35 - Taboo Tattoo

Pressing a final kiss against her creamy shoulder, Jon rolled off Delaney with a groan. 

That was… intensely, insanely, incredibly good.  Better than any man had a right to hope for.  His inner barbarian was fucking ecstatic over the good fortune at finding the woman who enjoyed a… well, a barbarian.  Jon wasn’t unhappy about it, either.  

He found a long time ago that women became leery when he threw off the restraints, but Delaney had begged for it.  Going almost completely uncensored and finding phenomenal sex in the process was pretty fucking amazing, as was his partner.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Jon glanced back over his shoulder. 

Her gasping and panting had finally settled to normal breathing, and she lay quietly with both eyes closed.  The dress still hadn’t found its way off her body, nor had the bra.  She was only truly naked from the waist down and, spent in the aftermath of their storm, didn’t seem to care. 

Jon found her bedraggled appearance oddly enticing, which bothered him a little.  To be perfectly blunt, she was the classic picture of a used and abused whore.  Hell, she was, in essence – even if it was by her own volition. 

There’d been a few of those throwaway women in his bed over the years, and more than a few in the beds of his bandmates. He’d never once looked at a woman in that condition and thought her beautiful.  Well-fucked, yes.  The object of his mass destruction, yes.  Representation of a good time had by all, yes.  Maybe even a little pathetic, if he was being honest.

None of them had ever enticed him to crawl back in bed.  Not one tempted him to smooth hair from her forehead or undress her so that she was more comfortable. 

Only Delaney. 

“This isn’t a one-night stand.” 

“Mmk.”   She took long seconds to stretch her compact body to its full length rolling onto one hip and squinting curiously up at him.  “But is it still a dinner date?  Sex makes me hungry.”

He found her entirely too cute for his own good.

Chuckling as he stood, Jon laid an open hand against his chest and smirked.  “Yeah.  Dinner was a given, but that was good enough to get you dessert, too.”

Dimples flashed as she tried to push through her tangled waves without much luck.  “I don’t really believe in the post-coital rehash, nor do I get into stroking a guy’s ego, but I gotta tell you….  That was so good that I’d think anybody else made it up.  Commissioned porn doesn’t come that well-scripted.  For real.”

Bending to hook his discarded jeans from the floor, he pushed one leg in and grinned at her while pushing in the other and buttoning up the fly.  “I can’t argue with that, especially if I expect an encore later.”

The dimples reappeared and lingered this time.  “In case I haven’t mentioned it, I like you.  And I’m so very freeping happy to meet your ‘not nice’ side.”

“Told you.”

She sat up, swinging around so that her legs dangled over the mattress edge when she shrugged out of the dress and put her bra to rights.  “Yeah, yeah.  But you’re not nice in the nicest way possible, so that weakens your claim.  Toss me my panties?”

Following her line of sight, Jon located the scrap of sin and moved around to the foot of the bed, scooping them and flinging them her way.  Delaney smiled her thanks and bent to put them on. 

When she did, Jon caught sight of something on her left shoulder blade – something that had been covered until now.   

“You’ve got a tattoo.”

She paused for a beat before standing to slide the black lace over her hips.  “Yeah.”

The artwork was feminine, and at first glance could be nothing more that fancy scrollwork and doodads.  Closer inspection revealed it to resemble the Roman numeral two.  Two light purple columns with a flourish at both top and bottom.  Surrounding it were decorative swirls and whirls interspersed with a smattering of stars. 

“Does it mean something?”

“It’s an astrological thing – Gemini.  The twins.  Mind if I put on jeans?  I think this has done its job.” 

She held the little black dress in her fingertips as though it was contagious, and the shapeless garment dangled limply without her form to give it life. 

“Grab my shirt if you want,” he invited with a toss of the chin toward where it lay.  “I’m not going to wear it.”

“Are we staying in?”

“I thought we would.”

“Cool,” she accepted, lifting it from the chair and putting the dress in its vacant spot.  Her right arm slipped inside, and she swung her left in search of the other sleeve until he stepped up behind her to help.  When she secured it, Delaney thanked him and hiked the navy fabric up, covering the splash of whimsy etched on her skin. 

He didn’t normally care about tattoos one way or the other. He wasn’t sure why he cared today, but while she buttoned the front of his shirt, Jon found himself asking, “Twins, huh?  Does Petra have matching ink?”

“No.”  The simple reply came as she was rolling up an already-rolled sleeve because it was still too long.  “She thinks tattoos are tacky and crass.”

That was predictable enough, seeing as Petra thrived on social perception and acceptability.  Hitching hands on his bare waist, he opted to let that thought die there.  Psychoanalyzing her sister didn’t interest him.     

“Purple is your favorite color, I guess?”

“Yellow,” she corrected, as the second sleeve was folded back to match the first.  “Or a pretty pastel blue.” 

“Huh.  With your hair color and that ink, I would’ve thought purple.”

“Nope.”  She didn’t meet his eyes when sidling past him to the door.  “Back in a minute.”

Rather than waiting for her to return, Jon followed curiously behind, pausing in the doorway as she dug in her bag and withdrew a hairbrush.  When she moved to the huge sofa mirror and started working it through her tatted hair, he retrieved their wineglasses.  Maybe he was just imagining it, but he was picking up on an odd vibe.  Another drink might help, and besides… drunk sex with Delaney couldn’t be bad.

“So you’re a Gemini?” he casually inquired on his way to the bar.  “What month is that?  I don’t keep up with astrology shit.”

“I’m an Aquarius.  What do you like to eat?”

“You,” he answered, absently noticing that she didn’t laugh. 

He wasn’t imagining it.  They’d gone from afterglow to awkward in the time it took her to get dressed.  Was she having some kind of remorse?  Was he?  One of them was behaving strangely, and he didn’t think it was him.  She’d said any and everything to cross her mind since the moment they met, yet now the answers were short and followed by questions that led a different direction. 

“Why do you seem so suddenly secretive?”

With her hair only half combed, she sighed, and the brush fell to swing by her thigh as she turned to face him.    

“I’m nothing close to secretive.  My bra size is 34DD.  Petra’s is 34C because DDs ruined the line of her suit jackets.  The shop retailed over a million last year.  My greatest fear is dying alone.  I lost my virginity at fourteen and my father beat the crap out of the eighteen-year-old who did it.  I’ll tell you every boring detail of my life if that’s what turns you on, but for tonight, my tattoo is in the same category as your divorce.  Okay?”

There was nothing angry about what could’ve easily turned into a rant with a more temperamental woman.  Like every other disagreement of hers that he’d witnessed – except for those with Petra – Delaney was good-natured while still making her point, and it was a valid point. 

He had things that were off the table for now, and she was entitled to the same.  They’d get to those things eventually, and he didn’t mind waiting. 

“Fair enough,” he granted, plucking the wine bottle from the fridge and popping the top.  “Fourteen, huh?”

Laughter accompanied the return of her attention to the mirror and her renewed brushing.  “Yeah.  He was a smooth talker who couldn’t keep his mouth shut about taking a girl’s virginity.  It got around the locker room, where his little brother heard and told my little brother, who ratted me out to Papa.  He deserved a butt kicking.” 

“Did you at least like it?”

