5...I'll Be Home for Christmas

They were home.  Thank God, they were home and Jon had sent both David and Gavin away with love and thanks, without allowing them to tag along.  It was one of many reasons that Petey was completely in love with her husband.

Those back spasms had truly been just that, and when she'd felt the inkling of a new one, Dr. Spanos ordered a muscle cream that had done the trick.  No contractions.  No premature labor.  Only a beautiful ultrasound experience revealing that they did, indeed, have a daughter on schedule to arrive with Cupid on Valentine's Day.

“Easy, Sugar,” he murmured, visibly straining to keep his hands to himself and let her navigate the stretch from the in-home elevator to the master bedroom, even though she huffed and grunted with the unfamiliarity of the crutches that were her new friend for the next week or so. 

Her great concession had been in actually using the elevator instead of hopping the steps one at a time.  Standing by to watch that would’ve caused his very pretty head to explode, and it hadn’t sounded like a good enough reason to exhaust herself – and her daughter – any further than they already were.

“Gianna.”

His handsome face was creased with perplexity as his eyes flicked up from the floor – and the rubber crutch tips squeaking across it – to her face.  “What?”

“Gianna,” Petey repeated, as she finally arrived at the side of the black cloud that was their bed and passed the crutches over to Jon.  “I want to name her Gianna.”

“I thought you’d decided on Angelica?”

Plopping gingerly down onto the mattress, she fixed him with a half-hearted scowl.  “You’re really going to question a pregnant woman’s impulses?  Especially after she managed to keep your bun in her oven instead of delivering eight weeks premature?”

With a snorted chuckle of  resignation, he knelt to ease her boot from the ankle that was securely wrapped in an elastic bandage.  “Fuck, no.  I think Gianna’s a beautiful name.  We should have seven more girls and name them all that, but am I allowed to ask what inspired it?”

Petey flashed her dimples and ruffled fingers through the tousled mop of hair that was bent over her other boot.  He was so exceedingly tolerant of her pregnancy quirks – of all her quirks, for that matter.  She’d never expected to find someone who could love everything about her, and while her husband would occasionally get frustrated by her stubbornness or sarcasm, he didn't complain much.  He was actually more likely to remark on his good fortune in convincing her to marry him and carry his baby.  

Yes, she realized that there was probably only a short window left in this honeymoon phase of theirs.  Eventually, he would grow callous or tire of it altogether, and that’s why she didn’t take his open lovingness for granted now.  She made herself acknowledge and appreciate every single indulgence – as long as her hormones weren’t making her a bitch. 

“I love you,” she murmured, prompting him to laugh as he tossed the second boot aside. 

“You always say that when you’ve got me on me knees with my dick in my hand.”  The affection twinkling in the crystalline blue irises was made all the more brilliant by his relief that she and the baby were no worse for the wear.

“You don’t have your dick in your hand now,” was her logical observation.  “Although, I think it would be therapeutic for both me and the baby to do some skin-on-skin cuddling with you.  To recuperate from the trauma and all.”

“You just want me to suck your nipples.”

She wasn’t going to object if he wanted to.  As sensitive as they were now, it was almost enough to bring her to orgasm all by itself, but it wasn’t what she’d had in mind.

“I’d rather sit between your legs in a bubble bath that washes the hospital stench away, but slippery surfaces and my impaired mobility aren’t a good combination.  I just want some intimacy with my husband.”

His grunt should’ve implied surliness, but Petey read it for what it was – emotion.  Jon still wasn’t great about conveying his in the light of day, but she’d learned to interpret the signs. 

While his lift of her braced leg was all business, he was tender in swinging it around to rest on the mattress while she reclined on the palm of her hands.  Getting her undressed was going to require some maneuvering, but he already had two fingers pushed into the back of her sock, stripping first one and then the other.

Petey was going to get the intimacy she asked for, and once he’d meticulously wrangled the brace off without pain to her knee, Jon just as painlessly removed the rest of her clothes.   She lay on her side, tucked under the covers and watching as his jeans and sweater hit the floor.  Every morning, there was a pile of dirty clothes at the bedside awaiting transport to the hamper, and she normally quibbled at him about his slovenly habits during that transport, but she couldn’t bring herself to fuss at him about it this time. 

“Gianna is the feminine, Italian form of John,” she said instead, as he slid between the sheets and across the width of the mattress.  “Since it’s pretty likely this will be my only baby, and we have so many Johns in the family – my dad, your dad, my stepdad and you – I thought it appropriate that she carry the name.”

“If she’s going to have my name, then she’s going to have yours, too.”  The warm scrape of his palm over the side of her belly had Petey sighing in contentment.  His touch was magic. 

“Petey or Patience?”

“Sugar,” he breathed, warming her skin with the word in the instant before reverent lips came to touch the swell of his child.

“We’re not naming this baby ‘Sugar’.”  The statement was as firm as the fingers tenderly combing through his hair were gentle. 

The angle of his cheekbones was striking.  So was the silhouette of the closed eyes and nose that fell into pursed lips, conveying a daddy’s love to the little girl he couldn’t yet hold in his arms.  The exquisiteness of it had Petey’s heart constricting, and she longed for a camera to capture the moment, even knowing that his superb physical attributes didn’t hold a candle to the beauty of his soul. 

It was her fervent prayer that their baby would get more of his soul and less of the Jersey attitude that kept it hidden.

“Then find something that means ‘sweet’, because if you don’t…”  Perfect lips paused in their adoration of his daughter, and determined eyes cut up to find Petey’s.  “I will, and it’ll go on the birth certificate before you’re fully aware that she’s been born. I mean it.”

