33 - Any Way You Want It

As you may have seen mentioned, I'm going out of town on business for the next week.  Yes, friends, that WILL interrupt the frequency of your Jon and Petey fix.  The next posts are scheduled for Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday.  Just thought I should warn you instead of cutting you off without explanation...lol.  Have a great weekend my pretties!

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She didn’t have to wait very long in the lobby of the Mercer Street building.  Petey had barely set her bag and gift on the floor, and herself in an inconspicuous armchair, when he strode through the front entrance.

Her good mood still thriving, she immediately offered him a smile from across the lobby.

He didn’t return the gesture.  He didn't even acknowledge her.

Jon nodded to the doorman with a polite, “Thank you, Steve,” and never veered from his determined path to the elevator.  He jabbed the call button and the doors immediately responded to his touch, the heavy brass gliding silently apart.  Stepping inside, one strong hand kept the doors from closing and he looked at her with an expectant tilt of his head.

Tucking the box under her arm, she stood, kicking her bag in the process.  It slid no more than a foot, but she expelled an annoyed breath and scooped it up so that she could join him in the car.

With a discreet 'whoosh', they began their ascent to the top of the building.  A soft chime announced each floor they passed, the only sound in the enclosure until they reached the fourth floor.

“Hi.”  His voice was mild when he finally chose to greet her.

“Hi yourself.”

The unfamiliar vibes he was putting out unsettled Petey.  In spite of his texts today and his directive to spend the night, she didn’t know what to expect when he was acting this way. 

She hated not knowing what to expect.

They arrived at the penthouse with no further conversation, and he reached into the pocket of his long, woolen overcoat for the key.  Pushing through the door, the cheery red scarf was unwrapped from around his neck and hung in the closet, along with his coat.  He turned, presumably to reach for her coat.

That’s when he realized she was still in the hallway.

“Are you coming in?”

She dipped her chin and stepped into the foyer.  After putting the box on top of the table where his keys had been tossed, she stowed her bag under it, and silently shrugged out of her jacket. Petey hung it in the closet herself when he didn’t linger, but made a beeline for the bar.

“Drink?”

Between her good mood and the alcohol she’d consumed at the party, Petey had been maintaining a comfortable buzz up until she stepped in the elevator.  She’d like to have it back.

“Yes.”  For some reason, it felt better having some space between them.  The exposed skin between the laces of her top felt chilled, and she hugged herself to infuse some warmth back into her body.

“Wine?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

“I’m having Jack and Coke,” he warned, holding up a bottle bearing the distinctive black and white label.

“Fine.”  It wouldn’t take nearly as long to loosen the knots in her stomach.

Her footsteps echoed across the hard floor, sounding harsh in the quiet of the room.  She gingerly perched upon one of the black leather stools, spinning it around to where he was playing host behind the bar.  Jon turned up two heavy highball glasses, and efficiently dropped several ice cubes into each before covering them with a generous splash of amber liquor.

But one glass was markedly fuller than the other when he replaced the lid.

“I said I’ll have what you’re having,” she issued the quiet challenge, still studying him for the faintest signs of familiarity.

“Yes, ma’am.”  The screw top obediently spun off the bottle with a flick of his thumb, and he evened up the whiskey levels before replacing it again.  A hiss of carbonation accompanied the opening of the Coke can and the bubbling beverage swirled against the caramel colored whiskey, darkening its hue by two shades. 

He slid one glass toward Petey, under her watchful eye.

“Bottoms up.”  Jon’s Adam’s apple worked as he took a healthy gulp of his drink.

Never having had whiskey before, Petey chose a more delicate sip, and was thankful she did when that sip burned a trail down her esophagus.  Fighting like the devil to contain it, she managed not to embarrass herself  by coughing up every last drop.  Just barely.

Without speaking to her, Jon ambled to one of the tall living room windows overlooking the city.  It happened to be the exact one that she’d stared similarly out of the last time she was here - when he'd so tenderly kissed the back of her neck and said that sex with her was satisfying.

We're definitely in a different place tonight.

Squirming uncomfortably, Petey slid off the stool to stand at the window as well, but rather than taking in the scenery below, she stood with her face toward him.  She sipped at her drink and watched him intently, the darkness placing a pronounced emphasis the shadows over his face.  Even brooding he was an incredibly handsome man.

“What?” he finally asked without turning.

She dithered, buying time with another, larger swallow.  The warmth seeped through her belly and into her limbs this time, bringing liquid courage along with it.

“I didn’t know you tonight.  The Jon Bon Jovi at the Marriott was someone I’d never met.”

“It’s who I am.”  Ice melodically tinkled against glass with his next harsh gulp, and she took his lead, downing another shot of her own distilled fortification. 

A deep breath after the swallow, and she inched closer to him, lifting her hand to brush tentative fingers along the high arch of his cheekbone.  Petey noted with pleasure that his eyes drifted shut at the touch.  “Not with me, it’s not.  I wish you’d left him there.  I don’t know how to talk to this side of you.”

“Petey, you don’t to talk to any version of me without some damn game between us.”

Burned, she instantly withdrew her hand, allowing it to fall slowly to her side as she retreated a full step away.  With a tiny sigh, she, too, gave herself over to the skyline, leaving him with only her silhouette in the dimly lit room.

