Jon's Downright Ridiculous Shooting Case

by A J Sherwood

  “I got fifty.”

  “Sold.”

  “What are you doing here anyway?” I demanded of her.

  “Your stuff got shot up, I was taking inventory of what I need to get you,” she said defensively, her fingers moving over the phone as she obeyed the terms of the deal. “Don’t worry, Grandma’s here, she’s talking to the cop outside.”

  Of course she was. “You’re going to tell her every detail as soon as you get outside, aren’t you? Or is that a stupid question?”

  “Stupidest question I’ve ever heard,” my niece assured me with that patented ‘duh’ look that only teenagers could manage to give adults. “And I go to high school. Thank you, Donovan, pleasure doing business with you. I will get out of your hair, do continue where you left off.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I will,” he responded pleasantly, catching her arm and walking her to the front door.

  Skylar let herself be pulled, calling to me over her shoulder, “Tell me all the details later!”

  I waved her cheerfully off. “No way in hell.”

  Any fear of the mood being broken died a quick death when Donovan caught my hand and hauled me directly upstairs. I had to put some pep in my step to keep up with him, and as soon as we hit my bedroom, he stripped off his shirt, flinging it carelessly aside. I paused mid-yank on my own shirt, sidetracked by the view. For the first time, I got a full view of everything this man’s body had been put through.

  The acid scars started near his ears and mantled over his upper back, a maze of bumpy paths that converged and trickled down like water runnels to his lower back. They wrapped around his biceps and shoulders, trailing down his forearms like white liquid on his dark skin. When he turned to face me, I saw that the scars danced over his collarbones, a few tendrils making it past the impressive muscled ridges, the damage nowhere near as bad as his back.

  My own skin ached in sympathetic reaction, imagining how that must have hurt like a bitch. A part of me wished I could lay my hands on the person who had done this and eviscerate them. Slowly.

  Donovan must have taken my pause to mean something else, for his lips twisted as he looked at me, and his shoulders slumped a bit. The copper lust he shone with died a little. “Yeah, different story with the shirt off, isn’t it?”

  And no, sir, none of that. I closed the distance between us and placed a lingering kiss on a thin trickle of scar that wound its way toward Donovan’s heart. His sharp intake of breath pressed his chest firmer into the kiss. “I saw them the first time I looked at you. I can trace them right through your shirt, they’re that clear in my vision.” My fingers lightly stroked up his forearm, brushing scars with both fingers and lips.

  Voice choked, he whispered, “And you still look at me like that?”

  Raising my eyes to his, I whispered, “Like what?”

  “Like the sun rises just for me.”

  “Not quite,” I corrected gently, rising up to skim my lips over his. “You carry a sun around with you. You’re the most amazing man I’ll ever meet, Donovan Havili. There’s nothing anyone can do or say to convince me otherwise.”

  His mouth closed over mine, hot and insistent, swallowing words and breath. I kissed him in return just as hungrily, scrabbling at his pants because dammit, I was really tired of him in clothes. His hands found the hem of my shirt, yanking, both of us working to get it off. Skin met skin as the shirt hit the floor and I reveled in that for a moment, the heat of him perfectly delicious. I shoved my hand down the front of his pants, impatient to feel him, and swiped a thumb over his leaking tip. The slew of curses that fell out of Donovan’s mouth ratcheted my lust higher. I needed him inside me. Now.

  It took more coordination than I cared for to get us both naked, mostly because I wanted to just kiss and touch him, not worry about any mundane details. He ended up wrestling me out of my pants and shoes, his own pants and shoes, then grabbed me under the thighs and lifted me up, turning sharply to plant me on the edge of the bed. Being manhandled like that was hot as fuck and I had not a single protest.

  We fell back against the sheets in a frenzy of rushing hands and kisses, and for one glorious moment our cocks aligned before Donovan lifted up and away, breaking our kiss with a groan. Before I could protest, his lips grazed the sensitive part of my neck, making me shiver, but he traveled lower, to apply tongue and fingers to my nipples. Each brush, roll, and pinch sent sparks racing through me, my entire body coming alive with sensation. I’d never found myself to be particularly sensitive there but he applied more force than anyone had ever tried before, and that made all the difference. Or maybe the difference was Donovan himself.

