JC pulled into the closest gas station off of the exit from the highway and sidled up to a gas tank. He got out, swiped a card through the card reader, pulled the lever for premium grade gasoline and stuck the nozzle into the opening. The car began to fill and the sickeningly sweet smell of gasoline permeated through the vents. JC disappeared inside the store and came back out minutes later, a white plastic bag swinging from his index finger.

I pressed the button to slide the window down and he tossed the bag inside the opening and into my lap. The car was full-I heard the click that meant the fuel had stopped flowing automatically. I heard him pull the nozzle from the gas tank, replace the cap and twist it on tight. JC got back into the car and took the bag from me.

"For you." M&M's landed in my lap while he rummaged around in the bag. From inside it, he pulled a plastic baggie he'd stuffed with ice and tied off, and a roll of duct tape. "No ice packs. Next best thing."

JC's makeshift ice pack consisted of the plastic bag stuffed with ice, duct taped around my hand, wound tight so it wouldn't come lose. I had to admit that he was really, really cute trying to make me feel better, but the cure almost hurt worse than the original pain.

"How long do I have to wear this?"

"Till the swelling goes down, at least," he answered, adjusting the tape. Dear God, I was about to go somewhere in public wearing a thick band of silver duct tape and a plastic bag around my hand. It was a good thing we were still in Tennessee... would this seem kind of normal, there? "I know it looks like shit, but does it feel better?"

I nodded that it did. A lot better, since the cool ice was relieving the throbbing and the heat. It wasn't helping my embarrassment but at least we would have a funny story to tell.

"Alright," he said, tossing the remnants of his kit into the backseat and starting the car again.  I handed him the bag of M&M's to open, which he did and then proceeded to pour almost half of the bag into his mouth. "We share everything," he said through a mouth of chocolate, then pulled away from the pump and back out onto the road.

I did my best to eat M&M's with only one functional hand and tried to figure out where we were going. Up ahead, a bill board boasted an Elvis Museum and Gift Shop-only five miles away!

"No," I said, my head whipping around to JC. "Tell me that we're not going to the Elvis Museum right now. Tell me, JC."

He just laughed, and switched lanes.

"No! Don't switch lanes! Get back over!" His laughter was making me giggle, but I was horrified. "We're going there, aren't we? That's such a Chasez Destination of Shit."

"Destination of Shit? Is that a new a term? We can't be thinking up new terms this late in the trip. Don't confuse me. Stick with Shittiest Shit."

"God, I hate you."

"No complaining," he reminded me.  I huffed and sat back in my seat, seething and dreading the approaching hokey, down-home, country and western die-hard fan dedication to Elvis Presley and his music. It wasn't that I wasn't an Elvis fan. I just had nothing close to a need or yearn or want to see Elvis's last pork chop or a lock of his hair or a belt buckle he once owned. A sigh, loud and dejected, escaped as JC pulled off of the highway and straight into the parking lot of a low slung, single story building with several catwalk-like bridges connecting to other buildings

"Largest collection of private Elvis memorabilia," JC said, reading the sign out in front of the gift shop out loud. "Isn't this exciting, honey?"

I did my best to not roll my eyes. Instead I reached into the backseat and grabbed a sweatshirt from underneath JC's brown leather bag and slung it over my arm, arranging it so that it covered my crudely crafted (but oh so heavenly) ice pack. "Let's just go, so we can get on with the Elvis impressions and hip shakes. I know they're coming."

"It's scary," JC said, coming around to my side of the car. "You know me really, really well."  In front of the main building, which housed gift shop, was a long, white, pristine stretch Limousine.  The body style screamed the 70's era. JC headed right for it, bending to squint into the shaded windows. "This car was in the movie ‘Shaft'. Elvis liked it so much he bought it. Used it almost up until the day he died."

I stood back, watching JC move from window to window, peering at the interior. "And now it's parked here for people to gawk at. That's not creepy at all." He glared at me, and went back to his inspection of a car that was older than he was. "What's inside? Leather?"

