

He felt her hair brush his thigh, and knowing what was about to happen, he tried once again to distract her. "Why?" he croaked.

"I can’t answer that," she said softly.

"Can’t or won’t?" he asked, just before she took him in her mouth. He groaned. His biggest weakness would now be used against him. Oral sex was his biggest turn on. Did she know this or was she just lucky? He pulled hard against the handcuffs, felt them bite into his wrists, but he pulled anyway. They didn’t give an inch. The old iron bed frame held strong and so did the cuffs. Her tongue circled the tip, flicking gently at the opening, before she took him fully into her mouth again. She sucked hard as her hands fondled his balls. Oh, she was good at this, he thought. How was he supposed to resist this? He couldn’t. Soon he was hard and straining for release, but she moved away then. He felt the bed dip slightly, and opened his eyes. She climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips. He couldn’t stop himself from raising his hips to meet her as she took him inside. He moaned softly as he found himself embedded fully in her softness. She was tight, but she was aroused, her wetness told him that. She gasped, but began to move, placing her small hands on his muscled abdomen to balance herself. He groaned again as those hands began to caress him, moving up his stomach. She almost lovingly stroked the muscles of his chest, and lightly flicked a hardened nipple with her fingernail. How did she know all the things he liked?

"Is he watching us?" he needed to know. This was humiliating enough, but to have someone else witness it would be unbearable. He watched the muscles in her thighs flex, as she moved on him. He couldn’t help moving with her, his hips raising to meet every downward thrust. The cuffs that secured his ankles clanged against the metal bedframe.

"No," she finally answered, gasping. She had her eyes squeezed tightly closed and her bottom lip was clenched tightly between her teeth. Was she holding back her own orgasm?

Suddenly, he felt the waves of his own orgasm come over him. He had tried to fight it, but knew it was a losing battle. He tensed beneath her, even as his hips continued to move, pumping into her hard and fast as he exploded.

As soon as he had found his release, she moved off the bed. He watched her go through a door and heard water running. Jon knew she had not found her own release. What was going on here? Obviously, he wasn’t just being used as a sex toy, or she wouldn’t have fought so hard to hold back her own orgasm, or stopped before it happened. She came back into the room with a bowl of water and a wash cloth, and began to clean the proof of what they had done off his thighs and groin. He groaned as she gently cleansed his cock, before walking back to the bathroom.

When she appeared again, and began to gather up her clothes, he couldn’t help but ask her, "Why?"

"I told you I can’t tell you that," she said sadly as she paused at the door leading out of the bedroom.

"No," he said urgently, "why did you stop before..."

She interrupted him, "You mean before I climaxed?" at his nod she continued, "Because, I don’t want to enjoy one minute of what he’s making me do," she answered. The soft click of the door closing behind her echoed through the room.

Jon lay there for a long time with his mind racing. He tried in vain to figure out what exactly was going on here but couldn’t. He just needed more information, maybe he could get her to give him a few more clues. All he knew was that he had enjoyed sex with her, even if he hadn’t wanted, and that obviously they weren’t done with him or he would be free or dead now. Oh, and that she didn’t want to enjoy what was being done to him and was apparently a pawn in this scheme just like he was. Finally, exhausted, he fell asleep.



*************************

A hard shove at his shoulder jarred him awake, to find himself looking down the barrel of a very big gun. The man holding it on him was masked. He was tall and muscularly built. Jon realized he was free. The man must have undone his bonds while he was still sleeping.

"Get up," the man ordered, his voice gruff.

Jon began to get up off the bed. "What are you going to do, shoot me?" he asked, a stubborn tilt to his chin. He wouldn’t go down begging for his life. He thought of his wife and children, but quickly pushed those precious loved ones from his mind before the tears could come. He needed his wits about him now.

"Of course not," the man answered. "I’m not done with you yet. I thought you might need to use the bathroom and get a shower. But remember I have this gun pointed at you, and it is loaded. Charity is cooking you something to eat and you can have it when you get out of the shower."

Reluctantly, Jon turned his back on the man and headed toward the bathroom. He was disappointed that there were no windows in the room. No avenue of escape there, but then of course this man would have thought of that.

When Jon got out of the shower and had dried off, the man motioned with the gun for him to head back to the bedroom. Charity stood beside the closed door with a plate in her hand. She must have just walked in the room.