“God, no.”  She bent forward to get at the underside of her still-tangled locks.  “It was painful, and he couldn’t have given a nymphomaniac an orgasm in that thirty seconds.”

With a chuckle, he replaced the glass stopper in the bottle and returned it to cold storage.  “Teenage boys aren’t exactly known for their sexual prowess.  I had to work hard at it, and just about the time I got really good, I hit the big time.  At that point, all you have to do is drop your pants to be a classified as a sexpert.”  

She flipped back up, her hair neatly flowing down her back when she grinned at him and slid the brush onto the table.  “I, for one, am grateful for your time and effort in pursuing the craft.  Seriously, dude.  Does everybody rave about you?  Are you that in tune with all your lovers, or did I just get lucky?”

“I’d say I’m the one that got lucky,” he corrected, passing her a filled glass and turning to look for a room service menu.  “I’ve never been with someone quite like you.”

She almost choked on her wine.  “God, you’re one of those smooth talkers, too!  Is there anything you can’t do?”

“You think I’d admit to it if there was?”

“How would I know?” Delaney reasoned, plopping down on the couch and putting both bare feet on the coffee table’s glass edge.  “We’ve barely met outside the confines of your job.”

“Figure out what you wanna eat.” A flick of his wrist sent the located menu sailing into her lap before he joined her on the couch.  “And we’re remedying that other problem as we speak.  Spend the night with me.”

After dinner would be too soon to see her go.  As he’d discovered in Montreal, she was engaging even fully clothed.  Now that he could have her both with and without, Jon wanted to indulge himself with her company. 

“Do rebound girls spend the night?” Twinkling eyes softened the catty question, but he still bestowed his cockiest smile upon the little wiseass. 

“Don’t know about rebound girls, but you will.”

“Arrogant SOB,” she accused on a delighted giggle.  “By the way, ‘Bounce’ is a pretty cute nickname.  It doesn’t offend me.”

“I prefer Mou.”

She sipped her wine nodded over the menu, flipping it from one side to the other.  “That’s actually an impressive choice for an Italian boy.  It kinda warms the cockles of my heart.”

“I’m gonna warm the flesh of your ass with my hand, you sarcastic little shit.”

Dark hair swung when she twisted her head to him deliver a flirtatious wink.  “Not until I’ve eaten.  You wouldn’t like me when I’m hangry.”

“I’m not all that sure I like you now,” he lied. 

“Whatever.” Her scoff was accompanied by a rude snort, and she flung the menu toward the coffee table.  “This crap is exorbitantly overpriced.  How do you feel about pizza?  I know a great place that delivers in this part of town.”

Delaney Gardener was endearingly exasperating, but she brought him enough pleasure that Jon would indulge any whim she had tonight.  She could return the favor later – in bed.

“That sounds perfect.”

*34 - He Knew

Jon had the utmost respect and admiration for this little woman’s forthrightness, and he would give no less in return. 

“I can get a little rough,” he cautioned with another light press against her throat. 

Intuition – or was it optimism? – told him that Delaney wouldn’t mind, and the erratic pulse trilling against his hand was confirmation.  There was an energy simmering beneath her skin that he recognized as a smokier version of her usual boldness.  She would take everything he chose to give and ask for it again.

“Do what you need to do, erastí̱s.”  Her slow, quiet approval grabbed him by the dick and jerked painfully.  “I’m sure I’ll like it.”

“Translation?” he breathed thickly through the motherfucking anticipation hanging in the air like smog. 

“’Lover’.”

The hand encasing the slender column of Delaney’s neck abruptly fell away. 

He was out of patience and rose, pulling her along to follow through the corridors that brought them to the bedroom.  Fastening both hands around her slender waist, it took no effort to toss her tiny body into the middle of the king-sized bed.

Her dark hair and dress were a sooty smudge against the colorless bedding, and he planted one knee in the mattress to loom ominously over the woman who lay flat on her back.  The thoughts ruling his mind leaned more toward selfishness than forthrightness, but Jon was going to voice them, anyway. 

“'Mou' isn’t just an endearment, Delaney.  You’re mine.  Your body belongs to me.”

She went from flat on her back to being propped up on elbows, and the soles of dainty feet scraped enticingly against the bedcovers when sliding to meet her backside.  The sound alone was enough to evoke images of tangled sheets and hair, but the calculated move slid her skirt to seductive heights. 

When her lacy black crotch finally released his gaze, Jon found Delaney blinking leisurely up at him.  “How about I loan it to you and we debate custody later?”

Fuck, yes.

“Alright.”  Jon shrugged out of his shirt and blindly tossed it at a chair.  “But I don’t wanna borrow the dress.  How about you get rid of it?”

“Sure.” 

She gave a single tug on a string he hadn’t seen until now, and the black fabric slithered open to pool at her sides. One leg straightened while the other stayed bent, leaving Delaney posed for her Playboy shoot.  A skimpy bra was the same black as the panties with satin instead of lace, and it almost couldn’t contain her abundant curves.    

Jon immediately reached to offer his assistance by palming the two fleshy cantaloupes.  They were decadently heavy, and he immediately imagined how much he’d like having his dick crushed between them.  

“Jesus Christ, you’ve got a lot of titty for such a little girl.”

“I may be little, but I’m far from a girl,” she chuckled throatily, trailing her fingers along an abdomen that was as flat as her chest was curved.  The graceful swell of her hips begged to be gripped, but the naughty vixen had decided she wanted to tease by stroking the soft stretch of flesh below her navel and threatening to go lower. 

It would never make it past the threatening stage, because Jon snatched those fingers up for a punishing nip.  Her eyes dilated when he kissed away the sting and advised, “Mine.  No touching without permission.”

“I don’t need your permission.”

One of her precisely groomed eyebrows arched with censure, drawing his balls up with it.  Delaney was going to be worth every minute he’d waited to have her here. 

“We’ll see,” he murmured, sucking lightly on the pads of her fingers just to witness her lids sag under the weight of lust. 

When each of the five were shiny with his saliva, he folded them all into a fist except for the middle one.  That finger he pushed between puckered lips, not stopping until it was seated in his mouth well-below the second knuckle.  Then, he curled his tongue around it and sucked while slowly pulling it free.  The very tip skidded softly off his bottom lip as she bit hers.

“You like that?” One of Jon’s hands still enclosed her fist but the other flicked the first button on his fly as she purred her affirmation.  “Me, too.  That’s why you’re gonna do it to my….”

The words simply trailed off as she tucked her knees under her and withdrew from his grasp to start working his fly with both hands.  Drawing him out of the open buttons, Delaney peered up at him through her lashes and licked her lips.

Damn, he was going to enjoy her. 

After a couple of lazy strokes, those fresh-glossed lips rounded around the head that was already turning purple and slid partway down the shaft.  Her eyes found his with some unspoken message that he didn’t quite catch and Delaney used the free hand to pick up Jon’s, placing its palm on the back of her head.

“Get a little rough,” she invited, her hot breath steaming skin that hadn’t seen the inside of a woman in months.  “Please.”

His hard-on jerked in her grasp, instinctively understanding what she wanted before Jon did.  It took him a couple of seconds to lift his other hand to join the first.  Her lips closed over him again, and when she stopped partway this time, he applied a pressure that took the decision out of her hands. 

