*58 - Give Me the Beat

[7:48 PM]JON:  I’m coming to fuck you.

[7:48 PM]MOU: You are, huh?

[7:49 PM]JON: Fact.  NON-NEGOTIABLE fact.

[7:50 PM]MOU: Guess that means I should tell this other guy to get lost…

Jon’s self-satisified smirk vanished in a puff of annoyance.  He didn’t believe a damn word of it, but horniness and impudence didn’t mix.  He was fast approaching his lack of patience for the combination and tapped the icon that would enable him to vent that annoyance.

“Hello?”

“Not fucking funny.”

Delaney’s sultry giggle told that her opinion differed.  “It kinda was.”

“No.  It goddamn was not,” he steely reinforced. 

Jesus, she loved to jerk his chain.  She’d done it all day yesterday, last night and today by putting him off.  The kids were in the house, so she wouldn’t fuck in his bed.  Petra and Pearl were in the guesthouse and she didn’t want them as an audience because they didn’t know how she got her freak on.  She didn’t want to fuck on the beach because just that quick, wet roll on the sand was enough to tell her she wouldn’t like it. 

She wouldn’t fuck in the pool, in the yard, with a fox, in a box, on train or in the rain.  He swore she was getting off on turning him down, but with his car turning down her street, that shit was about to come to an abrupt halt.

“Just a little funny?”

“No, Delaney.  Not even a little.  We’ve had sex once in the last four days.  It was good.  Life-altering and all that shit, even, but it did not appease my aggressive nature.  You will appease it tonight.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“Interesting is how I’m going to make you pay penance for denying me the last two days.”

He didn’t have the faintest damn idea what that penance would be, but he trusted his impromptu instincts.  When it was time, it would come to him. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m not home right now.  Please leave a message at the beep.”

Part of him was still a little irritated with her sassitude, but he lost his battle with a grin as the Town Car glided to a halt.  She was a cockblocking tease with a bad case of denial and repression, but damn she could make him smile. 

“I’m in front of your building and can see the kitchen light is on.  Busted.”  Within seconds, the third-floor window went dark, and Jon laughed outright.  “I’m hanging up.  Unlock the door and don’t give me any shit.”

After thanking the driver, he grabbed his bag and went in search of the woman whom he might keep up all night, just out of spite. 

It took only moments to reach her floor, and when Jon apprached the door, it was to find it cracked.

Good girl.

When it swung inward, however, he didn’t find quite what he expected.

The lights were still out, but candlelight led him out of the little foyer and illuminated his girlfriend standing next to the dining room table.  With a dozen or more flames casting a yellow glow that most women would consider romantic, she wasn’t the picture of romance or seduction.  Loose hair framed a face of cosmetics, and he was pretty sure that her version of “lingerie” was his pilfered black t-shirt that hit her bare leg at mid-thigh. 

The most romantic thing about the whole scene was the glass of wine she offered with one dimple, but he wouldn’t have changed a damn thing about any of it.  Her utter lack of pretense was one of his favorite things, and the friends he’d introduced her to at last night’s party had agreed. 

Ron Perleman called her a breath of fresh air in a stale beach town. Allie Wentworth showed a little more flair by saying that, if he was going to show up at these things without Dorothea, Delaney would do.  When Delaney offered to bring Dorothea with them next time, Allie developed a girl crush and didn’t leave her side the rest of the night. 

Jon let his carryall hit the floor to accept the drink with a curious, “What’s all this?”

She lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug.  “The guy I ran outta here liked this kinda thing, but if you don’t…”

The wineglass went on the table beside an empty bottle so that he could reach out grab her shirtfront in both fists and haul her close.  “This how you wanna play tonight?  You want me good and pissed off so I’ll fuck you harder?  I’m not the jealous type, but if it gets your panties wet, I can fake it.”

“Not wearing any panties.”

His jeans got too tight in the crotch with that breathy admission.  With her face now close enough to really see, Jon could see that slumberous eyes were glazed with more than candlelight.

“What’ve you been doing since you got home, Mou?” One hand unfisted from the shirt fabric to dive under the hem, where he found her bare, wet and swollen.  “I told you when you left the house this morning that I was coming to fuck you.  Why’d you start without me?”

“Mmmnh.”  The husky moan sent another surge of blood below his beltline.  “I got thirsty.  It made me impatient.”