"Lay back down on the bed," the masked man ordered. Jon considered disobeying the command, and the thoughts must have flashed across his face, because the man said, "Don’t even think about it. Just get on the bed."

Jon climbed back on the bed and lay down on his back, staring unseeing at the ceiling.

"Don’t just stand there, Woman," he heard the man order, "put the handcuffs back on him."

Glancing at the woman, Jon saw her set the plate down on the dresser and scurry to do the man’s bidding. She was obviously frightened of her husband. If he was her husband. That was one of the things Jon wasn’t sure of yet.

"How am I supposed to eat if I’m tied down again?" Jon asked defiantly.

"She’ll feed you," the man answered. "Move woman," he demanded.

Once Jon was handcuffed again, Charity arranged pillows under him so that he was reclining slightly, apparently so he could eat without choking.

The man stood at the door. "You know what to do when he’s done eating," he told her before walking out the door.

"Would you like a drink of water?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he answered, frowning slightly at her.

She held the glass to his lips and he drank gratefully. When he had finished, she set the glass on a table next to the bed. As she reached for the plate of food, he said, "You told me you weren’t a fan."

"No," she answered, placing a fork with a piece of steak on it at his lips. He took it and began to chew slowly. Apparently she couldn’t handle the silence because she continued, "Not that I don’t enjoy some of your music, but he’s the fan not me. I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t some crazed fan that had kidnaped you to have my way with you."

He took the bite of mashed potatoes that she offered him. She had fed him several more bites before he finally asked, "If he’s a fan, then why am I here?"

"He’s crazy," she shrugged, "that’s the only answer I can give you." She placed another bite of steak against his lips, and he opened his mouth for her. He realized she was staring at his lips. Was she attracted to him? And could he use that against her?

"Help me," he pleaded softly around the bite of meat.

"I can’t," she cried, "he’s violent and crazy. He beats me...he didn’t used to, but...he would seriously hurt me if I helped you get away before he’s done with you."

"How long am I going to be here?" he asked. "You know I’ll be missed and people will look for me?"

"Oh I know, he knows too," she answered softly. "It’s all over the news that you’re missing."

Great, he thought to himself. His wife would be worried out of her mind. "You didn’t answer the other question....How long?"

"As long as it takes," she replied cryptically, offering him another bite of potatoes.

"Damn it," he said in frustration. "Just tell me what’s going on. I won’t let on that you told me."

"I can’t," she said fearfully. She offered him another drink of water, and he took it gratefully.
She continued to feed him in silence until he told her he was full. Charity nodded and took the plate and set it back on the dresser. Somehow, he knew what was coming and tried to delay it by talking to her.

"There’s no reason to deny yourself, you know," he told her, trying to sound sympathetic.

"I told you," she replied, lifting her chin, "I refuse to enjoy this. I know the facts of life, and I know that you can’t help how your body reacts to me and the things I do to you. I’m sorry for the humiliation you have to go through, and I won’t enjoy treating you this way." She reached out with one hand and gently caressed his cheek. "I’m sorry."

He nodded as she trailed her hand down his neck and across his chest. He knew he had delayed her as long as she was going to allow. Clenching his jaw, he decided to fight as long as he could. Jon found some small pride in the fact that he had lasted longer this time than he had the last time, but he soon found himself moaning as he pumped his seed into her again. Just like the last time, she had denied herself her own orgasm. She moved off him and left the room. Once again, returning to clean him off with the warm water. He watched her leave the room with mixed emotions.

Minutes later, he heard the man’s voice raised in anger. "I told you not to talk to him," he yelled. Obviously, the man had listened at the door. Jon heard Charity saying something in a pleading tone, but he couldn’t quite make out was she was saying. "Shut up, Bitch," he heard the man scream, just before Jon heard the unmistakable crack of an open palm meeting skin. He pulled helplessly against the cuffs, wanting to help her. Jon felt partly responsible for the mistreatment she was receiving. He had tried to get her to tell him anything that would help him figure out what was going on. The metal dug into his wrists, but still he pulled against them. Finally, he fell back on the bed in defeat. Silently promising himself and the woman in the next room that he would get them both out of this. Somehow he had went from thinking of her as one of his captors and started to realize she was as much a pawn in all of this as he was. Whatever "this" was.



*************************


Jon woke the next morning to Charity gently brushing his hair back off his forehead with her fingers. "He’s gone right now," she told him.

"Then let me out of these cuffs and we’ll both get the hell out of here," Jon told her.