  “I really, really like what you’re doing,” I gasped to him, arching up into his touch, one hand lightly holding his head in place, the other sweeping up and down his back.

  “Yeah?” He glanced up, golden eyes under dark lashes, and that should be a painting. That look right there, that needed to be immortalized. It was sexy as sin. “You a talker in bed, Jon?”

  “Generally. Problem?”

  “Hell, no. Please talk to me. I want to hear what you like, what you need, what’s not working for you. Especially now, when we’re figuring each other out.”

  Of course he wanted me to talk to him. I’d momentarily forgotten that he constantly urged me to communicate with him. My Donovan was a talker—it made sense. “I’m not normally that sensitive but the pressure and heat you’re applying is working.”

  “Yeah?” That pleased him and he bent back to it with even more focus than before.

  I grabbed both of his shoulders before pleasure turned me boneless. After a few more moments of driving me crazy, his mouth traversed lower and I had absolutely no intention of stopping him. He slipped to the floor, settling on his knees, hands moving to cup my balls gently in one hand. Daaaamn that felt good, that gentle, rolling massage sending sparks of pleasure singing along my nerves. I spread my legs a little wider to give him more room to work with, my eyes threatening to roll back into my head.

  With no warning, wet heat engulfed me to the root, followed by intense suction, and I damn near jackknifed off the bed. Only Donovan’s arms wrapped around my thighs kept me from choking him, their pressure and heat a welcome grounding sensation because I was going to lose it in five seconds flat otherwise. Especially if he kept hoovering up and down like that.

  “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” I heard spill out of my mouth.

  He chuckled, I felt the vibration—which caused my eyes to stop threatening their roll and proceed to do so—then his tongue came into play. On a pulling suction up to the tip, he didn’t stroke that sensitive spot right below the head, not like most men did, but instead swept his tongue all around the edge of the top in a slow, sensual caress.

  I damn near lost my mind.

  “Where the fuck did you learn that do not stop, fuuuuck,” I whimpered. It was a manly whimper, I think, although I was past caring.

  He did it again. Then again, and I swore I saw stars. I had to grip his head with both hands, hard, to keep myself grounded. “Do-Donovan.”

  Pulling off a little, he looked up in question, eyes sparkling with devilish amusement. Apparently, he enjoyed driving me insane. “Yeah, babe?”

  “If you want to do me in the next ten seconds, you’d better stop that,” I managed to get out, although I really, really didn’t want him to stop.

  “Actually…” he trailed off, comfortable on his knees, expression thoughtful. “How do you feel about doing me?”

  I contemplated for all of three nanoseconds because I really did want his beauty of a cock inside me, but that sounded like the best idea I’d heard all year. All century. “Get up here.”

  Taking that as my answer, he got onto the bed, and as he moved, I scrambled upright to open my nightstand drawer and yank out lube and a condom. I immediately snapped on the condom before I lost all higher form of thought process. Then I turned back and whatever brain cells I’d had left quickly fled the building.
/>   Donovan lay face down on the bed, ass lifted for access, arms stretched above his head. All breath whooshed from my body in a whimper. He wasn’t trying to completely destroy me, right? He was just naturally hot and tempting, correct? Did it matter? Either way, I was screwed. This man had turned me into a whimpering mess in five minutes.

  Okay. Time to turn the tables. With an evil smile, I spread his ass cheeks and leaned in.

  “Babe? The lube’s still over—shiiiiiit.”

  His entire body jolted as I laid my tongue flat against his pucker and lapped, the muscle quivering under my ministrations. Donovan’s swearing was music to my ears. I traced circles with the tip of my tongue around the ring, fucking into his hole with quick little jabs, varying speed and rhythm. After one particularly hard, wet thrust, I drew back to blow a stream of air across the loosened muscle. I knew the cool air would set off the moisture from my spit in a most pleasurable way.

  “Holy shit, fuck, do that again.”

