43 - One Step Up

“Hey, Sugar.”

Today he was smiling at her when he opened the door, and she couldn’t help but smile back at him.  For a minute she forgot that she was dreading tonight, and their impending chat about her former life.  He looked too good in his layered t-shirts, short-sleeved red over long-sleeved gray.  Add on the jeans and bare feet that finished off his casual at-home look, and she felt both affected and distinctly overdressed.

“Hey.”

A pair of black stiletto heels tapped into his foyer, pausing when he bent his head to brush a kiss against her cheek.  Petey dropped her bag in its usual spot under the table, and slipped the leather jacket from her shoulders. 

“Sexy getup, Imp.”  His eyes licked up over her heels, stockings, leather skirt and black top so sheer that she may as well have been wearing only the lacy bra that it showcased.  Once he got past that sticking point, he swept up over her wildly tousled hair and, once again, conservatively smoky makeup.  “And you smell like you again,” he commented with a wink, taking her coat. 

“You didn’t tell me I couldn’t.”

Closing the closet door, he turned, shaking his head.  “It’s cool.  I like the way you smell, I just didn’t want to taste it with champagne last night.”  He held out his hand.  “Come on.  I fixed dinner.”

“Really?”  He could cook?  Who knew?  Not that he didn’t seem capable.  It was more a case of being surprised that he slowed down long enough to do it.

“Don’t worry,” he chuckled at her obvious skepticism, releasing her hand to retrieve a wooden spoon from the stove top.  “It’s not as remarkable as it sounds.  My dad makes the pasta sauce and gives it to me frozen.  I just have to heat it, boil some pasta and throw together a salad.  It’s one of the few full meals I can pull off.”

Whether he could ‘cook’ or not, he looked quite capable stirring the sauce and checking the tenderness of the pasta. 

While he tended the food, Petey glanced around the kitchen, thinking that something felt different.  Once her eyes lit upon the table against the wall, she realized what it was.  He had set the table with black placemats and simple white china.  Granted, there was no candlelight or flowers, but their relation- umm... arrangement didn’t require those kinds of trappings.

“Pour us some wine?” he asked nodding toward the open bottle and glasses on the counter.  He slid a baking sheet in the oven that, after catching only a quick glimpse, she thought was bread.

“Sure.”  Tipping the bottle over the first glass, she was surprised to see a rich, burgundy spilling out.  Every other time they’d shared wine, it had been white.  “Red?”

From the refrigerator he glanced back over his shoulder.  “I prefer white – Pinot Grigio is my poison of choice – but red is supposed to go with pasta.  I felt like coloring inside the lines for a change.”  He plunked the salad, in its wooden bowl, onto the counter as she topped off the second glass.  

Petey snickered softly.  “Does that mean you’re ditching the perversion for the evening?”

“Fat chance,” Jon snorted, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel.  “And that actually reminds me.  Come into the living room.” 

Not waiting to escort her this time around, he left the kitchen and crossed the living area, a man on a mission.  When he reached the coffee table, he bent forward to retrieve a velvet bag the size of his palm and fished out the contents.  Once she was at his side gain, he dropped the bag back to the table and extended a hand for her to see what had been inside. 

“Tonight’s perversion.”

There were two objects nestled there, both made of a pink plastic, or maybe silicone.  The first piece had an antenna and four small buttons, while the other was a solid, smooth oval with a ‘tail’.

“O…kay.  What is it?”

“Hold out your hand.” She did as he asked, and found the oval one cradled in her palm.  “Now feel.”

He pushed one of the buttons, and the egg-shaped device began to tickle her with its vibrations.  Evidently the ‘tail’ was a receptor for the remote control device.

Petey’s eyebrows flew upward into her hairline and her sapphire blue eyes locked on his wickedly gleaming ones.  “Does that go…?”

“It goes exactly where you think it goes,” he confirmed with a devilish grin.  “And it will be there through dinner and the after-dinner entertainment.”  Jon pressed the bottom button on the remote control device, and the egg began to buzz even more intensely in her palm.  “Under my control.”

She gulped quietly, even as a thrill coursed through her.  Somehow managing to remain outwardly calm and blasé, she inquired, “After dinner entertainment?”

“You’ll have to wait and see, Ms. Curiosity.”  He cocked an expectant brow at her and glanced down at the object in her hand, which he’d stilled with another poke of a button.  “Are you going to let me put that where it belongs, or are you going to do it?” 

The tilt of his chin and the narrowing of his eyes suggested that it was a challenge of sorts.   As though she may weren't brave enough to allow him to perform the intimate task.  Well, he was wrong.  She had more than willingly opened this Pandora's box and she wasn’t going to shy away from it now, when it was getting more and more interesting.

