*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.