82 - No Pain, No Gain

“I don’t want to hurt, Jon,” Delaney whispered, hating herself for sounding so freeping whiny.  Normally, a good tussle with just the right tweak of pain was precisely what was on her mind.  Tonight, she was weighed down with enough of it under the umbrella of this stinking drama that had invaded their lives.  

Her soul ached to be soothed much like the slope of her neck was being soothed by supple lips.

“No hurt, sweet Mou.”  The words washed over her in a gentle caress that she felt more than heard as his fingertips brushed her softest spots.  “Only love.”

Tears that had dried on her cheeks begged for fresh company, but the threatening dampness was dispelled when she blinked.  Much like baseball, there was no crying in sex, no matter how blessed she felt with this solid man at her back and the tender kisses he nuzzled along her jaw. 

He knew.  He’d known from the very first time what she needed, and he'd given it to her.  Consistently.  

Words.  No words.  Actions.  Dominance.  Sweetness.  Attitude.  Tenderness.  All made an appearance, and always at just the right time.

Well, with the exception of that going to Chicago thing, but she wasn’t in the mood to bring that up.

“No arguing,” he breathed with the accuracy of a mind reader while slowly twirling her in his arms.  Discarded clothing twined around Delaney’s ankles as deliberate fingertips pushed cotton fabric up and over her head, leaving behind a messy cascade of hair.  “Just relax and let it all go.”

Not trusting herself to speak, she only gave a jerking bob of her head  that he took as permission to tangle their fingers and tow her back to bed.  The closet light behind him put Jon in shadow as he bent to take the tip of one breast in his mouth, and Delaney mewled pitifully while burrowing into silky hair.

He suckled softer than a baby as strands of silver tickled her finger webbing, and his kneading on its mate wasn’t any rougher.  Jon squeezed just enough so that the fleshiness spilled through the vees of his splayed hand.  Even the sampling bite of raspberry tip wasn’t enough to elicit a gasp.  There was only a long hum of pleasure as he nuzzled as though he’d stay there the rest of the night. 

He’d never spent this long or paid this much attention to the detail of her breasts.  Now, though, he traced the aureole with the blunt tip of his tongue, used the flat of it to bathe the undercurve and rolled it around the nipple for another languid slurp.  Lips and teeth shared the labor of lust, with both equally titillating as his attention shifted from one heavy globe to the other. 

The barest edges of blunt fingernails scraped Delaney’s rib cage, and a wide palm swept away the resulting tickle.  His caress glided from the pillowy bulge of breast to a femininely indented waist before skating over the flare of her hip.  All of it was no lighter than the brush of gossamer, and as pacifying as it was arousing. 

“Jon.”

She registered his shush as a heated puff against her sternum rather than an audible sound.  

With every pore that he graced with a loving touch or reverent kiss, Delaney lost a bit more of her ability to speak coherently.  There were sounds to accompany his never-ending journey over every pore of her flesh, but none of them were fully intelligible   Yearning sighs.  Mewls of pleasure.  Wanton whispers.  Exasperated growls.  Murmurs of adoration.

She pieced enough of those together for a rousing endorsement of Jon’s prowess with a woman’s body.  He'd likely touched enough of them, but how many broken hearts had he mended?  How many bruised psyches had he handled with such gentleness, or even cared to?  

This wasn't sex.  They shared an emotional intimacy that was more arousing than any physical touch.

In such a short time, he’d become a master at stroking the rough edges of her soul.  He understood exactly how to hone those edges so that they didn’t hurt anymore.  The pain was putty in his skillful palm, molded to something that was only painfully exquisite. 

Boyfriend, lover, soulmate, souley.  There was no nametag sufficient to convey the status he’d commandeered.  That she’d been relieved to give him. 

There was only one thing she could think to call him.  Only one moniker that meant anything of importance as his heated body notched into a passage that ached for the journey that came with loving him. 

“Eísai ta pánta gia ména."

You are everything to me.

*****

“She’s everything to me,” Jon told the brother who couldn’t understand why they were doing this bullshit thing rather than having the cops handle it. 

June sunshine tried to sear the retinas from his sleep-deprived eyes. His trusty sunglasses didn’t seem to be shading him from squat, but Jon knew that without them, he’d have a splintering migraine. 

He couldn’t imagine how Delaney could possibly be functional this morning.  At least he’d gotten another couple hours’ sleep once she went to work at five-thirty this morning.  Even after the clinging orgasm that came with an abundance of Greek that he let go untranslated, she couldn’t – wouldn’t – sleep.  She laid there, limp as a wide-eyed ragdoll while he dozed until about five.

