71 - Tick Tock

“You gonna tell me what the fuck is going on now?” Matt inquired drolly as he and Jon took a seat in the Tick Tock Diner.  “I know you didn’t drag my ass into the city to eat greasy diner food.”

Delaney wasn’t here yet, but Jon had picked a central table.  He should be able to keep an eye on things no matter where she and Paramedic Prick decided to have their coffee meeting, and if things didn’t go to Jon’s liking…

Well, that’s why he’d invited his little brother to a place that neither of them would go out of their way to patronize.  

“Little” only applied in the sense that Matt was twelve years younger, and his bulked-up sibling had pulled bodyguard duty for Jon by knowing how to use that bulk.  It would be good having him on hand should anything go awry. 

Jon shifted in the fifties-style chair while resituating the Patriots’ cap intended to make him less conspicuous.  It was his only concession to going incognito, though.  Nothing he owned was more nondescript than the navy t-shirt and jeans he would’ve worn, anyway.

“Delaney’s meeting somebody here, and I want to monitor the situation.”

“I’m sorry.”  Matt poked a finger in his ear and wiggled before pulling it free.  “I must be losing my fucking hearing.  We’re here to spy on Bounce?”

Flipping open the cover of the multi-page menu that he’d never order from, Jon ignored the nickname that wasn’t as bothersome as it used to be.  He chose to peruse the million-calorie omelet selection instead of acknowledging it or facing the gaping incredulity across the table.

“Not spy.  Monitor.”

“Is this somebody a guy?”

Blue eyes lifted to blue.  This had nothing to do with jealousy, and his hard look dared Matt to go down that path.   

“Jesus Christ, it is.”  Challenge accepted, dammit.  “You’ve had a girlfriend for two weeks, and you already don’t trust her?  And give enough of a shit to hide behind a menu and watch her betray that trust?  Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

Jon’s middle finger subtly lifted while all the others stayed curled around the menu.  “I trust her fine, and I’m not fucking hiding.  She knows I’ll be here, because it’s the guy I don’t trust.”

“I still got no words for this.  You’re gonna have to fill me in.”

While he was providing Matt with the background about Paramedic Prick – Hugo – a waiter came and took the order for Jon’s coffee and his brother’s burger.  The coffee arrived by the time he was done, and as he threaded his middle two fingers through the handle, Matt’s gaze steadily swept the restaurant. 

He’d shifted into protector mode, which meant Jon could relax a little.  It was just a couple of minutes before one, so things should get underway soon.

His covert surveillance of the room never stopped, but Matt briefly flicked questioning eyes at Jon.  “So, what’s the deal with you and this girl?  I mean, I saw the pictures from the beach, but what’s the real story?”

“Exactly what the pictures imply,” he confirmed, taking the sunglasses from his neckline and parking them on the table.  “We’re together in every sense of the word.  I moved in with her until my apartment’s ready, and Petra’s already been putting the thumbscrews to me about marriage, even though Mou says she’s not interested.”

There was a long pause before Matt slowly admitted, “Mou?  Marriage? Moved in? I only thought I had no words before.  Now I feel like a mother fuckin' mime in an episode of The Twilight Zone."

The nickname was easiest to address, so he explained it before moving onto the rest by essentially repeating what he’d told David.  It may not make a damn bit of sense, but this was how it would be.  Everybody might as well get used to it and accept her as part of the family.

“That the ultimatum you gave the kids?  Get used to it?”

“No.  They were offered the opportunity to provide input if they so chose, but they didn’t.  The boys all love her to death, and Steph… is accepting.  They’ll become better friends in time.”

That was mostly on Delaney, but he had faith that she was going to make the effort.  That she was capable of making the effort.  If only Poppy would get on board, they’d be living the mixed family dream.

“And Dorothea?”

Jon fidgeted restlessly with the silverware, wishing to for her rendezvous to be over as he absently replied, “She’s fine.  Thinks I don’t deserve Delaney.  I probably don’t, but Delaney disagrees and I’m not gonna correct her.”

A close-cropped head shook in wonder.  “I have no idea how you manage to fall into a pile of shit and come out smelling like roses every single damn time.”

“Usually because I work like a son of a bitch.  This time, I just got lucky.”

Matt dipped his chin, the line of his gaze pinpointing a spot beyond Jon.  “There’s Bounce, but she’s alone.”

Twisting in his seat, he found that Delaney looked nearly nothing as she had when leaving home this morning.  Instead of a bare face and baggy Dandelion Dreams tee, her non-ripped jeans were now paired with the black blouse from one of the shows – the one that accented her hourglass figure.

 Its cleavage-exposing neckline was emphasized by a chunky silver necklace, which matched a pair dangly earrings that were also a recent addition.  As if it weren’t enough, she’d also gone with a liberal application of makeup and upswept hair. 

She was a beautiful petite bombshell, and it irritated Jon like an angry case of jock itch. 

Yes, she’d promised when going out the door that she would look better for all the parents in Jersey.  That’s probably what this was, but the fact that it coincided with her coffee “meeting” was aggravating as fuck.

The expressive eyes that spotted him and rolled high before turning to a booth and its lone occupant didn’t do anything to appease.  Especially when she went overboard showering the guy with dimples. 

“Watch every fucking move,” he muttered to the brother that didn’t need prompting.  Matt was already poised and alert.  If Paramedic Prick made one wrong move, his ass was grass.

Delaney had known Jon would be lurking around and had even made her peace with it.  What she hadn’t expected was for him to bring along a bodyguard.  That was a whole lot of overkill from her perspective, but there wasn’t time to dwell upon it.  The man in the blue plaid shirt was rising to meet her.

“Hi,” she greeted cheerily, accepting his outstretched hand.  “I guess I don’t really need to introduce myself, but I’m Delaney.”

“And I’m glad to meet you under somewhat more pleasant circumstances.”  The smile inside a chocolate goatee was pleasant and strong fingers squeezed hers for a split second before releasing.  “Hugo Langfelder.  I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you actually showed up.  Thank you.”

A shiver of trepidation pimpled the skin on her forearms, and Delaney immediately developed a newfound appreciation for her souley and his bodyguard.   The guy was nervous and twitchy, wiping sweaty palms on his jeans.  

This could go very wrong.

“Yeah.  No worries.”  Sliding into the booth while he did the same on the other side, she nervously prattled, “Thanks for calling this morning with the heads up on what you’d be wearing.  I do kinda recognize you, but I’m not sure I wouldn’t have ended up at his table.”