She jumped off the bed and began to pace the room. "Do you honestly think he would allow that? There are bars on all the windows and the doors are padlocked shut from the outside. We can’t go anywhere."

"Call the police. They’ll get us out of here before he gets back," Jon told her quickly.

She stopped pacing to look at him sadly. "He jerked the phone out of the wall and took it with him," Jon could hear the defeated tone in her voice. "He took your clothes too."

He nodded in understanding. He would come up with some sort of plan, but in the mean time, "At least tell me what this is all about," he said, "now, while he’s not here. I promise I won’t let on that I know."

She stopped pacing again and sat down on the side of the bed, next to his hip. She didn’t turn to face him as she started to explain, "He’s a big fan of yours. We’ve been married for four years. He was always so sweet to me, a little jealous from time to time, but he always treated me pretty good. He was always so romantic, brought me flowers for no reason, that sort of thing. He used to sing Bed of Roses to me after we had made love. I never dreamed he would go off like this."

"What happened?" Jon asked, wanting to reach out and put his arm around her in sympathy, but the cuffs held him back.

"We’ve been trying to have a baby," she said softly, and immediately Jon understood what this was all about. "A couple of months ago, the doctor told us that he was sterile. Measles when he was a kid. He went crazy after that. I didn’t know what he was planning until the night of the concert. And I’m as a much a prisoner now as you are."

They wanted to steal a baby from him! That’s what this was all about. Jon was so furious, he screamed out loud. He couldn’t remember ever being this angry. How could one person do this to another? "Are you shitting me?" he asked in anger.

"I wish I was," she said softly, finally turning to look at him. "I’m so sorry. I can’t tell you that enough. If there was any way that I could get us out of here...," her voice trailed of wistfully.

Jon saw the bruise on her cheek then, and winced. "That bruise. He hit you last night didn’t he?" he asked.

"Yeah," she answered him, nodding, "and twisted my arm almost out of the socket. He wasn’t happy that I had talked to you. I’m supposed to ignore you, and just do what he’s ordered me to do."

"I’m sorry," Jon told her. Truly apologetic, that trying to explain things to him had caused her pain.

Charity jerked her head around to look at him angrily. "Don’t you dare apologize to me for anything. None of this is in any way your fault. You were handcuffed to a bed; how could you have stopped him?"

"I could have quit trying to get you to tell me what was going on," he answered.

"Or I could have kept my mouth shut like I was told," she told him.

Jon couldn’t keep himself from feeling sorry for her. "This isn’t your fault either, ya know?"

She dropped her head to look at her hands twisting together in her lap. "Maybe it is," she said dejectedly. "I should have realized he was capable of something like this."

"How could you have known? He never gave you any signs, did he?" he asked.

"No," she answered, "I had no idea he could do something like this."

"I can’t believe he honestly thinks he can get away with it," Jon told her.

"I don’t think he’s thinking rationally right now," she laughed sadly, "otherwise you wouldn’t even be here."

"Where is he now?" Jon questioned. Wondering how long his captor would be gone.

"At work," she answered.

He couldn’t believe the man had gone blithely about his everyday activities, while he held a rock star captive at his house like it was a common thing that everyone would do. "You’re shitting me, right?"

"Nope," she shook her head, "and he expects me to rape you repeatedly while he’s gone."

She had sounded so dejected and morose that Jon almost laughed. How many women around the world had this fantasy? Him, tied to a bed, at the mercy of their sexual wiles. And this woman had no desire to participate in this. She would be the envy of thousands of women around the world, if this ever got out. He knew he probably shouldn’t point that out to her, but he hoped to see her smile. "Do you know how many women would kill to be in your shoes right now?" he grinned at her.

Her mouth fell open in shock. "You’re kidding me! I can’t believe you would say something like that. Besides, do you know how arrogant that makes you sound?"

"I’m sorry," he told her, smiling, "I couldn’t resist. I hoped to cheer you up a little."

"You don’t have to cheer me up," she replied. "Hey, he left me the handcuff key so that I could let you go to the bathroom. He knew neither one of us could get out of the house."