A translator wasn’t required for that interpretation.  Delaney was drunk and horny.  At least that explained why taunting him with another man qualified as funny.

“Oh, I know all about impatience,” he unsympathetically assured against her cheek, while cramming two fingers in the sucking heat that would soon wrap him like an erotic glove.  “But I didn’t jack off in the car.  I waited.  You didn’t wait for me, though.  Did you?”

“Kinda.”

The noises coming from the back of her throat were feral and sexy as hell as she bore down on his hand, pushing him deeper.  When she teetered to one side, Jon was forced to release his remaining grip on the shirt and anchor a stabilizing arm into her lower back. 

“What’s that mean?”

“I didn’t come.  Just almost.”  Her face buried into his shoulder with the raspy promise and Ms. Impatience humped into his touch.  “I couldn’t help… it.  I have a very… good imagination.”

The compact body that tantalized him all weekend in that damn bathing suit was writhing against Jon like he was a stripper pole, and his pole wanted in on the action.  The trouble was, his curiosity was enflamed almost as acutely as his dick.  He wanted to know more about the concocted fantasy that had her fingers doing some premature walking. 

“Tell me.”

Full breasts raked against him, and when her nipple ran over the zipper on his leather jacket, she groaned softly, “Maracas.”

His fingers stilled inside the clenching muscles of her womb, and Jon leaned back to peer down at sightless eyes that were closed with ecstasy.  “You fucked the maracas?”

Because that was… something he’d never considered.  Ever. 

“No.” 

An eager pelvis swiveled in a silent reminder that he was supposed to be doing something here, but he only gave her a little.  One stroke and a quick thumb swipe across her clit was all she got before he again demanded, “Tell me.”

“I like the way they sound.  Reminds me of you.”

That still didn’t give him the kind of detail he was looking for and hand that held her steady reached down to swat the curve of her ass.  “Don’t make me ask you again.”

Heavy lids fluttered open as her hands burrowed under his shirt, and glassy eyes boldly latched onto his as she stroked the hair around his navel.  “Have you ever heard yourself grunt during ‘Faith’?  Have you ever seen the face you make while never missing a beat with those maracas?  Or the way your Adam’s apple bobs?  Or how the spotlight shines on lips that you’ve licked at some point?  How am I not supposed to masturbate when I think about it?”

His fingers resumed their in-depth search of her hot sheath, but Jon leaned forward and nipped the tendon in her neck – harder than he normally would.  Hard enough so that her inner muscles clamped around harsh fingers while Delaney whimpered. 

“This pussy is mine.”  The terse whisper was barely recognizable as his voice.  “Nobody fucking touches it without my permission.  Nobody.  Not even you.  Got it?”

“You weren’t here.”

There was nothing that felt like the slick warmth of a woman’s intimate places.  If he had that slippery wetness at his disposal all day, every day, he’d never get his hand out of his crotch.  The fountain of arousal that was spilling out of Delaney made it all the more enticing.  He couldn’t really blame her for playing with herself, but if she was going to, he would have a front row seat to the show.

“You finger fuck yourself or rub your clit?” he grated in her ear before biting the lobe.  Her sharp gasp was a turn-on.  He liked delivering this kind of pain.  The kind that was offset by a finger driving through silk pinkness to the nub of flesh that was beaded with anticipation. 

“Both.”

Muscular thighs pulled wide to offer – request – more, but he didn’t want to give it.  Not now.  

Jon pinched her clit and dropped his hand, to which she whined with protest.  The denial would only enhance her appreciation of what was ahead, and he spun her away from him with another swat to the ass. 

“Bedroom.”

“But…“  Tiny, bare feet were reluctant to move, and Delaney peered over her shoulder as he slipped off his jacket to toss it over a dining room chair.

“Go.”  Forceful hands cupped her shoulders, propelling her forward.  “You’ve had your fun, now I’m going to have mine.”

She liked that idea.  Languid eyes glittered in the lamplight as she climbed onto the bed that had obviously been lain on, if not in, and damn if the maracas weren’t right there in the middle.  She started to scoot them toward the opposite side, but he interrupted.

“Nuh-uh.  Throw ‘em here,” he ordered, casting aside the black t-shirt that matched hers.  A light toss had them seated familiarly in his right hand.  They felt right and normal in his grasp, just not in the bedroom.  This was going to be a first, and Jon pulled a chair up to the bedside.

