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Jennifer loved evenings like this. Quiet and uneventful, the hours stretching before them filled with nothing but promise. A tray Max made up for them, cold cuts and crackers and cheese, was abandoned and picked over, two empty wine glasses beside it. The low murmur of the television didn’t bother them as they laughed and spoke, about nothing in particular at all. Recounting the week, discussing the things on deck for the next. Jonathan relayed the water cooler gossip Deanna brought to him and Jennifer had a few juicy stories about their friends. Who was leaving who, who was having an affair and more. It was domestic bliss in a life that didn’t offer much domesticity but plenty of bliss.
Jonathan’s arms wrapped loosely around her while they sat, absentmindedly patting and touching one another. There was no hurry, no rush to passion. They were only half paying attention to Jerry Dunphy and the top stories of the day. Jennifer was tracing over the backs of Jonathan’s hands, swirling her fingertips over his rings and drawing the backs of her nails over his wrist.
It could have been because they’d only been married 3 years, this desire for nearness. But Jennifer suspected it was more than that. In one another they had found a perfect match, and whether it was crossing the world or sitting in their home, they were happiest if they were together.
Jonathan nuzzled at her hair, brushing his cheek over it before dipping to place a chaste kiss on her lips. Warmth filled her veins, golden honey sweetness, her heart overflowing with love for him. She sighed happily, returned the peck and turned in his arms to snuggle more closely.
It didn’t take long for the top stories to lose their interest entirely and the bottle of red they’d shared to do its work. Their attention turned inevitably towards one another more fully, their force almost magnetic.
They kissed lazily, innocently. It reminded Jennifer of those youthful days at Gresham Hall, before Jonathan was even a wrinkle of possibility in her life, sneaking out of her dorm after dark with a group of friends to meet the Brookfield boys. She’s been ambivalent about dating back then, something that didn’t change much over the intervening years. She liked men and had a few serious relationships - some more successful than others - but she didn’t crave male companionship the way her girlfriends did. In high school, they would pair off randomly to different darkened spots for a few stolen hours of youthful necking in the moonlight. She didn’t go very often but sometimes, when she was feeling particularly defiant, she would join in. She was by and large a compliant young woman. Except for those moments when she wasn’t. Letting Ricky Junior - Richard Bellingham Junior - feel her up under the bleachers was one of those times.
She had fond memories of her small rebellions, of the sweet and gentle boys who wooed her with kisses that may have lacked finesse but were otherwise quite enthusiastic. She’d enjoyed the physicality of it, the adrenaline rush, fumbling hands, the desire shining in the eyes of nice young men. They were her friends, ones she still enjoyed seeing at reunions, and they had fun. They blundered together towards adulthood, often giggling at the awkwardness of it all.
When Jennifer tilted her head to drop a line of kisses along Jonathan’s neck, he chuckled and clutched her hips in surprise. That was usually his move, but he relinquished to her attentions.
His body was firmer than any of her young paramours, his chest full of crisp hair and far more muscular than anything she might have experienced in the dappled darkness. At the time she’d thought them all so terribly masculine but now with something to compare, she realized how scrawny they were.
Jonathan’s tongue brushed her lips firmly, relenting for a moment when he paused to nibble at her cupid’s bow. She thought to toy with him some, to keep her mouth closed, but his palm covered her breast and whatever thoughts she’d had of petty play dissolved in the cascade of heat.
No boy in those Gresham Hall nights - and no man in all the nights after - touched her the way Jonathan did. He was confident but not greedy, gentle but not tentative. Even in the beginning, when they were just learning about one another, he seemed to know what she wanted. And what he didn’t know, he learned quickly. Like the way she couldn’t resist when his tongue surged between her lips, his hands gathering her to him. He was all tender strength as he maneuvered her backward until they were pressed together along the length of the couch, legs entwined. Jonathan sweetly brushed back her hair before cupping the back of her neck and pressing his thumb to the tendon there, steady and possessive.
With anyone else it might have made her uncomfortable. But not with Jonathan. Never with Jonathan.
Still, they did not rush. The house was empty save for them and the dog. And Freeway was comfortably paying them no mind on the window seat across the room. Jennifer opened and closed her fingers across Jonathan’s abdomen, her nails scratching lightly. She felt his muscles quiver beneath her and his thumb pressed against her pulse briefly. He liked that, so she did it again, a playful kitten rolling paws against his flesh until a shudder ran through him.
Finally she arched, pressing her throat up to Jonathan’s hungry mouth, encouraging him to find his favorite spot and set up camp.
She buried her nose in his hair, her hands still kneading at him, clutching his shirt and letting go, her thigh sliding back and forth across his hip. Delicious, lazy friction that was innocently erotic in their fully clothed state.
The pleasure was in the tasting, the touching, the slow burn. On the television, news gave way to sports scores and still they didn’t move further along, content to hold and be held.
Faint noises of delight punctuated the slip of their lips. Not panting, not keening, not racing hearts and whimpers, but whispers of love and adoration, their breath mingling and creating a little humid bubble of satisfaction. Jonathan kissed along her cheekbones and over her eyelids, licked playfully at the corner of her mouth. Her teeth caught his lower lip but she was careful not to pinch and she bumped her nose to his affectionately.
“The Rams are doing well this year,” Jonathan hummed into the shell of her ear and Jennifer couldn’t help her wry laughter.
“You’re really paying attention to the tv?” She tunneled her fingers through his hair when he lifted his head to grin cheekily. He was particularly adept at multitasking but she took pride in stealing his focus whenever she chose.
