A Fine Balance

by Susan Johnson

  “I’ll have whatever you’re having.” As he walked away, she stood on the threshold, surveying the large, high-ceilinged, magnificent space. The walls were adorned with bucolic landscape murals, the floor to ceiling windows facing the canal open to the night, the carpets and furniture seriously expensive. “This room is gorgeous. Did it come this way or did you”—

  “A decorator helped,” Jack said from the bar.

  “Was she beautiful? Sorry, stupid jealousy.” Jillian walked toward one of two sofas upholstered in fawn-colored cut velvet.

  “Mine’s worse.” He didn’t say more, the word ownership not exactly PC. “As a matter of fact, the decorator, Giacomo, was beautiful, but not my type. He played a mean game of racket ball though. There’s a court not far from here. Luis might like to learn.” Jack glanced back. “Or maybe you would?”

  “I’ll watch. Other than running, I’m not much of an athlete. The last few years my daily run has taken a hit though.” Dropping onto the sofa, she sank into the soft down cushions.

  Jack turned with a bottle in his hand and grinned. “I could always chase you and give you incentive to run.”

  “Then I won’t run at all.”

  Jack laughed. “You don’t mess around, do you Jilly-bean?”

  “Not when I want something. Speaking of which, are we going to sit down here long?”

  “Just til our bags are unpacked.”

  “Unpacked by whom?” Her voice spiked into a tiny shriek at the end.

  “Relax. Paolo’s family takes care of this place for me. His mother, sisters and cousins help out.”

  She groaned. “So someone’s actually unpacking my suitcase?”

  “Jeez, Bear, unless you’re smuggling in a couple kilos of Columbian, no one’s gonna give a shit what’s in your suitcase.” He turned with two ice-filled glasses in his hands, took one look at her face and said, “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  He knew that tone. “Pretend they’re not here,” he said, softly, walking toward her. “Seriously, it’s just you and me.” He handed her a more alcoholic version of a Bellini. “Everything’s copacetic.” Sitting down beside her, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Welcome to Venice, Bear.”

  She smiled, told herself not to be a wimpy dope and raised her glass. “Thank you. Venice is beautiful.”

  “You’ll like Paolo’s family.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “Goddamn, you’re cute.” Bending his head, he went nose to nose with her. “Fucking sweeter than sweet.” Kissing her lightly, he sat back and smiled.

  “Naïve you mean. Unsophisticated.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  She made a tiny moue. “Keep saying that until I figure out how to deal with people unpacking my bags.”

  “Not a problem. I don’t care if you ever do. But if it really bothers you, we’ll figure out something else. Now drink up.” He grinned. “I have plans.”

  “And Zeke might wake up early with all the time zone changes.”

  “In that case”—it hadn’t occurred to him—“we can drink these upstairs.” Coming to his feet, he took the glass from her hand, held both glasses on one of his large palms, and pulled her to her feet.

  “Leave them,” she said. “I just need you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He smoothly placed the two drinks on a nearby table, swung her up in his arms, strode from the room and took the stairs at a run.

  The fourth floor of the palazzo was Jack’s private apartment. He paused at the doorway, smiled down at her. “I’ll carry you over the threshold here and again when we get home. Fuck. We should have a photographer. This is epic.”

  She took a deep breath, her heart racing. “It feels epic. My heart’s going pit-a-pat at warp speed.”

  His faint, sideways smile was touched with tenderness. “Good honeymoon so far?”

  “Perfect,” she whispered.

  And when he stepped over the threshold, they both felt the soft fizz of magic deep in their bones.

  Less prone to bewitchment, or maybe just focused on another kind of magic, Jack carried Jillian through the sitting room into the bedroom that always reminded him of a Bollywood movie, the extravagant gilding and plasterwork carefully preserved, the eighteenth century bed a rococo pastiche of ormolu and lacquer work gone wild. Moving to the bed, he sat down on the blue and white striped silk coverlet Giacomo had reproduced from watercolors he’d found with the palazzo’s original blueprints.