She quickly released him from his bonds. Jon took the opportunity to go to the bathroom and to take a shower. While he was in the shower, he made a few decisions. First of all, he wouldn’t leave her behind when he got out of this. He couldn’t leave her with the crazy man she had married. He would help her get out of the situation; he had more than enough money to set her up somewhere else, with a new life. He didn’t know yet if he wanted to press charges against the man. If he did, it would certainly get out to the press what had happened here, and he didn’t know if he could live with that. But, he did know that he wasn’t going to leave Charity and the baby she might already be carrying behind. Secondly, if sex with her was going to happen whether he wanted it to or not, then he was going to take control of the situation, even if for today.

When he walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped low around his waist, Charity was sitting on the bed, staring dejectedly at the floor. She looked up when he entered, and he almost took her breath away. His blonde hair was wet and tousled from being toweled dried. His blue eyes sparkled brightly, and he was smiling from ear to ear. Her eyes traveled the length of him. Even though she knew what the towel was hiding, she couldn’t help but find it incredibly sexy. She was never going to make it through the next round of sex without coming, not if he kept looking at her like he was.

Jon walked determinedly across the room and knelt in front of her. He took her face in his hands and tilted her face up to look in her eyes. His thumbs stroked her cheeks, as he pulled her close to gently kiss her. His tongue demanded entrance and she gave in to him. When her mouth opened, he traced her lips with his tongue before sliding it inside to explore the warmth of her mouth.

His skin was still slightly damp, and his hair smelled faintly of her fruity scented shampoo. He was probably the most beautiful man she had ever seen. She moaned softly, the sound lost somewhere inside his mouth. Pushing against his shoulders, she pulled away slightly, breaking the contact of their lips. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Isn’t it obvious?" he grinned. "It won’t be rape today."

"Oh," she said breathlessly.

He moved his mouth back to hers, and when their lips were almost touching he whispered, "And I won’t stop until you come for me." He kissed her then, driving her wild. He broke the contact of their lips to pull her shirt off over her head, but then went back to drink greedily from her lips. His hands caressed her breasts, his thumbs stroking her nipples through the lace of her bra. It had been easy to hold herself back when he was handcuffed to the bed, to think about the laundry or paying the bills to keep from coming, but with his hands free to tease and tantalize her it would be a losing battle to even try to begin to wage a fight. Suddenly, she knew how he felt being at her mercy, but pushed her shame aside, when he whispered against the skin of her neck, "Stand up."

She stood up, but he didn’t move away from her even an inch. She had thought he would stand up too, but instead she felt the heat of his lips graze her stomach. The muscles of her abdomen fluttered wildly as he slowly unbuttoned the fly of her jeans, kissing each inch of skin he bared. She grasped his head in her hands, her fingers tangling in the wet, silken strands of gold. Jon smiled against her skin, just above the line of satiny curls at the juncture of her thighs. He peeled her jeans down her hips, "No panties," he murmured against her curls, "good girl," he praised.

Knees weak and barely able to stand, somehow she managed to comply with his gentle demand to raise her feet one at a time so that he could slip her jeans completely off her. She moaned softly as his hands slid back up the outside of her thighs and around to grasp her ass in his hands and pull her closer to his waiting lips. His tongue stroked her softly, and she pushed more firmly against him. "You like this?" he asked her huskily, his breath teasing her as it ghosted across her heated flesh.

"Oh....God....yes," she gasped, as her fingers tightened in his hair.

"Say my name," he whispered, his warm breath making her tingle.

"Jon," she sighed, as his tongue once again began to move on her. Oh how wonderful his mouth felt. How many times had she caught herself staring at his lips, imagining what this might be like? He squeezed the silken cheeks of her ass gently, and she thrust her hips toward his wonderful mouth once again. "Oh...God....Jon," she gasped.

"Don’t fight it this time," he murmured, as his tongue danced across her. He felt her tense against him and knew that she wasn’t going to fight it. He pulled her closer and felt the fingers in his hair tighten again, as she exploded against him.

Dizzy from the heights he had just taken her to, she felt him push her gently back on the bed. She looked up at him with passion heavy eyes just in time to see him remove the towel and place a knee on the bed between her spread thighs. His hands came down on either side of her head as he pressed his body against hers. "And I’m not done yet," he promised, his lips grazing hers as he spoke. He nibbled softly on her bottom lip, before pulling it into his mouth to suck on it gently. She could feel his arousal throbbing against her hip. His mouth moved to her neck, his lips teasing the sensitive spot below her ear. She kissed his shoulder, then let her tongue graze his skin. She loved the salty taste of him. Somehow, she knew she could never go back to the handcuffed Jon, not the way his hands were now dancing across her body. His skillful fingers played her as expertly and effortlessly as he had played his guitar the night of the concert. "Please....Jon....I need....," she gasped.

