Draw Down the Moon 2
“Let’s sit outside for a while,” John said when they had eaten and cleaned up the kitchen. “It’s a nice night.”
“We can’t hear the baby monitor from outside.”
“But we can put the monitor in the windowsill and open the window.”
She hesitated, then put her hand in his. “All right.”
When they had set up the monitor to Dana’s satisfaction, John led her out to the back deck. He had lounge chairs there, which could be sticky and uncomfortable after the heat of the day but became cooler as the night progressed. He sat in one and pulled Dana to his side. Their legs entangled and Dana put her arms around his neck and her head on his chest. He stroked her back and bare shoulders, his breathing deep and even.
“Do you know any of the constellations?” he whispered.
“Quite a few.” She twisted so she could point to the sky. “The cross with dimmer stars on either side of the arms—that’s Cygna, the swan. And over here, that’s Aquila—it’s looks kind of like a parallelogram. Aquarius is . . . around there somewhere. Sagittarius is there.” She pointed low on the horizon. “That’s a good one to look at through a telescope—it’s got a lot of objects. Do you know any?”
“Uh . . . sure. That one, that looks like a smiley face is, um, Jerry Garcia.” Dana chuckled, burrowing into his arms again. “It shares a few stars with Young Elvis, which sets when Fat Elvis starts to rise. And over our heads is . . .” He paused, and Dana stopped giggling against his chest. He murmured, “Over our heads is a beautiful full moon,” and tightened his arms around her.
She squeezed him too. “It’s a nice night.”
“It’s a great night. Are you feeling better?”
“I’ve felt better ever since I knew you were home.”
He had changed his suit for jeans and a t-shirt, and Dana started rubbing her cheek against the soft cotton. John smoothed her hair back from her face and caressed her cheek.
“I’m glad,” he murmured. “How’s Will taking everything? Still happy as a bug?”
“He likes his room. He’s such a happy baby in general, I can’t think of much that would upset him.”
“Even bumps and thumps?” He tickled her neck and she nipped under his chin.
“I know what I heard, buster—all right, I don’t know what I heard but I know I heard *something*. Don’t tease.”
“Aw, honey . . .” He stroked her back and lay back to look at the sky again.
“Hey,” she said after they had watched the stars in silence for a while. “You never told me how the case went.”
John didn’t answer for a moment. He stroked her back slowly with his open hand. “We found the girl. Brought her home.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’ll probably need therapy for the rest of her life, but otherwise, yeah. She’s okay.”
“I’m glad.”
After a moment he said, “You know, I’d pit my skills and intuition next to anybody’s, but I still feel like I’m missing something.”
“Like what?”
“The piece of my brain that makes the leaps—that connects the pieces. Most of the time I feel like I’m only seeing half the picture.”
“But you did find her, John.”
He wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger before he said, “Mulder would have found her sooner.”
Dana raised her head and firmly kissed his mouth. “You are not going to spend the rest of your life comparing yourself to Mulder. Period.”
His eyes met hers. “If you say so.”
“I say so.” She kissed him again. “You’re a good investigator. You have good instincts and you’re learning to trust them more. You’re compassionate and caring. You have no reason to doubt yourself—no reason at all.”
Again he paused, then leaned forward to kiss her and put his hand on her waist. He tried to keep his kiss was gentle and undemanding, and she smiled against his lips. She moved up onto her knees and held his face as she kissed him.
His body shivered beneath her touch. He grasped her sides, responding to her kisses with soft sighs in his throat. His hips rose to bump against her.
For moment he paused and looked at her. “Should we go inside?”
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
He nodded and pulled her into a kiss again. His hands slid down her sides to her legs, and he rested them on the backs of her knees.
Her palms pressed against his chest, and her thumbs plucked at his shirt. Her fingers slipped beneath the fabric and caressed his stomach, moved up to stroke his muscles and circle his nipples.
John broke of the kiss with a grunt and yanked his shirt off. “Aw, yeah,” he groaned when Dana bent her head and flicked her tongue over his nipples. He gripped her thighs and leaned back his head, closing his eyes. “I missed you so much, baby . . .”
“I missed you too,” she whispered. “I wanted you so much.” She cupped his face in her hands. “This house isn’t home without you.” She kissed his mouth, stealing the breath from his lungs and leaving him gasping.
“It’s good to be home,” he murmured, stroking her hair.
She smiled once more and leaned back on her heels. She crossed her arms and grasped the hem of her top. Swiftly she pulled her top over her head and let it drop to the deck.
John held her waist, just above the swell of her hips. His tanned hands looked very dark against her moonlit skin. Her nipples were dark pink and erect, and hot when he touched them with his tongue.
She inhaled, and John could feel her blood racing beneath her skin. He ran his fingertips over her ribs, his touch gentle with wonder. Dana raked her hand his hair, smiling down at him, and softly hummed when his fingers slid beneath the waistband of her panties. He stroked her lower belly and Dana closed her eyes.