Breath found its way out her nostrils and Delaney’s chin lifted to make room for more as he pulled her face closer.  He’d been with a lot of women and knew that it wasn’t disgust that rumbled in the back of her throat.  She was getting off on this. 

“You want me to fuck your mouth, baby?  Huh?” Jon challenged thickly, twisting his fingers until her hair tangled around every knuckle.  “Fuck it balls deep like I’m gonna do to your pussy?”

A muffled moan told him that’s exactly what she wanted, and he used the tangled hair to bob her up and down on his dick in a way most women deemed taboo.  Some thrusts were a little harder, catching her unaware, but she liked it.  Looking down to see her dress hanging open, soft titties bouncing inside their satin captivity and nimble fingers working inside her panties, Jon knew his initial instincts about his Greek goddess were on the money.  Delaney was going to take everything and ask for seconds. 

“Feels so good, Mou.  You suck it so good.  I’d come right now if I didn’t want your pussy so bad.”

His shaft was slick and wet barreling into lips that had grown puffy, and she rode one hand while scratching at his thigh with the other. 

He’d give anything to flatten her nose against his crotch and blow down the back of her throat, but he was doing the Delaney sampler platter tonight.  No full courses, only appetizers.  Repeating that to himself, he stabilized her head and jerked his dick out with a wet ‘pop’ that made his balls spasm.   The next time his dick made that noise, it would be buried where her wayward hand was now. 

Still clutching tangled tresses, he tugged so that she looked up at him.  Shallow breaths snuck in and out between parted lips that were swollen with the effort of sucking him.  The luscious oval was stained the same deep pink as her cheeks and dilated black pupils reflected his desire.

“You’re the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Delaney had thought her heart couldn’t beat any harder.  He domineeringly clung to her hair in the way men of her fantasies did – just hard enough to be on the right side of painful and without any intention of letting go.  His arousal bobbed in the open fly of jeans he had yet to remove, seeking to burrow back between her lips.  He glowered with a passion that started a new flood between her legs.

All of that put her well-above the optimal heart rate, but when he croaked out that she was beautiful.

“Gamíseis.”  She commanded, blindly reaching for his jeans and tugging.  The need to feel him on her, in her, and over her was overwhelming.  He was gorgeous, he was sexy, he was wired to play the games she liked to play.  Delaney physically ached to be his.  “Eímai dikós sou.”

“English.”  The stark command came with clenched fists that tugged at her roots. 

“You know the first part.”

“Fuck me,” he recited in an undertone.  “And the second?”

“I am yours.”

The rumble in that incredibly contoured and furry chest went on for a solid five seconds before Jon’s hands flexed wide and retreated to shove his pants down to the floor.  When he kicked them aside, broad palms found both sides of Delaney’s face, and his lips locked onto hers for a breath before parting and possessing them.

The mattress hit her shoulder blades as one of those meaty paws pushed at a satin bra cup, popping out its occupant.  His thick tongue filled her mouth almost as completely as the part of him blatantly digging into her belly.  He left no room for breath.  No room for taste.  No room for anything but him as he took a full, intimate inventory of what he considered his.

He licked the insides of her lips, both top and bottom.  He explored the soft grotto under her tongue.  He tickled the roof of her mouth while tasting the topography.  He suckled her tongue until she thought it would detach.

All the while, she was climbing the length of his back with greedy hands, stroking every cut muscle from his neck to fabled backside.  He was a work of art, and when kisses of ownership shifted from her mouth to take in a swollen breast, she tunneled fingers through the silver mane whose texture tickled in the most titillating way.

Sharp teeth found the pebbled tip that craved attention and her neck arched sharply in reaction, with both heels lodging deep in the bed.  This was no gentle nibble, but he’d already discerned that gentle wasn’t really her thing. 

Sex was a physical act, and as with all physical activities, some people challenged themselves to push to boundaries.  This was Delaney’s extreme sport.  Testing her limits was a thrill-seeking adventure, and when he uncovered the other breast for its share of attention, she placed his hand atop the abandoned mate. 

Jon didn’t hesitate in accepting the direction.  The love line, heart line and life-line in his palm grated her gluttonous flesh and the callousness was excruciating perfection.  A low, keening noise was ripped from the woman who gyrated against the linens. 

“Gamíseis.” 

That earned a firm chomp for her nipple that had her crying out as his head lifted.  With hair completely disheveled beneath the touch that tortured it and eyes shielded by smoked glass, he gave the appearance of a wild man – one who was ready to get down to business. 

Or so she thought when he withdrew to unceremoniously jerk at panties that had only been in the way so far tonight.  They disappeared… somewhere that she didn’t notice because a finger was being jammed inside her. 

The act itself was harmless since Delaney was too wet to create any friction, and the bulky digit slid in without protest from her body.  It only elicited a sigh of pleasure and quiet Greek babble as he knelt beside her.  Stunning features were carved into contemplative repose, as though he struggled with the decision of what came next. 

The way he hooked that invasive finger in just the right way to lift her off the bed was a good start, and she commended him with words he wouldn’t recognize. 

“Your Greek makes me horny, Mou.  The question is… how do I want to remedy that problem?”

“Gamíseis,” spilled forth unconsciously under his blistering scrutiny.  The thumb strumming her slick folds as ably as a guitar demanded music, and it was the only chord she knew.

“Yes, but which part to fuck?  Hmm?”  The remorseless fingers of the non-strumming hand reclaimed Delaney’s tangled tresses, fisting hard enough to compel a guttural moan as the gruff pondering continued.  “Do I fill that dirty mouth of yours?  Or slide between those phenomenal fucking tits?  Or slam in for a good old-fashioned pussy pounding?  You tempt me in so many ways, baby.”

“Mounì mou.”  A demand for translation was sure to follow, and she was eager to provide one.  She wanted to see how much blue would fall victim to desirous pupils.  Wanted to see just how black those distinctive eyes could become. 

“Tell me.” 

The thick demand snatched an aroused breath from Delaney, and she couldn’t let her hands lie idle any longer.  She pulled roughly at her tender nipples and whispered the taunt intended to trigger the beginning of the end.

“My pussy.”

The hiss of the ‘s’ still hung in the air when he climbed between her legs, using both knees to crudely part hers wide.  It was almost like he couldn’t resist one more touch and swiped along Delaney’s flooded crease.  When he flicked t diamond-hard clit nestled within, she came up off the bed again, and his harsh chuckle was enough to seize her inner muscles into a nerve-wracking knot.

“Mou,” he preened arrogantly in a profession of ownership.  The man had no doubt as to the power he held over her in this moment.  He knew she’d shamelessly give anything to get the orgasm his gaze promised.  “Say the other thing again.  Say you’re mine.”

“Eímai dikós… sou!”

The force of his possession wrenched the last word free, and Delaney almost choked at the depth of it.  One stroke submerged him to the hilt, and she clamped her thighs together to maintain the age-old connection that was matched by no other.  The sharpness of his hipbone chafed against her as he countered his confinement with a provocative grind of the hips.  Both of Jon’s hands burrowed in behind her head, fingers coiling severely enough to fulfill her most erotic fantasy. 