"Do you know how sweet that sounds?" he whispered against her nipple, before taking it in his mouth to suck it gently. He took great delight in her moans; he had not heard them the times she had him while he was handcuffed to the bed. He wondered briefly if his moans then had sounded as sweet to her.

"Jon....please," she begged again.

He could no longer resist her, and grasped her hips. The moan she made when he thrust inside was almost his undoing, but he was determined not to let her hold back this time. He clenched his jaw as he moved inside her, watching as she tossed her head from side to side and bit her bottom lip.

He bent his golden head to whisper heatedly in her ear, "I won’t let you hold back this time, Charity. Give it all to me."

"Jon," she gasped, as he pulled almost all the way out of her, only to moan, "Oh....My....God," when he plunged back inside, driving all the way to the hilt.

"Come for me, Charity," he murmured against the shell of her ear, even as he began to move faster within her.

"Oh....fuck....Jon....," she gasped, thrusting up to meet him, "I....am."

Jon felt her heated walls spasm around him, and couldn’t hold back any longer. He came inside her with an explosive force that surprised him. He fell weakly against her, careful to keep most of his weight on his elbows. His forehead against hers, their heavy breathing mingling together and floating off in the air, he said huskily, "Damn."

"Yeah," she nodded weakly, "I concur Mr. Bon Jovi."

**************************

Jon made love to Charity several times throughout the day. He made her beg and plead, and he was satisfied with every moan he wrung from her passion swollen lips. He smiled with satisfaction when she handcuffed him back to the bed when it was almost time for her crazy husband to come home from work.

"I have to go cook dinner," she told him softly, her hand shaking as she closed the cuff around his right wrist. "I’ll bring some in to you later," she promised.

"Okay," he sighed contentedly, as she left the room. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.



The next morning Jon woke up when Charity hurried into the bedroom. "Jon, wake up," she said excitedly, as she hurried over and began to undo the cuffs.

He sat up and began to rub his wrists. "What’s the hurry?"

She held out his cell phone to him. "This is yours, right? I found it last night under the table by the door. It must have fallen out of the pocket of your jeans when he left with them yesterday. I couldn’t wait until he had left this morning to bring it in to you."

Smiling at her, he took the phone. "Where are we?" he asked her.

She told him the address even as he was dialing the phone.

Jon was so relieved to hear Richie’s angry voice on the other end of the phone. "Jon, where the fuck are you?" his friend asked as he answered the phone.

He gave Richie the address, then told him, "And Rich, come alone and bring a crowbar or a hammer. I’m locked in. Bring me some clothes too, would ya? And hurry." He closed his cell phone and looked at Charity. "He’s on his way. Go gather a few things, anything that has any meaning to you. We’re outta here as soon as he gets here."

When Richie arrived, he pounded on the door. "Jon, are you in there?" he yelled.

Jon answered him from the other side, "Yeah, I’m okay, just open the door, will ya?"

"This might take a few minutes, Bro, this is a big lock out here," Richie told him.

Several minutes later, Charity and Jon were safely in a rented car with Richie and heading away from her home. Jon was explaining what had happened from the back seat as he held a shaking Charity in his arms.

"I’m so glad you hadn’t left town to go to the next show," Jon told his friend.

"Like I was going to leave with you still missing," Richie responded, laughing.

"He’ll come after me," Charity said against Jon’s chest. He could hear the tears in her voice.

"I won’t let him find you," Jon assured her softly, "or our baby."

"How do you know there is one?" she asked tearfully.

"Somehow I just know," he answered her smiling.

Ring of Fire

"TC," Randy’s voice came over the speaker between the studio and the control room, "we’re going to have to do it again. Take it from the top."

"What was wrong with that one?" TC asked, pushing the headphone off her left ear.

"Uh," Randy hesitated, he knew this woman’s infamous temper well. "Do you know the story behind this song?"

"Yeah," she answered, the ‘duh’ she left unsaid, but it was implied in her tone, "everyone in country music knows the legend behind this song."

"I want the same feeling out of you that they put into writing it," Randy replied, flinching from the expected burst of temper.

TC frowned, but no outburst came. "I’m puttin’ it in there," she told him.

"I’m not feeling it," Randy responded, "make me feel it."