"You know it," he answered with a grin. "He was the King! Nothing but the best. You don't want to see in here? It's not like he died in it."

I shook my head, but smiled. "No, but I kind of want to see what kind of Elvis themed shit is inside this gift shop." I angled my head toward the door and JC reluctantly pulled himself away from the car. "It says there's another car exhibit inside."

A melodious bell tinkled overhead, announcing our arrival into the gift shop. We were greeted by rows and rows and endless rows of apparel, accessories, and other themed memorabilia. If I could wear it, carry it or drink out of it, this store carried it, accompanied by the requisite screen-print of the icon at various stages of his career-early, sexy, cute Elvis with the skin smooth as a baby's bottom, then heavier, chunky, drugged-up Elvis, and then later comeback, Vegas Elvis, complete with mutton chops.

"Honey, look. These are cool." I turned to find JC in an oversized pair of sunglasses in the classic gold and brown. The only difference between JC and Elvis was the merchandise tag hanging over his nose.

"You look hot, baby. Do you like them?"

"I don't know," he said, slipping them off and folding them closed. "I was kind of just playing around but they're cool. They're bigger than the usual ones. Gives your eyes a little more coverage, so sun doesn't get in, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. I'm serious, you look hot. You know, in that ‘going for the Elvis look' kind of way. You just need a black leather outfit and boots."

"Pretty sure I already have those, from back in the day," he muttered, flipping through racks of collared polo shirts with Elvis's face ever present on the right side of the chest. "These would be nice if his face wasn't hanging out on my chest." He scowled and walked further into the shop. I followed, hooking a finger into his belt loop. We were surrounded by so much Elvis merchandise, I felt like I was choking on a pork chop.

"Look at all of this stuff..." Floor to ceiling, the area was covered in everything imaginable-belt buckles, key rings, trinkets, jewelry, bells, figurines. There was a faux Christmas tree in the corner, lights twinkling and festive, and on every branch hung a different Elvis themed ornament. On a shelf were lunch boxes and thermoses, bags, backpacks, jackets, socks, even shoes!  "JC... isn't this weird, for you? I mean, there are some pillowcases out there with your face on them."

"Yeah," he said, looking around, his eyes slowly inching across the room, taking it all in. "I kind of try not to think about all that. Some of that stuff, we didn't have control over. And some of it we did because we thought it was fun to do."

"Which was the lip balm? I'm really interested. I swear Jen still has her Lance Bass Lip Balm."

JC smiled and chuckled at the reminder of the scourge of *NSYNC mania merchandise-the lip balms and shoes and pens and product lines. "That was Joey's idea. I think. Anything that's embarrassing, we blame it on Joey."

JC kept walking through the gift shop and out into the main section of the museum. People milled around, looking at autographed, framed posters and photos of Elvis with dignitaries like the President, and celebrities like Johnny Carson hanging along the walls. We slowly made our way through the corridor and around the displays of personal photographs and artifacts. Gold crusted rings and necklaces in locked glass boxes, jewel encrusted lamps, 24karat gold photo frames holding the most intimate of images, even his gold-plated King Sized headboard, lines and pillows took up one corner of the museum. Flanked by the 70's style walnut colored side table, lamps and photographs, I felt oddly like I was standing in Elvis' bedroom. It was chilling and fascinating at the same time.

JC appeared beside me, after making a solo round through the museum, and hung an arm over my shoulder. "You know, it's kind of weird that guys like him made it possible for guys like me to have a career. He came from nothing, you know? Went on to become the King of Rock and Roll."

I nodded, still deeply engrossed in the setup. "It's kind of creepy to think he used this stuff. And then how he died...the drugs and alcohol and stuff. That scares me, the whole sex, drugs and rock and roll thing. Like, really scares me."

"There's a lot to be scared of," JC said, solemn. "There are a lot of people I used to know, dead now because they couldn't leave drugs alone. Most of the stuff out there is scary. Elvis was into prescriptions though. That's a huge racket in LA and it's easy to fall into. I'm just... I'm just not into popping a pill for everything."