Petey’s eyes were bold and unafraid when they zeroed in on his, and she extended her hand to offer him the pink egg.  “I’d rather you did it.”

The wolfish leer on his face sent delicious chills up her spine, and he tucked the remote into the pocket of his jeans.   Scooping the egg out of her palm, he purred temptingly, “C’mere, Baby.”

Anticipation making her skin hot, Petey edged closer without wavering or releasing his gaze.  Mere inches now separated them. 

“So very brave, Ms. Diehl,” he murmured, scraping a light thumb along the graceful line of her neck.  “Such bravery may deserve a reward later.  But for now, spread your feet apart.”

She didn’t hesitate, planting her impossibly high heels as far apart as the snug leather skirt would allow.

“Not far enough.”  The vibrator disappeared into the same pocket as the remote, and heavy hands came to her thighs, working the skirt slowly upward so that she could gain a wider stance.  She held her breath when one of his hands slipped to cup her mound through the lace of her underwear.

“Your panties are already damp,” he observed quietly, once again holding her in a trance-like gaze.  “Just think how wet they’re going to be when this..." He retrieved the egg from his pocket. "...is dancing in your pussy and you're dry-humping your chair.”

She was pretty sure they had just become saturated.

With that, teasing fingers swept the lace aside to expose her, while his other hand pushed the smooth plastic  against her lips and dredged it along her folds, lubricating it with her arousal. 

A softly commanded, “Hold still,” was all the warning she had before the remote controlled device was seated in her womb.  The coolness of the plastic was a shock at first, and her muscles clenched both around it and his hand while her head fell back with a whimper of surprise.

“Give it a second.  You’ll have it warmed up in no time.”  Jon bent to place a fleeting kiss on her exposed throat and his thumb swirled around her clit three languorous times before withdrawing.  He gave her a sultry smile and tugged at the hem of her skirt, returning it to its rightful position.

She didn’t feel ‘full’, Petey thought, but the vibrator was definitely a notable presence inside her.  She wouldn’t be forgetting it was there any time soon - especially when he decided to turn it on.

“Kitchen,” he commanded with a soft pat on her butt, nudging her in front of him.  “Pasta should be done.”

And that quickly, it was back to the mundane task of preparing a dinner that she didn’t want to eat.  It was as though the scene in the living room had never taken place and he didn’t have climax control in his right pocket.

Or so she thought. 

“Oh, by the way,” he said, seemingly as an afterthought.  The steam billowed around his face when draining the boiling pasta water into the sink.  “I may tease you with that thing, but it isn’t intended to get you off.”  The fettuccine fell into the colander and, setting the pot aside, he bathed it in cold water while glancing casually over his shoulder.  “Don’t have an orgasm with it.  Understood?”

Ohhhhh, tonight was going to be interesting.  He was going to hit her with a blowtorch, but not allow her to melt.  Did she have that kind of self-control?  This incredibly sexy man fixing her dinner in his butt-hugging jeans and bare feet, and making demands on her orgasms... She wanted want to come right now.

“Petey,” Jon demanded her attention, turning away from the sink with an annoyed frown.  She started, his sharp voice jolting her from her musings.  “I asked if you understood.”

“Yes, Sir,” she meekly returned, painfully aware that understanding was a far cry from being able to comply.  Questioning her own fortitude, she had to know…  “What happens if I do?”

He crossed his arms, biceps bulging under the soft cotton layers of his shirts, and he fixed her with a deliberate look.  “I’ve told you all along there would be consequences for disobedience.  If you come without my permission, you’ll experience those consequences.”

Her face heated, whether from desire or embarrassment she was uncertain.  She reached for the cool glass of wine, hoping the alcohol would slow the racing of her heart.

Jon hadn’t moved from his formidable pose in front of the sink.  “Should I just go ahead and get it out of the way?  The consequences?”

This time she blamed the flush on the wine, pressing the glass to her cheek to ebb the heat.  “No, Sir.”

“Say the words, Petey,” he ordered, still unmoving.  “Look at me and tell me you won’t let yourself orgasm with the vibrator.”

Did the egg nestled inside her just get bigger, or did all the blood in her body just converge around it and squeeze?

Obediently lifting her eyes to his, she was unwavering when she uttered, “I won’t orgasm with the vibrator.  Sir.”

Petey’s subservient demeanor just about did Jon in.  Not so much because he enjoyed bending a woman to his will, but because Petey was agreeing to bend to his will.  She’d stood toe-to-toe and fought with him so many times, unafraid and even eager to cross him.  Yet she wanted this.  Wanted him doing this.  Damn if it wasn’t about the hottest thing ever.

