39 - All That Jazz

“So tell me about yourself, Tink,” David invited as they waited for their drinks. 

They were seated at a small table toward the back of The Blue Note, and a saxophonist was playing on the small platform to their left.  The crowd was small, and the atmosphere was cozy.  Intimate, possibly, with the slatted wooden window blinds making it shadowy despite the bright day.

“That’s a very long and boring story.” Evasion was a more polite convention than a flat refusal.  Crossing her legs under the table, her foot bumped against his much longer, denim clad leg.  “Sorry,” she murmured, tucking her tennis shoe in close.

“You’re fine.”  Long fingers familiarly patted her calf, adding to Petey’s tension.

This was a bad idea.  I’m afraid he thinks this is more than just a friendly lunch date.

“David,” she began, trying to gauge the intent in his twinkling eyes.

“What happened to Pickle?”

He was like a child full of unbridled energy, and unbidden, a corner of her mouth trembled as it wanted to smile.  An act of sheer willpower was all that held it in check. 

“You don’t understand it.  I saw no point in confusing you further.” 

A soft chuckle floated across the table.  “Not many people can outsmart me, you know.  I say this with complete modesty, but I’m a pretty intelligent guy, and I have a perverse sense of humor.  Those two things typically set me apart from the madding crowd.”

The excerpt from Thomas Gray’s poem fell from her lips before Petey realized it was happening.

“Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife

Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;

Along the cool sequester'd vale of life

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.”

“My point exactly,” he crowed with triumph, a wide grin engulfing his face.

“Point?”  She frowned, silently running the lines again.  “What point did that make?”

“I totally followed that conversational twist.”  He dipped his chin in thanks as the waitress deposited their beers on the table and disappeared.   “Quoting the actual poem is a little beyond my reach, but I was riding shotgun on that train of thought.”

“You’re speaking in riddles again,” she sighed.  Talking with him was going to require her full attention.  There were nuances she was clearly missing.

“Oh come on,” he cajoled, gently clinking his glass bottle against hers.  “Simply put, I like you because you’re random enough to get me.  It’s almost like talking to me, but with the thrill of the unknown and without the fear of psychiatric evaluation.”

“The psychiatric evaluation might not be such a bad idea.”

He yawned with intentional boredom, reclining in his seat and propping one elbow on the back of the chair.  “Been there, done that, got the straight jacket.  Highly overrated.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if you’re not genuinely crazy, you know,” she said on a dumbfounded laugh.

“About as much as you are, would be my guess.  Just because we’re different doesn’t mean we’re nuts.”

She tilted a thoughtful chin.  “I’m not really sure why you’ve embraced this familiarity with me, but I don’t think it’s entirely warranted.  Everything you’ve said is pure supposition on your part.”

“Is it?”  He went from an air of casualness to rapt concentration, levering forward to rest his forearms on the table between them.  “I’m not sure you could do much that would surprise me, my dear.  For instance, it wouldn’t surprise me if you stepped up on that stage in your little Goth girl clothes and belted out an operatic aria.  By the same token, you could just as easily whip out a bar towel and mix a little known cocktail or two.  One never knows with you, do they Tink?”

Petey frowned, pulling at the label on her beer bottle.  His Cliff Notes made her sound …  colorful and far more diverse than she actually was.  She didn’t feel it was an accurate assessment, but at the same time it made her feel exposed.  Did he see something that she’d prefer to keep hidden?

“I’m nowhere near that interesting.  I get up and go to work every day just like everybody else.  I read and surf the Internet.   There’s nothing exceptional about any of that.”

“It’s not the activities that are exceptional, but the individual engaging in them,” he remarked perceptively.

“Oh please,” she scoffed, eyes darting toward the stage.  The saxophonist had finished his instrumental number and was now accompanying himself on piano as he belted out a bluesy, jazz tune.  It leaned more toward Petey’s liking.  “You’re building castles in the clouds.  I’m nobody.  Less than nobody.”

The thick, brown beer bottle echoed with a muted ‘thunk’ when he brought it back to the table.  David didn’t say anything for a moment, but she felt compelled to squirm under his scrutiny.  Peeling the beer label off in tiny pieces kept her from having to meet his eyes.

“Anybody ever call you on that bullshit?”

Dubious pink irises scarcely lit on his face before going back to her task.  It had been a while since she reviewed the Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address, as inscribed on his Memorial. 

“Tink?”

“On the occasion corresponding to this four years ago all thoughts were anxiously directed to an impending civil war.”

“Hey.”  His long arm stretched across the narrow space between them, and he tucked a finger under her chin.  She resisted at first, lost in history, but ultimately allowed him to lift her face for his examination.  “What are you hiding, kiddo?”

☠ ☢ ☠

Petey blew out an anxious breath.  It was four minutes after eight, and the same driver who had taken her home from Saturday night’s party was ferrying her the short distance to Jon’s apartment.

She’d spent a good bit of the afternoon running on her new treadmill, and then took a long, hot shower.  Of course, that was after she’d bumbled through the remainder of her ‘date’ with David.

Deception wasn’t her strong suit, but she’d looked at him and, somehow, convincingly blustered that he didn’t know what he was talking about.  She had stiffened her shoulders and told him she wasn’t hiding anything from anyone, and that what he saw was what he got. 

Of course, he wanted to argue the point, saying that he didn’t believe her and that he knew better.  He even brought up that damn mirror reference again. 

And they said women were nosy.  Whoever ‘they’ were hadn’t met David and Jon.  

He pushed and prodded until she finally got angry and told him, “Look.  You can accept what I have to say or not, just like I can be friends with you – or not.  What’s it going to be?”

Still grumbling, he let it drop.  Eventually the conversation picked back up, falling to more neutral topics, like music.  Petey was still pushing down the disquieting feeling that he saw more than she wanted him to.

