25 - Make-A-Wish

“That the translation or a request?”

The sharp stab that pierced Jon's midsection was asphyxiating, taking a normal speaking voice and converting it to nothing but a rasp, because fuck yes he wanted to kiss her.  He wanted to do a hell of a lot more than that, but he'd settle for a tipsy little kiss tonight. 

“You're married.” 

Her reminder was as husky as it was unnecessary.  Even as he imagined that she watched his mouth with wistfulness, Jon was painfully aware of the damn noose on his left hand and how it bound him.  There was a line here tonight, with Delaney, which he absolutely couldn’t cross without hating himself in the morning – and it glowed neon yellow in the inches that separated them.   

Nobody said he couldn’t tap dance on top of that fucking thing, though.

“I’ll rephrase, since you didn’t answer the question.”  The rhythmic strike of one thumb against the base of his glass was the only display of Jon's stifled impatience.  “Do you want me to kiss you, Delaney?”

“Jon…” she sighed.  “I’ve had a lot to drink.  It’s not fair to ask me that.  You’ve had a lot to drink.  Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“Answer the goddamn question.”

Her chin snapped up at the sharply flung demand.  No longer was she hiding behind a denying shake of her head.  Gone was the trepidation.  Gone was the waffling between what she shouldn’t want and what she did. 

The disheveled little sot cocked on eyebrow high and met his eyes with her trademark brand of brazenness.  “Yes.”

“Then come here.”

What the hell she expected, he didn’t know, but it obviously wasn’t that.  Delaney drew in a ragged breath, and cheeks that were already flushed with wine bloomed anew into a shade of pink so dark that it was practically red.  There were no more gray irises in her eyes.  The tiny temptress’s pupils had consumed them, leaving nothing but shining black portals of indecision in their place.

“You’re married,” she reiterated.  “Dorothea….  She….   Well, she didn’t save my life, but she was… there for me.  I can’t….  I can’t.”

That still wasn’t a fucking answer.  More specifically, it wasn’t one he was willing to accept, since Delaney had no idea what lay in his rearview mirror or just around the next corner. 

But you’re not going to tell her that. 

No, but goddammit, he wasn’t going to be deterred by the inconvenience, either.

Inhaling deeply to keep his composure, Jon retracted his feet from the ottoman and dropped them to the floor while simultaneously setting aside the empty glass.  Delaney’s shallow breathing resonated in the stillness, and her ample chest lifted and fell with each one as he stood. 

Stepping around the only piece of furniture that separated them, he extended wiggling fingers to beckon her glass, which he then put in the windowsill.  She watched him, guarded eyes glued to his every move as he grabbed the footstool he’d avoided a moment ago – as he sat on its edge only inches from her side.  

Delaney could watch all she liked.  Hell, she should probably take more notes, because she was about to find out that Jon Bon Jovi always got what he wanted.  Right now, his entire list of wants was licking the lips he itched to taste.

“I kissed two women tonight in the audience,” he reminded her smoothly.  “I’ve kissed at least one in every show this tour.  A kiss doesn’t mean anything.  It wouldn’t mean anything.”

You lying sack of shit.

“Have….  Have we kissed before?”

Clenching his hands together between his knees was the only thing that kept him from brushing the hair from her forehead.  “No.”

“Then I can’t,” she insisted and pushed away the hair he’d been tempted to touch.  “I’m not a fan at a show.  I’m a woman in your hotel room.”

She has morals.  Principles.  This is a good thing.  Keep telling yourself that.

“You know there will probably be another fan tomorrow night, right?  Or more.”  The mouth he was determined to claim had pressed tight, making her only response a silent nod.  “Be my tomorrow night fan right now.”

Her tipsy little forehead furrowed as she tried to make sense of it.  “What are you saying?  That you’ll kiss me now and nobody tomorrow?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“You’re crazy,” Delaney laughed, looking more like the woman who’d spent the evening.  “When you do ‘Bed of Roses’ on the little stage, they’re all over you.  Somebody’s going to try for a kiss, and you can’t just refuse them.”

“Then I won’t give them a chance.  No B-stage tomorrow night.  No ‘Roses’.”

“Ri-ight.”

The way she scoffed the single word left no doubt that she didn’t believe him.  Well, she was going to, because he was a man of his word, goddammit.  That’s the only reason she wasn’t flat on her back in the next room, screaming Greek obscenities.

“I’m serious.”

“You’d change your show up that drastically for me?  Just to give me a Make-A-Wish kiss?”

No.  I’d do it for me. 