Looking in the direction she gestured with her tilted head, Hugo laughed.  The solo man having lunch on other side of the aisle was also bald with a goatee, but that’s where the resemblance ended.  Tattoos, leather, chains and his aura of intimidation would’ve had per backpedaling right out the door.

“Wouldn’t want that to happen,” he agreed.  “Although by the time this is over you may think he’s the better choice.”

Her pimpled flesh puckered into goosebumps of steel.  That didn’t sound the least bit ominous.  Not at all.

“And why would you say that?”

Brown eyes sought hers, and there was indecision and unrest in their depths.  “My wife has spent five years telling me I shouldn’t do this.  Now, finally meeting you and looking at your face, I’m concerned she may be right.”

Delaney’s brow instantly slammed down with confusion.  Masculine hands were folded together on the tabletop, and it only took a glance to confirm that the left one bore a thick gold band. 

Great googley moogley, he’s married.  And his wife has been trying to talk him out of this for five frippin’ years? 

If that didn’t affirm Jon’s “sicko stalker” character assessment of the man, nothing did, and the only thing that kept her from sliding right back out of that booth and walking away was the Bongiovi brothers’ watchfulness. 

From where she sat, Delaney could plainly see Matt eating a burger and Jon’s hands casually draped around a coffee mug, but neither man was relaxed.  Both were attentively surveying the unfolding scene.   There wasn’t a breath being taken at her table that they weren’t aware of, and their vigilance what kept her from running like a scared rabbit.

“Five years?” She gave an attempt at a light chuckle.  “I thought we only met last month?”

Light bounced off the glossy dome of his skull as Hugo angled his head in concession.  “That’s true, but I’ve known of you much longer.”

Dread clutched the muscles of her stomach, and Delaney inched marginally closer to the edge of the bench seat.  She was officially freaked out and began twirling her forget-me-not thumb ring as an outlet for the anxiety

“How so?”

Hugo’s smile was a bit embarrassed, but he reached out to place a stilling hand over hers.  The physical contact had Matt poised to pounce and Jon’s knuckles white around the mug, but she gave a subtle head shake that kept them at bay while Hugo soothed, “Relax, Delaney.  I think I’ve handled this badly.”

Retreating from his grasp, she deposited both hands in her lap and fixed him with a cool glare.  “You have thirty seconds to figure out a better way to handle it.”

“Yeah, sure.  Sorry.”  Expelling a deep breath, he also dropped hands in lap to say, “My son Kyle graduated with Violet and Poppy.”

Her cemented shoulders lost a bit of their inflexibility at the mention of her daughters.  It was the surest way to ease her nerves, but she didn’t recall any Langfelders in the girls’ graduating class.  Delaney had known nearly all of the kids, if not by face, at least by mention.  Violet and Poppy would always flop across the foot of her bed when coming home from a party or sporting event, and they shared all the school gossip. 

“The only Kyle I remember from their class is Kyle Garvey.  He was in their homeroom and… Poppy’s chemistry class, I think.”

Hugo nodded.  “That’s my son.  Legally, my stepson, but his mother and I have been married since Kyle was a toddler.  His biological father wouldn’t let me adopt, so we have different last names.”

 

The last time she’d heard Kyle’s name was the day Violet died, and now – here, with his father – Delaney felt herself go numb. 

“I can tell you just made the connection,” he observed gently.  “It was my house where…  God, I’m so very sorry Delaney.”

The party was in the basement of his house that Memorial Day weekend.  Kyle Garvey hosted the party where Violet overdosed. 

Delaney vaguely recalled receiving a sympathy card from the family, and even more vaguely remembered Petra keeping them away from her at the funeral.  He wasn’t completely bald then, but Hugo’s goatee was the same as the man who’d wanted a word with her when she hadn’t been willing to speak with anyone. 

She still had no interest in talking to someone who couldn’t keep heroin out of his home, and she made that clear with a frosty, “Your sympathy card said that just fine.  What do you want?”

Across the restaurant, the two observers to the scene couldn’t hear what was being said, but the body language was loud and clear. 

“She’s pissed,” Matt murmured without averting his eyes from the pair who were now both sitting with stilted posture. 

Jon had seen the lighting split her irises from his seat thirty feet away, so he had no doubt that his brother’s call was right on the money.  As long as she wasn’t in danger, though, he wouldn’t interfere.  Mou could take care of herself in any argument.    

“Pissed is good.  It means he doesn’t have her blinded with charm, and she won’t take any shit from him.”

He’d like to see her wrap this up and be done with it, but Jon it looked like he might have to sit on his hands at least a few minutes longer.  The paramedic was leaned forward doing some serious fast talking.

“I have something that I wanted to tell you – give you – years ago,” Hugo said in earnest, but Delaney’s stance didn’t soften.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I tried at the funeral, but your sister was adamant about keeping people away.  Afterward, my wife convinced me to let it go.  She said it would just make things harder for you, so I tried to forget about it – until I picked you off the sidewalk in Greenwich Village.  It was too coincidental, and now I can’t let it go anymore.”

“Why?” she demanded.  “Why can’t you?  Is this supposed to ease your conscience?  Make you feel better about what you allowed to go on in your house?  Because there’s not an egg sucking thing you can say or do that will make a difference to me.  I lost both my daughters because of that day, in case you didn’t know.  Poppy walked away after the funeral and never came back, so I have nothing that your freeping clear conscience will fix.”

Blood rushed through her ears at the arrogance of this stupid man.  She wasn’t here to make him sleep better at night, and she sure as shooting didn’t care whether he did.  If there was anyone she’d ever subconsciously blamed for this – besides herself and Violet – it was him.

This meeting was over.

Scooting out of the booth, Delaney stood only to have steely fingers close around her wrist.  Matt was on his feet in a flash, but she tersely shook him away.  Whatever kind of anus this man was, he wasn’t the kind to hurt her.

Hugo proved that by quietly appeasing, “I understand why you’d be angry with me.  You’re wrong, but I still understand.”

“As if I care.”

Frustration was evident in the harsh breath he expelled, but he didn’t push the subject.  Hugo merely withdrew something from a pants pocket and held out his open palm.  In it was a computer flash drive that looked very much like the ones her girls had used for school assignments and the like. 

“We had a nanny cam in our basement, and it was on during the party.  I thought maybe you’d want to see what happened, but if you don’t, fine.  Like you said, my conscience is clear.  Take it.  Please.”