A firm shake of her head cleared away the memory and brought her back to the present, and the lobby of Jon’s building, where she stepped onto the elevator.  Her highly anticipated present.  True, she may have only been looking forward to this with Jon for less than twenty-four hours, but she’d been looking forward to this for years. 

Call her a deviant if you must, but having the opportunity to explore something outside of missionary sex in the dark, more often than not unsatisfying…  Petey was going to embrace it.  It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.  There was no one more discreet than Jon, and she knew that whatever they did would stay within the confines of the Mercer Street penthouse.  It didn’t hurt that he was painfully beautiful and was sexuality personified.

I hope my expectations haven’t been set too high, she thought, waiting for him to answer the door.

“Hi.”  There was no hint of the casual charm Jon typically greeted her with.  The man at the door this evening was both unsmiling and somber.  His eyes were hooded and dark, two smoldering blue embers that threatened to blaze into an inferno without warning.

“Hi,” she murmured, the heels of her Victorian lace-up boots tapping tentatively into the marble foyer as she eased off her coat. 

Petey had done the whole conservative thing tonight, for whatever reason.   A simple black sweater dress with a wide cowl neck fell to mid-calf and her hair fluttered loosely around her shoulders.  The makeup was even relatively conservative.  More smoky looking than Goth.

Standing before her bathroom mirror, she had wondered if her subconscious wasn’t hoping to get an extra thrill at seeing this debauchery happen to Jane Q. Public instead of Petey.

He took her wrap, silently storing it away before turning his back to her and returning to the depths of the apartment.  “Come into the living room.  We need to talk.”

Her stomach tied into more knots than a pretzel factory and her heart fell.  He was going to call this off.  She knew it.  He’d changed his mind.  Had he found out something about her?  Damn David if he’d yapped about his suspicions.

As had become their habit when she arrived, they both migrated toward the bar.  He calmly and efficiently uncorked a bottle of wine, pouring two glasses without bothering to ask if she wanted anything.

Not that it matters.   I definitely want a drink.  A big drink.

Her fingertips had just curled around the glass, when he softly inquired, “Do you trust me?”

She snapped her head up, and took special note of the delicate wineglass cradled in his palm, the fine stem tucked between his fingers.   Jon's wide, masculine hand could easily shatter it, but he took great care to hold it just so.  He knew his power, and he used it deliberately and selectively. 

That glass was safe in his hands, and Petey would be, too.

“Yes.”

“Then talk to me.”

Talk?  She was all but quivering with anticipation.  There was nothing she felt compelled to say other than ‘now’.

“Did you have a certain topic in mind?”

“You were a teacher,” he prompted, swirling his glass.  “I’d like to hear about that.”

The frustration eked out of her on a sigh.  “I told you already, that’s all there is. There’s nothing to tell.”

“Sure there is.  What did you teach?  Elementary school?  High school?  Any particular subject?  Because History would be my first guess.”

Dammit.  She did not want to go into this now.  Not ever if she could avoid it, but most especially, not tonight.

“Jon, not tonight.  Please?”

His jaw tensed, and she could see the pulse beating there as he leaned into the bar on one palm.  “Then when?”

“Tomorrow,” she offered grudgingly.  “I can come over a little earlier and we can get it out of the way before…  anything else.”

His eyes were like lasers cutting into her, trying to ascertain whether she was being genuine or just putting him off.

“Tomorrow,” he granted.  “Now back to my original question.  Do you trust me?”

“I told you I did.”

“Trust me implicitly?” he pushed.  “Trust me to do things to you that you’ve only dreamed about, or haven’t even thought to dream about?  Trust me to keep you safe, and know when to push and when you’ve had enough?”

“Yes,” was the breathy whisper she somehow managed to push out of constricted lungs.  She did.  It wasn’t logical or rational.  They’d only known each other a short time, and their interactions were limited to the bedroom, but she did.  Without a doubt, she knew that once this man made a commitment, he took it seriously.

Answer received, he stole around the bar with the stealth of a cat, bare feet silent against the floor.  He inched steadily closer, not stopping until he was well within her personal space.  His shoulder brushed hers when he bent his head to speak into her ear.

The words were deadly quiet.  Velvet covered steel.

“Then for the next six nights, when you walk through that door, your body becomes mine.”  Widespread fingers ever-so-slowly skimmed down her throat with the ghost of a touch.  It was so light and barely present, that she may have been hallucinating. 

“Every orgasm in it belongs to me.”  Those same fingers made the journey upward on the opposite side of her neck, the touch just as apparitional. 

He cradled her skull under the flowing mane of hair, bringing her ear so close that his breath was scorching when he cautioned, “And the only way you’ll have one is my giving it to you.” 

Jon held her like that, just that close, for seven heartbeats.  Petey knew because of the intense pulsing between her legs.  She’d never realized her clitoris was pulse point until this very moment.

“Any questions?”

Oh dear God, yes, she had questions.  How many, how often, how intense and how could she get more?  Quite literally, her heart was racing so fast that she thought she was going into cardiac arrest.

“Yes.”

He straightened, taking a swallow of wine as he waited for her to continue.

“This – “  Her voice cracked and she had to clear her throat before she could put voice to her question.  “This dominance thing.  Will it be every night?”

“It can, or it doesn’t have to be.”  His hand curled around hers, bringing the pink-tipped fingers to brush against his lips in a soft kiss.  “But make no mistake.”  This time, those lips parted so that pearly white teeth could roughly nip at her fingertips, where they inflicted just a hint of pain.  “Domination games or not, I’m the one in charge.” 

Right now, she couldn’t think of a single problem with that.  

“Finish your wine,” he ordered softly, releasing her hand and draining his own glass.  When hers was empty, she lowered it to find him staring at her, the expression behind his eyes indecipherable.

“Petey, tonight is going to be different.  There will be no bickering, fighting or yelling.  I will never raise my voice, but I expect you to be obedient and do exactly as I say.  Everything I say.  If not…”  He let those two words hang ominously for a moment, allowing her to consider their implication.  “You’ll pay the consequences of your actions.” 

