Jennifer is drunk.
Not falling down, falling over, laughing too loud and too long at nothing at all. Not the kind that meant vague memories and a pounding head and the sneaking suspicion of debauchery.
And yet she is still giddy, giggles and sighs spill over like bubbles in a glass of champagne. She is weightless and flushed, rising higher with each passing moment.
She is tethered by the simple press of her husband's fingertips between her shoulder blades, balancing her precariously as her head lolls on her shoulders. Tethered by the press of him between her thighs, and the blinding heat where they are joined.
She becomes conscious of him calling her name and she fights to open her eyes. He is grinning at her, that insufferably self-satisfied smirk that she can't help but sloppily adore. She knows he is saying something to her, murmuring against her hair and skin but the sound is lost in the ocean in her ears.
His hair flops over his brow and miraculously she is able to lift a boneless arm to push it away before her fingers dropped to her shoulders.
An intense wave of pleasure crests and her fingers tightened, nails biting into the tender skin as she tries to kept herself present, alert.
Another wave and she is helpless to slip under, his name loud in her mind but escaping as a mere groan of release from her lips.
He collapses atop her, his breath coming in sharp pants against her throat.
She will thank him tomorrow, she thinks as she dozes. And they will both benefit.
Jennifer is angry.
It is not a familiar emotion, nor is it particularly welcome.
And yet the flush of irritation stains her skin even as Jonathan rushes her from the room. She sees the hurt in his eyes and wants nothing more than to march right back into the living area and throttle the life out of the woman who put it there.
They won't fall for that woman's schemes, she tells him. They just won't do it. His eyes are sad, his heart is a little bit chipped. This is not what he needs right now, and she stows her fury for another time. With a sigh meant to release the pressure she takes his hand and leads him upstairs.
Later, in bed, he lays between her knees. His head is pillowed on her abdomen and he idly plays with her fingers. The lost child, not his son but does that even matter?, weighs heavily on him. They have known him for less than a day and already Jonathan has taken paternal interest in the boy. She knows what her husband is not saying - that it is unfair for any child to grow up without a father. That he can't be the one to extinguish the light in that little boy's eyes.
Jennifer crosses her arms on his chest and buries her nose in his hair, breathing deeply of his scent. She wants to absorb him into her, to ease away his pain and protect him from ill. She wonders if perhaps they shouldn't have a child of their own, thinks if she's going to be a mother she would only want to be the mother of his child. But her heart is already beating outside her chest, in the form of the man in her arms. There isn't enough of her to love them both, she thinks selfishly, but if he asked...
When he flips onto his belly he looks to her, his face upturned in supplication. She splays her hands on his cheeks and rains kisses over his pale skin. The corner of his mouth, his forehead, his eyelids.
She cannot stifle the little sob when she tastes the salt of his tears.
Jennifer is scared.
"I'm sorry, Mr. H, especially for all those great things you ain't remembering."
It is a vise on her heart and she has to take a moment to catch her breath. She has to believe this isn't the way it will always be. She fumbles as she leads him upstairs and his hand is at her elbow, as always. She closes her eyes at the top of the stairs and points out their bedroom, wondering if that is a good idea at all.
"Sometimes I wear the tops but tonight…" She cannot help but feel out of place as she rushes out of the dressing room to her side of the bed. The satin sheets and the pillows, their familiar scent, girds her as she waits, the covers all but pulled to her chin. When he slides in beside her it is all familiar and new at once, and not for the first time she wonders how awkward it must be for him. He makes small talk while she looks at her hands, making light of things to make him feel more comfortable.
When he leans to kiss her, she tangles her fingers in the collar of his pajamas. She is lovely, he says, and she cannot help but titter nervously. It's strange to think she'll be his first, after so long. She wishes she could transport her memories into him, make them whole again. The day they met, the first night they didn't make love. Their wedding, their anniversaries. Max and Freeway and laughter and love. Close calls and closer celebrations.
He kisses her again, tentatively and sweetly, and her last coherent thought is that, no matter what the future holds, she will remember enough for the both of them.
Jennifer is aroused.
Spending 5 days and 6 nights alone was not her idea. And though playful phone conversations are fun in the moment they've left her terribly unsatisfied. She re-crosses her legs as she sits in his office, shifting her weight seat to ease some of the ache she feels between her thighs. Pressing her knees together she feels a zing of pleasure in her core and she makes another frustrated sound. Six nights. Her fingers grip the edge of his desk when she hears his voice outside the door.
When Jonathan finally lets himself in, Stanley is on his tail talking ninety miles an hour.
One look at his wife, balanced on his desk with her knees tightly crossed and a look on her face that says all he needs to know, Jonathan immediately shuffles Stanley out of the room.
The accountant is still talking when Jonathan locks the door and takes three strides to stand between her thighs. He is about to loosen his tie when she yanks him forward by the strip of silk, pressing her lips to his. Her tongue demands entrance even as her fingers fumble for the fly of his pants and Jonathan can only brace himself with his palms on the desk, his upper body caging hers.
He is amazed as she wiggles on the desk in front of him, her skirt bunched around her waist and her underwear - where were her underwear? - and then he can't think because he's drawn to her moist warmth. The fingers pressing into the soft swells of his ass don't slow him down and he is inside her on a groan that reverberates through both of them.
"Oh thank God," she mumbles against his starched shirt and the ripple of her internal muscles has Jonathan echoing her. He is about to make a crack about absence making the heart grow fonder when her tongue laps at his throat and he forgets how to speak.
One of her heels drops to the floor with a thunk when she raises her knees and leans back onto her elbows, attempting to gain more leverage. Jonathan's hands creep around her waist, holding her steady.
"Faster," She demands in a harsh whisper, her lovely face twisted into a pleasured grimace.
Six nights.
Six nights.
And then there are stars.
"I love you." She says it out of the blue. She could never be accused of not telling him enough.
But there is no such thing as too much.
He grins. "I love you, too."
Jennifer is happy.
(end)