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.”