Her shirt landed on his, and now Delaney was naked on a rumpled sea of pale blue, watching him with curiosity as he took his seat. 

“What are you doing?”

“Seeing what I missed.  Show me how you play with your pussy.”

“I’m not doing that when…”

A calculated flick of his wrist brought the maracas to rhythmic life, and whatever she’d been about to say died on her lips as she watched the repetitive motion. 

“Lay down, spread your legs and show me,” he commanded softly.  “When I’ve seen enough, we’ll move onto something else.”

Goosebumps pimpled the flesh along her thighs, and Delaney’s nipples hardened into dusky diamond peaks that could cut glass.  Warming up to the idea, she leaned back on the pillows, and her hips settled to the mattress in time to the scrape of beads against plastic.

“Spread your legs.” 

This time, she didn’t hesitate.  With both heels on the mattress, she guided bent knees open to display one of the sweetest parts of a woman’s anatomy.  Smooth lips were already drawing apart of their own accord, and she pushed her middle finger down the center seam. 

“Thatta girl.  Put on a show for me.”

Delaney’s heart raced excitedly, but it had little to do with the pleasure of touching herself.  The mere sound of that simple instrument was capable of spiking her pulse.  The visual of a bare-chested Jon responsible for that sound – in her bedroom – was a whole new level of exhilaration. 

His dancing for her to “Color Me In” was a fun, sexy experience, but this was different.  She had history with those maracas that he couldn’t begin to understand.

With them rocking in his hand and marbled blue eyes fixated on her every move, Delaney was cradled in the fissure between fantasy and fact, rock star and reality, legend and lover.  This was the juncture where years of fandom tangled tantalizingly with the actuality of life, and the bottle of wine she’d drunk this evening encouraged her to be fanciful.  To let her imagination run wild.

“Mmmmmm…”

Her eyes drifted shut as her fingers drifted south, circling her belly button in time to the music before slipping lower.  There was no resistance.  Her body already knew what was on the horizon and it wept with anticipation.  The flooded folds glided easily under her touch, guided by the gentle rhythm Jon orchestrated. 

“Fuck yourself.”

She didn’t hesitate to obey the harshly murmured direction.  Fingers delved into her core with a mind of their own, uninterested in the sensuality of the act.  That’s not what he wanted.  It wasn’t what she wanted, and Delaney pumped roughly in accordance with the crudeness. 

“Nnnnhhh.”

“Hurt good?”

The pillow shifted under her head as it shook.  Maracas flooded her ears, desire flooded her fingers and anticipation flooded her veins, but it was only a prelude.  It would take him to make it good.  It would take his touch.  His manipulation.  His hurt.

“I want you.”

"Then tell me it's just fun tonight, baby.  No hiding behind brutal fucking to avoid something else.  Just me and you, doing what feels shamelessly right."

"Only you.  Only the places we go."

The beat came to a halt, with plastic and wood clattering gently against the rug.  When Delaney slit open her eyes, it was to find him peeling open his belt.  His jeans hit the floor, the mattress dipped and he locked hard fingers around her wrist.  Pounding fingers were slowly and deliberately extracted from her center as blue eyes mottled with desire locked into hers.  The mottling went murky as those fingers slipped through his lips and were subjected to a tongue bathing that had Delaney squirming. 

“Gamiseme,” she breathed, unable to bear it. 

“English.”  The harsh command came through lips that shone with her, and it was so erotically filthy that Delaney almost came from nothing more than the formation of his words.  “Ask me to fuck you in English.”

“I don’t say that.”

“You do tonight,” he countered with steely resolve.  “Or I won’t bite you.  Pull your hair.  Fuck you like a goddamn caveman the way you want.  Ask me, Delaney.”

God, he was beautiful.  So intense.  So focused.  So determined to do anything to get his way.  To give her her way.  He knew how to make it unforgettable and life-changing, and Delaney trusted him to do it.

“Fuck me.”

It was no more than a breath that he stole when clamping his musky mouth over hers, driving inside with the same ferocity in which he drove into her womb.  Calculated fingers tangled and tugged, and he swallowed her moans.  A cruelly twisted nipple, a gasp of agonized ecstasy.  A bitten neck, a yelp of pleasured pain.  A violent meeting of man versus woman, wails of rapture.

Fantasy.  Reality.  Torture.  Bliss. 

Everything came together under his touch.

Everything.