The lure of an epic orgasm unclenched her thighs so that he could lever back and slam home again.  A flow of mindless sex chatter tumbled from her lips as chest hair scuffed enflamed nipples, as he swelled inside her womb, as her scalp tingled from the wickedness of his rule.  He was a hurricane sweeping in with the intent of devastation, and his filthy English matched her filthy Greek pant for pant as he wreaked mayhem and destruction. 

Sweat poured, voices weakened, hands groped everywhere they should and shouldn’t be, mouths committed sin, and pleasure hovered on the precipice of pain – until she needed it to become pain. 

“Harder!  Harder!”

He knew.  He knew that meant everything harder.  Jon slammed, he yanked, he ground, he committed erotic abuse until impatience made him snarl, “Come, goddammit!”

And that’s when the eye of the hurricane settled over Delaney.  Utter peace and tranquility established itself in her soul a split second before she was struck with devastation that convulsed her against his hard body – battering and bruising her against the hard rocks of muscle as he howled into the fray. 

She was still gasping for air when the rocks became pillows, and his violent grip gentled to a dove’s wing.  A silken touch accompanied sweetly murmured words of praise, and his possession shifted to a soothing presence.  His perfect weight blanketed her while easy lips pressed against a pulse that may never stop pounding.    

He knew.

He knew and understood like no one ever had.

33 - Want a Hit

With her embarrassment now under control, Delaney dried her hands in the suite’s powder room, and then started pulling pins from her hair.  The quasi-sophisticated style was well on its way to deterioration after her tumble on the cushions, so she figured she might as well finish the job. 

Fluffing the freed tendrils with her fingers, she felt like a giddy high school girl who’d just done something appalling with a boyfriend on her parents’ couch.  She’d definitely done something on the couch but couldn’t find it in herself to be appalled about it – as long as he didn’t tease her about humping his face. 

The man’s touch was… incendiary.  First, in mauling her butt and then sliding inside her penis fly trap as though he was the new owner.  When he started orally molesting her lady flower, it was like a switch inside her flicked from normal person to wanton hussy. 

The words that fell off her tongue would shame a Greek fisherman.  Crude anatomical references and precise instructions on what to do with those bits of anatomy bubbled out as readily as the orgasm he sucked from her core.

A faint throbbing of that core told Delaney it was up for another, and since he hadn’t had his first, she was optimistic about the chances for a repeat.  Jon didn’t seem like the type who would call it quits at this stage in the game, and the blaze of blue irises when she’d cupped his jaw predicted an exciting second half.

Slipping out of her shoes, she used two fingers to hook the straps and brought them along when exiting the powder room.  With any luck, this might even go into overtime.    

A glance at the couch revealed that he was no longer there, and Delaney slid her eyes to the other end of the room.  He was at the bar again, refreshing their glasses, and his appearance had her drawing up short. 

Bare feet and jeans would always make her mouth water, but with hair disheveled by her orgasmic frenzy and a shirt that hung unbuttoned because of her greedy hands….  He was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen in real life. 

There was no air-brushing of his chiseled chest or the frosted hair covering it.  Perfection didn’t need touching up.  The “wine gut” he bemoaned was actually just a flat plane instead of concave, taking him from a faultless illusion to real man.  There wasn’t a thing about him that anybody in the world should consider Photoshopping.

How did any woman let him go?   How did a woman look at him and say, “No thanks, not interested anymore.”?  He was painfully easy on the eyes, talented, rich, hard-working, a good father and a really nice guy – from everything Delaney knew, anyway.  All that and he liked oral sex. 

Was Dorothea Bongiovi insane?

He insists he’s not nice.  There might be an ugly, dark side hiding behind that perfect smile. 

“I like your hair better down,” he complimented upon catching sight of her, apparently unaware of just how long she’d been gawking.  “What made you go dark, since I now have first-hand knowledge of your real color?”

He considers the color of your pubic hair a good topic for pre-dinner conversation.  He could be a sadistic pervert.

His perversions to this point were a fair match for hers, though, and she stooped to put her shoes next to the couch. 

“There are a ton of psychological reasons behind a woman’s choice to alter her appearance.”

“And I’m asking about yours.”

Pursing her lips, Delaney accepted the drink and the heavy palm that guided her back to the couch.  “Wouldn’t you rather get laid?”

“Oh, I’m gonna get laid,” he stated as matter-of-factly as one would declare the sky blue.  “But a beautiful woman mentioned something about heightening the anticipation, so I thought I’d give it a try.”

“Um.  You realize that the anticipation took a nosedive off this sullied sofa, right?”

She sat on the far end of the sullied furniture, expecting for some reason that he’d sit on the near end. Past experience, she supposed, and he did at first. 

“Nah.  It’s still hang-gliding out there.  There’s plenty left to anticipate, Mou.”

Her uterus was still spasming in response to the seductive oath when Jon scooted over to eliminate the empty cushion between them.  He turned sideways, tucking a leg beneath him and parking the wineglass on one thigh while he rested his tricep along the back of the couch. 

"You called me that the night in Montreal, didn't you?  When I accidentally woke you up?"

"Did I?  I've been thinking of you that way since Montreal.  Didn't realize I'd said it out loud."  Picking up a few strands of her hair, he rubbed it between his fingertips and prodded, “So, why dark when it seems most women want to be blonde?” 

He obviously wasn't interested in talking about his pet name for her, and Delaney was feeling generous.  After what he'd just done to  her, she could afford to be generous.

“So people don’t confuse me with Petra.”

“Baby,” he chuckled.  “Twins or not, nobody’s gonna confuse you two.”

Her head tilted toward the hand still meandering in the dark locks.  “Yeah?  I never did ask if you thought she was me that day in the shop.”

“Not really, no.  All the right physical pieces were there, but my gut knew it wasn’t you.  She even carries herself differently.”

Delaney smirked into her wineglass.  She’d always told Petra there was a stick up her ass, but she didn’t want to talk about her sister.

“I was watching you over by the bar a few minutes ago.”

“I know.”  He didn’t appear to be surprised or concerned by her ogling.  At his age and in his chosen profession, dealing with the female reaction to his looks had to be just part of everyday life.   

“You’re a gorgeous man – inside and out, from what I can tell.”

A long-suffering sigh hissed out over a flattened mouth.  “Are we back to this ‘nice’ shit again?”

“No.”  The strong column of his throat beckoned her touch, and Delaney palmed it before using her thumb to smooth his jawline and ruffled feathers.  “We’re in a completely new place, wondering why you’re getting a divorce.”

Just like that, the warm, open man whom she’d spent the last hour – the only man she’d really known with this face  – changed.  He was taken over by a detachment cool enough to chill Delaney’s hand, and she let it fall to her lap in a loose fist. 

You’re not his friend, Delaney.  You’re his possession for the evening.

“Sorry.  Not my business.”

“I didn’t say that, so don’t put words in my mouth,” Jon ordered nicely, with his demeanor thawing a bit.  “I just don’t wanna think about my fuck-ups in the middle of foreplay, okay?  We can talk about it later.” 

“We don’t have to talk about it at all, but something else just crossed my mind, and since I don’t often keep those things to myself…”

A face-creasing smile fully returned him to what she considered normal.  “It’s one of the things I enjoy about you.  Go on.”