The glass was removed from her lax fingers and placed on the bar alongside his.  Jon brushed his knuckles against her cheek, looking deep into what felt like suspiciously like her soul.  “Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes,” she whispered, completely bewitched by him.  She didn’t know this Jon, but she wanted to – very badly, and very intimately.  He’d never asked how she wanted him to behave, or for details on what she expected this to be.  He innately knew what she needed. 

Or maybe they just needed the same thing.

He tugged lightly on her hair.  “Yes, what?”

Oh God.  This was really happening.  This wasn’t one of her books.

“Yes, Sir.”

He touched warm lips to her temple, his breath stirring her hair.  “Good girl.”

Never in her life had she wanted to be someone’s ‘good girl’.  She’d been called that by her parents at some point during her childhood, she was sure, but it had been decades ago.  Petey hadn’t any desire or need for it since.  Or so she thought. 

If he would breathe that into her ear in that husky voice, and touch her throat that way again…  She knew she would become an instant puddle.

His wrist circled around hers, distracting her from the threat of implosion.  Lacing their fingers together, he drew her along behind him.  “Come on, Sugar.  Let’s see about getting your kink on.”

38 - Call Me

Petey pulled the key from the open door and let it close behind her before sliding the deadbolt into place.  Putting her backpack down on the floor by the sofa, she carried the package down the hallway to the bedroom.

Jon hadn’t let her leave without – finally – opening the gift he’d teased her with.  His taunt of ‘it made me think of you’ made much more sense after seeing the assortment of body products in her favorite scent.  She’d actually thought it quite sweet that he’d taken the trouble, but she refrained from telling him that.  Instead, she teased him about having a uniform smell for all the women so it didn’t mess with his allergies.

Then he’d kissed her cheek and told her she was the only recipient of the cotton candy scent.

Aww.  How could one man be such a monumental horse’s ass one minute and then the prototype for Prince Charming in the next?

Not knowing how to respond, she’d mumbled something about having to call her mother and darted out the front door.

The way he flustered her, she wasn’t sure she could go through with this whole sexual depravity thing.  Imagining the things he might do to her made her throb in the most personal places, but putting herself out there like that...  Letting him totally dominate her?  In equal parts, Petey was both giddy with anticipation and scared spitless.

Now I wonder what outfit conveys that particular personality split, she thought to herself, standing before the open closet.   While she wanted to see that spark of appreciation in his eyes, Petey also wanted to choose something she felt good about.  What was a good compromise between Petey and a submissive woman?

Although locked in throes of that dilemma, she temporarily set it aside to grab her ringing phone from the bed.  An unfamiliar number was displayed across the screen, and her stomach knotted while she debated on whether or not to answer it.  It wasn't a 412 area code, but it could still be him.

She bit her lip in deliberation.

I’m not going to live in fear of him.  If he wants to talk to me, fine.  It won’t do him any good.

“Hello?” she answered with a clippedtone.

“Tink?”  David Bryan’s voice – or she assumed it was David, since he was the only one who had ever called her Tink – came over the line, sounding taken aback by her bitchy greeting.  Petey forgot that she had given him her number last night.

The knots in her stomach melted away and she continued to leisurely thumb through the offerings in her closet.  “Yes, Pickle?”

His 'harumph' carried loud and clear through the phone line.  “You have to tell me, are we talking Kosher here?  Is this a Jewish joke?  Is that where the Pickle comes from?” he demanded in a random conversational twist.

David made her laugh.  He was almost as likable as Richie, in a less mellow and laid back way.  She would bet he was always hatching something in the back of that curly head of his.  But, then again, what did she know?  She wasn’t exactly the voice of authority on Mr. Bryan.  They'd only spent a couple of hours together in a room full of people.

“No, but that makes it even more appropriate.  Thanks for the insight.”

“You’re going to be Cat Woman to my Batman, aren’t you?” was his disgruntled mutter.  “Or Poison Ivy?  Some random female arch nemesis out to ruin the superhero through whatever means necessary, including, but not limited to seduction.”

Literally snorting in his ear, she choked out, “Is that what you think I’m doing?  Seducing you?  With a phallic nickname?”

“Hey,” he threw out carelessly, and she could visualize him kicked back in an easy chair without a care in the world.  “You have a whole different personality than most people I know.  It isn’t that far out of the realm of possibility.”

“David, even socially retarded misfits like me can come up with better pickup lines!” she chortled.  Petey wasn't that much of a geek.

“Prove it.”

What in the world?  Did he just issue a dare?  Why did he even call to begin with?  He wasn't nearly as cute as he'd been a few minutes ago.

“What?  You’ve lost your mind.  I don’t know that I want to speak with a man as mentally disturbed as yourself.  Are your employers aware of this condition?”

David was totally unfazed by her rant, casually observing, “The mirror’s a scary place, isn’t it Tink?”

What?!?  He truly had lost his mind.  What in the hell was he talking about?

“Okay Riddler, now you’re irritating me.  Did you have something besides that in mind when you called?  If not, your work here is done, and I will resume my regularly scheduled life.”

“The name's Joker, and don’t get your panties in a twist,” he drawled easily, not in the least bit flustered over her flusteredness.  “You’re not mad at me, you’re mad at yourself because you can’t come up with a pickup line.  It seems especially belittling since any knuckle-dragging man with two brain cells and half a beer can do it.  I’m telling you, Tink, we’re more alike than you’ll ever want to believe.  I'm in your head.”

He was in Bizarro World, but this time that wasn't her head.  Fine.  He wanted a stupid pick up line, she'd give it to him.

“Oh Baby," she cooed, "You and me, we could do the Universe a favor by keeping it in balance,” she fired off.  “The light curls on your head next to the dark between my legs would make the perfect Yin and Yang.”