TC didn’t answer him, but she muttered several curses under her breath. Randy Jackson had been working on this project for awhile. He wanted to do a tribute album with artists singing Johnny Cash’s biggest hits. Other artists had been asked to sing on the album, but been assigned the song they would sing. TC’s favorite Cash song was and had always been Ring of Fire. So, she had told Randy she would be happy to perform on the album, but only if she could do that song. Reluctantly, Randy had agreed. He’d really wanted a man to do that song, but he also really wanted TC on the album. She was the biggest female name in country music right now, and it would be a huge boon to have her on the project. Randy had asked her if she would rather do Jackson as a duet with someone, but she’d refused, saying she wouldn’t do that one unless Jon agreed to do it with her. Jon couldn’t; he was busy with his own projects right now and didn’t have time. So, it was Ring of Fire or nothing.

The intercom was still on between the rooms, and Randy heard TC’s muttering. But, that also meant that TC heard the comment from her bodyguard that was in the control room with Randy.

"If you want the feeling of the song, maybe you should put Jon in the studio with her," Rick suggested.

"I heard that," she grumbled. "I’ll show you jackasses. I put feeling into songs long before I met my husband; I don’t need him for this one."

Randy glared at Rick, as if to say ‘Just shut up, I didn’t need your help’. Then spoke to the angry woman in the studio, "Let’s just take it from the top one more time."

TC left the studio that afternoon pissed and a little depressed. They had tried take after take and she still couldn’t get it just right. She even had to admit that to herself once she’d heard what they had recorded. She walked into the hotel suite with her head down and fell across the bed in frustration.


Jon and Richie had been in Nashville for several months working on their latest project, and when TC came up to work on the Cash project, she’d moved into Jon’s suite temporarily. Jon waved at Richie as he went into his suite next door, then walked into his temporary home and kicked off his shoes by the door. It had been a long day in the studio. He and Rich were having some trouble with one of the songs. He walked into the bedroom and found his wife laying across the bed, in an apparent pout.

"Not that I’m not happy to find you exactly where I’ve imagined you all damn day," he said in greeting, "but in my imagination you were naked."

She lay face down on the bed with her head resting on her folded arms, but looked over her shoulder at her husband. It still amazed her that this beautiful man was all hers. "I could be persuaded to get that way," she told him, smiling.

Jon walked over to join her on the bed. He laid down on his side next to her and began to rub her back in soothing little circles. "Wanna talk about it?" he asked gently.

"Talk about gettin’ naked?" she questioned, "Naaa, I’d rather just get down to it. You know me....A little less talk and a lot more action. That’s my motto."

"Teece," he said softly, "you know what I mean."

"Not really," she muttered, dropping her head back down on her arms.

"I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours," he encouraged.

"Ya call that a deal?" she answered, her voice muffled by the down comforter on the bed.

He bent over and whispered silkily in her ear, "Ok, tell me all about it, and I’ll make mad passionate love to you ‘til you forget all about it."

"You’ll make ‘mad passionate love to me ‘til I forget all about it’ anyway," she answered, her voice still muffled.

She really didn’t want to have to admit to Jon what the problem was. TC was afraid that she’d lost it. When she’d been recording her last cd, there had been a song on it that she couldn’t put the right feeling into, and Jon had come into the studio and played guitar on the song. He’d told her to just sing it to him. The version that went on the cd was just her singing with Jon’s acoustic guitar as her only accompaniment. Never in a million years did she want to have to admit to her very talented husband that she had lost the ability to put the proper feeling into a song unless he was sitting in the studio with her.

"But," he tried again, "it would make you feel better if you’d talk about it."

"That’s bullshit and you know it," she answered, "cut it out, Jersey. I don’t wanna talk about it and that’s it. If you’re gonna make mad passionate love to me, just get on with it."

"Teece," Jon replied, "I know you too well. What’s this got to do with me? And why don’t you wanna talk to me about it?"

TC flopped over on her back and flung one arm up over her face. "Dayum it, Jon," she mumbled in frustration.

Jon waited patiently. He knew he’d finally pushed her to talking, but he might have to wait a few minutes for her to get started. He loved this woman to distraction, but she could be really difficult at times.

"I’ve lost it," she finally cried.

"Lost what?" he asked, puzzled.

"It, Jon," she answered impatiently, "ya know, that it that every creative person has. That defining it that makes us special."

"I seriously doubt that," he told her, smiling.

