8 - Sex and Candy

Petey’s forage for a stepladder had proven successful.  There was a utility closet off the kitchen downstairs that held, although not exactly what she’d been looking for, an acceptable substitute in the form of a six foot folding ladder.  Her victory died a speedy death, however, at the daunting prospect of transporting it back up the stairs.  Weighing no more than a few pounds, she had no trouble lifting it, but navigating its awkward height up an open staircase – without taking a gash or two out of said staircase – could be a problem. 

Taking a moment to analyze the situation, Petey reasoned that there should be a service elevator somewhere nearby.

There is no way the residents of a two-story penthouse are expected to hike laundry up and down the stairs. 

It took only a brief exploration to discover that she was right.  She caught sight of nondescript elevator doors a few steps away from the closet. 

A single push of the call button and the doors slid open, granting access to both her and the ladder.  Carefully leaning her companion against the rear wall of the car, Petey punched the button that would take them up.

What she hadn’t fully factored out was, once the doors slid open on the second floor, that she might be slightly disoriented.  Logic dictated that, since she’d crossed the living room after descending the staircase, that the staircase – and master suite – should be on the other side of the upstairs living area from where she was. 

Hefting the ladder onto her shoulder, she trod off in that direction, her Chucks squeaking slightly on the hardwood floor.  She cautiously navigated the ladder into the narrow hall and stopped to confirm that she didn’t scratch the study doorway when passing through it.  She was just making the sharp right turn into the bedroom when his voice attacked her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jon barked from directly behind Petey, his volume and nearness making her jump.  That, in turn, loosened her grip on the ladder, allowing it to crash to the floor and take her feet out from under her in the process.  Before she could say ‘timber’, she was sprawled all over an unforgiving aluminum ladder.

“Goddammit!”  She yelled as loudly as he had.  “You don’t fucking sneak up on people like that and scream at them!” 

Air hissed through her teeth as she took a quick physical inventory for damages.  Knees – banged up from their impact to the floor, but nothing that wouldn’t fade in a few minutes.  Shins – throbbing like a bitch from where the flat metal rung had imprinted itself across them.  That was gonna leave a mark. 

All in all, she decided she would live. 

“God, Petey, I’m sorry!” he apologized contritely. “I wish you would’ve waited five minutes and let me get that.”

“Funny, so do I,” she muttered.

“Here.”  Jon reached a hand out, his fingers waggling for her attention.  “Lemme help you up.”

Glowering at him, Petey contemplated telling Jon to go screw himself, but decided the little bit of satisfaction she’d get from it wasn’t enough to merit the effort.  So she huffed – loudly – and placed her hand into his much larger one, allowing him to help pull her from the floor.

He either over estimated her weight or underestimated his strength, because once her feet were on the ground, the momentum continued to carry her forward.  She stumbled toward Jon, barely able to catch herself before landing nose first in the center of his chest. 

His hair was still damp, she noted once she had stabilized, inhaling his crisp, clean scent.  There could have been a subtle undertone of cologne but, if there was, it smelled so natural that it must’ve been made from those pheromones he was always tossing around.

Air became a little scarce as she stood toe-to-toe with the sexiest man in rock and roll, her hand wrapped tightly in his.

Out of the blue, Petey realized it was the first time they’d actually touched.  The good news was her theory had been firmly proven.  Direct exposure to him was the reason for the hype – and she was hyped. 

She’d read someplace that there were four yards of nerve endings in a single square inch of human skin, and that the average body had fourteen square feet of skin.  Petey was fairly certain that the electricity from his touch was overloading all twenty-four thousand one hundred and ninety-two inches of nerve endings in her body.  Simultaneously.  Although she admittedly felt more of an impact on some nerve endings than others. 

And the really strange thing was…

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was lust in your eyes,” she observed quietly.

“It is.  I want you.”

Her head tipped to a curious angle as she pushed away her body’s chaotic response to the matter-of-fact pronouncement.  “Why?”