His only solace was that she’d seemed more like herself when accepting the coffee he made and kissing him goodbye under the shadow of darkness.  Her fragile jaw was set with determination when she made him promise to be careful and let her know the minute the meeting with Katya was done.  She’d already mentally submerged into the throes of her hectic schedule when he gave the promise, and sneakered feet strode out the door with her usual confidence.

His fighter had found her strength in his arms, and fuck if that didn’t make him feel as invincible as the faded tattoo on his left arm.  

It was going to be a good day.

It was, goddammit.

And it was going to start right now.

“I hope this is a fuckin’ rhetorical question, but you're packin', right?” Jon asked after the swallow of coffee that had them entering Central Park from Fifth Avenue.  

While waiting for his brother’s train to arrive at Grand Central, he’d hopped out of the Town Car to snag a couple of cups from a vending cart.  Both for him, and the second was nearly gone.  

“You said you needed backup.  The backup plan always includes hardware.”

“Good.” 

This was the benefit of having family work for him.  Matt understood what was meant without a lot of explanation.  There was little enough time left for explanation as they approached the zoo entrance.

“How do you want this to go down?”

The truth was, depending on what the Scandinavian bitch wanted, he’d probably give it just so she’d go away.  There would be a follow up meeting where she’d sign all kind of shit, including a non-disclosure agreement, of course.  He might want her to go away, but he wasn’t stupid enough to believe she’d do it on good faith.  There would be enough legal trappings to ensure he never heard from her again.  

“Short and sweet.  Ten minutes, tops,” he instructed with shaded eyes scanning the vicinity.  “If she can’t get it out in ten minutes, I don’t give a fuck about it.  I’ve got more important shit to do with my day.”

“Roger that.  I’ll stay behind for cleanup.”

That was Jon’s green light to take off if it turned into a shit show, leaving Matt behind to handle the dirty work – cussing, crying, kicking and cops, if that’s what it came to. 

Jon planned to see it through unless she truly went bat-shit crazy.  Delaney’s – and thereby his – interests were at stake.  Keeping the shop out of this bitch’s crosshairs was a priority, and today it was his priority.

“Only as a last resort.”  He didn’t have to look at his brother to know he’d just gotten a look.  He felt it as plainly as the sun warming the black leather across his shoulders.  “I told you she’s everything.  I’ll do whatever it takes to protect what’s hers.”

“Christ almighty,” the bigger man muttered.  “You gonna marry her the day your divorce is final?”

If he thought she’d go for it, maybe – or maybe not.  Their relationship was built on a moment they’d already had, not one they needed a guestlist for. 

The only question in Jon’s mind was how she’d handle the touring, but that wasn’t a drop in the bucket to what it used to be.  He was confident Delaney could handle the couple-month stints, especially if he flew her in for a show or two.  She’d enjoy the hell out of that.

“Mou isn’t interested in marriage.”

“Yeah, but are you?”

Wondering if Katya was making a fool of him, Jon took another impatient glance around and speared his brother with the sharp part of that glance.

“I’ve already got the girl.”

“Yeah, but you’re the stodgiest rock star I know, man.  You like the traditional shit.”

“Yeah.  That’s why I went to Vegas in the middle of the night last time.”

“You did that because you were drunk,” Matt snorted.  “But you like the stability that comes with marriage.”

Jon couldn’t deny it.  He enjoyed knowing that he was coming home to something that mattered more than shaking his ass on a stage.  It was a good way to make a living, and he enjoyed it, but it wasn’t his safe space.  Jon needed a safe space, and Delaney would give it to him.

He just had to convince her that this living together thing should go beyond temporary.  That the place he was moving into at the end of the week should be their place.

Because you don’t have enough to accomplish today?  Put it on the back burner, asshole.

“I like Delaney more than the supposed stability.  I’m a divorce statistic now, remember?”

“Tell it to somebody who hasn’t seen you crawl into your wife’s arms at the end of a tour,” his brother scoffed.  “You need somebody to go home to.”

“And I’ve got somebody, so shut the fuck up,” was the irritable snap that coincided with the snapping of this wrist to check the time. 

“She’s late.”

“No shit.” 

The paper coffee cup was chucked into a nearby garbage can, and Jon pulled the phone from his jacket pocket to check for a new message from the bitch.  Nothing, and there was still no sign of the platinum blonde.  The only woman in the vicinity who didn’t accompany a child was a younger one, in her mid-twenties. 

Her hair was honey-blonde instead of platinum, pulled back in a ponytail that was suitable to go with the simple pink tee and jeans.  Petite, but not tiny like Delaney, she came toward the men on wedge sandals that made her seem taller and with a stride that seemed familiar.