She didn’t miss the heated blue gaze that moved from her eyes down the length of her body. "Jersey," she admonished, "that’s not what I meant, and you know it."

He shook his blond head, trying to dispel the image of her beneath him naked and moaning his name that had flashed through his mind. "Right," he told her, "let me get my head back in this conversation."

"I think your head was trying to get in the conversation," she muttered.

He flashed her that million mega watt smile. "Sorry," he said, sounding anything but apologetic. "Start from the top."

She told him about her day at the studio, ending with, "And Rick had the audacity to suggest that if Randy wanted the proper feeling in the song, then he should get you to sit in the studio with me."

"Teece," Jon tried to placate her; her temper was close to boiling again.

"Seriously, Jon," she replied, "Randy suggested that I just give it up and do Jackson with Keith instead."

"Over my dead body," Jon replied heatedly, "there’s no way I’m letting you in a damn studio to record a duet with that sexy Aussie."

"Jersey, your jealousy’s showing," she pointed out, smiling. "Can we get back to me, now?"

"Teece, I could come by the studio for a few minutes and sit in there with you if you wanted me to," he told her.

"No, dayum it!" she exclaimed. "I’m going to do this on my own or not at all, and I’ll be dayumed if I’ll do anything but Ring of Fire."

Jon leaned over her and kissed her softly. "How ‘bout I give you something to remember then while you’re in the studio tomorrow?"

She threaded her fingers through his hair. "Now, that sounds like a deal."

Jon moved to straddle her hips, then helped her pull her shirt off over her head. He placed hot, open mouthed kisses along her collar bone then down to lick at one nipple through the lace of her bra. That didn’t pacify him for long though and soon he was opening the front clasp to let the scrap of fabric fall on either side of her.

When his mouth moved back to her nipple, she gasped his name. Her hands caressed their way down his shoulders and across his muscled chest, molding the soft cotton of his t-shirt more tightly to him. When her hands finally found the bottom of the t-shirt at his waist, she pulled it up until her small hands were caressing his bare skin. He quickly tossed the offending piece of clothing off over his head, where it landed forgotten on the floor.

With one hand caressing her right breast, his mouth blazed a fiery path down her stomach, but he moaned her name when her hands began to work at the button of his jeans and brushed across his arousal. Her hands, like gasoline on a small spark, ignited an inferno even through the thick denim, and his hips involuntarily thrust forward into her.

"Hold still," she murmured.

"I’m a little busy here, Teece," he answered against the satiny skin of her stomach, before his tongue dipped inside her navel.

"But now I can’t reach your zipper," she complained.

"Fuck my zipper," he quipped, and began to undo the button of her jeans.

"I’d rather not," she answered, "I had something better in mind to fuck."

"Damn it, Teece," he complained, "we’ve been doing this for years now, I’d think you’d be faster at getting me undressed." He stopped trying to undo her jeans, and quickly unfastened his own.

"I guess I could just keep you naked all the time," she suggested, grinning seductively up at him.

"That could cause a problem in the studio with the guys," he pointed out as he pushed his jeans over his hips.

"I guess you’re right," she said, sounding disappointed, "and on stage in front of all those screaming women."

"There ya go," he agreed, tossing his pants in the floor, "you’d have a fit if I went out on stage naked." Then he moved to pull her jeans down her long legs.

"I think I hear millions of women all around the world crying," she laughed, tossing her bra in the air to let it join the rapidly growing pile of clothing.

"Nope," he answered quickly, "that’s just me, dying to be inside you." Carelessly, he tossed her jeans towards the foot of the bed, not paying attention to where they fell.

"Take it easy, Jersey," she smirked, "you’ll be screaming my name soon enough."

"And you’ll be moaning mine," he promised, then licked a long path up her leg, pausing to gently bite the inside of her thigh, before laving the small wound with his tongue.

"Jon," she sighed, as her fingers gripped his hair.

He stroked her curls, letting his fingertips comb through them a few times, and smiled to himself thinking about how long it had taken them to grow back after she had decided to surprise him with a smooth mound. She hadn’t taken it too kindly when he explained that it made him feel like a pedophile going down on her without some "fur" impeding his progress. Parting her with his thumbs he eagerly lapped at her clit, hearing her moan in response. Gently, he took her clit between his teeth, then sucked hard. He was rewarded with her gasp of pleasure.

"Jersey," she said, huskily, "please."