  “This room is like--Wow,” Jillian murmured, surveying the period furniture, brilliant fabrics, the wall of windows overlooking the canal.

  “Agreed,” Jack said. “But I guess that was the point way back when. Wanna try another room?”

  “God no, this is stupendous.”

  Falling on his back, Jack rolled Jillian under him in a one surprisingly fast motion, settled between her linen-clad legs and smiled. “Let’s see if we can up the stupendous quotient.”

  She grinned. “Nice moves and yes to your plan. But you have too many clothes on.”

  “You still feel good.” He gently flexed his hips, his erection hard against her stomach. “Want a quickie first? A little warm up?” He reached for the zipper on his jeans.

  “No, no!” She shoved at his chest. “Wait!”

  His surprise showed. She rarely said, wait. Correction. Never.

  “Move.” She punched his shoulder. “Get off me. I have something to show you!

  He thought he’d already seen whatever there was to see. “Sure,” he said, intrigued and rolled off her.

  “Go sit over there.” Jillian pointed at a set of scarlet velvet-covered chairs across the room.

  Crisp orders; another exception to past behavior. Now he definitely was interested. Taking a seat in one of the indicated chairs, he leaned back, stretched out his legs and watched Jillian open and shut numerous bureau drawers. He couldn’t help but smile as she carefully searched through the items inside without dislodging them.

  She suddenly stopped, glanced over her shoulder. “Shut your eyes.”

  “Done,” he said. He heard the bureau drawer shut, heard her footsteps move toward the bathroom, heard the bathroom door open.

  “You can open your eyes now.”

  And the bathroom door closed with a click.

  She must have packed a sex toy he decided, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his socks. They’d found a few still-in-the-box items at his house. It would explain her agitation on hearing her suitcase was being unpacked. Sex toys were common as fast food in his world, but that wasn’t the case with her, so he cautioned himself to be tactful and understanding--sensitive.

  The word, sensitive, prompted a mental cue card and quickly rising from the chair, he crossed the room to an ornate fruitwood highboy, pulled open the top drawer, took out some condoms, a small tube of lube and slipped them in his jeans’ pocket.

  Ten minutes later, he checked his watch for the third time. Either the box with the sex toy was super glued shut or something else was going on.

  The bathroom door finally opened, Jillian walked out, stopped and gave him a little flicker of a smile. “I made this for you.”

  He was sucker punched with a hit of such pure, sweet, undiluted happiness it took his breath away.

  She stood twenty feet away, her cheeks flushed rosy pink, her red hair tumbled on her shoulders, her lush, shapely form visible beneath a tiny two piece teddy of sheer white lace, her plump breasts defying gravity with only small shoulder bows holding them aloft. Recognizing the wedding gown lace, he wondered when she’d found time to sew this masterpiece.

  His silent scrutiny brought a small puzzled frown to her forehead. “Don’t you like it?” He was staring at her like he’d seen a ghost.

  “I do,” he said, blinking away his astonishment. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  She smiled, a burst of a smile, sparkling and radiant. “Oh, good.
I was worried for a second. Want a closer look?”

  “For the next million years,” he said, very softly. Sliding up in the chair, he crooked one finger.

  His small movement sent a little prickle down her spine, his casual summons kindling a flurry of feverish desire, as if he expected her to oblige him. As if he knew she would.

  Spreading his legs as she approached, Jack pointed to the space between his thighs. “Very pretty,” he murmured, husky and low. “That white lace makes you look chaste, pure as the driven snow”—his voice dropped to a whisper, a cool detachment shadowed his eyes—“and ripe for ravishment.” A swift up-glance, just wild enough that it made it hard for her to breathe. “Fucking primed, ready for anything…” His quiet voice trailed off. Rubbing his hands up the sides of his jaw, he blew out a breath, dropped his hands. “Sorry.” He shook his head. “That’s fucked up. Forget I said it.”

  She stood just out of reach.

  He exhaled. “Now I’ve frightened you.”