  I did it again, listening to him swear, words slipping into a language I didn’t recognize. I took that to be a very good sign. I did it once more, just because it was fun, but I really had to prep him properly before we both lost our common sense and did something that would end in injuries. I pulled back enough to grab the lube and dump some into my hand, inserted a finger, and found he accepted that easily. So I added a second, scissoring, stretching, keeping my fingers crooked a little to massage along that inner wall.

  Donovan moved with me, his hips matching my rhythm, arms now braced to help work himself on my fingers. “Third.”

  I added one more and watched, feeling his inner muscles clamp down on me. I might have also played with his prostate a little. Copper flared like a sunburst, shooting all the way up his spine. He really liked anal play, didn’t he? “Good?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed hoarsely. “In me, now.”

  I groaned. The things his voice alone did to me. His normal gravel had turned even rougher and lower, a subterranean growl that spoke to every lust receptor in my body. I lubed myself up and carefully pushed in, going slow, as it felt like I half-forced my way inside. But he didn’t tense, just breathed in deeply, hips tilted to accept me in him. When I was completely all the way home, I draped myself over his back and rested my forehead on his spine, catching my breath, hands hooking up and around his shoulders.

  Tight, tight, so goddamn tight.

  “Jon,” Donovan groaned, shivering hard, “please move. Move.”

  I quite liked having him plastered to me like this, so I didn’t lift up, just moved my hips back an inch before sliding back in. He gasped for breath, rocking back against me, and I slid out a little more on the next go. Feeling his heat all around me, muscles contracting as I thrust in and out; the way he sparked with passion, love, affection, and pleasure—the sensation was amazing. Words couldn’t describe it.

  “Touch me,” Donovan begged. “Need—”

  I peppered kisses all along his back, eliciting a moan, and dropped my hand down to his dick. With my fingers still covered in lube it was easy to stroke him in time with my thrusts. He started to plunge into my hand as hard as he impaled himself onto my cock. I could see, hear, feel his pleasure building to a climax, copper flooding my sight. I slammed my eyes shut before I fell abruptly over the edge myself.

  Not yet. I didn’t want to come just yet. This felt too good, this was the stuff of my dreams and hopes for weeks, it couldn’t end just yet—

  Donovan gave a hoarse, strangled shout and climaxed abruptly over my hand. His supporting arms gave out, and his front half sank abruptly onto the mattress. The sudden change of angle had me sliding in deeper and a moan tore from my throat. I grabbed his hips and my pace quickened as I used him to find my own climax.

  He grunted a little with each hard thrust but didn’t move or protest, just accepted me as I pounded into him. Everything in me tightened abruptly and, like a string being cut, I climaxed hard, white bursts of pleasure sparking my vision.

  Draped over his back, we both lay there, content to catch our breaths. Eventually the rush died down to a nice afterglow, and I found the strength and focus to pull gently out of him, get rid of the condom, and find a damp cloth to clean us both up with. He only moved a little as I cleaned him up, smiling at me with the expression of a very satisfied man.

  I ended up curled against Donovan’s chest, his arm wrapped around my waist, our breathing even and slow. I suspected Donovan to be asleep but didn’t glance up to check. For the first time in years I felt perfectly and utterly at peace. I also felt sexually satisfied in a way I’d never experienced before. I’d had good rounds of sex, make no mistake. But with previous partners, when I’d taken off the sunglasses and had no shields to compensate, their auras would eventually overwhelm me. I’d be so distracted by what I saw that I could never fully lose myself in sensation. With Donovan as my anchor, the trouble hadn’t occurred, and I’d been able to fully embrace the passion and sensation of our lovemaking without it overwhelming my senses in the process.

  I think, too, the old adage about sex being better with someone you cared about was true. The man in my arms loved me right down to my core. I hadn’t had the courage to admit it out loud, but I suspected I felt the same way about him. Perhaps had even fallen for him the first time I saw him. I didn’t subscribe to the theory of love at first sight—it was usually more lust at first sight—but I had to wonder, considering my reaction to him.