"Good. I mean it, that really scares me."

"Don't let it," he said, curling his arm around my neck and pulling me closer, planting his lips at my hairline. "I'm not going anywhere. I need to be totally awake and stuff so I can fight with you. Need all my wits about me."

That made me laugh, which broke my trance with the creepy bedroom set. "I see guitars."

In one section of the museum was a collection of items from his tours. Instruments, costumes, jackets, jewelry, and artifacts from the last Elvis tour were on display. Elvis carried a wooden case with a number of compartments and a false bottom, used to hide his stage jewelry until he was ready to put it on. His razor, clippers, bandages, and three hair brushes sat in full view, a placard boasting that each item had been left exactly as Elvis had left it. I shivered at the thought of seeing items of a dead man, unchanged since the last time he held them.

"Look at this Fender," JC said, migrating toward the instruments, his voice full of child-like awe. These were the times that my heart almost burst with love for him-- when he wasn't being cool and funny or quirky and weird, when he let himself show innocence and be a fan just like everyone else. Wide eyed, he stared, reaching a finger out to caress the wood of the guitar and lightly pluck the strings. "That's nice. Really nice. A classic, honey."

"About how old is it?"

JC turned his head to read the placard. "Leo Fender gave it to him in '68, so... it's over 40 years old by now. I bet it still sounds sweet. Most Fenders have a solid body-like one piece of wood." JC pointed to the display guitar, shiny and red, the overhead lights gleaming in the shine. "This one has a hollow body. It's a special model. Better for acoustic type stuff. Really nice."

"Hmmm," I mused, tucking a thought away for the future.

JC wandered through the instruments, stopping for a few seconds at each one to view it from a musician's standpoint, pointing out odd facts here and there. That sectioned opened back out into the hallway, toward the gift shop and past the Musical Theater. A larger than life mural of an obvious Elvis impersonator covered one wall leading up to the theater. He was dressed in gleaming white and bedazzled, head to toe, cape included. Beneath the mural was the advertisement of a nightly show, ‘The Only All Elvis Show in Town'.  

"Too bad we don't have time to stay for the show," JC muttered as we walked past.

"I'm not even going to pretend I'm interested in that. Are we leaving?"

JC nodded and headed outside, back into the sun and toward the car. The ice in my makeshift icepack had melted and soaked through the sweatshirt I carried. I dumped the bag of water just outside the museum. My knuckles were cold and red but the swelling had gone down.

"I thought I was driving," I said, standing just inside the open door of the passenger side of the car. JC was already in the driver's seat and had his hand on the key in the ignition.

"Naw, you hurt your hand," he said, waving me off. The car started with a purr and he sat back, waiting for me to get inside. "We have a long drive to Louisiana. Let's just get on the road."

"Fine. Just let me know when you want to switch." I pulled my legs inside the car and shut the door. In moments we were back on the highway and headed south.

*

"You just have to learn how to not be so violent. You're so emotional about everything. Scary."

"I didn't hit you. I hit the car."

"Still. Scary. You always throw a tantrum when you don't get your way?"

"No. Just when you try to piss me off."

JC almost choked on the straw protruding from his plastic cup of Coke as he laughed. Halfway to New Orleans, we stopped for gas and McDonald's and were heading back out onto the road. My hand felt better, more stiff than painful. Moving was slow, though and JC made mention of my violent outburst.

"Do you want me to drive, so you can eat?"

"Nope. I got this down pat." With one hand firmly on the wheel and eyes on the road, he unwrapped a double cheeseburger with the other hand and shoved it into his mouth.

"God, you're sexy, baby. I'm most impressed with you when you just cram food into your mouth like you haven't eaten in days."

"Yeah, cause you're so dainty over there," he said, mouth full of food, nodding at the half eaten quarter pounder left in my lap. "If it wasn't for your hand that burger would be gone by now. You don't fool me."

"I have never shoved half a burger into my mouth. Don't choke; I'm not giving you mouth to mouth."