Jon’s eyes hadn’t left hers since he hoisted her from the floor, and she could see that they were clouded with confusion on top of lust when he confessed, “Damned if I know.”

Instinct told her she should take offense, but Petey couldn’t seem to muster up the indignation, mostly because it would be hypocritical.  She felt pretty much the same way.

The overwhelming chemical reaction between them was… peculiar – yet provocative enough for Petey to ditch her stranglehold on logic in favor of a crazy impulse.    

“This would only be sex. I’m not looking for a relationship.”  Her voice held firm, offering no room for negotiation.  Her nerve endings may be half-way to fried by a mere touch, but this was going to happen on her terms. 

It had to happen on her terms.

And apparently he had no problem with that, or was mortified at the thought of a relationship with her, because his response was a prompt, “Understood.”

Jon discreetly released his pent-up breath.   Didn’t matter if it was business or personal, he loved reaching a clear, concise understanding.  It drastically reduced the opportunity for things getting screwed up, and right now there was only one thing that he wanted screwed…

He tucked a loose fist under her chin, gently nudging her face upward with a single knuckle.   The dark-rimmed eyes were still too heavily made up for his taste, but for the first time he noticed for that her nose was narrow and turned up slightly at the end, just like a pixie.  And that her perfectly bow-shaped mouth, with its full lower lip, was pale pink even without the cotton candy coating from before. 

The confectionary fragrance that had haunted him for days teased his nostrils now as he ever-so-slowly dipped his head in deference to her diminutive stature.  Slumberous blue eyes shuttered closed when her face blurred with nearness, and his lips tingled in anticipation of that first taste.  A taste that he was denied when, at the last second, she turned away.  Rather than tasting her mouth, his lips found themselves skating along the curve of her jaw. 

“No kissing.”  She tacked on as afterthought, petite hands roaming the cotton-covered breadth of his chest.

A cloud of exasperation swept over Jon’s face and left creases in his forehead.  “You’ve got to be kidding me.  What is this, Pretty Woman?” 

“Do you wanna judge me, or do you wanna fuck me?” she asked with that damned pierced eyebrow cocked.

Feeling his arousal surge against her belly at the words, Jon knew she already had her answer, but he still growled, “Your rules, but I’m in charge.”

“You can try.”

Dammit, this woman should be pissing him off, but with each push for control, his blood only pumped harder.  Still, he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of admitting defeat.  Not with black leather lingerie and a nipple ring tugging at his subconscious. 

Determined hands shoved the leather jacket off her shoulders, completely uncaring when it fell in a wadded heap at her ankles.  His next victim was the psycho pink rabbit shirt that he whipped off without ceremony.  It was time to see if his repetitive nighttime fantasy was an indication of his visionary abilities. 

Shirt dropping unnoticed from his fingers, Jon realized any dream he had of opening a psychic storefront on the Jersey Shore had just been dashed.  Fortunately, the reality of Petey and her underwear dulled the sting of disappointment.

At the complete opposite end of the spectrum from studded leather, he found that she wore the softest pink lace, barely concealing her breasts for its sheerness.  Vainly, he searched for the dark outline of her aureoles, but decided the bra wasn’t as sheer as he thought.  There was only the barest hint of a darker shade showing through the lace.

Sheer or not, the garment offered enough support to push the twin mounds into an extraordinary display of cleavage that emphasized their surprising plumpness.  Her clinging tops hadn’t exactly been hiding anything, but seeing them in the flesh cemented for Jon just how stacked this little imp was.  

Between the full breasts and the generous arc of her hips, she boasted curves that a forties’ pin-up girl would be proud to have.

So reality tugged at a different part of his subconscious than the fantasy had, but he wasn’t complaining.

“You were expecting black leather and studs?”

“Something like that.”  One callused thumb scraped across the lace-clad softness, coaxing her nipple into a rigid point. 

