Epilogue - Don't Dream It's Over

“Whoa, whoa.  Wait a minute.”  Jon’s fingers curled around the upper arm of his new bride, preventing her from entering their penthouse apartment.  “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Um.  Going inside?”  Befuddlement clouded her slightly smudged eyes.  The long evening of revelry had dimmed her sparkles a little, but she was still beautiful.

“C’mere.”  He waggled his fingers, gesturing for her to come close and, when she complied, he bent to scoop her up.

“Jon!” she squeaked.  “What are you doing?”

“I’m carrying my imp over the threshold.”  The heels of tennis shoes thumped dully against the tile when he set her down in the foyer.  “You got a problem with that?”

Flirtatious dimples came out to play and she bounced onto her toes, her arms climbing around his neck like clinging vines. “No,” she murmured against his mouth.  Impatient little hands shoved at his coat.  “I do have a problem with all those clothes you’re wearing though.”

“Mmm.”  He had the same problem.  He’d wanted her since the moment she appeared in that figure-hugging wedding dress.  The way it hugged her boobs and pushed them up would’ve had every man in the room salivating if they hadn’t been family or ‘family’.  

Too bad he couldn’t appreciate the way they looked now.  She’d told him in no uncertain terms that she couldn’t wear that dress back in the limo, because she would suffocate.   Unwilling to be left alone wearing dress clothing he didn’t like, Jon had changed back into his jeans when she reverted to her daily Petey-wear. 

Tearing his mouth away from hers, he swiped a gentle thumb under her lip to remove the dampness of their kiss.  “You go on upstairs and wait for me.  I’ll be up in a minute, okay?”

“Why aren’t you coming up with me?”  Glittery eyelashes batted up at him and drew an indulgent smile.

“I was thinkin’ you might want a chance to change into something sexy.”

“Oh.”  Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink.  She was so damn cute sometimes.  “Okay.”

“I’ll bring you a glass of wine.  Mmk?”

“Mmk.”  Popping up on her toes again, she seared his lips with a clinging kiss that all but incinerated his intentions.  “Don’t be too long, though.”  With that and his heavy pat against her bottom, she sashayed into the heart of the apartment and up the stairs. 

Jon’s feet remained stuck to the floor until she’d vanished completely out of sight.  With a slow shake of his head and an even slower smile, he was quietly thankful for good fortune.

Prodding his boots into motion, he trekked across the foyer and living room toward the bar, pausing briefly to take in the big television against the wall. 

Three months ago, he’d wanted nothing more than to watch a damn football game.  That desire had led to a much more overwhelming desire – to know the woman that made watching that game possible.  Petey and her one word answers, intermingled with the crazy recitations, hiding herself behind a wall of attitude.  She'd been all but irresistible to a problem solver like him.

Diving under the bar, he withdrew a coveted bottle of Pinot Grigio that had been waiting for a special occasion to come out and play.  It didn’t get any more special than his wedding day, he supposed, applying the corkscrew. 

♥ ☠ ♥

“I brought your wine, Mrs. Bongiovi.”  Before he could get fully inside the bedroom, Jon was distracted by the discarded pink tank top that had managed to hook itself over the toe of his boot.  Dislodging it with a light shake, he lifted his head to find a wet dream come to life.  Petey was in the center of the bed, leaned on her left hip, bare legs curled behind her.

“Fuuuuck meeee,” he groaned at seeing the little black imp tail draped over her thigh.

She gave a seductive shake to her loose hair and grinned - impishly - bringing to his attention the pointed black ears that were tucked into the silken strands.  “That was the plan, Mr. Bongiovi.”

Shrugging her shoulders forward showcased the boobs he’d been obsessed with all day.  They spilled over the tiny excuse for a bra she was wearing.  Its leather shoulder straps were almost as big as the strip of supple black leather cradling the weight of each breast.  There wasn’t even enough of the material to hide the pale pink of her aureoles and nipples.

Damn, my wife is hot.

The two fragile stemware glasses clunked dully when he put them on the nightstand with a none-too-gentle hand.  “Tell me the fucking photographer didn’t see you in that bra.”

Devilish dimples dug deeper, and she lithely rolled to her knees walking on them to the side of the mattress.  “No,” she purred, rubbing up against him like a demonic cat before nipping at the underside of his jaw.  “I wasn’t wearing a bra for the photographer.”

“Goddammit Petey…”

Her breath was hot and wet against his ear.  “Nobody’s seen me but you, and nobody will.”  She lapped at his earlobe with a hot, wet tongue while the fingers of her left hand skated down the placket of his zipper…  and lower.

Jon grunted softly when she found the spot where the seams of his jeans converged. 

