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.