He guffawed.

Really. 

A flat-out belly splitting laugh.  It went on and on and on for so long that it became awkward for her, and she grew embarrassed.  She even contemplated hanging up on him, so she could browbeat herself in peace.  Impulsiveness never got her anywhere she wanted to be.  Whenever Petey tried to be clever, nine times out of ten she wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

“David."  Not finding anything in the closet that suited her mood, she left it behind and collapsed back onto the bed with a sigh, the springy surface bouncing comfortably under her.  “I have things to do.  Why did you call?”

Wheezing only slightly, he swallowed what remained of his giggles.  “To…  talk to you.  Oh God, woman, you’re priceless.  Will you marry me?”

“I don’t do relationships.  Can we move this along?”

“Fine.  You’re stealing all the drama from this, but fine,”  he sighed dramatically. 

What was it with these people and the dramatics?  Candace, Richie, now David?  She was just trying to make some type of logical connection between the three when he interrupted with, “Go out with me Tink.”

Egad. This…  this… man had reduced her somewhat extensive vocabulary to a single word.  “What?”

“Go out with me,” he repeated slowly.  “Today.  Tonight.  Tomorrow.  Sometime soon.”

In about two seconds she was going to awaken from this outlandish dream.  Because only in a dream world would Richie Sambora and David Bryan want to take her on dates, while Jon Bon Jovi waited in the wings to fulfill her craziest sexual fantasies. 

Feeling foolish, she nonetheless reached down and pinched herself.  Petey could only assume that it was all real since she didn’t wake up.

“Why do you want to go out with me?" she inquired suspiciously.  "You call me Tinkerhell.  That doesn’t exactly tug at one’s heart strings and invoke images of romantic dinners.  Is there an animal you need sacrificed?  Is that it?”

“No, you dark, neurotic woman,” he admonished with the cluck of his tongue.  “What's so hard to believe?  I like you.  I want to talk to you someplace where there aren’t a hundred other people intruding every time we turn around.”

“You’re talking to me now.”  She really didn’t get it.

“Jeez, are you always this difficult?  Did you ever think I’d like to look into those lovely pink eyes of yours while I’m talking to you?  You don’t have to bust my chops, Petey.  It’s a simple yes or no question.”

She wanted to say yes.  David made her use her mind in obscure ways that were different from everyone else.  It was nice to feel her brain stretching a little.  If only there weren’t the slight problem of a booked social calendar for the next week…

Goose bumps danced along her forearms. 

Her depravity dance card was full, and her mind flitted to the man who filled it.

The intensity with which Jon had issued her sleeping orders while touching her so gently…  Dear God, she couldn’t wait to see what else he had in store.  If she were smart, she would spend the afternoon resting or mentally preparing for Night One of Kinkapalooza instead of considering a date.

“Helloooo?  Tink, you still there?”

“Yes.” 

It was barely noon.  The car wasn’t coming until eight.  That was a long afternoon of waiting, wondering and worrying.  Insecurity sucked.  She needed something to keep her occupied or she would be reciting the whole damn encyclopedia to keep from having a nervous breakdown and asking herself a thousand unanswerable questions.

Had  he changed his mind?  Did he think she was even freakier than he first suspected?  Did he regret agreeing to it?  He did know that extreme wasn't what she was looking for, didn't he?

“Will you go out with me, or not?” David interjected into her mental panic attack, and both annoyance and impatience had crept into his tone.

Oh, what the heck?  If nothing else, they'd find ways to diplomatically insult one another.

“When?"

“Any time this week works for me.”

“Um.  Well, I’m tied up…” Tied up!   She felt herself grow warm at the thought, and unzipped her hoodie.  “…every evening until Christmas.  But I’m free until about seven o'clock today,” she offered hesitantly.  Nothing like being asked out and dictating to the guy when he could take you.

He was quiet for a moment, as though thinking.  “I can make that work.  Give me your address.  You’re in the city, right?  I can probably be there in an hour.”

“How about I meet you somewhere instead?  And what are we doing, so I know how to dress?”

“I’d really rather come get you.”

“And I’d really rather you not,” she stubbornly insisted.

Yes, it was petty, but Petey had become obsessive in recent weeks about anyone knowing where she lived.  If no one knew where she lived, then they couldn't inadvertently share that information with the wrong person.  That was the idea, at least.

David huffed in her ear, clearly dissatisfied with the notion.  “I’m guessing if I push this, you’ll cancel on me altogether.  Am I right?”

She laughed softly, kicking her shoes off.  “What was it you said?  The mirror’s a scary place?”

“Alright Tink, you win, but at least tell me which part of the city you’re in.”

She microscopically inspected her pink nail polish for chips, but didn’t see any.  She also didn’t see any harm in giving him a neighborhood.  “The Village.”

“For some reason, I’m not surprised.  You like jazz?”

“Some.  I prefer blues, but jazz can be enjoyable on the odd occasion.”  Neither were particular favorites.  She was more of a soft or classic rock kind of girl.  Alternative music was good, too.

“There’s a little place over on West Third called The Blue Note.  They don’t officially have live music until later in the evening, but on the weekends you can find some rising stars in there during the afternoons.  We can go grab a drink and chat.  What do you say?  Oh, and they have killer wings.  Chicken, not bat.”

Petey’s delighted laugh fell out before she could catch it.  Anything with this guy would be an adventure.

Forty-five minutes later, she topped her tight black pants with the Psycho Bunny shirt, thinking David would appreciate it.  Stepping back, she quickly assessed the shirt, pants, glittery pink Chucks and braids.  Her spider web from this morning was still in place, needing only a light touchup.  The lipstick she didn’t bother replacing, choosing her usual pink lip gloss instead.  A quick squirt of Jon’s body spray and she was ready. 

It should be about time to head over that way.

Petey grabbed the phone from where she’d tossed it on the bed earlier, to find a text message awaiting her.