Violet.  You sent me my answers.

Yet she couldn’t make herself move to take the black piece of plastic.

“Please.”  Hugo pushed his open palm closer.  “Whatever you may think of me, Delaney, please know that I’ve prayed for you and your family day in and day out since it happened.  And that I’m truly, truly sorry for your loss.”

When she still didn’t take the flash drive, Hugo placed it on the blue Formica tabletop and slid from the booth to tower over her.  "There are two versions on there.  I’d suggest watching the one that says ‘edited’ if you don't want to see Violet’s last moments."

Then he walked away, leaving Delaney to stare at the device with hope-filled terror.

Now that I have the answers, do I really want to know?

70 - And So Will I

“Looks pretty good,” Delaney complimented herself in the bathroom mirror.  It wasn’t a shade of brown she’d tried before, but the box bearing the name “Espresso” was just fine.  She would add it to her short list of favorites for next time. 

One of these days, she might even go back to her original auburn just to give Jon the chance to prove his assertion that anybody could tell her and Petra apart, even with the same hair color.  

Flashing a two-dimple grin at herself, she pulled on her oversized t-shirt and yoga pants for a wine date with her souley. 

The coloring process, shower and hair drying took a good half hour, which meant he’d had enough time to get a head start on a bottle of wine, and that was perfect.  A little buzz would make the news of her date – no, meeting – with Hugo go over more easily, even though she fully intended to make this come over as a non-issue. 

Something like, oh by the way, she finally agreed to see what Hugo wanted, and they were meeting in a very public diner.  It would be a quick in and out thing taking a half-hour, tops.  That left plenty of time to deliver Jake’s prom flowers, and if Jon wanted to make the trip to Jersey with her, they could meet up at the shop – or she’d catch an Uber.  Whatever he wanted. 

Then they’d drink wine, cuddle, and go crawl in bed together for the night.

It would be that easy. 

Probably. 

She hiked her shoulders with indifference and turned the bathroom knob.  Easy or not, it would be over in a few minutes.  That’s all she cared about, and Delaney pasted on a smile as she breezed into the living room to get it done. 

Before she could even open her mouth for a greeting, his head snapped up.  “Do you want to get married?”

Skidding to a stop several feet short of the couch, Delaney blinked twice, tilted her head slightly and studied Jon through narrowed eyes. 

He looked perfectly normal kicked back on her sofa with his phone in one hand and an empty wineglass in the other.  Rocking what she considered to be his Hamptons look of shorts and sleeveless t-shirt, he had bare feet and crossed ankles propped on the coffee table, looking very much at home in her living room. 

Eyeing things a little further, she found that there was another empty wineglass next to his right foot – hers, she presumed – along with a half-drained Hampton Water bottle. 

Okay.  Yeah.  He’d definitely gotten a head start, but he usually held his wine better than this.

“Are you drunk?”

“No, I’m not fucking drunk.”  The stone-cold sober expression tipped toward annoyance.  “Do you want to get married?”

She blinked again, but there was no twitch of his lips.  No twinkle of humor.   

Flock a duck. 

He was serious. 

“Uh.  Are you asking?”

Please say no.  I love you, but please say no.

The corners of his mouth pulled down briefly as Jon’s feet hit the floor with a thump. 

“Your sister has informed me she’s available to go ring shopping with me any day next week,” he recited flatly while plunking both the phone and glass onto the table.  “And that you’d like to be married in a field of sunflowers, which will be full bloom in September, so I might want to keep that in mind.” 

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed, putting a hand over her heart. 

He wasn’t proposing.  Knowing and accepting that they were souleys was one thing.  Marriage was a whole different kettle of fish and stunk like one.  Not that she was soured on the institution of marriage, but holy macaroni.   They were already at Mach 3 in this relationship.  There was no reason to bump it up to Mach 5. 

“That isn’t an answer, Delaney.”

“Sorry.”  Use of her actual name told Delaney he wasn’t a happy camper, and she threw her hands up in innocence.  “That’s all Petra, not me, I swear.”

“So you haven’t discussed marriage with her?  Marriage to me?”

Meeting the eyes that she’d come to learn would both see and show everything, Delaney spoke succinctly.  “No.  I was talking to her and Marilee this morning, mentioning that… you know.  Souley thing.  Her first response was to ask when we were getting married, and I told her the twelfth of never.  Beyond that, no.  Absolutely not.”

He held her gaze another couple of seconds before his nostrils flared with a quiet huff.  “Your sister is a pain in the ass.”

“You think if you say it often enough that’ll change?  Good luck.  Forty-seven years later, it still hasn’t done diddle for me.”  Standing over him, she cradled his still-clenched jaw.  “Did she call you just for that?  I told her to stop using your number, but if you need to block her, do it and don’t be a shizzling bit sorry about it.”

Mosaic blue irises lifted, and she could see giggles dancing in them.  “Shizzling?”

“Yeah.  So?”

“Can you rap, too?”

“Pfft.  Can’t everybody?” 

Her hand fell away so that she could start catching up in the wine department, and there was a clink of glass and bottle as she poured a much-needed drink. 

Petra must die.  Or have the doodle biscuits embarrassed out of her.  That would probably be more satisfying and not require another trip to the cemetery.  Duct taping Monistat to the outside of that stupid purse of hers might do the trick, and Delaney wouldn’t even have to go buy any.  There was probably some inside. 

“That’s a joke, right?”

She pushed the stopper back in the bottle and snorted at his uncertainty.   After her impromptu concert on the beach, she supposed he considered it feasible.  “The rapping, yes.  Blocking Petra, no.”

“Nah.  I won’t block her.  Not yet.”  His attention shifted to the birdcage where Nero had just awakened with a showy flap of wings.  “What’s Katya’s last name?”

Settling on the couch, she got a warm fuzzy or two when a bare arm lifted to invite her closer to him.  What kind of fool refused that offer?  Not Delaney’s kind, and she cuddled closer.

“Zawodny.  Why?” 

“I’m having somebody look into her.”

“Oh.” 

“Problem?” he inquired and proceeded to pluck the wineglass from her hand and take a drink – without bothering to return it.

With a piqued frown cast over her shoulder, Delaney gave up her niche against him to fill the other glass.  “Not even a little one, rosè robber.  I was just wondering how many people work for you.” 

“I don’t know.”