“We really should go inside,” he said, though he didn’t want to leave the sheltering darkness and the soft night breeze. Moonlight made Dana’s skin glow like a pearl, and John had an odd notion that he could taste the moonlight in the coolness of her skin.
On the other hand, there was only a fence and a hedge between them and the eyes of the neighbors, and he didn’t want to shock them or provide them with a free show.
“Mmm . . . no, please, not yet. It’s so peaceful.” Her head fell back and she pressed her hips down onto his hand. “So—mm—peaceful—oh, John . . .”
He unzipped her shorts and tugged them and her panties down her hips. Dana grabbed his shoulders. She wriggled out of the rest of her clothes and shivered as he parted her thighs.
The baby’s wail came through the monitor. At once Dana scrambled off the lounge chair, scooped John’s shirt from the deck, and pulled it over her head as she hurried back into the house.
John didn’t move. He laid his hands on his chest, listening to William’s cries, his squeal when he saw his mother, and Dana’s soft murmuring as she lifted him from the crib. “What’s wrong, little man? You’re not hungry already, are you?” William babbled back to her, and John could imagine the expressions on their faces: William’s joy at being in his mother’s arms, Dana’s peace and contentment as she held her baby close. They loved each other in a way John envied, a little—exclusively, fully.
“John? I’m guessing you’re still outside.” He heard Dana sigh. “It’s later than I thought, and I need to feed Will. Maybe we ought to rendevous later . . . Don’t fall asleep on me, okay?”
“No chance of that, babe,” he murmured, even knowing she couldn’t hear him. He shifted, grimacing as his erection rubbed against his fly.
When he’d gotten his pulse under control, he gathered up Dana’s abandoned clothes and went into the house. He turned off the baby monitor and shut the window, locked it and the back door, and checked the security system.
All was well. His house—”*our* house,” he corrected himself—was safe and secure. He had promised this to Dana when she agreed to marry him: nothing, no one, would lay a hand on her or William ever again. Not while he drew breath.
He knew it would be a hard promise to keep—but he could think of nothing more worthwhil
e.
Slowly John climbed the stairs, and paused outside the door of William’s room. Dana had mentioned wanting to paint it, and had only put out William’s favorite toys and vital furniture. This included a rocking chair—John’s gift to her before Will was born.
Dana was in the rocking chair, nursing William. She had taken off the t-shirt and put on her bathrobe. William drank from her breast with noisy gulps, one chubby fist wrapped around her finger. Dana had turned on only one small lamp, bathing the room in soft golden light.
John’s chest tightened and unconsciously he sighed. Dana looked up from the baby’s face. “Did you hear me over the monitor?” she asked, her voice pitched low.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Is it all right?”
That’s a strange question, he thought, and said, “Of course. I’m not gonna make you stop feeding the baby just because I want to have sex.”
“I know . . .” She lowered her head, obscuring her face with her hair. “I’m still getting used to this marriage thing.”
“The key word is compromise . . . or so I’ve heard.” He said gently, “I’ll be in the bedroom. Whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks.” She added, her tone mischievous: “Are you going to put on something special for me?”
“I’ll see what I can dig up.” He started down the hall.
“John?” she called after him.
He went back to the nursery and slouched against the doorframe. “Yeah?”
“We’ve never talked about what we want William to call you.”
“Oh.” His hand clutched the folded clothes a little tighter. “I hadn’t thought about it. I mean, he’s not going to call me anything for another year or so.”
“I know, but I’ve been thinking about it anyway. I think it would just confuse him if we had him call you John. When he’s old enough to understand the whole stepfather thing, we’ll explain it—but I think, especially when he’s little, that it’s important he just know you as Daddy.”
A lump formed in John’s throat. “Okay,” he said.
“Okay.” She wiggled her hand, making William’s hand wave. “We’re almost done.”
“Okay,” he said again. He crossed the room and bent to kiss William’s hot forehead. “G’night, Will,” he whispered, then kissed Dana too. She touched his cheek and turned her attention back to the baby.
He left the nursery and went to their bedroom. He put Dana’s clothes into the hamper, but hung his own t-shirt back in the closet. He’d only worn it for an hour, it would be fine for the weekend.
But, what had she meant by “something special”? Pajamas? He didn’t own anything he thought of as sexy. He rubbed his sandpapery chin, wondering if he should shave. Most of the time Dana didn’t seem to mind his stubble, but they’d only planned to have sex once before, on their wedding night.
The rest of the time . . . he grinned, heading towards the bathroom. The rest of the time they were swept up in passion like hormone-addled kids.
She deserved a close shave. Hell, he thought, she deserves champagne and satin sheets and rose petals. Someday he would give them to her—but for tonight she would get the slow, sweet lovin’ he loved to give her.
Smiling, he slapped on the shaving cream.
He could hear Dana singing from down the hall, her voice low and husky. He loved to hear her sing, though she was too shy to do it in front of him. It was a reassuring sound—it told him someone was home, and happy to be there.
When he had shaved and washed up, John went back into the bedroom and turned down the sheets on the bed. Dana was still singing, even more softly now. He thought he might go back to the nursery, but he didn’t want Dana to think he was rushing her. He could wait.