[1:02 PM] JON: You escaped without telling me something.  I haven’t forgotten.

It was her own fault that he believed she would purposefully leave the Stephanie question unanswered., but they’d been a little busy this morning.  It had just slipped her mind.  Of course, this method of communication made it easier to avoid the extra questions that were sure to follow her revelation.

[1:03] PT: Not intentionally.  The big secret?  I used to be a teacher.

Settle for that, Jon.  I don’t want to argue.

[1:05 PM]JON:  We’ll discuss it tonight.

No, tonight we’re indulging in sexual depravity.  I am not ruining that with tales of my boring life.

[1:06 PM]PT: Nothing to discuss.  That’s it.

[1:06 PM] JON: We’ll see about that.

No, we won’t.  She was busily typing in the contrary response when he veered off onto a totally different topic.

[1:08 PM]JON: Don’t put anything on your skin tonight besides makeup.  No lotion, perfume or even deodorant.  Just you.

That was intriguing.  She was scrambling to make some type of correlation when another text chimed.

[1:09 PM]JON: Don’t think about why.  Just do it.

That was going to make things awkward.  She would be vividly imagining all the possible reasons for that request, all the while sitting across the table from another man.

This has got to be somebody else's life.  

37 - Beauty Queen from Mars

He was pouring coffee at the counter when Jon heard the subtle squeak of her tennis shoes on the kitchen tile.  Twisting around to greet her, his smile dissolved when he saw the war paint.  And he knew, without a doubt, that’s exactly what it was.

Her eyes were ringed in thick black liner that came out to a point an inch or so past the corner of her eye.  Then there was black on her upper and lower eyelids that faded into a pink that was darker than her contacts, and the thickest damn fake eyelashes he’d ever seen.  She’d also drawn a spider web that trailed down over the smoky smudge on her left cheek, which made her look gaunt.  He assumed the rhinestone-studded web was to go with that spider choker she was wearing from last night. 

Oh, and he couldn’t ignore her mouth.  Vibrant red in the center of both lips bled – yes, bled – out into a thick border of black.  All of it was topped with a shiny coat of something that looked like varnish.

She’s pissed and hiding behind the makeup to keep her distance.

“Coffee?”  Ignoring it was the safest thing to do. 

“Not yet.”  She leaned against the door facing, an expectant look in her eye.  “I want the groveling apology first.”

His eyebrow reflexively winged upward, and the humble attitude of repentance that he’d worked so hard to cultivate over the last twenty minutes… spontaneously combusted.  “Who says you’re getting one?”

“That’s it.”  Petey’s hands flew up in a gesture of surrender.  “I don’t know why I thought we could spend one night together, much less seven.  This is never going to work.  You’re operating under some secret set of rules that I know nothing about, because you pull them out of your ass at the drop of a hat.  Ever hear of communication?”  Her ponytail whipped behind her as she spun to leave.

Stop being a prick, Jon.  Getting turned on by her temper isn’t a reason to keep her pissed off.  Kinky sex, remember??

“Hey!”  One finger caught her belt loop in the millisecond before she escaped the kitchen, and he used it to drag her back against his chest.  He curled a hard forearm around her waist, anchoring her close before releasing the belt loop so that he could add the other arm. 

Naturally, she chose to struggle like a mad woman against his hold.  She was bowed in half and bent forward in an effort to break away when she felt…

“Jesus!  You do this on purpose, you horny SOB!”

“Shhhh…” he tried to pacify her while still dodging her surprisingly painful tennis shoes.  “Listen to me a minute.” 

But she had no interest in what he had to say.  She was more intent on bruising them both by flailing in his grip and shoving at his arms.  When she finally did land a blow, he only grunted and locked his wrists more tightly.  “Goddammit Petey, stop!”

His thunderous decree froze her in place and, after the initial shock, he could feel as much as hear the recitation commence.

Fuck!  You’re an idiot Bongiovi.

“Petey.”

The soft melodic phrasing of something that sounded more poetic than historic never paused.  She hadn’t done this last night.  Last night, she’d been a whole other creature – one that captivated him even more than this one did.

And she may still be here if you hadn’t –

He cut the thought off, preferring to spend his mental resources on a way to fix the problem rather than dwelling on the source of it.

“Petey,” he spoke directly in her ear.  “Sugar, listen to me.  I’m sorry, okay?  Yes, you’re beautiful when you’re mad, and I can’t help but respond to that, but I don’t try and piss you off on purpose.”

The quoted words were coming at a much more leisurely pace, and more quietly, but they hadn’t stopped.  She was still trying to ‘clear her head’. 

“We didn’t fight the last time you were here.  We didn’t fight last night.”  His chin came to lightly rest on the ball of her shoulder.  “Last night was incredible, by the way.  You, me, the sex, the talking.  We were almost acting like a normal couple.”

She was silent now, the words having trickled to a halt, but her slight body was still unyielding against him and her voice was even more so.  “But we aren’t a couple.  And if it was so incredible, then why in the hell did this morning happen?”

Somehow he guessed that ‘I don’t know’ wasn’t going to fly here. 

“Because I liked where we were last night and didn’t want it to be over.”

She didn’t speak, and he hoped she was internalizing what he said and taking it for face value, because that’s how he meant it.  There was no ulterior motive.  It freaked him out a little, but it was true.

“And what purpose was yelling at me supposed to serve?”

He shrugged helplessly.  “Sometimes I get mad before I think, and then I’m too mad to think.”

The sigh came all the way from her toes to the shoulder beneath his chin, and she leaned sideways, craning her neck to look at him.  “They have classes for that.”

“Yeah.”  Jon brushed his lips against the side of her neck.  “For some reason I always get kicked out.  They don’t like me bullying the instructors.”

She dropped her head back on his shoulder and continued to look at him from that angle. “You still owe me the biggest apology ever.  And stop being mean to me.  One of these days you're going to hurt my feelings."