"Please what, Teece?"

"Fuck my brains out," she answered, hoarsely.

"But I’m not done," he argued against her thigh.

"You’re done enough," she pleaded, "please. I need you. Now."

He moved up and over her, quickly thrusting home. TC locked her legs around his waist, drawing him in deeper. He sighed her name as her silken trap seemed to pull at him. She clutched at his shoulders, before skimming her hands up his throat to grip his hair again, and pull him down for a kiss. His tongue thrust into her mouth imitating the motion of his hips as he drove into her.

Breaking the kiss, he pulled back to look at her face. Her eyes were squeezed closed, and she had her bottom lip tucked tightly between her pearly white teeth. He desperately wanted to look into the emerald depths of her eyes. "Open your eyes, Teece," he begged.
Opening her eyes, she smiled at him. She knew him too well; he loved her changeable eyes and loved to watch them go to darkest emerald when she came, little did he know that his own eyes darkened during their lovemaking. Emerald met sapphire, and he thrust once more, feeling her walls start to spasm around him.

"I’m coming, Jon, " she screamed, gripping his shoulders tightly.

He smiled down at her. "I’m sure, Rich didn’t need to know that," he told her, right before he felt his own orgasm coming on. He thrust against her twice more, emptying himself inside her.

Collapsing on top of her, he tried desperately to catch his breath. With their chests pressed tightly together she could feel his racing heart, and was sure he could feel hers. Tenderly, she combed his hair off his forehead. "I love you, Jersey," she whispered.

"I love you too, Teece," he answered.



The next day, TC paced the confines of the studio while Randy made some adjustments in the control room. She was trying to concentrate on the feel of Jon’s hands on her body and the smell of his skin when he had made love to her the night before. Anything, that would put the necessary feeling into her voice when she stepped in front of the microphone.

"Okay, TC, we’re ready," Randy announced over the intercom. "Let’s do this."

She walked over and took the headphones that were hanging on the mic and put them on. "Okay, I’m ready."

She heard the opening notes of the song in her ears and closed her eyes. Trying to picture Jon, the way he looked above her, she began to sing.

Love is a burning thing,
and it makes a fiery ring.
Bound by wild desire,
I fell into a ring of fire.

"Cut," Randy’s voice sounded in her headphones.

"What now?" she demanded.

"Almost, TC," he answered, "you’re almost there, but put just a little more emotion into it."

"Dayum, Randy," she complained, "whaddya want? Blood?"

"Teece," she heard Jon’s voice, "you can do this."

"Fuck," she swore violently, "Jon, I told you I didn’t need you here. I said I could do this myself."

"I’m not here to help," he defended, "I’m just here to watch. Besides, I’m not in the studio with you."

"You better keep it that way, Jersey," she warned. "Randy, get me a headset mic, I need to move."

"Coming right up," Randy answered, and clicked off the intercom. He quickly sent a tech to get the requested equipment.

"Can’t she just dance in front of the mic she has?" Richie asked.

"Shhh," Jon told his friend. "It’s best if you just keep quiet. No sense letting her know you’re here too. That would really piss her off."

"Why?" Richie questioned. "She didn’t say I couldn’t come."

"Just shut up and listen, Rich," Jon ordered.

They watched through the tinted glass as the tech handed her a wireless headset microphone. TC slipped it on her head. "Now that feels better," she said to no one in particular.

"Let’s try it again," Randy told her.

The music started again in her ear and she began to move sensuously to the beat. The horns had a deep sexy sound to them and she let them invade her mind. This time when she began to sing, the throaty quality to her voice melted every male heart. Except one. He heard it on a regular basis, when she moaned his name as she came apart in his arms. The sound warmed his heart and made his jeans just a little tighter.

She started the second verse.

The taste of love is sweet,
when hearts like ours meet.
I fell for you like a child,
and oh, how the fire went wild.

I fell into a burning ring of fire,
I went down, down, down,
And the flames went higher.
But it burns, burns, burns
The ring of fire,
The ring of fire.

Jon smiled at the way her voice almost sounded like she was in pain when she sang the word ‘burns’. When the music faded away, Randy yelled in triumph, and the other men in the control room cheered. All but Jon, he just smirked. He’d known she could do it all along.

"I told ya’ll I could do it," she yelled, "do a different song, my ass."

"Damn it, girlfriend," Randy laughed, "why didn’t you ask for that headset two days ago?"