“I like our game,” she confessed softly to the city at large.  At what point that had become true, she was unsure.  Maybe it had become more interesting since the scope of his questions had changed from a biographical fact finding mission to curiosity about her as a person.  Or maybe she was just softening toward him.  Whatever the reason, she relished the thrill that shot through her when he said ‘quid pro quo’ in that  negotiator voice of his.

“And you know more about me than most people," she added truthfully.

He snorted, turning to nudge the furry pompom on her Santa hat with his index finger.  “Not more than my daughter, evidently, and you’ve sworn her to secrecy on whatever she knows.”

She slowly pivoted her head to stare at him, the pompom flipping back over her shoulder with the movement.  “Is that why you wanted to play tonight?  To find out the one thing I asked Stephanie not to tell?”

“Yes.”

She bent her elbow, draining the Jack and Coke in a final gulp and absently enjoying the fuzzy feeling it left behind.  Later she would blame it on the alcohol, but right now Petey was tired of fighting to keep him at arm’s length.  She was undeniably attracted to him and, if he wanted her, he could have her.

“Fine.  Tonight I’m yours.  Do what you will.  The only request I have is that you don't kiss me.”  She lifted pink eyes to his face and wobbled the tiniest bit.  “Please.”

His eyebrows knit together and slammed down in confusion, as though she’d just admitted that she was descendant from an alien lineage.  “Spell it out for me, Petey.  What are you saying?”

“It’s very simple Jon.  I’m giving you what you want.  You only have to choose where you'd like to start, answers or my body?  Which one will turn you back into the Jon I know?”

She counted five very distinct, very painful thumps of her heart as he stood silent and immobile. 

God, don’t let me regret this.

“I’m going to check the alarm and turn off the lights down here,” he eventually murmured, dragging a tremor-inducing finger along her jawline.  “Why don't you go upstairs and wait in my bed?  I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Jon?”  She placed her hand over his with a frown.   Panic had begun to bubble inside her, along with the sinking realization of exactly just how much she’d offered him.  

“Yeah, Sugar?”

She'd effectively offered him the power to rip away all the protective layers and expose what lie beneath.  Now, all she could do was beg his chivalry.

“Be gentle with me?”

☠ ☢ ☠

Well, fuck me.

Even with her bad ass attitude, all that crap on her face and rhinestones twinkling on her eyelashes like a hooker...  In that moment, she seemed as fragile and innocent as a child.  

“Always,” he promised from beneath hooded eyes.  Of course he would be gentle.  He wasn't an ogre, for God's sake.

Offering him the ghost of a smile and her glass, Petey – in her ugly combat boots – rose on tiptoe to press a soft kiss against the base of his throat, drugging him with her sweet scent.   She then pivoted gracefully away.

Holding both empty glasses, he mutely watched her backtrack to the foyer, returning with her bag looped over her shoulder.  With a furtive glance to where he stood, still unmoved, she slowly climbed the stairs, leaving him to watch her departure with a jumble of emotions.

Damn her for pissing him off – or at least being the cause of why he was pissed at Lemma – and then going all vulnerable on him and opening herself up.  He didn’t like the tugging it created in his chest.  

Why did you push, asshole?  Why couldn’t you be perfectly content with the uncomplicated social sex that she offered you? 

Now, on the cusp of having everything he’d been so diligently seeking for the past month, he didn’t know what the hell to do.

Slow, measured steps took him to the bar, where he disposed of the glasses as he wracked his brain.

Time to man up, Bongiovi.  Be honest about what the hell it is you want from this woman.  At least with yourself, he lectured while blindly making rounds through the downstairs.  

What did he want?  A friendly fuck?  His first inclination was to respond with an emphatic ‘yes’, but obviously that wasn’t right.  He wouldn’t have been pushing so hard for something else if it was.  He also wouldn’t be so pissed that she had enchanted his friends in less than thirty seconds, and they her.  His blood pressure crept up a point just remembering the easy dismissal David had given him, being so wrapped up in Petey.

But Jon had seen her first.  She was his.

No.  She's not.  

He absently checked the alarm system, making sure everything was secure for the night.

Was that the problem?  Did he want more?

God.  Why would he want more?  What would more even be with Petey?  Jon couldn’t visualize her as a part of his life outside this apartment.  The press would have a field day and eat both of them alive for their blatant dissimilarities.  He had just begun to make a difference in political circles, and influential people were seeking his support.  He couldn’t afford to jeopardize his reputation at this stage of the game.

So where did that leave him?

He doused one of the lamps, doubling the amount of shadows in the living room, and emphasizing the twinkling lights from below.

It left him with a soft spot the size of New Jersey for the beautiful imp upstairs, who was spread across the sacrificial altar of his bed, offering herself to him tonight.

He’d never be able to forgive himself if he took advantage of her.

But maybe he wouldn’t have to.  Perhaps if he gave her something of himself, she would be inclined to return the favor.  And that’s what he really wanted, truth be told.  He wanted her to talk to him willingly about herself, her life and whatever the hell else went on in that crazy head of hers.

Jon snicked off the last light, mounting the stairs with heavy feet.

He wanted Petey Diehl to trust him.