Snuggling back in against him, she asked incredulously, “How do you not know?”

“It’s a fluid number,” he defended.  “Some are seasonal, some on-demand, others only work the tour.”

“Okay, so what’s an average?”

“More than a few.”

She poked him in the ribs just to hear him complain and doubted she’d ever get used the ways of wealthy.

You’d better get used to it if you’re keeping him.

Well, she didn’t have to get used to it today.  Today, the only thing left she had to do was…

“Remember the paramedic that was trying to get in touch with me?”

‘The sick fuck that stalks ambulance patients?  Yeah.”

She poked him in the ribs again, earning a grunt of annoyance.  “You don’t know that he’s a sicko or a stalker.”

“And you don’t know he isn’t,” Jon countered, tugging at the hair hanging loosely around her shoulders.  “Nice color, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

After finally finding the time and opening to tell him, he was going to blow off her intro and change the subject?  Seriously?  Why was this so difficult?

Because you shouldn’t have accepted a coffee date out of spite.

Well, she might be spiteful, but Delaney wasn’t dishonest. 

“He called yesterday and asked me to have coffee.  I’m meeting him tomorrow.”

The ribcage pressed against hers swelled with his annoyed sigh.  “You were awful damn busy auditioning my replacements yesterday.”

That wasn’t exactly the way she would’ve chosen to phrase it, but there was no denying that’s how it appeared. 

“It was a rough day and agreeing to have coffee is hardly auditioning your replacement.”

“Call it what you want.  The intent was the same.  You were pissed about something I didn’t do, so you accepted a date.  And let a guy grope your ass.”

“Geez Louise, let the groping go already,” she huffed, sitting up to twist and look him in the face.  “I thought we’d moved past that.”

“I thought we had, too,” came his sour retort along with a stubbornly tilted chin.  “But until I get a final body count on your payback attempts, it’s in limbo.”

The back of her hand landed thumped his thigh in admonishment.  “Don’t be a baby.  You had wine with Christie Brinkley.  I’m having coffee with a non-celebrity.  My meeting is tremendously less noteworthy than yours, but neither of them mean a dratted thing.”

“There’s a big difference.  I didn’t have wine with Christie because I got my panties in a twist.”

“You don’t wear panties, and I’m just going to find out what the hey he wants.  I’m tired of dodging him.”

“Don’t dodge him,” Jon advised calmly, reaching to take the last of the wine.  “Give me a name and I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you again.”

“How?  Are you going to pull in one of your ‘on-demand’ employees?”

“Maybe.”  He didn’t meet her eyes when he let the slowly drawled word slip off his tongue, and it was so Godfather dramatic that she couldn’t take him seriously.

“You’re being father forking ridiculous.  I’m going to meet the man at one.  There’s your courtesy notice, and I’ll be back at the shop by two if you want to ride to Jersey together.  If not, I’ll catch an Uber.”

Lazy eyes glanced over his shoulder and Jon kicked up a disdainful eyebrow.  “I’m going with you.”

Yeah, that wouldn’t be awkward.  The whole thing danced on the edge of weird, anyway, but bringing her souley along for what Hugo considered a date…  Miss Manners definitely wouldn’t approve.

“No you’re not.”

The eyebrow hiked higher in challenge.  “Yes I am.”

His cockiness lit the fuse on her short temper, escalating this from a terse discussion into a heated debate. 

“What happened to not being jealous, Jon?” she demanded hotly.

“What happened to using some fucking common sense, Delaney?”  A spurt of annoyance was displayed when the heel of his hand smashed the stopper into place, even though the bottle was empty.  “You don’t know this guy.  He’s been hot on your ass for what?  Weeks now?  Even if he was legit, the fucker should’ve gotten the hint that he wasn’t wanted.  It ain’t right.”

Frustration hissed out her nose, as Delaney was forced to admit the truth in what he said.  Hugo had been awfully persistent, and her gut had been telling her to avoid him up until the opportune timing of his call.  But now that she’d made the commitment, she wanted to see it done and over.

“It’s a diner in the middle of Manhattan,” she calmly pointed out to both of them.  “There will be a swarm of people around.”

“Including me.”  The crystalline glare dared her to contradict him again.

He loves you.  This is one of his actions, Delaney.  Appreciate it instead of fighting it.

“Fine.  Come have coffee at the next table if it makes you feel better, but don’t play the jealous lover.  It’s beneath both of us.”

He lifted his glass as she put hers on the table.  She couldn’t read the thoughts simmering over the rim as he sipped, but there was no need to wait long. 

“Maybe I should get you a ring,” he speculated. 

Exasperated eyes rolled up and to the side.  “Have you seen how many rings I have?  One of which you did get me.  I don’t need or want another a ring.  If there comes a day when – despite my sister – you decide you want an actual show of commitment, get me an apple tree.”

“What in the goddamn hell?”

His utter confusion was comical enough to tilt one side of Delaney’s mouth.  Wealth truly hadn’t refined the Jersey boy.  Not outside the camera’s eye, and it was one of the million things she adored about him. 

“It’s a Greek symbol of love and marriage.  My parents have had one in the front yard since they bought the house.”

“As nice as that is, it wouldn’t prevent shit like this.  A three-carat diamond will tell a guy in no uncertain terms that you’re not available.”   

Leaning forward to capture his chin in her fingers, she peered into the soul that was the other half of hers – antagonism and all – and gently assured, “And so will I.”

69 - Souleys

Jon pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss against the back of Delaney’s neck and eased out of her with an affectionate pat on the rump. 

They hadn’t made it far inside the apartment before he “good and truly” did her.  In fact, they hadn’t made it any further than the dining room table before he bent Delaney over it, dropped his pants and flipped up her skirt.  It was fast, it was furious, and it was fan-freeping-tastic.  There was nothing quite like being manhandled by a man who knew how to handle her, and Jon most definitely did. 

The pulse still pounded like a freight train in her ears when he righted the panties and skirt that he’d so determinedly wronged. 

“You gonna move?”

She didn’t have the energy to berate him for his obnoxious sarcasm and barely managed to hoist a single finger in his direction.  “My knees were still knocking from the car when you went all caveman on me, here, baby.  I’m not used to being so…"

“Well-fucked?” he offered helpfully, sounding quite pleased with himself.  “And that’s barbarian, baby.  Not caveman.  Barbarian has a better tool.”

