Part Five - Jilly's Story

Oh my god! Pippa’s pregnant!

I look at what I’ve written in my diary and smile. It was so unexpected and yet so like Pip to just change her mind about children and go for it. Funnily enough it wasn’t Pip that told me but Jon. Apparently Richie’s just called to tell him and to apologise to me that Pip wasn’t the one to tell me. They’re on holiday at the moment, god knows where. I can never tell with Pippa as she’s so prone to changing her mind on the spur of the moment that they might be in Italy where they’re supposed to be or on some little island in the South Pacific.

Jon settles down on the bed next to me, smiling away like it’s me that’s expecting. I’m so glad and happy for Pippa. I know she had a hard time growing up; I was there for most of it, and I’m just so happy for them. I can’t wait till they get back so I can hug her and give her some advice on how to cope with morning sickness - don’t get out of bed before midday, and putting on weight - buy bigger clothes.

Jon looks at me strangely as I’ve started giggling over what I’ve just thought. It’s only 8pm here but I’m so tired I think I’m going to fall asleep sitting up. Libby was a right little madam today and just about wore me out. I kept trying to tell her that play doh was not to be eaten but would she listen to me? Of course not, I’m only her mum. It took daddy to sort everything out plus big sister to lend a hand. I swear sometimes the three of them wouldn’t even notice if I wasn’t there.

Stephanie has now moved in with us as she’s going to attend a college in California in the fall. She wants to be a hair stylist, like her uncle. Her dad has offered to pay for her to attend an exclusive salon in London but no, she’s a Bongiovi - wants to do it all herself and control everything along the way. Her dad should be so proud; she’s turned out just like him. I’m beginning to sound like a right cow aren’t I? It’s just that my life has turned out so perfectly that I’m actually bored. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean of Jon and the kids. No way, I love them to pieces and my husband knows he holds my heart and always will, it’s just it seems that there’s nothing for me to do. Stephanie has taken over care of Libby. She’s just turned three and Stephanie will be 18 in a few days.

I live in a wonderful house, surrounded by wonderful gardens that are taken care of for me by a team of gardeners who won’t let me near the plants and shrubs. I have a wonderful extended family and a husband I will love to my dying days and yet some days I feel that it’s not enough. I feel trapped and hemmed in. I’ve never been one for wild living (except for the night I married Jon), I’ve always left that up to Pippa but now? I feel like I missed out on something. She was the wild one in our teens and I was the studious little bookworm who always did her homework ( and Pippa’s) and never missed a day of school. I’m 33 and have all a woman could ever want. Could it be that I just don’t want it anymore? Or that I want more? Call me Oliver……..

Jon’s noticed a change in me over the past six months. He and the guys have taken a break from each other to do their own thing for a year or so after Richie nearly had a nervous breakdown on reaching 50 and realising that his dad was only 20 years older when he died.

I know he’s looking at me. I can feel him staring as I’ve only actually written one line in my diary but have been staring into space for what must be 15 minutes or so. I know I need to tell him how I feel but I don’t know how. This was how his first marriage ended, with Dot becoming more and more distant from him as she felt more and more trapped behind the gates and the band name. For me to tell Jon that I’m beginning to feel the same would break his heart and I just can’t bring myself to do that.

I have to say that this was so not how I saw myself at 33. I always thought I’d have a doctorate in Forensic Science and be working for the Metropolitan Police CSI unit. It was something I’d always wanted to do but I guess life and Pippa just got in the way and I left University with a First in Criminolgy and Forensics but instead of going back to do my Masters followed by my PhD I drifted into office work, opting to work at the same office as Pippa did, in the heart of London’s West End. The fact that it was for a film company was just a bonus.

Is that it? Do I feel that I’ve wasted my opportunities? That I’ve opted for a family instead of what I wanted to do? I sit here with the heart sinking feeling that I feel that I just settled.

I let out a huge sigh and run my hands through my hair. I had to have it chopped short as dealing with Libby is not conducive to having very long hair. It’s now the length Jon’s was when Keep The Faith came out and pretty much the same style, only more feminine!

Jon turns to me and raises an eyebrow. I know he’s worried but what can I say? That he’s not enough for me? That Libby’s not enough? That I feel that I’ve missed out by settling for a family when what I really wanted to do was to be elbows deep in blood and guts figuring out how some poor schmuck died?

And that it’s taken being married to the hottest, sexiest man around, having a gorgeous daughter who is a joy to be around ( when she’s not eating Play Doh, that is) and living in the biggest house I’ve ever seen to make me realise it?

Oh crap, I’m going to have to say something I can feel the unspoken question being asked as he runs his fingers along my hairline, rubbing the sensitive skin there. I start to relax. Jon may know lots of things but one thing he does know is how to make me relax and he’s doing it. My neck has always been very sensitive to touch and he knows just where to touch to make me alternate between relaxation and sensuality.

I hear a groan. Oh it’s me.

I look at him out of the corner of my eye and he’s apparently reading the NY Times. How the hell can he do that? Read something and make me melt at the same time? Especially when I’m in knots inside.

“If you’re going to continue your ministrations, oh husband of mine, then put the goddamn paper down.” I say, growling slightly, “Otherwise I’m going to turn in for the night.”