“You’re right,” he agreed readily, putting enough space between them so that he could grab her hand, turn, and backtrack to the kitchen counter.  Pulling out a stool, he gestured for her to sit, offering a hand of assistance.  “And I’ll grovel over breakfast.  I don’t have a whole lot of kitchen skills, but I can throw together an omelet.  Interested?”

“No, not really, and stop looking all heartbroken.  I usually just have coffee in the mornings.”

“Coffee…” He worked up what he hoped was an endearing smile.  “… I can do.  I might even manage to get it weak and sweet enough to suit you.  Hang tight and I’ll give it a try.”  Puttering around the kitchen and gathering the necessary paraphernalia, he inquired casually, “So why didn’t you stay in bed with me?”

Up went that damnably condemning eyebrow.  “Was that painful for you?  Asking a reasonable question instead of bellowing like a psychopath?”

“No, smartass, it wasn’t.  Now are you going to answer me?”  Jon slid the coffee mug in front of her then turned for a spoon and the sugar.  “I think I did okay on the milk.  I’ll leave the sugar to you… Sugar.”  A flirty wink couldn’t hurt anything at this point, so he threw that out there, too.

“You never asked me to, for one thing,” she informed him with that ‘you’re stupid’ look that he was all too deserving of at this point in the game.  “And, even if you had, I couldn’t sleep in my contacts, so I was going to have to get up anyway.  I didn’t want to wake you when I crawled back in bed.”

“Well…”  Perching on the stool across from her, he set his coffee aside to cool.  “…as I less-than-eloquently mentioned earlier, I want you in my bed this week.  All night.”

“Now, see… that might be a problem.”  Finally finished stirring the sugar into her cup, she popped the spoon in her mouth to remove the extra droplets of sugar milk before setting it on the counter.  “Because sleeping with someone seems awfully… intimate.  I've never done it and don't know if I can.”

“You didn’t sleep with the Lone Lover?” 

“No.  It was too intimate for him.  I said conservative before?  Prude is probably more fitting.  So I’ve always slept alone, and don’t know if I want to try and force something different for a week.”

“Then let’s table that for just a minute while we talk about something else.”

“What might that be?”

Dropping his head forward, he ruffled his hair and gazed up at her from under his lashes.  “You mentioned rules earlier.  I think we need to set them for Kinkapalooza, because that recitation you did a few minutes ago?  I don't want to hear another one this week.  It makes me feel like I kicked a puppy."

She was engrossed in the caramel colored coffee before her.  "I can't help it.  It's how I cope with anxiety."

"I sorta figured that out.  That's why we need some general guidelines.  So you have an idea of what to expect.  It will make you less anxious.”

“That sounds good,” she acquiesced softly, fingers curled tightly around her cup.

"Okay then, I'll be real blunt about it.  When anybody talks about kinky, domination is the first thing that comes to mind.”  Jon extended his arm until he was able to pry one set of those fingers loose and twine them with his.  “Is that one of the things you liked from your books?”

A rosy tint bloomed beneath the black stripes of death on her cheeks, and his thumb began stroking against hers.  The woman coveted something called ‘kinky fuckery’ and she could barely say it without blushing. 

“Don’t be shy about it, Baby.  I’m one perverted fuck, so there’s no chance of you appalling me with anything that turns you on.   Give me some general ideas about your fantasies and I’ll go from there.  Domination.  Yes or no?” 

Her chin rose a fraction, and she looked him right in the eye when she said, “Yes.”

Jon would be lying if he said he wasn’t stunned.  She was willing to give that kind of control over to him?  He’d played this game with a couple of one night stands through the years, but they had known the score going in.  He’d chosen them for that particular reason.

And Dorothea?  She had never allowed it.  Her personality and will were too strong, she said.  He thought she didn’t get the fact that domination wasn’t about total domination.  Or maybe his wants hadn't meant enough to her, but that was neither here nor there.

“Petey, are you sure?” he asked gently.  “Do you trust me that much?  I can be a demanding man, and I’ll expect your complete submission.”  A lazy thumb stroked along her jawline, and he riveted his eyes to hers.  “Complete.  Submission.”

She blinked once, slowly. “You won’t hurt me though?”

“I won't hurt you.  Ever.”  That was a total no-brainer.  “I may spank your ass if you disobey me, but I’m not into canes and whips and all that.  I don’t need to inflict pain to get myself off.”

The wheels turned in that uncommon mind of hers as she digested this information.  He’d bet anything she was weighing pros versus cons.  Or – he smothered a dirty smile – maybe some of those scenes were in her recitation catalog and she was running through them. 

“I want the dominance.”

Well, well, well…

Jon very slowly angled toward her until they were practically nose to nose, and spoke in a deadly soft voice.  “Then your ass will be in my bed all night, every night as long as we’re doing this.  No exceptions.  Do you understand?”

“O-okay.”

“I believe the words you’re looking for are, ‘yes, Sir’.”  His cock was bulging with the amount of blood rushing through it, and his mind raced in a thousand different directions.   This had the potential to be momentous.

“Yes, Sir,” she breathed obediently, and he felt her hand quiver with the same rhythm as the pulse going haywire in her neck.

“Good girl.”  Brushing his lips over the back of her hand, he then leaned back into his own space.  “What else?  Toys?  Bondage?  I think role play is a little redundant since we don’t really know each other all that well yet.”  He hesitated before introducing what he thought might be the deal breaker.  “Double penetration?”

She sat up rigidly, as though someone had put a steel rod into her spine.  “No!  I don’t want another person involved.”

“No.”  He gave her a reassuring squeeze.  “There won’t be anybody else.  It would be just me, and maybe a toy.”

There went those wheels again, spinning more fiercely than before.  Was she deciding if that’s what she really wanted?  Worrying what he would think if she did?

“All of that is okay except…  I don’t know about double penetration.  That sounds painful.”