“Sure.  You’re the charity case of the day, after all.”

“Jon, I don’t – “

“Delaney, shut up.”

He was tired of being the “nice” guy and he was damn sure tired of debating something they both wanted.  Scooting off the edge of the footstool and putting both knees on the carpet, Jon palmed her face, tilting it to the angle he wanted.  Neither of them had time to breathe again before he pressed gentle lips to hers and held them there.

Fuck.

He’d known it would hit when they finally came together.  He’d anticipated it – looked forward to it – but couldn’t have predicted just how good it was going to hurt. 

Streaking straight from Jon’s lips into his belly, the lightning ruthlessly shot straight to his groin before methodically frying his entire being.  Thighs, knees, calves, ankles were all subjected to the excruciating agony, and when it finally found its outlet through the soles of his bare feet, they were left humming in its wake. 

The only thing spared was his mind, which was screaming at him to end it.  The neon yellow line was under his feet and one more second would push him to the other side – to the point of regret and betrayal.  He didn’t want Delaney to be that or for her to feel it.  She was what gave him the strength to ease away while his tongue still ached to taste her.  

It may have felt like a torrent of electricity, but Jon was secure in the knowledge that it was no more physical than any show kiss.   A video replay would have revealed nothing but a chaste puckering of lips before he did the same thing he’d done hundreds of times before. 

Unlike hundreds of times before, he needed to escape for himself instead of for the sake of the show.  If he didn’t get the hell away from the dewy eyes batting up at him, he’d pole-vault over that fucking line.  That’s the only – the only thing – that had him springing to his feet. 

“Make-A-Wish granted,” he muttered as lightly as his clenched jaw would allow.  “Be right back.  I gotta take a leak.”

While he tried like hell to give the appearance of casually strolling out of the living area, on the inside he ran.  He ran like a scared little kid being chased by monsters that only came in dreams, because that’s exactly what was going on in his head.  The monsters paraded around Delaney and if he took things any further, they’d eat him alive in the morning.  It was escape now or get devoured by guilt later.

It’s only four fucking days.  Four.  Days.

He repeated it as he slowly did his thing in the bathroom.  He repeated it as he meticulously washed his hands.  He repeated it as he spent long, long moments staring in the mirror and establishing a resolve that would send Delaney back to her room. 

It was late, he reasoned.  They’d drunk a fair bit and neither of them was thinking clearly.  They obviously weren’t going to fuck away the effects of their overindulgence, so they both needed to sleep it off.  Separately.

The logic was sound.  They just needed the follow through, and Jon spent several more minutes crafting the right series of words to deliver it.   By the time he walked back into the living room, he had his speech planned and his libido on a short leash. 

Delaney was lying in almost the same position as when he left.  Her head was cushioned at the window-end of the sofa and the rest of her was stretched out over two of the three seat cushions.  The only difference now was that she’d taken one of the cushions and hugged it to her chest. 

That’s what he assumed she’d done, anyway.  Right now, her ringed fingers and arms were lax.  The lips he’d kissed only moments ago were parted just enough to draw a breath and her lashes lay in dark fans against her cheeks.

Mou had passed out.

Guess I got more excited about it than she did.

Chuckling at his monumental ego and the irony, Jon threw out his speech and backtracked to the bedroom for his phone and a blanket.  The phone he used to snap a quick photo of Delaney, which he forwarded it to her sister as both reassurance and insurance.  It would keep Petra from beating down his door when Sleeping Beauty didn’t turn up in her own bed. 

[2:02 AM]JON: I bored her to sleep.  She's staying.

Putting aside the phone, he draped the blanket over her lower half and took the unsupervised opportunity to look at  the dynamo that had charged into his world last week.  

Tousled hair framed a face that bore evidence of a life filled with smiles and laughter, much as their evening had been.   Replaying the hours in his mind forced Jon the Civilized to concede that she stirred something more in him than a barbaric lust.  Would he like to have her naked under him right now?  That was a no-brainer, but he’d also taken great pleasure in drinking and talking with her. 

More than he could’ve anticipated. 

Apparently, Jon missed female companionship – or any companionship for that matter.  He wasn’t as quick to spend his down time with friends or open up to them these days.  Even before the months of marital purgatory, he and Dorothea had predominantly lived their own lives.  He went one way, she went the other and they occasionally met over the kids.  

It had been a long time since he enjoyed being with someone for nothing more than the simple sake of being, and that made Delaney all the more attractive to him.  Monday couldn’t come soon enough.

Sleep well, Mou.