  I especially wondered, considering his reaction to me.

  Should I ask? No, leave it be.

  But he was such a romantic at heart, maybe he….

  Stop it, me. Leave it alone.

  “Babe.”

  I jolted slightly, then peeked up at him from under my eyelashes. He stared back with a knowing quirk of the eyebrow.

  “You are thinking so loud I can literally hear the gears turning from here,” he informed me, tone warm and teasing. “How about you just spit it out?”

  And he claimed he couldn’t read me that well. I called bullshit. The words hovered at the tip of my tongue as I rearranged them several times, debating the best way to ask this. “Not to sound like a walking cliché, but do you believe in love at first sight?”

  “It would be hypocritical of me if I didn’t, all things considered,” he responded, a hand idly stroking up and down my flank. “I’m the product of it.”

  Of all the things I’d expected him to say, that hadn’t been anywhere on the list. Pulling back a little so I could see his face better, I demanded incredulously, “Get out. Are you really?”

  “Three generations running,” he confirmed, amused at my reaction. “My parents, my mother’s parents, and my grandmother’s parents. That’s what we can prove and have history for, mind you; it might go further back than that.”

  I lay there, utterly speechless. Three generations? Seriously?

  “It doesn’t happen for everyone in the family,” he continued thoughtfully, staring blankly at the opposite wall as he got lost in some memory inside his own head for a few moments. “I’d say, only about twenty-five percent of the time does it happen. You’re wondering if I fell for you at first sight, aren’t you?”

  “Kinda curious,” I admitted a little sheepishly, idly tracing designs on his chest with my fingertips. If he had, it would explain so, so much.

  “I’m not sure,” he stated slowly, feeling his way out with his words. “I think I certainly started to fall for you. That smile you had on your face, it damn near stole my breath. I had to remind myself constantly to play it cool.”

  That I could believe. I still caught that reaction sometimes, whenever I did or said something that amazed him. He’d look at me like I outshone the sun. “That’s why you can accept it so easily. Our relationship happening so quickly, I mean.”

  “Hmm, maybe?” He dropped a quick kiss against my forehead, lips warm on my skin. “It took me about a week to figure out I didn’t want to just jump your bones, that I wanted a real rela
tionship, and after I realized what I wanted, I just went for it. You were perfectly happy with everything I did, so I figured you’d be up for dating. At least.”

  If he only knew. I nearly didn’t say it, but he was always so open with me, even knowing I could see much of what he felt. The unfairness of it struck me as wrong. I took in a breath and bolstered up my courage. “Actually, I was trying really hard not to sound like I was hitting on you that whole first day.”

  A rumble of delight came from his chest—not quite a laugh, but more like a rough purr. “Really?”

  “You’ve no idea.” I nuzzled against his chest, as that idle stroking of his warmed me slowly up. I still felt sated from the crazy hot sex we’d just had, but I could see how I’d want him again in the near future.

  “I’ve never felt as strongly emotionally attached to someone else like you,” he said slowly, feeling his way around the words. “Is that because I’m connected to you?”

  “Part of it,” I admitted. Truthfully, I added in a rueful tone, “A rather large part of it. Being my anchor means you’re more aware of me. We don’t share emotions or thoughts, nothing like that, but we’re more hyper aware of each other. The longer we stay bonded, the truer that will be.”

  “That’s why the sex is so good too,” he concluded smugly.

  Stifling a laugh, I pressed a quick kiss against his chest, reveling in the naked press of warm skin against me. “Yeah. We’re more in tune than most lovers at this stage. And we’re openly communicating better. All of that factors in. It’ll only get better from here out.”

  “Shit,” he said in a reverent tone. “That’s a dangerous idea. We’ve got things we have to do outside of this bed, after all.”

  I snickered. “Hunger will force us out eventually.”

  He hummed in agreement, dropping another kiss on my forehead.

  As easy as the silence was between us, the scales in my mind still felt unbalanced. I knew so much about him, I had since our first ten minutes together, but he was still learning about me. I felt like I owed him an explanation too. “Donovan…you asked before who hurt me.”