Delaney’s forehead fell with a dull thump onto the tabletop as the snort tickled her throat.  Rich man or poor, they were all little boys fascinated by the quality of their tools.  “You’re something else, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”  With his jeans buttoned again, Jon hooked both her elbows and gently tugged until Delaney stood upright.  A slow spin had her in his arms, and she snuggled a cheek against the heart that hadn’t quite slowed down yet either.  It was a good place to be, and Delaney sighed happily, knotting her fingers at the small of his back.

How in the world had she gotten this lucky?  The man was in excellent shape, and boy did he like sex.  There weren’t as many orgasms in the first month of her marriage as in this first two weeks with Jon.  Then again, she’d also had two preschoolers underfoot in the married days.  That tended to limit opportunity.

She wondered where this ranked on his scale of normal.

“How often do you typically have sex?”

Bending to press smiling lips against her temple, he confessed, “Before a little Greek leprechaun came into my life?  Not this much.  You make me horny, Mou.”

She closed one eye and peered up with the other.  “So, this isn’t going to be a once-a-week-on-Friday kind of thing, then?”

“Nope.”  He smoothed wayward hair from her forehead with laugh lines softening his rugged good looks.  “But you can count on an encore this particular Friday.  After I make a couple of phone calls, we can both have a glass of wine and recharge for round two.”

“Round three for me,” she reminded, easing out of his arms with a laugh.  “Not that I’m complaining.  I do have to wash my hair, though, so I’m going to tie up the bathroom for a while.  You need in there first?”

“Yeah.  For a minute.”

Encouraging over her shoulder for him to take his time, Delaney veered toward the bedroom as he closed the door but didn't make it through the doorway before drawing up short.  

There had been no evidence of his occupancy in the main living area.  In fact, she’d almost forgotten he temporarily moved in, but now there was no denying it. 

Two black leather bags – an overnighter and empty laptop case – were at the foot of the bed.  The overnighter spilled jeans, socks and a pair of shorts onto the floor, and a dark shirt hung from the brass headboard post.  One of the her two armchairs was pulled up next to the bed, where a Macbook sat open with its dark screen.  Propped in the other armchair was a guitar.

Not just any guitar.  The guitar. 

The black acoustic with the initials “AP” carved into the body.  The same one that had a silver fighting Irishman adhered to its front in recent years.  

Jon Bon Jovi’s famous and revered Takamine.

Judas Priest.  Jon Bon Jovi is living in my dinky apartment.

She’d become so immersed in the man who was stealing her heart and claiming her soul, that his “real” identity had fallen to the edges of Delaney’s awareness.  

The guy peeing in the next room was just a guy who, as part of his goodbye to his kids, reminded them to respect their mother.  Who frivolously offered to pick out the color of an imaginary prom dress.  Who was turned on by the soundtrack of carnality.

“Shit,” the man who smelled like Delaney and sex muttered from behind her.  “I meant to put that stuff away.  Sorry.”

Jon squeezed past to scoop up the laptop and slide it in the proper bag before cramming the spilled clothing back into his carryall.   With disheveled hair and sheepish expression, he looked like a little boy who’d been scolded for not cleaning his room.

Shaking her head, Delaney laughingly ordered, “Stop.  It’s fine.  I wasn’t judging your slovenly ways.  I just got… overwhelmed for a minute.”

“Overwhelmed that I’m gonna commandeer your house?” he asked over a shoulder, using his foot to scoot the duffel to the corner and dropping the computer case on top.  “I won’t.  Much.”

“Take over as much as you want.  I honestly don’t care.”

Straightening, he turned to her with questioning eyes and hooked both hands over his hips.  “Then what?”

Delaney pulled her mouth into a wry twist and pointed to the guitar.  “That belongs to Jon Bon Jovi.”

“Yeahhh?”  There was no dawning understanding in his eyes.  The man who usually just knew everything didn’t get it, and she began to feel a little silly. 

“One of the most recognizable instruments of the music world is sitting in my bedroom, and it belongs to my…  boyfriend, for lack of a better term.”  She gave a laughing shake to her head.  “It’s stupid, but I guess I lost track of who are until I saw the guitar.”  

There wasn’t a single fucking thing she could’ve said to please him more, and Jon grinned at his… girlfriend, he supposed.  Crossing the short amount of floor space between them, he palmed the back of her head and delivered a kiss rife with a rabid tenderness that had Delaney clutching the front of his shirt and purring. 

“It makes me fucking ecstatic that you see me instead of my job,” he murmured, sweeping his thumb under shiny lip.  “And we need to find better words.  Boyfriend/girlfriend makes me feel like a dumbass kid again.”

Glazed eyes blinked, and two prominent dimples slowly eased into bloom, making his heart beat stronger.  Love was such a strange thing.  Who’d ever believe that he could be head over heels for a fan faster than you could say “divorce decree”?  Not him, for damn sure.  With Mou, though, it was like they’d known one another forever.  Their meeting just got delayed somewhere along the way. 

“We’re souleys,” she proclaimed with quiet authority.  “Not that it sounds much more adult than the other, but it feels more fitting.  To me, anyway.”

He rolled it over in his mind, finding it a little peculiar, but then again, so was this whole damn thing.  “It’ll work.  Now, go wash your hair while I open some wine and make some calls.”

“Okay.”  She popped up onto her toes for another quick dusting of lips, and then slid away to kick her shoes into the closet.  “Do yourself a favor and don’t wait on me to drink.  I have something to talk to you about when I’m done in the bathroom.”

He still had something to talk to her about, too, but Jon was going to defer it another day.  With Katya and kids and grief, they’d had enough sharing of souls – souleying? – for the duration.  His encounter with Poppy could wait. 

“Jesus Christ,” he groused at her departing back.  “How bad is it if you want me boozed up beforehand?”

“You like being a little drunk.  Take the excuse and run with it,” came the sing-song reply – followed by a soft click that indicated she’d closed the bathroom door.

It was kind of odd finding himself on the other end of this knowing somebody thing.  Jon chuckled at knowing Delaney hadn’t been too far off the mark when calling him a high-functioning alcoholic.  There were evenings he didn’t want to get through without the assistance of fermented grapes.  He could, but the truth was, he loved his wine. 

With that thought in mind, he quickly shed his shoes and changed into shorts and a sleeveless tee so he could pad toward the freshly stocked fridge.  There might have been a mess in her bedroom, but the bottom shelf of her refrigerator was neatly stacked with half a dozen Hampton Wine bottles that should be perfectly chilled by now. 