Because it was.

“Motherfucker,” Jon muttered under his breath, because that single scene was still burned into his memory. 

Matt didn’t even acknowledge the young woman.  Girl.  He just looked from Jon to her and back again.  “Problem?”

Not anymore.

The girl slipped off her sunglasses to expose baby blue eyes that looked so much like his own that it was disconcerting.  Adding to the unsettling familiarity was an infusion of the same apology and remorse those eyes had held in his office on Christmas day.

“Matt, meet Chelsea.  Angie Nunzio’s daughter.”

“Hello again, Mr. Bon Jovi,” she greeted quietly and gave stone-faced Matt a nod.  “I’m sorry we have to keep meeting like this.”

“Then stop doing it.”

Holding up a hand to silence his brother’s attitude, Jon jammed the other one – the one with the phone – back in his pocket.  “How ‘bout we dispense with the pleasantries and you tell me where Katya is?  Or better yet, who Katya is?”

Dragging in a long breath, she darted a look at Matt before focusing on Jon.  “She’s my mom’s cousin, but they were more like sisters.  Look,” she rushed on over both men’s swearing.  “When Mom was on her deathbed, she made Katya promise to watch out for me.  Katya went a little overboard with it, and I’m sorry.”

This girl still radiated the same aura of sadness she had on Christmas, even though it had to have been nearly a year without her mom now.  He shuddered to think what kind of mom Angie had been, but she was the only one this kid knew, so he strove to be sympathetic.  None of this shit was her fault, and so he chose to maintain composure.

“I’m not sure what stalking me and my girlfriend has to do with watching out for you.” 

Chelsea shifted her weight to one foot, ponytail swinging as she looked to her left at the zoo sign.  Both arms folded across her waist as she found his face again. 

“She only told me about this thing last night, so I’m not sure of all the details.”

“How ‘bout you start spillin’ what you know?”

Again, Jon lifted a silencing hand to his brother.  “Your cousin has gone above and beyond to piss me off.  The sooner you provide some explanation, the better chance of this meeting staying friendly.”

Her mouth flat-lined for a minute before complying with, “The job in that flower shop was dumb luck.  Katya’s a little kooky and got in her head that Mom sent you in there as a sign.  I loved my mother, but she wasn't exactly normal either, as you know.  So maybe the sign thing is true.  Who am I to say?

“At first, I guess Katya just wanted to be a pain in the neck.  Take a few stabs at you for screwing up my mother’s psychotic dream.  Then greed kicked in, and she decided you should pay for that screw-up.”

Unwilling to endure the subtle slur, Matt refused to be silent.  “He already fucking paid for it, or did you miss all the news clips saying he was getting a divorce?”

“Matt, stop.”  The kid was just a pawn in some psychotic dream, as she called it, and was as much a victim as his marriage.

“I did see,” she confirmed quietly, with downcast eyes.  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.  I really believed…”

She was but a single year older than his daughter.  She could have been his daughter had Fate seen fit, and Jon extended the same consoling hand he would’ve given Stephanie.  “It’s not your fault, Chelsea.”

“Yeah, well…”

“You said Katya got greedy,” he prompted.  “But she never asked me for anything.”

Lifting her chin, Chelsea carried on with, “That’s what today was for.  She was coming here to demand a million dollars – for me.  Less a twenty-percent commission for herself, of course.  That was her plan to make sure I was taken care of.”

Oh, for the love of…

The woman wasn’t kooky, she was bat-shit crazy, just like he’d thought. 

“I hate to tell you this, but that’s not happening.”

“No shit,” she chuckled, making him smile.

“Where is Katya now?”

Slight shoulders lifted and dropped.  “Bellevue.  When she said she was learning to build a pipe bomb, I called the police.  A psych evaluation is pending, but I'm sure she’ll fail it with flying colors.”

There was no inflection in the delivery of that answer, but an aura of sad resignation enshrouded her.  Jon might’ve thought he imagined it, but Matt proved that it was a real thing when he spoke his first kind words of the day.  

“You did the right thing, kid.”

“Yep,” she agreed with a smile that didn’t extend past her mouth.  “Just sucks knowing that the only family I have left is in a nuthouse.  Sorry to be a pain in your ass, but at least you have the comfort of knowing it’ll be the last time you see me.  Live happy.”

Those were Chelsea Nunzio’s parting words as she turned regally on her heel, pushing both hands into her back pockets and sauntering back the way she came. 

Fuck me.

Because she was wrong.  

This wouldn’t be the last time he saw the kid who had enough spunk and intelligence to be one of his own.  Not now that he knew she didn’t have anybody else. 

“Hey, Chelsea!”