“Haven’t you ever heard -” She gasped softly as he grazed it again. “- that you’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover?”

“I’ve heard it, just never had reason to believe it.”

Done talking, Jon rounded his palms around the ass that had been haunting him, squeezing worshipfully.  His own groan vibrated in his ears as the firm flesh filled his hands to overflowing, too much to be contained.

Meanwhile, her insistent fingers were pushing under his shirt and Jon was startled by the jolts that rushed through him as Petey slid unexpectedly soft hands over his ribcage.  She wasted no time in seeking out his nipples, giving them the same teasing attention hers were receiving.

“Off.”  She pushed at the stretchy, blue cotton until he stripped it over his head, leaving his bare chest as a playground for her hands and mouth.

The decidedly feline growl that she emitted only served to feed Jon’s readiness.  His fingers slid inside the elastic waist of her leggings, shoving the fabric down far enough to see that her boy-short panties matched her bra. 

Eating her up with his eyes, Jon could barely discern the difference between the pale lace and Petey’s own pale skin.  But the lace was apparently just as sheer as he’d originally thought.  The tiny, dark tuft of curls between her thighs was readily visible through the lace.

He peeled at the leggings, coaxing them down over her thighs until they became hung at her knees.  They were tucked into the knee-high shoes whose laces must be ten friggin’ feet long.  He’d blow in his pants before she got the damn things unlaced.

“Fuck.  What the hell is the deal with these things?” he huffed impatiently.

Snickering quietly, she kicked her right leg up and reached behind her.  One long metallic rasp and the shoe dropped to the floor with a thud.  “Zippers in the back.”  Another quick zip had its mate in the floor beside it and she stepped out of the leggings, pushing them and a pair of pink bobby socks to the side.

“Better?”

“Damn straight,” he growled, burying his face in the fragrant curve of her shoulder.  The cotton candy smell was nearly overpowering there against the satiny skin.  Before she could tell him no again, his tongue snaked out and dipped into the hollow of her collarbone, languidly lapping his way up her neck.  His hands were still roaming the softly landscaped playground of her ass, fingers teasing at the lace edges of her panties.  

While he was engrossed in the way her skin felt under his mouth and hands, Petey was busy with her own exploration, focusing on the fur that covered his pecs.  Her fingers burrowed their way through the crisp hair, seeking the skin that lay beneath.  Her tongue darted out to tease.  Her teeth –

“Ow!” He yelped.  She’d bitten his nipple.  Hard.  And she was swiftly moving her demanding little mouth up to his shoulder.

Damn, she’s a biter.

He’d never been into that, and had only allowed a woman to mark him on a couple of occasions, but hell if it didn’t turn him on to see and feel her even white teeth sharply nipping at him.

“Sorry,” she murmured, bending her arms behind her to reach for the clasp on her bra.

“Hey, hey,” he chastised, brushing her aside.  “That’s supposed to be my job.”

“Then hurry.”

He gave a sultry chuckle, the sound sending chills up Petey’s spine and causing her already stiff nipples to pebble even further.

“Patience.”

There was something about the way he said it…

She mewled softly, instinct grinding her hips against his and finding the firm edge of his erection.  She knew hardness was the perfect foil for the softness between her thighs; she just needed to get him there to prove it.  God, she wanted this man. 

A gentle breeze caressed her breasts as the lacy confection of her bra hit the floor. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, clearly appreciating what he’d unveiled.  “No wonder you smell like cotton candy.  That’s exactly what color your nipples are.”

Fascinated, Jon stroked the readily yielding flesh around the taut – un-pierced – pink nubs as he idly wondered what her natural hair color was.  With such pale nipples, she had to be a white-blonde or redhead, he speculated.  A look at what she had under those panties would tell him for sure.

Scooping her up, he strode toward the bed, where he lightly tossed her onto the comforter.  Its darkness suited her perfectly and lit up the stunningly translucent body that he ached to possess.