“Oh good.  In that case, is this a limited engagement performance?  One-night stand?  Rebound rendezvous to get you back in the…  Son of a motherless goat.”  The lightbulb went on above Delaney’s head and cast a very bright light.  “That’s what David meant by ‘Bounce’.  He knew I was going to be the rebound girl.”

The more she thought about it, the queasier Delaney became.  His friends and brother had known she was in Jon’s scopes since Madison Square Garden.  Thinking back on Jon’s reference to backstage as the band’s locker room area, she couldn’t help conjecturing how much locker room talk had featured her as the subject.

“Christ,” Jon muttered, tipping up his wine and putting the empty glass on the table before turning to her with purpose.  “I love Dave, but he’s a crazy fucker who makes up stupid shit to torment me, and that’s his latest.”

As unsettling as it was to her stomach, she was a grown woman.  There were worse things to be, and she took comfort in knowing he hadn’t drawn her out of a crowd like a bingo ball.  He’d knowingly shown up in her shop to seek her out after spending time together.  If nothing else, it proved he held more than a passing attraction. 

“You know what?  It’s totally fine.  I’m too old to be offended by honesty.  But what about the ‘Hall of Fame’ thing?”

“You’re not listening to me.”  Capturing her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he tilted her face so that she could see nothing beyond two blue pools of grave exasperation.  “I never said that.  Never thought it.  The average person doesn’t fit into a neat pigeonhole, and I sure as fuck wouldn’t try cramming you into one.”

Delaney’s pulse hammered in her throat, creating a lump the size of her fist as she was transported back to another moment when he’d grown perturbed with her.  Now, like the instance when he told her to “answer the goddamn question”, her body responded to his autocracy.  Unlike before, she embraced the softening response, for there was no longer a reason to deny herself the pleasure.    

That’s why, when he released his grip to stroke her cheek, Delaney leaned into the touch.  

“I can’t answer your questions about what this is,” he told her in soft apology.  “What I can tell you is that I like you as a person, and I’m attracted to you as a woman.  Anything else, we’ll have to figure out together.”

If she was one of those dippy women who believed that cupids roamed the heavens, using their heart-tipped arrows to shoot people up with love heroin, Delaney would have been screwed about then.  A lesser woman would’ve been thumping her arm, readying for the needle, but she was a realist who had never believed in that kind of goopy Harlequin Romance snot.

Her marriage to Geoff came about for reasons having nothing to do with the kind of love Jon sang about with such passion.  The purpose behind that union was based on logic and honesty, and for all the good it did her, she should’ve stayed single. 

That ingrained cynicism allowed her to accept Jon’s answer at face value rather than painting it dusty rose with her favorite fan brush. 

“That sounds fair,” she conceded.  "But I still want to know about 'Hall of Fame'.”

Perfectly shaped lips puckered with disgust, and his eyes darted off to the far window with a soft swear before returning to her.  “Sooner or later, I’ll end up asking questions you don’t wanna answer.  You better be fuckin’ prepared to answer ‘em, anyway.”

There was only one subject she didn’t really want to talk about, and there was no reason to believe it would come up anytime, so she shrugged.  “Okay, but if you’re going to tell me it's about something gross, like getting inside me and plastering your sticky memorabilia on my walls, I’m not sure I want to know.”

His brow winged up while barking with surprised laughter.  “I don’t know whether to be scared for myself or you.”

“Are you freeping kidding me?  I don’t want to be right!”

“You’re not completely right,” he consoled at the pitiful groan, taking her glass and placing it on the table.  “The nickname originally came from Matt for a different reason, but Dave had to go all Jersey on it.”

“Then, please.  Tell me Matt’s reason so I can stop thinking about the ickiness.”

Lines creased around his mouth and the eyes that sparkled in the waning light from the hotel windows.  “You don’t want my memorabilia on your walls?”

“Hard no.  That’s a little squicky for my role-play taste.”

“Oh, I think you just found the first of my questions,” he drawled, slowly dragging the backs of his fingers from her jaw to collarbone.  The edges of his fingernails scratched just enough to make her nipples pebble at the sensation. 

“How ‘bout you just answer mine?”

Her soft rasp planted a knowing gleam in the depths of faded denim eyes.  “I’m tired of the anticipation, Mou.” 

“Katsa sta avga sou, impatient man.  All you have to do is answer me to get laid,” she whispered, welcoming the thread of steel in his voice.  Delaney was a passionate woman by nature, and sometimes a passionate woman required a firm hand.  She was excited that Jon might fill that role instinctively, without too much coaching - or judgment.

“I want to know what you just said.”

The thread of steel got just a little harsher, and she savored the hand draping her throat.  “Loose translation is ‘keep sitting on your eggs’.  Now tell me.”

“As soon as you tell me again how to say ‘fuck me’.”

The temperature in the room was growing unbearably warm as his hand shifted high on her throat.  His middle finger was touching one earlobe and his thumb the other, but there was no pressure – just a presence. 

“Gamíseis.”

“I’ll expect to hear that a hell of a lot louder once you’re spread eagle in my bed.”

Delaney closed her eyes and swallowed, completely enamored with the visual building in her mind.  She was stubborn enough not to admit it just yet, though.  “Tell me.”

The squeeze of his hand was gentle as he leaned in close, breathing in her ear.  “The day we met, I watched you walk down the hall with the security guard who escorted you out.  That’s when Matt nicknamed you ‘Hall of Fame’.  He said the only other time I’d smiled like that this year was in Cleveland, when we got inducted.  That made you the Hall of Fame.”

Hey lady.  Want a hit?

She hit the freeping cupid with a baseball bat and hoarsely demanded, “Take me to bed.”

*32 - Close Enough

The sharp flare of her nostrils only validated Jon’s claim.  She would be his, and Delaney wanted it to happen as much as he did. 

The instant he opened the door, he’d known she had more than dinner on her mind.  A woman whose primary wardrobe consisted of jeans didn’t show up in a sexy little dress without plans to see it on the floor.  When the sexy little dress exposed as much cleavage as hers did, that was also a damn good indicator of her willingness to get naked.

Right now, that impressive display of cleavage held his eyes like a magnet as she leaned to deposit her wineglass on the coffee table.  His gaze lifted higher when she gently pried away his glass to join it.

“I’m going to be yours, huh?”

With her standing about eight inches from his knees, Jon had to tilt his head back to find her erotically stormy irises to avow, “Without a doubt.”

“Well,” she noted coyly.  “There is another possibility, you know.”

“Maybe in your world, but not mine.”

Delicate fingertips brushed the hair from his temple and her thumb followed behind to smooth the skin.  “There's always the off chance that you'll end up belonging to me.” 

The hypothesis was as soft as her touch and caused a fierce twitch in his cock, making Jon unable to keep itchy palms from reaching for the thighs left exposed by her dress.  The scrape of bare skin only made the itch worse, and he snuck frustrated fingers around to the backs of those bare thighs and grasped solidly.  Her legs were firmly toned and the contrast between them and the magnetic cleavage begged him to haul her on top of him for the remainder of this debate. 

Jesus Christ, it’s been too long since I got laid.

“Ya think?”

