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.”