JC laughed, and like an omen, almost choked on the last of his burger and a fistful of fries. "Don't talk while I'm eating, then."

I sighed, happily watching the bands of rose and gold spread across the sky as we drove into the sunset. JC finished his meal and slurped at his supersize cup of Coke as he drove, following the directions called out by the monotone voice of the GPS every few minutes.

"JC..."

"Hmmm?" His eyes left the road momentarily as he glanced over at me. "What's up?"

"You made me mad, earlier today. But you don't know why. And I want to explain it because if I don't, you'll keep doing it."

He sighed, and shrugged a shoulder.  "Okay. Go for it."

"I'm serious. It's a big deal, to me."

"Everything is a big deal to you, Serena. What?"

"Well, okay-- first I'm sorry about rolling my eyes or whatever at your friend. I feel like an ass, sort of but I do think I have the right to my opinion. You're welcome to tell me I'm wrong but I don't like it when you make me feel stupid because I don't know people like you know them. You get what I'm saying?"

His head bobbed forward and back a few times in a nod. "Yeah. I get that. Sorry about that."

"Second thing is the stripping thing. You asked me once why I didn't go into History or Preservation, and why I'm a Marketer, instead. And I guess, mostly, it's because doing what I do makes me feel smart and useful to society. I'll always be able to find a job. I'll never find myself out on the street, like my mom. Selling her body for money to get some Jack Daniel's or a joint or a hit of something. She's way thinner, obviously, but we have the same body. I've had... this body... since I was twelve. When you're twelve with what you call stripper legs and stripper ass, it sucks to have old guys leering and licking their lips and women looking at you with hate in their eyes."

JC swallowed, hard. Blinked fast. Licked his lips and scratched his temple. "I didn't know," he said, his voice low and gruff.

"I know. I didn't say anything because I hate blaming all my moody shit on her. I should just say that I don't like people insinuating that I have a body I can make money off of, when I work so hard to make my brain stand out. It pissed me off when you pointed that out. I know that's not all you think of me, but I... I just wanted you to stop saying that stuff about me."

He nodded and swallowed again, switched hands on the wheel and grabbed my hand-the injured one. After I yelped in pain, he recoiled and left his hand in his lap.

"JC, I'm not like... mad or anything. I just wanted you to know why I acted weird."

"I know," he said. "I get it. I'm sorry. Won't do it again."

"Well, why do you sound mad? Would you really rather just keep pissing me off? Should I have just let it go?"

"Serena, I said I get it. I understand. I hurt your feelings over shit I didn't even know about. I got it. It won't happen again."

"So, why do you sound so-"

"Because I feel like I can't do anything right, lately. I was just playing with you. Lighten up, man." He shook his head, his free hand flying around in the air between us, accentuating point after point in the dusk.

"Not everything has to go back to your mom or your dad or your ex-boyfriend. At some point, you know, you're gonna have to start living in the here and now. In the JC era. I'm sick of paying for everyone else's mistakes. I'm good to you. I know I am. I try really hard with you. I just want some credit for that, every once in awhile."

"You're right," I said, softly. "You're totally right. You are good to me. Very good to me. I'm sorry if I don't say it enough. I just... I know you would be upset if you were doing something to make me mad and I didn't tell you what that something was. Right? I'd be mad if I was pissing you off and didn't know it."

"I guess," he said with a dejected sigh, fingers combing through his hair. "I'm just. I'm tired and I'm stressed out, kind of. And I think you were right, the other night, about us spending so much time together.  The day off didn't seem to help us at all. I'm trying to focus on this tour, I have stuff at home I can be doing, and it's not like we don't live together now..."

"I ‘m totally okay with going home," I quickly suggested. The trip had been long and wonderful, full of great moments together. I had enjoyed myself and my time alone with him, but if he hadn't have said it, I would have-I was ready to go home and settle in. "Let's do that. Let's have some fun in New Orleans. Last hurrah kind of thing and then...let's go home."