Withdrawing one with his left hand, Jon used the right hand to tap a contact number and tuck the phone to his cheek.  He peeked in the nearest cabinet while the call rang through.

Where does she keep the wine glasses?

They were hidden in the last cabinet on the row, naturally, and he was just taking them down when a familiar voice answered, “Hey, asshole.  What’s up?”

“Lema, you are a charmer.  No wonder you got laid so often in the eighties.”

“Well, I’ve had to temper it in recent years.  Married life, yanno.”

Jon grinned into his shoulder and popped the glass stopper that was holding his inebriation hostage.  One of his oldest friends, David was also arguably his craziest.  “We still on for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Hell, yes,” the man on the other end guffawed.  “I have to counsel young Gidget so that she knows what the fuck she’s gotten herself into.”

There was probably more truth to that statement than the joking tone implied, and Jon wasn’t put off by the reality check David would provide.  It was a given that his Mou didn’t scare easily, but things so far had been easy.  Fast, but easy.  There would come a time when he turned into a self-involved, work-driven asshole, and it was never far into the future. 

If Dave outed him, then Jon wouldn’t blindside his – the grin went wider as rosè splashed into the glass – souley with that unpleasant facet of his personality. 

“Not a bad idea,” he concurred, slipping  the full glass stem between his fingers and scooping up the empty and bottle to take along to the coffee table.  “But can we change venue?”

“Sure.  You don’t like the place in the Village, we can hit that sushi spot in Midtown.  As long as there’s booze, I’m in.”

Speaking of high-functioning alcoholics…

David Bryan could drink any man and half a fleet of sailors under the table while appearing perfectly coherent.  It was the damnedest thing. 

“I was thinkin’ something a little different.”  Jon scooted his ass forward on the couch cushion, propped his feet on the edge of the table, let his head hit the leather bac, and proceeded to relay his plan. 

When he was finished, there was a moment of silence.  Actually, more than a moment.  It was quiet for so long that Jon swallowed the last of his rosè and was forced to prompt, “Dave?”

“Yeah, I’m here.  Just marveling at the mysteries of the universe.”

“Well, could you marvel later, fucker?  I’ve got other calls to make.  Yes or no?”

“Like I really need to answer.  You knew I’d say yes before you asked.”

Jon hadn’t known, but he’d had a pretty damn good idea.  He could count on one hand the number of times he’d called Dave and been refused.  He could count on one finger how many times he’d been the one doing the refusing, and it involved a set of triplets, a limo and a sex toy convention.  Bad news all the way around, but his buddy still referred to it as a fond memory.  Whatever.

“Then fucking say it so I can move on to the next person on my phone list.”

“Ah, if only it were that easy.”  The evilly maniacal undertone was classic Lema, as was the mad scientist laugh that followed.  Jon thought he was in for a ration of shit until the man they referred to as Joker delivered a stone-cold sober, “You’re really into this girl.”

“I love her.”  The words came easy and would guarantee the predicted ration of shit, but that was the way this friendship worked.  They didn’t answer a call with anything but yes, and they didn’t bullshit one another. 

“You mean your dick loves her.”

“That, too,” he snickered while splashing out another serving of wine.  “But it’s a separate thing.”

“How the fuck do you do that?  Go from a marriage the pre-dates the cavemen to the L-word in a week’s time?”

Strangely enough, the question wasn’t laced with sarcasm or cynicism.  There was nothing but genuine curiosity, so Jon didn’t screw around.  He swallowed some wine and spoke the unvarnished truth.

“I’ve got no fucking idea,” he admitted.  “There’s this connection there, and it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced.  Ever, man.  Her sister told this story about their parents being soulmates and I swear to God, when I heard that, it just clicked.  I don’t know any other way to describe the feeling that I’ve known her my whole life.”

“Well, alrighty then.  Jonny’s got a soulmate.”

The absentee sarcasm had come home to roost, and its wings were flapping to herald the arrival.  There was no smoothing the feathers or blithely escaping it.  The only thing Jon could do was face it down and accept its presence. 

“We prefer to be called ‘souleys’, thank you very much.”

“Well, duh.  Who the hell wouldn’t?” David cackled.  “You’re dry fucked, JBJ.  This woman is Superman’s kryptonite, and I’m so excited about this thing tomorrow night that I might piss my pants.  What time?”

Superman’s kryptonite. 

Proof that what gives you strength can also kill you.

Maybe, but telling someone about being a souley was all the soft underbelly Jon was going to expose tonight.  Dave’s kryptonite theory would go unconfirmed.

“Seven.  I’ll text with the rest of the details.  Thanks, man.”

Without even a goodbye, Jon disconnected the call.  He had shit to accomplish and a short time in which to do it.  Taking a deep breath, he pulled up the messaging app and braced himself. 

[8:37 PM]JON:  I need a favor, Petra.

*68 - Fierce

“Everything okay?”  There were more questions than that in Jon’s eyes when Delaney returned to the table, but he kept it simple.  She assumed that was for the boys’ benefit and gratefully accepted his discretion.

“Fine, but we’ll be picking up her check, too.  Dinner’s on me,” was her apologetic non-explanation. 

“I don’t care about the check, Mou.”

He’d barely had the chance to scowl and she the opportunity to reseat herself when Romeo offered with quiet admiration, “That was impressive.”

“What?”  she inquired innocently, knowing that they couldn’t have heard the threats she made to Katya.  Maybe they were pointless, but she’d felt better telling the woman to keep her mouth shut or the next time she would forcibly choke on her lies.  “I didn’t do anything but talk to a former employee.”

“You were a fearless bad ass,” he countered.

“Facts,” was Jake’s declaration, and he leaned over the table to elaborate.  “She was like twice your size, and you barely blinked.  Just so you know, if she tried to throw down on you, we had your back.  Not that we’d hurt even an Amazon woman, but she would’ve been locked up in a couple pairs of living, breathing handcuffs.”

“Truth.”

Both brothers bumped knuckles, and Delaney’s grin couldn’t be restrained. 

She’d liked Jon’s kids from the beginning.  Then, just this evening, a soft spot blossomed in her heart upon hearing Jake address her as “Laney”, like family and her closest friends did.  Finding that the boys were ready to follow in Uncle Matt’s bodyguard footsteps for her, Delaney was hooked.  She adored these kids and would do anything for them, including cancelling on Hugo in favor of delivering prom flowers, if that's what it came down to.