“It wouldn’t be, but like I said, this is your fantasy world and the rules are yours to set.  I got no problem with that.  Now.  On to more practical matters.  What time do you get home from work every day?”

“Somewhere between six and seven.”

He nodded, the necessity for planning details finally elbowing his rioting libido to the side.  Jon could almost sit comfortably now since some of the blood had made the return trip to the big head.

“You take the subway?  Train?”

“Both.”

 “I’ll have a car at your place by eight every evening, and then there will be a car to drop you at the train in the morning.  Or, if you want to go home first, the driver can take you there instead.  Your choice.”

“Okay.”  She was nodding agreeably now.  This was her thing.  Nailing down all the logistics and knowing what to expect.  This she could get on board with.  “I’ll assume you don’t want me wearing my makeup?” she inquired with a smile.

No, he didn’t.  Not really.  But he was learning to look past it.  She liked skulls, spiders and glitter.  It made no sense to him, but it didn’t have to.  Despite all that, she still stirred his hormones.

“You are who you are Petey.  ‘To thine own self be true’.”

She pulled her hand free, slipping from the stool and taking her cup to the sink, a distracted gleam in her eyes.  He hated it when she did that mental retreat thing.  It was like taking a step backward to the days of one word answers.

“Stay and watch football with me today?  I think there are a couple of playoff games on.”

But she was already shaking her head.  “No, I don’t think so.  I have some stuff to do.  Parental phone calls, laundry and the like.  I’d also like to…  prepare myself for this a little more.”

That sounded promising.

“Mentally?  Or is that woman speak for ‘I’m going to shave my legs’?  Because I have a razor,” he teased, sliding up beside her and tugging lightly on her ponytail.

Her eyes came back from wherever they’d gone and she actually smiled.  “Woman speak for shaving.”

“Well in that case…”  He cocked his head to the side, shrugging.  “…I’d be happy to lend a hand.  You know.  I"m just sayin’.”

There was that husky Petey laugh he’d been trying to coax out. 

She levered up on tip-toe and bussed his stubbled jaw.  “You thought I was mad earlier?  That would be nothing compared to what it would be like if you nicked me in a delicate area.  For both our sakes, let’s say you do your shaving, and I’ll do mine.”

36 - Captain Crash

Jon squinted his eyes against the glare of bright sunlight streaming through the windows. Why had he ever thought glass walls were a good idea?  He didn’t often sleep late, but whatever the time right now, it was too early to be awake. She’d kept him up until the wee hours of the morning, and he was facing the reality of his age in the ass-dragging afterglow.

Ass dragging or not, a satisfied smile crept across his face.  He’d managed to commit the elusive Petey to an entire week of kinky sex and, really, it had been mostly her idea.  He had a lot of work to do, bringing fantasies to life in the coming days, but damn if that didn’t sound like a fun kind of work.  Now he knew what Santa Claus felt like, bringing joy to the little kids.  Except he was Smutty Claus bringing kink to the little imp.

Yeah.  It was gonna be a good week.

And seeing that it was Sunday, the week should begin just about now. 

Rolling over onto his left side with a smooth motion and a predatory look in his eyes, Jon’s smile inverted to a scowl when he found that he was the only person tangled in the black sheets.  Petey was gone, leaving behind only her smell and the fuzzy pink hat on the night stand.

There was no way she could be up and moving already when it had been all he could do to roll over at this early hour.  Where the hell was she?  He threw back the covers in a fit of pique, stopping only to grab a pair of shorts on his way to the bathroom. 

Business taken care of and a reckless hand combing through his bed head, he headed downstairs, trying to keep his irritation in check.   Why the thought of her not sleeping in his bed bothered him so much, he couldn’t say.  But it did, especially if she had skulked out in the middle of the cold December night like a cheap whore.  She would find out about kink when he spanked her ass until it was cherry red, if that was the case. 

You don’t even know that’s what happened, moron.  She might be making breakfast for all you know.  Or looking for a hangover remedy.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, and thinking that if it was too early in the morning to be awake, it was definitely too early to be arguing with himself.   With a shake of his messy head, he crossed into the kitchen – only to find it empty and silent.

Too early or not, his temper still simmered.  He was out of options that wouldn't piss him off, but he did have one more choice that would make him mad, not ballistic. If she was here, there was only one other place to look.  The guest room.

Striding back through the living room and down the short hallway, he turned the knob none too gently and forced the door inward with a harsh shove.

His blood pressure dropped a few points.  She was still here.

Baby pink lips were parted in sleep and inky dark eyelashes were resting in a feathery fan across her cheeks.  Laying on her stomach, she had the left cheek buried in the pillow, and the wild, dark mess of her hair reached all around her in a distorted halo. 

Damn if she wasn’t cute, looking all soft and cuddly. 

He arranged his face into its most formidable expression and crossed his arms belligerently across his chest.

But she should be cute, soft and cuddly upstairs in his bed.  If she was sleeping with him, she was going to sleep with him.  She could call it part of Kink Week if she wanted. He didn’t care.  Waking up horny and alone sucked.

“What the hell are you doing down here?” he thundered when he could stand himself no longer.  The tranquil silence of the room shattered like a broken mirror.

Her limbs twitched as she jerked awake, and she pushed upon to her elbows in a hasty panic.  Fuzzy ice-blue eyes regarded him from over her shoulder, through the untidy strands of hair and her panic turned cantankerous.

“I was sleeping,” she rasped, her voice extra husky after the hours of disuse.  “Until some rude ass came in here screaming at the top of his lungs.  If you aren’t bearing over-sweet coffee, I would suggest you back quietly out of the room and stay away from me until you are.”

With that, she flopped back down and pulled the pillow over her head.  Her ass wiggled tantalizingly along with the mattress as she shimmied her hips to get comfortable, and pull the comforter over her shoulders. 

His mouth flattened into a terse line.