Lightning and thunder waged behind the gorgeous eyes of his miniature Greek beauty, beckoning to the barbarian who was eager to rage in the storm with her.  With all the volatility that muddled her irises, though, Delaney’s touch in cupping his jaw was petal-soft as she glided to stand between his knees and bend forward. 

“Guess we oughta find out,” was the compromise she breathed against his mouth. 

It was no more than a puff of air, but that puff carried the destructive force of a category five hurricane.  The gates holding the Barbarian at bay were ripped from their hinges, freeing him to what he’d wanted to do all along. 

Her tongue snaked in to slither against his, and Jon grunted.  His vocabulary was reverting to the same primal condition as the wave of desire consuming him.  Boorish hands no longer knew the meaning of caution and ransacked their way under her skirt, gripping the womanly curve of her hips and yanking – hard.

The surprised gasp when she landed on him only made Jon harder, and he ground into the thigh wedged against his crotch.

“Mou,” he insisted, nipping at the succulent bottom lip shining in the lamplight and finally touching her in ways he’d only dreamed about – with entitlement and without apology.  Lecherous paws kneaded the globes of her ass while brazen fingers traced its crevice.  “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

She scrambled for purchase, finally managing to plant her knees in the cushions on either side of him to frantically pluck at his buttons.  “I wanna feel you.  Touch that gorgeous chest.”

He’d let her do anything if she stayed right here.  This new position parted rock-solid thighs wide, and Jon blatantly traveled the pert little curve of her ass.  Proprietary fingers stroked along the underside just long enough to confirm its softness matched that of the lips nuzzling his Adam’s apple before he moved to a more central location – and a panel of sodden lace. 

Those panties weren’t the only thing sodden between her legs, either.  Shoving the girly crotch cover aside exposed a wetness epitomizing exactly what a man hoped to inspire in a woman.  Blood pumped painfully through his cock as Jon delved into the slippery plumpness and groaned.

There was nothing that felt quite the same – or as decadent – as the hidden parts of a woman’s body. 

 “You’re wet for me.”  The observation was delivered as a reprimand, but he couldn’t have been any fucking happier about the greedy heat swallowing his finger and clamping tight.

“Since before you opened the door,” she rasped against his throat through an open-mouthed kiss. 

Petite hands slipped inside the front of a newly unbuttoned shirt as Delaney’s hips rocked against the hand that was still plundering her pussy.  His little Greek storm was as eager to be touched as she was to touch and spread her legs wider, offering him everything.

It was an offer he couldn’t – wouldn’t – refuse.

In the space of a shocked breath, Delaney’s back hit the couch cushions and Jon shoved the skirt up to her waist. 

“What are you doing?”

“I hope that’s a rhetorical question.” 

The growl was suitable for a barbarian, and his manners didn’t stray from course.  Both uncivilized hands tucked in behind her knees, pushing one out and hooking the other over his shoulder.  That freed up a hand to jerk aside the scrap of lace that didn’t do a damn thing to maintain her modesty, and he replaced it with his face. 

“Ohhhhh!  Toso kala.”

It was his official welcome as he burrowed into the smoothness that was adorned only with a tiny tuft of hair at her apex.  Plump lips were smooth as a baby’s butt, and he used the full breadth of his tongue to split them, accessing that which they hid.  

There would be no hiding from him.  Tonight, she was his, and he would have everything. 

His first flick against the florist’s secret petals incited feverish fingers to knot in his hair, accompanied by a rasping of words he didn’t recognize.  He’d give anything to hear those dirty endearments in English, but Jon wouldn’t be deterred from his task.  He simply let the eroticism of a foreign tongue seduce him as he slathered her with good old Jersey-style seduction. 

“Tróne to mounáki mou!”

The taste of her was nothing like his dreams.  Like the woman herself, Delaney’s essence was complex, and defied description.  Sweet and salty.  Sweet and spicy.  Sweet and slick.  Sweet and…  He hoisted her high and dug deep for a better sample

Humming into the syrupiness, he zeroed in on the passageway that radiated smoky heat, flicking a lazy tongue around the entrance.    One leisurely rotation was followed by another, which was drawn out into a third before temptation finally lured Jon into tunneling deep enough to risk suffocation.  

He impaled and invaded the savory silken sheath, fucking her with his tongue just like he’d fuck her with his cock.  Intimacy took on a new meaning as he lapped her from the inside out. 

Persistent.  Determined.  Hungry. 

Delaney jolted lightly against him.  The lighting was hitting closer to home, striking a water tower that inundated the valley.  They hadn’t hit flood stage yet, but unwilling to let the opportunity pass, Jon bowled his tongue to collect the nectar that was her signature flavor. 

The sharp tug of his scalp was a perfect complement to the wickedness he swallowed, and the pain was a fair price for his drink, so he went back for another.  The tip split her, mopping away drop after drop to store in his taste buds for later.  This time, when he woke in the middle of the night, it would be authentic Delaney that filled his mouth and not a dream.

On and on, he tirelessly consumed what she offered.  Unfamiliar words rained from her mouth as readily as her sweet syrup flowed over his tongue and made the back of his neck prickle.  He had no idea what the cries filling the air meant, but the passion behind them was contagious.  It made him impatient with his task.  He wanted to know what it would sound like when the lighting finally struck its final destination, electrocuting her with the full voltage of orgasm.

Anticipation spurred his lazy licks into a purposeful pucker, and Jon mercilessly inhaled her clit.  It only took about three determined slurps and a firm flick against her candied nub before the night was pierced by brilliant lightning – and a lusty scream that satisfied him as much as it did the squirming, panting spitfire under him.

Blunt nails abraded his nape as Delaney’s hips bucked with a release that fulfilled the promise of passion he’d seen since the beginning.  Jon cashed in on that promise until there was nothing left but quivering thighs, whimpering breathiness and the lingering taste of his newest addiction. 

After dragging his mouth along the inside of her thigh, he peeked up to find glassy eyes trained on him. The storm had passed, leaving behind placid, dove-like irises and a mouth softened with gratification. 

“Anybody ever tell you you’re good at that?”

“Maybe,” he chuckled, putting panties to rights and closing her knees.  “Anybody ever tell you that you taste like a man’s wet dream?”

“Not today.”

The wryness was oddly appropriate and a smile flirted at the corners of his mouth as Jon gently tugged her into a sitting position.  Other than a slightly skewed neckline, disheveled hair and an aura of contentment, she looked no different than she had when she got here.

She could walk out of here looking the same as when she arrived, and he experienced a brief stab of guilt for it.  Years had passed since he last went down on a fully dressed woman.  Years and years. 

“Well, your pussy is the best thing I’ve eaten in a long time,” he complimented, stifling his remorse in favor of delight at the heated tinge flooding her cheeks.  “What?  English gutter talk embarrasses you?  ‘Cause I’d give anything to know what you were sayin’ while you were humpin’ my face.”

“Okay, that’s about enough of that.”  Her feet planted firmly on the carpet so that she could rise.  “Give me a sec in the ladies’ and we can continue this however you want.”

The ballsy little hellion was embarrassed, and damn if the unexpectedness of it wasn’t a bigger turn-on than his favorite Vancouver titty bar. 