Jon and Dorothea were raising exceptional children and it was an honor being accepted into their fold.

“Okay, okay,” Jon chided as their pizza arrived.  “You’re all bad asses.  Can we eat now?”

That was all it took to redirect the attention of two teenage guys, and as they dove in, their father leaned in to speak in Delaney’s ear.  “You’ll tell me everything when we get home.” 

Home. 

For the present, “home” for both of them was her apartment.  The stark realism brought Delaney’s first moment of doubt about the arrangement, and she licked tomato sauce off her thumb with a noncommittal hum.

I had been twenty years since she lived with anybody new, and even then, it was a husband.  She hoped Jon wasn’t either a neat freak or a slob with his things.  Would it be strewn all over her apartment?  Having taken her dinner clothes to work, she hadn’t been home since his stuff came over from the hotel. 

She'd find out soon enough, she supposed and picked a neutral subject in the meantime.

The conversation went in random directions over the course of dinner.  Prom was obviously a topic – what Jake would wear, the senior who was his date and the after party to be held at a friend’s house.  The surprise spin came when Jon inquired whether Delaney would go to prom now, given the chance. 

“I’d look a little silly mingling with all those young girls.  I wonder if chaperones wear evening gowns, though?  That might be fun.” 

“I’ll check and get back to you,” he laughed.  “Do you have a dress hanging in wait?”

“Well, no, but what a great excuse to go buy one.”  She wiped her mouth and put the napkin on the table to indulge in the flight of fantasy he presented.  “The only problem would be picking a color.  Something classy and neutral or something bright and fun?  It would be so hard to choose!”

“Well, I tell ya what.  You ever go to prom, and I’ll take care of picking the color.”

She couldn’t resist the impulse to lean in and kiss mozzarella lips.  Yes, it was probably his way of ending her girlish tangent, but she still appreciated his short-term willingness to play along.  “You’re my hero.  Now I won’t lie awake and worry about what color dress to get for a prom I’ll never go to.” 

Talk then turned to a book Romeo was reading, followed by summer plans at the beach and upcoming movies.  By the time they dropped the boys in Greenwich Village, Delaney felt like she'd really gotten to know them.  she would've said as much, but the instant the car door closed behind the young men, Jon pounced. 

"So what happened with Katya?”

“Yes, dinner with the boys was nice, now that you mention it.  You have great kids.  I feel like I really got to know them tonight.”

“I’m glad, and thank you,” he returned her sarcasm in equal measure as the driver wove through the traffic that would take them to Queens.  “Now moving on.  Katya?”

Determination.  That was Jon Bon Jovi’s predominant characteristic, but Delaney leaned her head back on the seat with a smile.  She liked that along with nearly everything else about him. 

“Probably about what you expect.  I demanded to know what her freeping deal was and how in the fork she got that information, since you didn’t give it to her.”

“And?”

Rolling her head in his direction, she watched the lights cast shadow on his features and leisurely provided, “And she’s an eavesdropper.  Both when you came to the shop the day your divorce went viral and when I was talking to Marilee the next day.  Probably other times, too, but those are the juiciest bits of news she would’ve gotten about you, and it’s very definitely about you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Just repeating it as I heard it.  ‘Sorry you got caught up in this, Delaney, when it really has nothing to do with you.  I’m only interested in Jon.’”

“A crazy fan, then.  Tremendous.”  Derisive eyes rolled with disgust.

“Is that what you think?”

“Well, I sure as fuck don’t know her outside the flower shop, so an obsessive fan is the only explanation.  They’re not as plentiful in recent years, but I’ve had my share – and they do some crazy shit.”

Perhaps he was right.  The look in Katya’s eyes was definitely crazed when warning that this wasn’t over yet.  Fortunately, crazy didn’t intimidate Delaney.  She just offered her own warning, swiped the woman’s meal and ordered her out of the restaurant. 

She just wasn’t sure whether to give Jon the details on that part of the exchange.  Delaney didn’t think there was much – if any – substance to it, nor was she sure how Jon would react.  Dealing with him going all Jersey mobster wasn’t on her top-ten list of things to do, but she also didn’t like the idea of keeping secrets. 

He also calmly let you do your New York nutso routine back there without saying a word.  Give him his turn.   

“What else, Mou?”

Swallowing a humorless chuckle, she asked, “Did you take up mind reading?  Because I was just trying to decide if I wanted to tell you the rest.”

“Don’t start keeping shit from me again.  I don’t like it.”

Delaney lifted a hand to soothe along the stony edge of his jaw.  “Okay, okay.  Lose the Terminator face.  I’m still new at this you and me thing and not quite sure how you’re going to take this.”

“How I take it doesn’t make a goddamn,” he informed, softening enough to bring her hand around and touch his lips to the palm.  “It’s better than feeling like you’re hiding things.”

This honeymoon phase where she found his every move cute wouldn’t last forever.  In months, weeks or even days, the sweet kiss meant to appease would be old hat.  She’d brush it away or, worse yet, he wouldn’t try to appease her.  That’s just the way relationships went, making Delaney determined to enjoy these moments while she could.   

Purposely focusing on the gentle nuzzle against her love line instead of his growliness, Delaney quietly relayed, “She says this isn’t over until she gets what she wants, and I’m supposed to stay out of the way.”

“Or what?” he demanded, folding their hands together and parking them on his thigh.  “And what does she want?” 

“I don’t know.  Didn’t ask.   I just said if she opened her mouth again, she’d eat every freeping word along with my fist.”

“Jesus, you’re not afraid of anything, are you?”

“Not much,” she conceded and flashed both dimples to make light of her next statement.  “Just the death of me or someone I love.  Everything else is transient.”

“While I admire how much balls you can pack into such a tiny body,” he drew out with affectionate sarcasm and gently compressed her fingers inside his.  “I’ll still make a couple calls.  Have somebody make sure she’s not a paroled assassin or some such shit.”

Delaney contentedly turned her attention back toward the front end of the car.  He knew what he was doing, and she trusted him to do it. “Whatever seems reasonable.  You’re the one with stalker expertise.”

“Have I ever mentioned how hot it is when you’re docile?”

The corners of her eyes crinkled with the grin she purposely didn’t turn in his direction.  Easing her right leg so that it dangled over his left, she casually offered, “Have I ever mentioned the fantasy I have about a limo ride and a rock star in my panties?”

“Huh.  Too bad this isn’t a limo.”