"Yeah. Let's go home." JC nodded and drove, the car speeding into the darkening sky, his hand eventually finding a home in my lap, gingerly wrapped around my injured hand.

The slam of the car door jolted me out of a deep sleep. I had slumped against the door with my neck at a funny angle. As I sat up, shards of pain shot through my neck and back. Rubbing and stretching, I peered out of the windows into the black of night. The area had a distinct, quant, French feel to it, from the cobblestone streets to the historic flavor of the brick, to the buildings splashed with red paint and adorned with elegant arches.

We had made it. The French Quarter.

My heart leapt at the realization and, pain forgotten, I scrambled to get out of the car. The night air was warm and slightly muggy. The scent of spices filled the spaces in the atmosphere-cinnamon mostly. A few blocks away, a lazy jazz melody wafted toward me and tickled my ears, already embedding itself in my soul. I loved New Orleans, the city that always seemed to be celebrating.

JC slowly ambled out of the revolving front door of the hotel, folding a piece of paper and shoving it in his back pocket. He moved deliberately, head down, carrying an expression of deep concentration. I caught his eye just as his face was overtaken with a yawn.  

"Sleep good?" He smirked, pressing the button on the key ring to pop the trunk.  

"It was alright. My neck is killing me from that angle. Cannot wait for a hot shower."

"You're just all busted up, today." JC dug into his pocket and handed me two keycards. "You need these. Almost lost them just coming out of the hotel. Grab a couple of bags and go on up. We're on the top floor. I know you like that."

I took them and slid them into my purse. I stopped myself before reaching for a bag and slid both arms around his waist and stepped close to him. JC did nothing for a few seconds, shock and surprise registering on his face before he recognized that I was trying to hug him, and then his arms closed around me. I kissed him, first around the side of his neck and then up to his ear, nibbling at the earlobe a little and then across his stubbled chin to his mouth. I pressed my lips against his and held them there, relishing in the feel of his lips on mine.

"Before we go any further, I want you to know something," I said to him, my voice just loud enough for the both of us. There wasn't anyone around us, but I was going for an intimate mood.

"Okay," he said back, his tone matching mine.

"I'm not just saying this because of our conversation today, but because of the other day, you know when you left me for the day and I was out by myself. I realized that I miss having you around, right next to me, when you're not there. I miss your voice in my ear and your body heat, making me hot. I miss hearing your laugh and seeing your smile and I miss that twinkle in your eye. I miss being scratched by your stubble and I realize, when I'm alone, how much you do for me. I never want for anything, as long as you're around. I'm spoiled, now. You spoil me. I just want you to know that it doesn't go unnoticed and it doesn't go unappreciated. I notice it. And I appreciate it very much and I love you and I want us to be okay, right now."

I must have had the most pitiful look in my eyes as I stared up at him, arms wrapped around him. He chuckled a few light laughs and then dipped his head to me and kissed me, feather soft.  My favorite kind of kisses from him.

"You worry too much. We're fine. Perfect, even. I love you, and I love that you told me all that stuff. And forgive me for not being real romantic right now but it's 3am, I'm tired from driving and I'm ready to climb into the first bed I see. Can we continue this later?"

"Yes," I answered, breathing a sigh of relief, then stepping back and helping to unload the trunk.

Our suite at the Maison Dupuy Luxury Hotel was gorgeous and comfortable, cool and welcoming. A King sized bed was dressed in a lively bedspread with cream colored sheets peeking out from underneath. A tall, wooden cabinet stood against the wall, across from the bed. Inside, a large flat screen TV was hidden away and across the room, in front of a wide bay window was seating for four- a comfortable couch in a deep rustic rose with matching throw pillows and two side chairs on either side of a cherry wood coffee table. Sheer curtains finished off the romantic air of the room. JC lifted the windows and let the cooling evening air drift through, billowing the curtains and bringing in the sounds from the street below.