“Mou.”   Jon snagged her fingers the instant before she escaped.  “Teach me your Greek.”

Her cheeks went redder, but this time he wasn’t sure if it was fueled by embarrassment or arousal.  “I don’t think so.”

“Teach me or I’ll find someone else to,” he warned pointedly.  “Either way, I’m gonna know what you say next time you melt in my mouth.”

Her facial features relaxed before Delaney conjured the faintest hint of dimples and came close enough to cup his jaw.  “Your tongue is of silver and brings pleasure to anything it touches.  When you sing it’s auditory pleasure.  When you flirt, it’s mental pleasure.  When you lick… it’s the ultimate pleasure.”

Her little speech came across like a lover’s touch, caressing all the right places within him.  The tang of intimacy was still fresh on his lips, but it dulled in the shadow of a desire for something more.   There were parts of her still yet unclaimed, and Jon needed to rectify that – right after he called her out on that line of bullshit.

“That’s very eloquent, but I get the feeling maybe it’s not quite a word-for-word translation.”

One dimple went full-power at his skepticism, and she dipped to brush twitching lips across his.    

“Close enough.”

31 - Mou

“Delaney, what are you doing here?  I was waiting for you to call!”

A taxi horn blared a couple blocks down in the quiet Murray Hill neighborhood, appearing to hang in the unseasonably warm air.  Late afternoon sunshine hit the sidewalk in shards through the trees, but the front stoop where Delaney stood was in the shade of a row of regal brownstones.

Petra was also shaded, having assumed a militant pose in the open doorway to her home and clearly not giving any thought to social convention.  There was no sign of a Congressman’s Wife in the woman locking an expectant gaze on Delaney and wordlessly demanding answers. 

It would almost be humorous if Delaney didn’t have an agenda and a timeline.  “I need a shower and makeup.  Your place is more convenient than mine, so let me in and I’ll tell you why.”

As if by magic, her biological counterpart faded back far enough to allow entry, and Delaney patted her cheek while dropping the teaser, “I have a date with Jon in ninety minutes.  Got anything that doesn’t look like something you’d wear?  Where are the boys?”

“Baseball practice.”  Petra was only a pace behind when Delaney hit the stairs that would lead to the master bedroom.  “You’re telling me he waltzed into the shop two hours after his divorce makes national news and asked you on a date?”

“Yes and no.”  She kicked off her Skechers at the foot of a damask covered king-sized bed that was buried under a dozen ornate pillows and started pulling on her blouse. “He first made it clear that he wanted to have sex with me and had been thinking about it.  A lot.”

Petra, who hadn’t been to church in a good year, crossed herself and breathed, “Sweet Jesus.  Are you the reason Dorothea filed?”

“Seriously?”  That asinine statement earned a dark look reserved for drunk letches who asked for a blow “since she was down there already”.  The blouse went flying onto bed in a flash of plum along with a sarcastic, “I’m flattered you think I could break up a marriage, but no.”

“Well, I didn’t really believe it, but the timing was uncanny.”

The button and zipper on her jeans opened in one practiced motion, and the ripped fabric was shimmied down until it hit the Oriental rug.  “The timing has been planned for months, supposedly.  She agreed to hold off on filing until the tour was finished.”

“And why didn’t he tell you that, if fucking you has been on his mind so much?”

“Very classy and tactfully phrased Petra, but I don’t know.  He said he couldn’t, and the details didn’t come up in conversation.  I was too busy cramming my tongue down his throat.”

Now down to her bra and panties, Delaney started taking apart her braid.  She hadn’t washed her hair this morning, and since it might eventually become spread across his pillow, it should be clean. 

“Way to give a deprived married woman a hot flash, little sister.”  Petra fanned herself while glaring at a naked version of herself who only grinned at the surge of hormones.  “How does it feel to know you’re going to fuck one of the hottest men in history?  Jon.  Bon Jovi.”

Delaney was sure the question stemmed from excitement and envy, but the delivery of it made her uncomfortable.  That extra emphasis on his last name implied that fame was more relevant than the man, and that wasn’t how she felt. 

When their tongues were trying to tie themselves into a sailor’s knot, she felt many things.  Her body chemistry combined with his was combustible, and while there were scads of feelings exploding around them, none involved his public identity.   

The guy she was in a hurry to see was the same one who propped his bare feet on an ottoman in Montreal and gave her a real smile instead of a practiced one.  Her observations that night had distinguished the difference between him as a person and a performer, and that perception held even truer now.  The performer was pretty and engaging, but it was the man who used his repetitive wardrobe as a weapon to toy with an audience that Delaney was drawn to. 

In her mind, he was “Jon”, not “Jon Bon Jovi”, and she pivoted on one heel toward the master bath.

“He’s a man, Petra, not a commodity.”

    

There was a heartbeat of silence, but in the instant before Delaney closed the bathroom door she heard her sister marvel, “Holy shit.  You really like him.”

Yes, she did – and she looked forward to finding out just how much.

{{{

Stepping out of the elevator onto Jon’s floor caused a shiver to climb Delaney’s spine, although the tremor wasn’t one induced by fear.  It was borne purely of an anticipation that also pimpled the flesh on her freshly shaved legs.  Now, hours later, today’s turn of events was finally sinking in.  The man she was attracted to had admitted to wanting her – and to giving it a lot of thought. 

What woman wouldn’t get excited about that?  Any female jury in the land would support it as a legitimate defense for stripping him naked the minute he opened the door, and while it was tempting, Delaney was going to exercise more restraint than that.  The instant gratification would be mind-boggling, without a doubt, but not nearly as fulfilling as what she had in mind. 

Jon was completely accurate in saying he had a head start on her.  While Delaney had been talking herself down from a horny ledge in Montreal by repeatedly bringing up his wife, he suffered no such compulsion.  He was able to take guilt-free pleasure in the subtle acts of seduction, like a “meaningless” kiss and bold questions about her sex talk habits.

Delaney planned to take that same opportunity. 

She wanted to indulge in flirtation that held a greater reward than self-torture.  She wanted to savor the anticipation as it heightened throughout the evening.  She wanted to look into his eyes and know he was experiencing the same anticipation. 

Blowing out a quiet breath, Delaney squeezed her thighs together in front of his door and felt the erotic scratch of lace in her nether regions.   At this rate, the new panties she swiped from her sister would be drenched before Jon said hello. 

Then give him a chance to say it.

Lifting her fist, she rapped sharply, and it only took a moment before the door eased open to reveal her barefoot date.  Did he realize how sexy his bare toes were with jeans?  It turned her on in Montreal when he topped the look with a shapeless Yankees tee.  Tonight, combined with a navy half-buttoned that left his chest exposed…

Gamíseis.

“Well, hello.”  A wolfish smile raked from her low chignon all the way to strappy sandaled feet and was the final downfall of her dry panties.  “I see you forgot that hanging with me means casual wear.”

She followed the trail of his gaze to the little black dress.  Its A-line skirt sloped down from an empire waist and danced innocently around her thighs, while short, ruffled sleeves maintained the theme of modesty.  The only suggestive feature was the deep V-neckline – the one Petra said she’d wear a camisole under because it showed too much cleavage. 

Delaney thought it took the dress from stodgy to sexy, and his blistering look suggested that Jon might agree. 