“Panties off.  I wanna see if that pussy is as pretty a pink as the rest of you.”

Her eyes smoldered as, for once, she silently obeyed, kicking the scrap of lace to the side.  Scooting back onto the pillows, she allowed her knees to fall wide, exposing herself to his gaze.  The action alone was sexy as hell, but that tiny thatch of coal-black curls that sat at the top of her cleft…  And the glistening pinkness that lie beneath it…. 

His shorts hit the floor without a second thought.  He wanted his dick buried in that picture perfect haven.

“Your pussy is the stuff wet dreams are made of,” he rambled mindlessly, with the sexual prowess of a fifteen-year-old boy.  A woman’s secret parts turned a man’s mind to useless mush on a good day.  For Jon, it had been over a year since he had seen any of those parts in person, as his throbbing erection was painfully reminding him.

Walking on his knees in the marshmallowy bedding terrain, he planted his hands on either side of her hips.  It was a slight detour, but he was compelled to sample her sweetness on his tongue before indulging in the main event.

Bent close, Jon could smell the sugary musk.  His mouth watered at the imagined sensation of gliding his tongue through the honeyed slickness before him and licking her flavor from his lips.  He was only a hair’s breadth away from his first drink…

Petey’s hand pressed against his forehead.  “Nuh-uh.  No kissing there either.  Fuck me.”

He frowned at her, but the need between his legs was a whole lot more pressing than the need for an explanation.  Talk later.  Sex now.

Mutely reaching for the nightstand drawer, he had the foil packet ripped open and its contents in place before the heat had a chance to fade. 

“It’s been a while for me, baby,” he warned softly, poised at her entrance.  “This may not last long.”

“Same,” she breathed, urging him forward with her heels in his buttocks.  “Just go.”

His thumb tested her readiness, finding her dripping with anticipation.  Reassured that he didn’t need to restrain himself, Jon plunged deep in a single stroke.

“Ohhhh, shit Petey…  You feel so good.  So damn wet and hot.” 

Her pelvis lifted from the bed as she rocked to meet his thrust.  “Nnnhhmm.” 

Jon withdrew and filled her again, testing the limits of how far he could bury himself.  Her moisture coated them both, making the glide so fabulously easy that he couldn’t hold back the prolonged groans of pleasure.  It had been so long since he’d felt the blissful pressure of a woman’s thighs locked around his waist...

Petey’s wild thrashing below him reassured Jon that she was riding with him on the fast train to the top.  Her eager hips writhed heatedly, seducing him further and adding to the tantalizing friction that sparked between them. 

Feeling her short nails scraping his shoulder blades, he hissed in pleasured pain, the sensation barely fading before she was covering his chest with a flurry of love bites.   The imp was a little hellcat.

“Hold on baby.”  It was time to put this to an end.  Jon fucked her with a desperation and force he normally kept leashed, but she had dragged him to the brink, so he mercilessly pummeled her into the mattress.

“Come for me, Petey,” he bit out, conserving his oxygen for the peak ahead.  “Come with me, baby.”

As though all he’d had to do was speak it into being, her back bent in a perfect arch and she slammed her pelvis into his with the impact of her orgasm.  That husky voice of hers reached inside him as she cried out in pleasure and buried her fingernails into his back.

The unmistakable sound of her completion gave Jon permission to follow her over the edge and he pivoted his hips frantically, sweat dripping unnoticed down his face.  The pressure built as he jackhammered his way through to the other side, where his balls exploded and pinpoints of light flooded his vision.  The condom was flooded with hot stickiness, and a guttural moan was dragged from the absolute bottom of his lungs.

Jon angled his body to the side when he collapsed, so as not to crush her while he tried to catch his breath.  His chest heaved as he inhaled in the air around them, only to find himself still drowning in her candied smell.

Christ.  I forgot sex could be that good…