He could be such a stubborn ass, but then again…  So could she.  “Make love to me, and I’ll consider it.”

“You’ll agree to it, and I’ll consider making love to you.”

“Stop being a prick.”  Petey used her grip on his hair to tug backward until his head was tipped at an angle that had them eye-to-eye.  “I’ve had a very trying day, and I’d like for my husband to make it better.  Can’t everything else wait for now?”

“Yes, dear.”

He graced her with that sexy half smile that had also graced People Magazine, proving that the man knew what he had to work with – and he worked it.  Reaching a hand behind his head, he disentangled her fingers and bent low to capture a plump nipple, rolling it over his tongue before latching on with his lips.  When she mewled with pleasure, he drew it deeper and caressed the curve of her belly on a southerly journey.

“That feels good,” she praised softly before her nostrils flared with a deep breath of surprise.  No matter how many times he’d touched her in just that way, slicking practiced fingers along her seam, it never failed steal her breath.  The first few times, it was anticipation of what he might do.  The hundreds of times after, it was with expectation of what he was going to do – what she knew he would do, which was make her unduly grateful that she was a woman.

Because her husband possessed the innate knowledge of exactly how to please a woman.

“Love your body.  Sweet cotton candy nipples, so pretty and pink.”  This was whispered as he transferred his attention from one to the other and pushed his middle finger from her clit backward, surging deep to massage the secret spot that always wept at his touch. 

“Cotton candy whale,” she breathed and rocked to incite deeper penetration while simultaneously trying not to move her knee or ankle.  Nothing would ruin the mood faster than a further strain of already strained muscles. 

“No.”  The heat of the word seared her aureole as his tongue swept the circumference.  “You’re living proof of why men want to reproduce.  Nothing is sexier than the woman carrying our baby.”

Petey audibly sucked air between her teeth, moved by both the efforts of a self-proclaimed unromantic and the graze of his skilled thumb over the bundle of nerves knotted with expectancy.

“So soft,” he murmured, dragging his nose up her sternum, kissing a path to her neck.  “Yet so strong.  So beautiful.”

The last was force-fed to her along with the devouring kiss that claimed her mouth.  While his fingers danced through the saturated folds of her womanhood with the proficiency of the prima donna in the Nutcracker Ballet, he boldly possessed what belonged to him and him alone. 

Her soft palate, the silky recess beneath her tongue, the sensitive valley between her teeth and lips…  Petey’s mouth had belonged to him since that first kiss in Washington, D.C., and she’d never once regretted giving it to him.

“Your lips were made for the very best sin, my wicked imp.”   His chest heaved deeply as each stroke of his fingers enticed her to sin with him. 

Debauchery was never so sweet as it was in their bed.  Nothing was wrong and everything was right when he manipulated her body in the ways she hungered for.  Touches that should be vulgar were nothing short of divine perfection when it was the two of them.  They came together in ways that some may never find pleasurable, but that was the unique beauty of who they were.  Uninhibited, unfettered, unabashed, and unhindered, they only sought every possible way to bring a sigh of satisfaction or hiss of pleasure from the other.

“Jonnnnn….” 

“Does that feel good, Sugar?”  Her husband demanded, adding another finger to the duo that was sensuously reaming her femininity.  “Does that make everything better?”

“Yesssss!”  Blunt nails dug into the shoulders whose muscles rippled under her hands.  Jon knew which buttons to push.  Which switches to flip.  Which parts to bite, and which to caress.  “Fuck me, Jonny.  I need you.  What only you can give me.”

When she rolled onto her back, however, Petey’s knee didn’t appreciate the movement and she swore at the searing pain. 

“Shhh.  Be still, and let me do it.” 

She received only that quiet instruction before he was no longer in front of her, but behind with the covers thrown to the foot of the bed.  One strong hand grasped the thigh of her good leg, hooking it back over his while his other arm wormed beneath her.  A quiet grunt puffed in her ear and Petey was deliciously filled.  A square hand splayed over her swollen abdomen, and the other plucked at her nipples at the same time steamy, wet kisses bathed her neck and jaw. 

“Your pussy was made to fit me.  Nobody but me.” 

Each thrust of his hips hit the right combination of nerve endings, working them like a calculator with nothing other than a multiplication button. 

“Only you,” Petey agreed, tipping her head back into his shoulder and lacing the fingers together on her stomach as he opened the erotic Pandora’s box that lived within her.  “Nobody else has the key.  Nobody ever has.” 

Sharp teeth nipped at the standing tendon in her neck as he bucked harder into her backside, and the hand that was tied to hers became unknotted to find a more slippery knot.  Jon flicked two fingers repetitively over her clit, blowing it up like a helium balloon as he continued to pump her fill of the love, promise and everlasting commitment that renewed every time their bodies came together. 

Their lascivious lovemaking was a religious experience that fed the soul of their relationship.  It was the cement that kept them bonded.  No one could turn themselves so fully over to another person and not become a part of them.  A living, breathing part that required the other to live.  To thrive.  To…

“I’m going to coooommee…” the warning was ripped from her as readily as the orgasm that washed away everything but the tangible connection to the man who made her life complete.  “Nnnnghhnnnn!”

“That’s my…girl….  Let it go…  Let it… all…. Mmmmfffph!!   Unnnhhh!  Uhhhhhhh...”

Life as Petey knew it was restored to glorious order, and she whispered a prayer of thanks for… everything.

“I love you John Francis Bongiovi.”

“Mmmmm….”  The masculine purr reminded her of a contented lion, and Jon folded her against him with a tender squeeze.  “And I love you Patience Teagan Petey Bongiovi.  Thank you for keeping our baby safe.”