“You said dinner, not hanging out,” she reminded casually, accepting his backward step as an invitation to enter.  Delaney would’ve glided right past him and down the narrow hall after the door closed – if he hadn’t gently grabbed her forearm. 

“Gotta pay the toll to get in.”  Jon’s rough murmur alone was enough to curl her toes, but his soft kiss tied them in knots.  “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” she breathed, with the dawning realization that she’d been mistaken about having a grip on today’s turn of events.  He had a grip – on it and her Zip-loc bag of hormones. 

All Delaney had was wet panties and skin that ached to be naked against his. 

Women of the world had no real idea of this man’s power. 

His magnetism on stage was an accepted fact by all.  Maybe some of them even knew that the gift of his undivided attention heightened his appeal.  But how many of them could attest to the fact, when Jon decided it was time to take things a step further, he became mesmerizing… enthralling…  compelling.

Devastating. 

“Can I take that for you?”

Still a little dazed by the impact of that insight, Delaney looked dumbly at the bag on her shoulder to which he pointed.  It held some clothes, necessities belonging in pockets the dress didn’t have, and a bottle of Hampton Water that was her attempt at etiquette. 

“Yeah.  Sure.”  She withdrew the wine to hand it to him separately.  “Probably redundant, but I figured this wouldn’t go to waste.”

“You figured right.”  He accepted them with a sparkle of mischief behind those multi-hued eyes, and the sly, accompanying smile almost set her wet panties ablaze.  “You remember your phone tonight?”

“I’d say sarcasm doesn’t become you, but I’d be lying.  Yeah, it’s in there.” 

She followed his chuckled direction to go around the corner instead of straight ahead, where a handful of steps took her past a powder room and into the suite’s living/dining area.  He gestured toward the seating area on the left, and Delaney wandered that direction but chose to stand at the window rather than sit.

Jon set her bag on the floor beside the closest end table, where a lamp glowed warmly, before taking the wine to the bar at the far end of the room.  Bending to open the hidden refrigerator, he put it inside and withdrew one that was already chilled. 

“Drink before dinner?”

“Please.” 

Brown must be the “in” thing for high-end hotels, because this suite was decorated in the same earthy palette as the one in Montreal – cream sofa, brown herringbone cushions and accent chairs, sandy rug, dark floors and blonde wood trim.  The funky chandelier even reflected hints of the brown pottery pieces in the room.

The view from the forty-third floor was much more appealing, and while he poured their wine, Delaney turned to take advantage.  The downtown skyline was stunning from this angle, with the Chrysler building a twinkling star amid it all.   She’d always appreciated the landmark’s aesthetics and admired the gentle scallops that softened hard lines all around them. 

“Here you go.”  Turning with a smile, she accepted the glass and held it as he offered his in toast.  “To new memories.” 

“To new memories,” she concurred into eyes filled with unspoken meaning.  A delicate ringing of crystal and the cool slide of rosè made it official.  “Although, I'm enjoying the old ones again."

"Mmm!" His eyebrows shifted high as he gulped that toasted sip.  "You got your memory back?  All of it?"

"Yep.  The doctor declared me fully recovered today, and Petra thinks you’re a miracle worker.”

“Petra says I’m a miracle worker,” he corrected.  “There’s a world of difference between what your sister says and what she thinks.”

Tipping her glass in the air toward him, she chuckled, “It’s frightening how well you know her.”

“Not her; just people like her, but I don’t give a damn about any of ‘em tonight.  You’re the one I really want to know, and I'm glad you've recouped everything.  Marilee said you’d been grumpy since your appointment, so I thought maybe that meant bad news.”

“No.”  The denial was quiet, and she took a moment to consider what her response should be, ultimately choosing the truth.  “My mood had more to do with lack of sleep… because I couldn’t stop dreaming about you.”

Satisfaction rolled off him in waves.  He was pleased to have invaded her subconscious and glided a teasing finger along her jaw.  “Good dreams, I hope?”

“Very good.”

The air around them sizzled with erotic suspense, and Delaney could see herself quite plainly in his dilated pupils.  “I’ll do my best to live up to ‘em.”

The air didn’t sizzle anymore.  It was now alive, with a pulse that offset each beat of her own fitful heartbeat.  Jon’s steady blue stare wasn’t doing a thing to soothe either one.  It beseeched her to skip drinks and dinner in favor of dessert.

Indulge in flirtation, remember?  Jumping his bones is an entirely different kind of indulgence, Delaney.

With a quiet breath, she forced herself into a backward step that would distance her from his touch.  “I feel like I need to say something, here.”

“I didn’t realize you ever held anything back,” he lightly countered, guiding the slighted hand into his pocket.  The change in climate was obvious, and he just as obviously chose to grant her the space that would keep her clothed.

Delaney lingered by the windows, watching him settle sideways onto one end of the couch and tucking one leg under the other.  “I don’t, usually, but we’re in a situation that traditionally dictates having an air of mystery and the thrill of the unknown.”

“Oh, baby.”  Her thigh muscles clenched at his dark chuckle.  “The only unknown here tonight is whether I taste your pussy before or after dinner.  No question it’s gonna happen.”

That muscle clenching moved north, contracting her uterus hard enough to shake both ovaries like his famed maracas. 

“I thought you were going to give me time.”

“I am,” he agreed easily.  “But your heart beat like a scared rabbit against mine in that back room and I felt your breath hitch when we kissed at the door.  You might have only just discovered it was feasible, but you want this.”

Delaney was having trouble deciding if the arrogant confidence was irritating or arousing.  Her panties flung themselves at door number two, but her mind wasn’t quite so sure.  Either way, she knew it was a good idea to proceed with her original thought. 

“Your definition of ‘this’ and mine could be just a little different, you know.”  The soft statement of warning came as she perched on the edge of the room’s lone armchair, which was a good six feet away from the sofa.  “There’s something to be said for anticipation.”

“So, you’re gonna be a cock tease tonight?  That what you’re tellin’ me?”

He didn’t seem upset about it.  In fact, the crinkling of his eyes conveyed the same humor as his tone – and proved that this man could even make crow’s feet sexy.

“Not exactly.  Think of it as… heightening the suspense.”

The wineglass came away from his lips to rest on the denim encasing a muscled thigh.  “I see how you wanna play.”

“Do you?”

“Oh, I absolutely do.”  He took in her suggestively arched eyebrow with a smirk.  “And I’ll indulge you for a while, but make no mistake, Mou.  The games stop when I say so.  Understood?”

In Delaney’s experience, men viewed her size as an opportunity to exert dominance.  It fed their fragile egos to manipulate a petite woman, and she adored telling those guys precisely where to stick their fragile egos. 

Jon’s gentle words weren’t some ego-driven demand, though.  He was stating simple fact, and it tugged at her libido in a way that few things ever had.  There was only one thing that prevented her from enjoying it to the fullest.

“What did you just call me?”

“Mou.”  His gaze was as level as his tone, and there was something about the quiet assurance in both that equally aroused and soothed Delaney.

“Moo?  Like a cow?”

“No, baby.”  The shake of his head was slight enough that he didn’t break eye contact.  “Greek Mou, like ‘my’ – because you’ll belong to me before the night is over.”