Then, our bags carefully tucked away into a corner, JC herded me into the bathroom for a shower and then toward the turned down bed. "Long day tomorrow, probably," he said with a loud, long, lion-y yawn as he snuggled up behind me. Head to toe, he was pressed against me, his lips on my back, arms around me. "You know what the saying is, here?"

I scooted back against him and pulled his hand over so his arm wrapped around me and cupped a breast. I felt a light growl behind me, a tightening of his arm and a flick of a nipple. "I thought you were tired. No, what's the saying, here?"

In a hilariously rough, gritty, sexy French Creole imitation he answered, "Laissez Les Bon Temps Rouler! You know what that means?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me."

JC yawned, his jaw stretching against my back, his body relaxing against mine, already on the edge of sleep. "Let the good times roll. Looking forward to that."

It seemed like minutes between the moment I closed my eyes and the moment they opened again and sunlight was pouring into the room. The sounds from the street were loud and lively, musical and bubbly. The smells were even more inviting. I sat up and threw the covers back, realizing then that I was alone in the bed.

A rustling sounded outside the door. A beep and click and the door burst open and JC rushed in, arms overflowing with bags and a cup holder.

"Oh my God, what are you doing? Do you need help?"

"I got it," he said, dumping the bags onto the table. "I was hungry, and it's loud outside. I got up to get us some breakfast. That way we can just chill here till we're ready to go out."

Whatever he brought back with him smelled amazing and according to my stomach, I needed to eat or it would declare war on my body. I ran to the bathroom and rushed through my morning ritual and back to the table, where JC had set two places with the biggest omelets I had ever seen, toast, coffee, and Beignets, still sizzling and doused with a healthy covering of powdered sugar.

"Mkay, so that whole thing I said last night about you spoiling me?" I chewed a larger than usual bite of omelet and washed it down with a swallow of coffee. "This is what I meant. I'm gonna weigh 600 pounds by the time we get back to LA. I'm going on a diet."

"No you're not," JC said, laughing, shoving hash browns into his mouth, one eye on The Times-Picayune front page.

"Am so. Can't be getting fat. You won't love me anymore."

"Yes, I will. I'll love you if you're fat, or bald, or..."

"Right. Fat and bald? Sweetie, no."

"Yeah you're right. No fatties or baldies. Keep your hair and your... legs. And ass." He glanced up from his plate and the paper and winked. "What about me? Would you hate me if I got fat?"

"Nope. Men can gain weight and stay sexy. Men can lose hair and stay sexy. Hell if I gain five pounds, let alone develop a wrinkle. What about when we get old?"

"Not getting old," JC responded, returning to his nearly empty plate.

"What? Yeah you're gonna get old. You're getting older every day, Mr. Dyes-His-Hair-Black-Because-It's-Graying."

"Nope. Never getting old."

"How about me? Am I getting old?"

"Yes, but you'll still be pretty, so I won't notice."

"This conversation is hilarious. I'm getting old but you're not?"

"That's the idea, honey." He did that wink and point thing at me, clicking his tongue. "Catching on."

"Let's talk about something realistic. What are we doing, today? What are we gonna see?"

"Well..." JC pushed his plate back, picked up his cup of coffee and the paper and sat back against the firm cushion of the couch. "The people I want to talk to were probably up until five o'clock this morning so I don't plan on seeing them until later. Until then, we should walk around a little." The terrible Creole accent returned as he said, "Plenty to see, down heah in the French Quartah."

I finished my breakfast and gulped the last of my coffee, enjoying the quiet of the room, watching JC read the local paper, reading the front page top to bottom and then turning each page with slow deliberation. Finally, he folded the pages together and offered it to me. I declined, and he tossed it onto the table.

"What do you want to do? Anything on your mind?"

At the moment, watching JC casually draped across the arm of the couch in jeans and a t-shirt, unshaven, full and satisfied, a few ideas came to mind. I let a slow, sultry smile cross my lips, set my coffee cup down on the table, and closed the space between us by crawling across the couch and over him, settling on his legs and staring down at him.