  “No.” A little shake of her head, a seamless calm on her face. “I’m not as harmless or innocent as you think. I want certain things too.” She lifted her chin, an incandescent spark of challenge in her gaze. “You’ve heard the phrase, unbridled appetites?”

  His sudden smile lit the blue of his eyes. “Not lately, Jane Austen. But it sounds like fun.” He liked that she stood up to him, he preferred it. It was a simple as that. “If I get out of hand”—a flashing grin—“just don’t bite too hard. Now come a little closer, let me see what’s underneath that sexy lace. You’re not allowed to say no,” he gently added.

  She shivered despite the warmth of the evening, a flood of longing trembled through her body. “What if I do.”

  His smile was wicked. “Don’t.”

  “What if I really mean it.”

  He opened his arms wide. “I back off.”

  She smiled faintly and began raising the hem of her skimpy teddy.

  “Slowly,” he said in a lush undertone, softly inhaling as the tiny scrap of white lace barely covering her sex came into view. “Turn around.” A moment later, he leaned forward, ran his fingertip over a second tiny triangle of lace, then cupped the swell of her silken ass in his palms. “Bend over for me. Just a little, ah…there.” Slipping his thumbs under the small bit of lace, he slid the pads of his thumbs up the sleek length of her dewy cleft. “Feel that?” he whispered.

  An unnecessary question; she was beginning to pant, his thumbs were slick with her pearly fluid. Capturing her swollen clit between his thumbs, he squeezed.

  She moaned, shifted her bottom backward with a little shimmy, purred as his thumbs disappeared inside her. “Ummm…nice…me first.”

  He smiled. Her impatience never ceased to enchant him. He liked even more that her horniness was his to assuage, enjoy, satisfy. He recognized that his need to own that flagrant horniness bordered on the obsessive, but screw it; he’d worry about the rules of the road later.

  Sliding his thumbs out, he pulled her upright and gave her ass a light slap. “Go, get on the bed.”

  She spun around, sucked in a breath. “Seriously?”

  “You’re wasting time,” he said, mildly.

  So not in the mood to waste time, his softly spoken directive switching on every libidinous nerve in her body, she quickly moved to the theatrical bed, climbed up on it, and lay back, wildly eager and breathless. “Hurry.”

  He was beside her a moment later, untying the bows at her hips, replacing his thumbs in her pussy with two fingers, then three, his smile affectionate. “Racing speed?”

  It took her a second to reply with his touch inflaming her senses. “Faster,” she whispered.

  “Gotcha.” He’d only asked out of politesse. She was pulsing around his fingers in a hard steady rhythm, her clit was turgid and firm as a rock, her G-spot was practically bouncing off his fingers. Blast off was only seconds away.

  He stroked her velvety folds and slick tissue, her favorite pressure points, gently, deftly, finely attuned to her trembling delirium. He could literally feel her temperature rising, her sexual hysteria moving to crisis point and with exquisite discipline he waited for the exact, resplendent moment to activate her climax.

  Just. Like. That.

  She was still screaming when he pulled her down to the end of the bed. Spreading her legs wider, he quickly kneeled, leaned forward, placed the flat of his tongue on her pussy and licked a swift skimming path up her dewy flesh.

  “Too soon,” she gasped as his tongue brushed her ultra-sensitive clit with a light caress. “Oh, God…” she moaned a second later as he gently nibbled her pulsating nub of flesh. “Oh, oh, oh…” she sighed a second after that, the next orgasmic wave kick-starting, beginning to build momentum.

  Smoothly lifting her legs over his shoulders, he sucked and licked her engorged clit and glistening wet pussy with practiced skill, massaged and fondled her G-spot as well with two perfectly-placed fingers.

  With her phrase, unbridled appetites, motivating him, he slid the tube of lube from his pocket with his free hand, dropped it on the bed, unscrewed the cap, squeezed the tube and smeared his middle finger. With ambidextrous skill, he continued to arouse her pussy while gently stroking her tight ass, rubbing the lube into her taut flesh, back and forth, around and around, probing slightly, then withdrawing, slowly forcing entry, deeper and deeper. He felt her tightness gradually open, felt her pussy quiver and pulse against his mouth and fingers, heard the tempo of her breathing shift into high gear.