Now she turned a bemusedly cocked eyebrow his direction.  “You’re going to pass up mounì mou based on a technicality?  Jeez.  So much for the stories of wild musicians.”

“Did I say I was gonna pass it up?”  His rough chuckle touched Delaney where his hands had yet to venture, and erotically tangled in her womb.  Lightly textured fingertips swirled against the inside of her open knee.  “Just means we’ll have to get dirty in a limo another time.”

“Pity.”  Delaney attempted – or pretended to – withdraw her leg, but a harsh grip held firm.   Cupping her thigh, he pushed oh so slowly under her dress.  “You have any fantasies?”

“Not really.  I was a hedonistic son of a bitch for a long time.” 

The barest edge of fingernail scraped the along the outside edge of her panties, making it difficult to keep the train of thought meant to enhance the wantonness.  “Then tell me… what still turns on a sexually jaded guy like you?”

The quiet laugh was dark with lewdness, and he lightly flicked the elastic at the leg of her panties for a slight sting.  “Wet pussy will always be a turn-on.  Getting head.”

“Well, duh.  Every man likes sticking his dick in a warm, wet hole.  Tell me something else.  Something a little more… personal.  You know my kink.  What’s yours, Bongiovi?” 

“You realize men don’t talk about this kinda shit?”

“I call Bolshevik on that.”  Delaney’s nostrils flared with a sudden breath when his touch crawled in her undies to pet the waxed lips that she hoped were still relatively smooth.  “I bet you’ve talked this crap all day long in the dressing room, locker room, plane or tour bus with your friends.  I’m your friend.  You said so more than once, so give it up.”

Jon couldn’t remember ever having this kind of conversation.  Not like this.  Yes, in the middle of sex women had asked him what turned him on, but he just took matters into his own hands at that point.  An orgasm was worth a thousand words and all that.  There was no discussion. 

Maybe with Dorothea once?  If so, it had been so long ago that he didn’t remember it. 

He kind of liked that Delaney was interested enough to pry, but she was the one spouting bullshit.

“No.  The band talks about the bizarre things like snake-tongued contortionists.  They don’t know what gets my rocks off.”

“Well, I want to know.”

With her head reclined on the seat and the occasional streetlight illuminating a peaceful expression, she was beautiful.  She was also utterly relaxed, even with wide-spread legs and his hand getting busy under her dress.  The only sign of her arousal was the slight hitch in breathing when his middle finger pushed into a “warm, wet hole”.  Then she gave the tiniest squeak of pleasure.

“That,” he confessed, savoring the satiny slickness that rippled against his touch.  “That little noise you just made.  The ragged breathing.  Moans.  Purrs.  Screams.  I like the sound of sex.”

“The whimper I make when it hurts?”

Jesus Christ, yes.  That was a personal favorite and imagining it sent the blood surging low.  “Yeah.”

“Is it why you play rough?”  She picked up the hand that wasn’t buried in her crotch and touched the knuckles with a gentle kiss.  “To cue up the soundtrack?”

“Maybe.”  He hadn’t really thought about it much.  Jon just did it, and the fact that she practically begged for his bedroom rowdiness was part of why they belonged together. 

“What’s the best?  What sound makes your balls go tight?”

Her.  Asking him porn questions and then sucking – audibly – on one of his middle fingers while his other was buried in a satin glove.  When he added a second finger to the florist’s hothouse, she hummed with approval, and the tickle of vibrating tongue on his finger made Jon want to fuck her raw.

But he was also finding something new that turned him on.  The intimacy. 

She looked into his eyes while giving head to his finger.  He hooked into her G-spot to elicit a muffled gasp while deciding on his answer.  Yes, they were talking about sex, but they were still just talking.  He just happened to be playing with her pussy while telling her things he’d never said aloud before – and knowing she’d come all over his hand before they crossed into Queens.

That made his balls go tight.

“All of it,” he told her thickly.  “The slurp of your wet pussy when I pound it.  The strangled scream that says you’re getting off with me.  My balls smacking against your ass.  Your dirty Greek talk.  I love it all.”

That earned him a sweet, feminine purr of approval that jerked his dick to attention.  His Mou liked the symphony of fucking, too.  Without a doubt.

“You know what I like?”

Withdrawing sodden fingers to slide through equally sodden folds, he found her clit and savored the accompanying whine.  “What, Mou?”

Sharp teeth nipped the pad of his glistening finger.  “I like being docile for you.”

“Do you?”

“Mmm hmm.”   She choked on air when he pushed hard enough to feel the blood pulsing through her clit and rubbed.  The back seat was starting to smell like sex.  Lo and behold, that might be another thing that turned him on.  The scent of arousal.  “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try.”

“Mm.  That’s good,” she breathed and let her eyes fall closed.

“Focus, baby.  Tell me why you like being docile for me.”

A slow hiss of air seeped through her nostrils and heavy eyes slit open as Jon continued the circular motion between her legs.  “Women’s lib and bra burning are a forgotten memory when a real man domineers in just the right way.  Not condescending.  Just…”

“Just taking care of his woman,” he prompted softly, watching her throat move as she swallowed and squirmed into his touch.  “I respect every fucking thing about you, but in bed you don’t need my respect.  You need thoroughly fucked.” 

“Yes.  Oh.  Oh.  Ohh.”  Delaney writhed against the leather seat, and that squeak was another turn-on for Jon.   The waterfall was starting to flow, and with the bridge in sight, Jon abandoned her clit to jam three fingers into the greedy hole begging to be filled.

“This is just an appetizer to take the edge off,” he rumbled along with the tires against pavement.  The slow, initial thrusts to lubricate himself didn’t last long.  He picked up the pace, gritting his back teeth while pumping into the honeyed slit with fury.  “When we get home, I’ll good and truly fuck you.”

“God.  Yesss!  Please, baby.”

The staccato panting sent his blood humming.  The mewl of desperation as she humped, trying to find release against his fierce thrusts, fed his soul.  And when she clenched around him with a soft spew of both her body and fractured Greek phrases, Jon was mesmerized. 

The passion furrowing her brow.  The bliss clenching her eyelids.  The ecstasy that had her mouth going slack.  The orgasmic glow suffusing her cheeks.

They gave him a different kind of pleasure than his own orgasm would, but it was just as intense.  Knowing that this fierce, compact beauty wouldn’t back down for anybody but invited him to back her down – and fucking loved it. 

Damn if that didn’t feel good.