"I uhm... thought we could put our free time to good use."  An eyebrow lifted, a tongue snaked out between two parted lips, and two hands began a slow crawl up my legs, over my waist, and under the thin t-shirt I wore. His hands on my skin brought shivers and butterflies and a hardening of nipples under the shirt.

"Are you... paying me back for spoiling you? Because I'll take it."

I shook my head no. "I told you. I don't use sex as a reward."

"Oh. So... this is just because?"

"Did we ever need a reason to have sex?"

"Nope."

"Like you said yesterday, we can't be introducing new things this late in the game. Don't confuse me. Let's stick with sex just because. Come on." I climbed off of his lap, and pulled him by the hand until he stood up and followed me back to the bed.

"You know what I like, honey?" JC pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing a chiseled chest covered in soft, silky hair. I couldn't resist the urge to reach out and touch him, run my fingers through it, press my palm against him and feel the muscles move beneath smooth skin.

"What do you like, baby?"

"You," he answered, moving toward me, and then over me, pushing me down and into the bed. He balanced himself above me with one hand and with the other unsnapped and unzipped his jeans and then pushed them down his hips. With the jeans came the briefs he'd slept in the night before. He kicked them off and they landed in a soft crumple at the foot of the bed. My wardrobe was much simpler to get rid of. I slid my boy shorts down my hips and rolled my t-shirt up and over my head, tossing the clothing off of the side of the bed.

"You like me?" I asked, giggling as he teased me for a few seconds before lowering onto me. My body seemed to breathe a deep sigh of something-contentment, satisfaction, relief, erotic pleasure-as his body weight settled onto mine. He groaned, his arousal already apparent between us. Every movement against me and thrust of his hips seemed to be a stimulant. I felt heat and throbbing energy. I knew he was a man, and as such he was pretty much always ready. Still, I liked knowing that it could possibly be me causing that reaction in him. It made me want him even more, to know that he wanted me so bad he was literally pulsing.

"Mmmmm..." he moaned into my neck, licking white hot streaks from my ear to my shoulder. "I like you a lot. A whole lot. Do you like me?"

"Kinda," I answered nonchalant, teasing. JC stopped kissing and biting and lifted his head. His eyes were narrowed and his lips were curled but the smile lines along the edges of his brows gave him away. I laughed and he kissed me, his tongue fighting its way into my mouth.

"I sense a challenge. I need to hear a hell yes from you, before we leave this room, Okay?"

"No promises, but you're welcome to try," I answered with another laugh. He groaned and lifted himself up and then guided himself to me. I lifted my hips and sighed as he filled me. "Ohhhhh, holy shit."

"Close," he said, moving slowly, establishing a leisurely rhythm, and then increasing in speed and force until heavy breaths were heaved between us and beads of sweat mingled between us, from my body to his and back again. We rolled and switched places, JC pulling my hips against him hard and fast while thrust upward and into me.

It was loud and wild and satisfying, full of teasing and playing and yelps and groans.  It was sweaty and sultry and amazing and wonderful, and when JC had coaxed every ounce of my orgasm from me, and then let himself fall over the edge in moments of shuddering, moaning bliss, we collapsed against each other, on our backs, sucking in air and staring at the ceiling fan stirring the still, warm air at breakneck speed.

I started to laugh. At first a chuckle and then uncontrollable laughter broke out. JC only stared at me, amused and smiling but confused. "What?" He kept asking.

"The..." I giggled, my laughter breaking out again, pointing toward the edge of the room. "The window was open the whole time. The whole street just heard us having sex!"

JC's head whipped around and across the room. Sure enough, the street sounds were loud and apparent and the curtains were blowing in the wind. He groaned, slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand and as his eyes slid closed a deep pink crawled up from his chest to his neck and face to his hairline. All I could do was laugh.

"Sweetie, we can't undo it. And I wouldn't want to. That was awesome." I kissed him, my lips landing softly on his over and over until the worry lines relaxed across his forehead and he smiled again. "And uhm. Hell yeah, I like you too. A lot. Let's go see some shit."