  Soon, he thought.

  A few moments later, restlessly writhing and squirming, over-stimulated, her fevered senses desperate for release, she whimpered in naked entreaty, “Please, please, please…”

  He gently thrust his finger full-stretch into her tight ass.

  She arched her back against the wild, seething rapture, the deeply-lodged finger inflaming her senses, Jack’s mouth and tongue masterful on her pussy, her G-spot melting under his touch, her raging desires swiftly rising, rich and raw, unchecked…

  She sucked in a breath.

  Her body was quivering under his hands, liquid on his mouth, so close to orgasm he could feel the heat.

  He knew the dance steps from here.

  Right hand, left hand, mouth and tongue.

  Her second orgasm exploded in the hot, throbbing center of her body, violent, overpowering, the shocking spasms pouring through her senses with such intense, volatile fury, she was stunned voiceless.

  Oh shit, Jack thought; she always screamed when she came. He must have hurt her. Quickly withdrawing his fingers, he carefully lowered her legs to the bed. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, coming up off his knees, cupping her face in his hands. “Jesus, I feel like shit.”

  “Hush,” she whispered, the beautiful, agonizing bliss still unfolding, stretching in excruciating ecstasy.

  Her comment wasn’t reassuring with her eyes still shut and her breathing faint.

  “Is it okay if I move you?” he murmured, watching her like a hawk.

  “Give me a minute. I’m still floating.”

  He let out a huge breath, felt the universe right itself. Not that he was going to be that stupid again. She was fragile. Not like most of the women he knew who not only kept up but pushed the hell out of you. Jillian was delicate; a baby kitten. He smiled to himself; his baby kitten.

  Then her eyes opened, spring green, balmy with satisfaction. “Thanks.” She smiled weakly. “New magnitude of sensation. You can do that again.”

  “Maybe next week.”

  “Hey.”

  He smiled. “You can’t even work up the strength to raise your voice. I repeat--next week…if you’re up to it.”

  “Tyrant.”

  “You better believe it, Missy. You scared the shit out of me. Now let’s get you under the covers and I’ll tell you a bedtime story.”

  “Something about a prince”—she waved her hand around the sumptuous room—“and Cinderella and leisurely missionary position se
x. I’d like that.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Sliding off the bed, he finished undressing her, placed her under the quilt and plumping the pillows behind her head, tucked the coverlet up to her chin. “Be right back.”

  Jillian listened to the water running in the bathroom, said, “No,” when he asked her if she wanted to wash up, and gave his mother credit for raising such a well-mannered son.

  Jack walked back into the bedroom a few minutes later, his arms bent at the elbow, his hands held up. “Sterile,” he said with a grin, dropping his hands. “How are you feeling?”

  “Very good, thank you. A mind-blowing climax does wonders for one’s emotional well-being. Now you undress,” she said, with a little twitch of a grin. “Entertain me.”

  “I thought I just did.” Sitting on the bed next to her, he leaned back against the headboard.

  “We’re on our honeymoon,” she said sweetly. “I want more.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Although temptation was only inches away and he’d never been monkish. “Maybe later,” he added, as if words alone would constrain his libido.

  “Just hold me then.”

  He hesitated. “I’m not Prince Charming,” he said, gruffly. “Not even close.”

  “I know. I’m not Cinderella either. It’s just shorthand for how you make me feel.” She smiled. “Like maybe fairy godmothers actually exist and mice talk and happy endings are a certainty.”

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I can guarantee the happy ending,” he murmured. “You can count on me for that.”

  Not interested in well-mannered platitudes, she scrambled up on her knees, threw her arms around his neck, and whispered hotly against his mouth. “When?”

  He took her by the shoulders and gently pushed her away. “When you’ve had time to rest.”

  “I feel perfectly fine. You didn’t hurt me. Really, you didn’t.” Her body still humming as if he were personal magnet to her libido, she clambered up on his lap, grabbed one of his hands and shoved it between her legs. “Feel.”