John lay on the bed, his arm behind his head, and closed his eyes. They had not yet had sex in this bed, and the thought was enough to give him a tremor of anticipation. His bed—his wife—sex with his wife for the first time in a week—he’d been longing for her all week and now, finally, he could touch her again.
For a moment he thought Dana wanted to sneak upon him like he’d snuck up on her—he felt someone bouncing on the bed and heard a giggle in his ear. “Dana?” he said, opening his eyes.
No one was there.
Odd.
John rubbed his face and wondered if he was more tired than he realized. He sat up just as Dana came into the bedroom. “He’s asleep,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears, “for the night, I hope.” She paused in front of him and put her hands on his shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He held onto her waist. “I dozed off, I think.”
“Would you rather sleep?” Her hands slid across his shoulders.
“No.” He pulled her onto his lap so that she knelt, straddling him. “I’m not ready to sleep yet.”
Dana continued sliding her hands across his shoulders, a half-smile on her lips. John felt the same smile creep over his mouth, and he tugged open the tie of her bathrobe. The scent of aroused woman filled his nostrils, overpowered his senses. He slid the robe from her shoulders, and her breath came faster as the robe dropped to the floor. He began sliding his hands, just as slowly as her hands moved, up and down her sides. From the swell of her hips to the dip of her waist to the firmness of her ribs to the softness of her breasts, he touched her with his fingertips and palms.
When she was trembling and swaying on her feet, John rose and lifted her, to lay her carefully on the bed. She watched him through half-closed eyes as he knelt over her and repeated his slow exploration of her body, this time with his open lips.
His mouth touched scar tissue and he paused. He knew how it had happened, and that it had been years ago, long before they met. Still, it made his heart pound and his eyes burn, as if it had happened just moments before.
He kissed the scar, and felt Dana’s fingers in his hair. He pressed his cheek against her belly and she caressed his face. He moved up her body to kiss her mouth and let her wrap her strong arms around him. She always held him so tight. He loved that.
After several minutes, while they kissed and touched, Dana pushed gently on his shoulders until he lay flat on his back. She held herself over him, giving him a mischievous smile before dipping her head to graze her lips over his chest. The tips of her hair brushed his skin, and it was hard to say which touch made him gasp.
He lay his hand over the back of her neck and closed his eyes. “Dana,” he breathed. He never said much while they were making love, but she liked to hear her name.
Dana hummed, rubbing her nose in the hair on his lower belly as she carefully unbuttoned his fly. Her tongue touched his skin and he moaned aloud. She shoved her hands into his clothes, palming his hips, and pushed his pants down to his knees as she kissed his stomach and thighs.
“No leopard-skin thong, I see,” she whispered. She licked the tip of his cock with the tip of her tongue.
“Must still be at the dry-cleaners,” John muttered, and Dana chuckled before closing her lips around the head of his cock.
John exhaled a groan. “Yeah, baby . . .” His body tensed and he thrust his hand into her hair. She couldn’t take him into her throat but he didn’t mind—she more than compensate for it with her wet tongue and clasping fingers. He moaned happily.
Still, it wasn’t long before he pulled out of her mouth. He had no intention of coming without her.
Their eyes met. She was panting, her skin dewy with perspiration. Slowly she licked her lower lip.
It was more than John could bear: he growled, “C’mere, you,” as he rose onto his knees and reached for her. She laughed at his eagerness, opening her arms and legs to him, and let him roll onto her back, kissing him.
He thrust into her slowly as she panted against his lips and her nails dug into his back. “Oh . . .”
“Yeah,” he answered her. “Uh-huh.” He kissed her face, licked her cheeks and her eyelids.
She cupped his face and pulled his mouth back to hers. “Kiss me.”
He kissed her deeply, rocking
his hips against hers. “I love you, baby,” he whispered. “I love you . . .” He leaned on one arm and reached the other between them to stroke her clit. Her neck arched and she whimpered, scraping her fingernails over his back.
“Ooo . . .” Her legs quivered and she raised them higher so that her knees pressed against his ribs. “Mm, John . . .”
“I want to give you everything, baby . . . everything you ever dreamed of . . .” Her clitoris felt like as plump as a cherry, slippery and hot, and her flesh surrounding him rippled and clenched. She caught his lower lip between her teeth and suckled it, nibbled it, soothed it with her tongue.
“No promises, baby . . . just love me . . . love me . . .”
“Always.” He shuddered as she slid her hands up his chest. “Always. No matter what. Always.”
Her hips demanded the time for slow was over: she clutched at him, clenched at him. “John,” she breathed, and even more faintly, “John . . .” She was the only woman he’d ever known who got more quiet as she came. It had taken the fourth or fifth time, in fact, that he learned to read her body for signs of orgasm, not her voice.
He held himself on both arms now, moving fast and hard, watching the aftershocks flick over her face. She didn’t turn her face away when he pressed her cheek against hers, groaned into her ear. She kissed him, gathered him to her, stroked his hair. He simply lay against her and breathed.