“I’ve got money on ‘em.”
“Mmmm,” Her swift peck lingered and their lips opened again. This time it was her tongue that boldly surged past his lips, a bit aggressive in light of his inattention. She felt the exact moment when all thoughts of football dissolved from his mind.
It might have been minutes and it might have been hours when they finally shifted gears. Skin sought skin, fingers slipping under waistbands and up shirts to clutch and grope, lips lingering to leave faint bruising. In high school she’d only gotten a hickey once, and she’d gone to great pains to hide it from everyone, even her roommates. She eyed it with blushing skin after her shower, resolved not to let another boy mark her in that way. Which was all well and good at 17, but at 38 she had changed her tune. At least where Jonathan was concerned. The bruises he left behind were not territorial marks, meant to convey his ownership and scare of competitors. Those secret splotches (and some not so secret) marked his adoration. Like plaques in a museum, they were odes to the parts of her he loved best.
Jonathan’s thumb chased moans (and thoughts) from his wife by brushing his thumb over her nipple rhythmically. She whimpered when he pinched her lightly through the fabric, her breath catching sharply when his mouth enclosed the spot, clothing and all. Jennifer wondered what a teenage Jonathan would have been like at this, if she would have snuck out to meet him in the hayloft above the stables, if she would have let him go further than any other boy before college. If she would have risked everything for him the way she knew she would now.
“You taste so good,” he moaned into the valley of her breasts. She hadn’t realized he’d unbuttoned her fully, a testament to his skill at both undressing her and keeping her senses so overwhelmed she was half delirious. If young Jonathan Hart had a quarter of the skills he had as a fully grown man (she noted the hot firmness rocking against her thigh, and had to swallow hard past the clog of want in her throat), she would have snuck out and met him anywhere at any time.
As a matter of fact, the first time they’d met with her father, ordered to Briarwood when Stephen had finally been informed of their engagement, they’d stayed for three days. For three days, her father had not expressly forbidden them to share a bed under his roof. His stern, fatherly eye was enough to have both of them choosing to skirt the rules safely, in spite of being full grown adults. They defiantly slept in the same bed, unwilling to part for the night, but that was as far as things went. Yet over those three days the empty stalls in the beautiful and immaculately maintained stables had been an adequate substitute. Oh, what those sweet horses must have heard…
Oh the day they left, Stephen had hugged his girl goodbye and given Jonathan a firm, intimidating handshake. And then the older man had reached up and flicked hay from Jennifer’s collar with a knowing smirk and pointed out that he probably should have specified that he meant all of his roofs, not just the main house. But his eyes had sparkled with mischief and Jennifer knew he’d been won over to their union.
The newscast returned from a commercial break to discuss the weather and Jennifer realized it was getting late. The thought of making love to Jonathan on the couch was enticing, but she wanted the luxury of both time and space, neither of which were available in the living room.
Jonathan grumbled his displeasure when she stilled his rutting hips, swallowing her own disappointment.
“Come on, darling.” She patted his sorrowful cheek and pressed her forehead to his. “I want to make love to you in our bed.”
Jonathan grinned in response. “What if I want to make love to you ?”
She slid out from underneath him and he sat up fully, slumping back against the couch to get his breath back. From what she could see, his erection wasn’t flagging, tight as it was against the seam of his khakis. She licked her lips. “Then we can take turns.”
She offered her hand, wiggling her fingers at him, which he took quickly. Their fingers slid together as Jennifer backed away, her open blouse swaying with the movement, her chin tucked coquettishly, eyelashes batting at him playfully.
When she spun to lead him out of the den and up the stairs he yanked her back into his arms, pressing himself against her back. He curled around her, encompassing her in his embrace, heat arcing everywhere they touched. He attached his lips to the side of her neck again, this time pressing the pearls of his teeth into the tendon there. It took them longer to get up the stairs that way but they didn’t mind. Each step up Jonathan’s hands found a new spot to caress from her bare torso, to her throat, to the apex of her thighs, hot and moist even through her trousers. Jennifer could only hold on to him, fingers digging into him from behind, pressing his front to her back, and let him power her up to their room.
At the door she turned and wound her arms around his neck, pausing their seduction with the serious look in her eye.
Some people wished for the good old days, looked back over their youth as idyllic. And Jennifer certainly had fun. But between then and now, the man who was prepared to love her body through the rest of the night (and love her soul for the rest of their days) made all those memories pale in comparison.
“We’re very lucky, aren’t we?” She asked, and had to giggle as she watched Jonathan’s thoughts attempt to shift gears and follow her. He was a very smart man, but she knew that his hands on her body could slow down his whip-smart brain to a crawl if she played her cards right.
Apparently the evening had been a winning hand, because he stared at her slack-jawed for a full five seconds before nodding his agreement and leaning in for another kiss.
“I’m serious, darling.” She evaded his lips and pressed their cheeks together, reaching for and finding that sweet, sweet comfort in his embrace. He was fairly vibrating with need, but he held her reverently, allowing her this moment of reflection. “I love you.”
Jonathan’s bewildered little smile melted into a genuine grin and he reached behind her to turn the knob and let them into their room.
“And you’re far better at this than Ricky Junior ever was.” She teased, backing away, tugging at the button on her pants.
“Who?” Jonathan was already pushing her blouse from her shoulders.
“I’ll tell you in the morning.” She promised, and the door clicked shut behind them.