He nodded his acceptance, not trusting himself to go any further with it.

Dinner first, then games.  Then you can pound her sweet little body until you both scream.

Shifting uncomfortably, he gruffly instructed, “Take the wine over to the table and have a seat.  I just need to grab the bread and we’re ready.”

His back was turned, but he heard the tiny heels rapping across the tile, the clinking of glass as she put the glassware on the table, and the scraping of chair legs when she seated herself. 

“You said your dad made the sauce.  I would have figured your mother to be the cook in the family.”

Casual conversation to distract him.  Perfect. 

Jon fell into talking about his parents, which was as sure as a bucket of ice water to douse his libido.  While he served their food and joined her at the table, he told of how his parents met in the Marine Corps and how instrumental they’d been in his success.  They’d given their unwavering support and made him believe in himself when no one else did, and Jon knew he couldn’t have done it without them.

“Right now, I’m trying to help Dad figure out a way to make his sauce commercially.  I'd love to see him venture into the food industry with it..”

“Mmm,” she hummed with delight after her first bite.  “I can see why.  It’s incredible!”

He smiled appreciatively, sipping his wine.  “So, you’ve heard about my parents.  Tell me about yours.  I know your mother drives you a little crazy, as mothers are known to do.  What else?”

Fingers stilled on her fork, and she stopped chewing for an imperceptible moment before swallowing. 

Come on, Sugar.  Just relaxed chit chat among friends.  Don’t freeze up on me.

She took a deep swallow of her wine before speaking, “Step-mother.  I’m technically an orphan.”

He was torn between sympathy for her loss and euphoria that she’d opened up that tiny part of herself.   Maybe this orphandom held some explanation for her… extremism.

Reaching across the table, he covered her hand with his.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Petey’s hand slid out from under his to offer him a comforting pat, shrugging as she said, “It's okay.  It happened a long time ago.”

He knew he was pushing his luck, but couldn’t stop himself from trying for more.  “How old were you?”

The air was silent, save for the faint drip of the faucet he hadn’t shut off firmly enough.  It ‘plop, plopped’ into the sink, marking the seconds that Petey twirled the stem of her wine glass between her thumb and forefinger.

“My mother died during childbirth, my father in a plane crash when I was twenty.”  She lifted her face and pinned him with a belligerent glare.  “There’s no reason to feel sorry for me.  My step-mother is a saint who adopted and raised me as the daughter she always wanted.  She never once made me feel like the bastard lovechild of her wandering husband.”

Holy shit.

Jon was struck dumb.  

She was the product of an extra-marital affair.  What did you say to that?  ‘I’m sorry’? "Glad she was't a bitch about it'?

“She sounds like a remarkable woman,” is what he finally came up with.  “I’m glad you had her.”

“Mm.”  Petey retrieved her fork and toyed with the pasta, pushing it lethargically around her plate.  She was clearly no more interested in food than he was at this point.

Where was this supposed to go now?  Did he dare ask another question?  Or was it time to move along?

Decision made, he shoved aside the softness she’d evoked in him and called upon his more dominant nature.    He knew he was safest in sticking to their arrangements for the week.

“Petey, com here.”  He scooted his chair away from the table and patted his thigh, indicating that she should sit on his lap.

She was dumbfounded for a moment, staring blankly at him, fork still suspended above the plate. 

Infusing more steel in his voice, Jon instructed more clearly, “Now.”

The silver utensil clattered against china and she stood, smoothing her skirt down over her hips as she slowly eked toward him.  There was a wariness about her, and he well aware that sitting in his lap could easily broach her ‘intimacy’ barrier.  Under the guise of this game, Jon took a chance that she wouldn't give in to her inclination to refuse him.

Her bottom perched on his left thigh and he curled a single arm around her waist so she wouldn’t slide away. Jon was unwilling to scrutinize the underlying reasons for his wanting her close.  They had a physical relationship and, right now, it just felt good.  

Reaching for his pocket, he depressed the first button on the remote control. 

“Oh!”  Petey jumped at the shock, snaking her arms around his neck.  He could feel the vibrations along his thigh as she wiggled her bottom.  Jon's arousal stirred in reaction to both the effect of the toy and the soft, warm flesh grinding into him.

Smothering a smile, he delved his nose into the soft, fragrant curtain of her hair and spoke seductively in her ear, all the while inhaling the sugary scent that was Petey.

“I think it’s time to tell you about the rest of our night.”