Oh no you don’t.

Half a dozen steps had him at the bedside, snatching the pillow from her head and tossing it to the floor on the other side of the bed.  “I asked what the hell you’re doing down here.”

She reminded him of a wet cat, all pissed off with her back up, swiping the unruly hair from her face. Flipping over onto her butt, she wiggled her way upward to lean against the headboard and glower hatefully at him. “And I told you I was sleeping.  Now go away.  I’m tired.”

“Well, so am I. We’d both still be asleep if you were upstairs in my bed.  Where I expected you to be.” 

He couldn’t reconcile the whiny, petulant voice with himself, so he deliberately shoved the sound of it to the back of his mind.  Jon Bon Jovi didn’t whine.

Petey’s jaw fell open with incredulity for an instant before her eyes narrowed, glittering with anger.  “Are you kidding me?  That’s what’s got you down here in such a snit?  You woke up by yourself in the same bed, in the same way you do every other day?  Really?"

Jon ignored her, determined to restore his testosterone to its rightful levels after the whining incident.  “Your ass will be in my bed all night, every night during this week of kinky fuckery.  Do you understand?”

In a gesture that was highly reminiscent of his own, she threw back the covers in a fit of pique, stomping her little feet to the floor and then pushing both palms into his bare chest.  He reeled back a step toward the foot of the bed, surprised by both the force of the impact and her bare legs.  She was only wearing a thin tank top and panties.

“Did you sustain a massive head trauma in the couple of hours since I left you?  Fall down the staircase maybe?  Or did you find a rampant case of stupid running through the apartment and just couldn’t resist catching it?  Because if you think that little dictatorial decree is going to achieve anything other than thoroughly pissing me off, you’ve lost your mind.”

She shoved him again, this time toppling him on his back to the mattress, where she wasted no time climbing him like a poison ivy vine gone wild.  Knees were firmly planted on either side of his hips, and the heel of her hand dug into his sternum as her face, contorted with fury, hovered mere inches above him.

“So would you like to start this conversation all over again, and check the Napoleonic attitude at the door?”

Jon lightly flexed his hips, and her eyes went round in amazement. Probably not the best response

“My God.  Fighting with me makes you horny!”

No, not fighting with her, but the way she looked while she was fighting sure did the trick.  Mad-as-fire Petey was hot as hell.  Her eyes snapped like unleashed bolts of lightning and she was flushed with emotion Lips parted invitingly, her obviously unrestrained chest was heaving with the effort of her fury.  Petey was a rush of pure adrenaline.

“I’m just anticipating the make-up sex.”  Jon was over his 'snit' as she called it.  He could think of much more pleasant things to be doing in this bed, so he offered up his most charming smile and tacked on the puppy dog eyes for good measure.  “Is now a good time for that?”

She harshly tweaked his nipple…  “Ouch! You little wench!”  … and dismounted, ass swaying smartly as she ambled toward the bathroom. 

Her defiant voice filtered back to him in the instant before the door slammed shut.  “Not even close!”

“How about if I make you breakfast?” he called loudly.

Petey re-opened the door a crack and poked her flushed face out of the narrow opening.  “Don’t bother unless it comes with a huge side order of apologetic groveling. I’ll grab something on my way home.”

He sighed, jack-knifing up on the bed and rubbing at his wounded nipple.  “I’ll see what I can do.  Kitchen in twenty minutes?”

She grunted and slammed the door again.

He chuckled to himself as he rose from the bed.  It was absurd really, how quickly she could propel him through a gamut of whirlwind emotions. Pissed, horny and amused all in under five minutes. 

It had to be her fault.  He was an even-tempered kind of guy.  

No matter what his friends, family, crew and fans said.

Petey quietly screamed in the bathroom.  What had she done?  What had she committed herself to?  Sex with him was unbelievable, but the man himself was…  well, unbelievable, but in a completely opposite way.

Did he bother to ask if there may be a logical explanation for her presence in the guest room? Noooo.  Of course he didn’t.  He just got on his damned arrogant high-horse and rode roughshod through the bedroom with some misguided sense of….  She didn’t even know what!

The dominant voice gave you goose bumps.  What are you complaining about?

She scraped her hair back into a high ponytail, idly thinking that her pink streak needed a touch-up.  It would probably be best to wait until after the upcoming family gatherings, though. Her mother liked the illusion of normal at social events.

Thoughts of dominance or Mom?  Is there really a choice to be made here?

He could not treat her that way.  Could not.  She wouldn’t allow it.  They were mutually consensual sex partners.  She wasn’t a subservient concubine, subject to the Master’s strong hand.

But doesn’t that sound intriguing?

Refusing to answer that question, Petey quickly scrubbed her face and ran a toothbrush through her mouth.  She’d done all the damage she could do in here without clothes and makeup.  It was time to get dressed and get the hell out of here.

Carefully easing the door open, she peeped out, thankfully finding Jon gone.  With a tiny puff of relief, she snatched her bag from the floor and plopped it on the bed. Cargo pants, a pink and black striped hoodie, socks and black Chucks came out of the zipper compartment to litter the rumpled comforter.

I'm not making the bed either, buddy.

She stepped into the pants and was preparing to zip the hoodie up over her tank, when she realized her bra was still upstairs, tucked under the edge of the bed.  Mentally shrugging, she went ahead and zipped up anyway.  He wouldn’t notice the difference with the jacket, and she could grab it later.

Cramming feet into shoes, she snagged her cosmetic bag with a malicious smirk.  Jon liked her without the makeup.  He’d said as much.  Well, Mr. Split-Personality was out of luck this morning. Petey was still feeling spiteful enough to don the full Goth makeup regalia, and was sorry she’d grabbed understated clothes last night.  She’d give anything for her dog collar and a corset about now. 

Ah well.  She would just have to make do.

You’ve said it yourself, Mr. Bongiovi.  I can be a bitch sometimes.