“Take your clothes off,” the fiendish female rasped against his throat at the same time the stone in her engagement ring rasped over the denim encasing his stones.  He recoiled with instinctive self-preservation.  “Husband.”

“Hey.”  A firm hand angled her face so that he could dispense the necessary dosage of stink-eye.  “Don’t get it in your head that this ring cut off the blood flow to my balls.  Bedroom is my domain, unless I decide otherwise.”  He bruised her lips with a brief, but harsh kiss.  “Got it?”

“But dear…”  The coquettishly innocent blink of her make-up free eyes wasn’t fooling anybody.  Her hand folded over his and she pointedly twirled the heavy black band resting on his ring finger.  Ice blue eyes were nothing more than slits of sparkling mischievousness.  “If you don’t take those damn clothes off, you’re not going to get it.  Got it?”

“You wanna fight about this?” He kept his voice deliberately soft and arched a challenging eyebrow. 

His high-handedness was shot down by the sexy chuckle that went straight to his groin.  “Isn’t that our favorite foreplay?”

“Damn straight.” 

She bounced enticingly against the mattress at his gentle shove, and Jon appreciated the jiggle permitted by her joke of a bra.  He wasted no time stripping away his shirt as her bare, pink toes walked up his thighs and curled into his front pockets.  The metal of his belt buckle clanked about the time she angled her right foot so that the heel was resting in his crotch.  She wasted no time in dragging it over his bulging zipper.

There was a deep scratching sound that echoed in the quiet roomwhen he pulled the wide leather belt through the denim loops and dropped it to the floor. 

“Sugar, I don’t have a foot fetish but, all the same, you’re taunting the beast.”  With no further warning, he clamped unrelenting fingers around her ankle, pulling her dainty foot close enough to place a punishing nip at its arch.  “Now behave.”

Releasing her, he went back to his pants, unbuttoning them and kicking off his boots at the same time.  Petey’s eyes had gone soft, and she was watching him through half-closed eyelids. 

“But Jonny,” she breathed demurely.  “I just want you.  What’s wrong with that?”

Pants hit the floor with a thud, courtesy of Jon’s wallet and keys.  She’d gone from being a little hellion to the sweetest angel in the blink of a kinky eye.  There wasn’t a doubt I his mind that Petey Diehl – Bongiovi – was going to keep him guessing every day of their lives. 

He fully expected to love every minute of it.

And love her.

Heart thudding heavily in his chest, Jon crawled in between her parted legs and planted one palm next to her head, his face hovering in the air above hers.   Eyes glazed with love sought out each of her exquisite features while his other hand tunneled into the raven tresses that were fanned out over the comforter.  The imp ears were tossed aside so that he could cradle her skull without impediment.  “Not a thing, my beautiful imp.  Not a damn thing.”

Their lips connected with a mutual groan that voiced both satisfaction and desire.  Tongues sensually intertwined in an erotic duel as he willingly drowned in the cotton candy that had bewitched him from that very first day.  Her skin was so soft against his.  The ultimate femininity against his masculine form, she molded herself up into his body.

“Jonny?” she breathed, resting her forehead against his.  

Unable to still himself, he pressed his chest into hers and lifted her thigh to his waist.  “What is it, Sugar?”

“Do you know that I love you?”

He let his hips fall against her pelvis.  “Yes.”

Jon snuck a hand between them, intent on shoving the little imp thong aside.  He needed her wet heat sucking him in.  Wanted to be a part of her. 

She inhaled sharply when he glided over the lips that only his lips had touched.  She was his.  In so many ways. 

“Can we have a baby right away?  As soon as the birth control injections wear off?”

His fingers froze.  Not sure that he’d heard her correctly, he drew back enough so that he could search the depths of her eyes.  Eyes that were somber and certain. 

“I want to carry your baby inside me,” she whispered.  “I promise I’ll do my best to be a good mother.”

Jon blinked away the moisture that wanted to prick at his eyes.  Her quietly assertive proclamation sent the blood rushing through his veins.  The noise of it was almost too loud to hear himself think.

Fortunately, he didn’t need to think. 

“You’ll be an amazing mother,” was his soft answer.  He traced a soft finger over the contours of her cheek.  “To our baby.”

“Is that a yes?” 

His fingers resumed their mission, sliding through the hot wet folds of her sex.  She was always so ready for him.  Was there any bigger turn on?

Oh, yeah.  There was.  The woman he loved sweetly begging him to get her pregnant.

His stomach muscles clenched at the thought of a brilliantly blue-eyed baby smiling up at him with her dimples.  

Dragging the tip of his erection through her wetness, he slicked himself enough to push easily inside her waiting womb.

“That’s a yes, Sugar.”

   ~The End~