The paper hit’s the floor before I’ve finished speaking and I can feel his lips, those talented, sexy, pouty lips kissing and nibbling where his hand just was. Oh, he knows how to drive me insane all right. I push all my problems down as far as I can as I want to enjoy this. I do enjoy sex with my husband, usually twice a day or three times if I’m lucky and he knows once he starts with those talented and very flexible fingers of his that I’m just putty in his hands. All coherent thought flies out of my overtaxed brain as he slides my tank top off my shoulders, placing his warm hands at the top of my arms and, squeezing slightly, begins to rock me back and forth gently to loosen up my muscles. The tank has fallen down past my breasts and has puddled around my lap. I lean my head back onto his chest as he sits on his haunches behind me, kissing my shoulders and neck.

I lean my neck to one side to give him greater access to the soft, sweet skin that’s there. He take me up on my offer and suckles greedily, his even white teeth nibbling the skin softly as his tongue makes swipes along my heated flesh.
Almost leisurely he runs his hands up and down my arms, his knuckles brushing against my breasts so faintly I’m not sure if it’s deliberate or not. Whatever it is it’s sweet torture and Jon knows it.

Oh….it was definitely deliberate I think as he reaches out a finger to side swipe my nipple. My sharp intake of breath tells him he’s on the money with that move.

I can feel my juices flowing already and he hasn’t even gotten near that area. It’s amazing how one person can have this much effect on another, but all I know is that my feelings for him sexually haven’t changed over the past three odd years and I doubt they ever will.

Gently he reaches out and cups both breasts, squeezing the soft, tender underside skin with expert care and attention. I roll my head back onto his shoulder, my eyes fluttering closed as the familiar feelings start to build up in me. Little shocks of electricity zapping out now and again to give a preview of what is to come; namely me followed by Jon…..

Oh ok, now his hands have drifted lower and have met around my middle with the sole intention of delving into the waistband of my sleep shorts. I can feel his passion; literally - it’s digging into my back and I smile, knowing that very soon it’ll be burrowing deep inside me.

Pippa has often regaled me with stories of her and Richie’s love life - I never asked for them but was given them all the same. Apparently they do role playing games and dress up for each other. I know that works for some people but all Jon needs to do is look at me a certain way and I get wet, which he does, with great pleasure on his part, when we’re out in a public place and there’s nothing I can do about it. Sometimes I think of getting my own back and refusing to sleep with him but my traitorous body won’t let me as it responds to Jon’s voice, touch and scent with an almost pavlovian regard and he knows it.

My body has already begun its response and the scent of my arousal is evident as his hands burrow deep into my shorts. I part my legs to give him access and moan out loud as his fingers come into contact with my very engorged and wet clit. I try and twist my arms behind my back to touch him but he has me trapped. Funny that, as this time I don’t mind being trapped. I can’t really think as I feel him enter two digits inside me, rolling my clit with his other hand as he does so.

I am so near I can feel the pins and needles beginning in my toes. I flex them back and forth, wanting the feeling to travel up my legs and feel rather than hear Jon chuckle against my back as he realises what I’m doing.

“Just relax darlin’, if you try and force it, it’ll go away.” he whispers huskily as he pinches my clit expertly between thumb and forefinger, still pumping in and out of me with his other hand.

Oh yes! Oh god yes! Oh my fucking lord yes! My mind is on the verge of shutting down as a jagged bolt of white heat runs the length of my body before settling directly on my clit. I scream Jon’s name as my orgasm sweeps through me, taking away my ability to form coherent speech or thought.

I can feel my internal muscles still fluttering as I come down from the high that he and only he can give me. I know I’m not being fair on him and that I will need to talk to him soon but right now? All I want is his cock buried to the hilt inside me.

I must have said that out loud as the next thing I know he’s on top of me, my shorts have hit the floor, and the tip of his cock is at my entrance. I hook my legs round him to guide him in slowly, which he does as he knows I love that. The feeling of him being my perfect fit is awe inducing and a feeling I can quite happily feel twice daily for the rest of my life.

Barely giving me a chance to get used to him he pulls out and slams back into me, the tip of him hitting my cervix, which, if done right can be extremely pleasurable. Unfortunately it’s not one of those times and I wince as it feels like he’s about to come through my belly button.

I look up at him, a quizzical look on my face, but his eyes are shut, his hair hanging down, sweat dripping down his face and onto me as he moves in and out of me, getting faster and faster as he does so. I know he’s near. I can tell. There are a myriad of tells that he does that indicate this but all I want right now is for it to be over. It hasn’t occurred to me to ask him to stop. Why would I? After all I’ve had my pleasure, it’s only fair he gets his, I just wish it wasn’t hurting.

It really hurts now and I can feel a tear slipping down my cheek as he slams in and out, grunting, his hands gripping my shoulders so tightly I think he’s caused a bruise. Silently I lie there allowing my husband to use my body for his won gratification. You may ask me why and I would reply, because he’s never done anything like this before and I want to know why.

Finally he shouts and buries his seed deep within me, before rolling off and heading to the shower without uttering a single word. I get up too and walk over to the balcony, pulling on his robe as I open the doors, letting the balmy May air in.

I put my hand in the pockets and find a packet of cigarettes. I haven’t smoked for years but right now? I want one so I do.

It is with cigarette in hand that Jon finds me a few minutes later.. I turn to look at my handsome husband as he steps out onto the balcony, a white towel round his waist and his hair dripping water over the floor tiles. I can’t see the colour of his eyes as the moonlight has bleached everything to shades of blue but I can see the worry and anger in them as he looks at me.

“Jilly, we need to talk,”