*28 #Control

[7:35 PM]COOKIE: I’m home.

 

It was the message Jon had been obsessively checking the phone for during the last two hours.  Had been waiting for all day, if he was honest about it.   Between the first sip of coffee this morning to the glass of wine after dinner, he’d wondered about her at least a hundred times. 

 

How she was doing?  How it was going with the family?  How did the will turn out?  Was it the cruel manipulation she’d half-expected, or had there been some deathbed remorse at play?   Did the guy finally man up and do the right thing in the end?  If so, what did he leave her?

 

On and on, Jon’s inquisitive mind had churned out questions, and now it was finally time to find out the answers. 

 

Ignoring the movie he hadn’t been watching anyway, he refrained from immediately demanding the full story and kept it casual.

 

[7:36 PM]JON: Feel like some company?

 

[7:38 PM]COOKIE:  Not company.  You.

 

He was not humble enough to keep a satisfied smirk from curving his lips. 

 

She might be a fan, but Teddi wasn’t an ass kissing fan who showered him with compliments.  Jon never would’ve slept with her if she was, because that shit made his skin crawl. 

 

Her understated directness, though?  That fed his ego. 

 

[7:39 PM]COOKIE: Fair warning that I’m a mess.

 

[7:40 PM]JON:  Does that mean you need to brush your hair or you’re drunk?

 

Neither was a deal breaker for him, as long as she wasn’t a mean drunk.  Even then, it might be funny to see her mad. 

 

[7:41 PM]COOKIE:  Probably both.  Maybe you shouldn’t come.

 

[7:42 PM]JON:  Just have the gate open when I get there.

 

She did as he asked.  When he arrived ten minutes later, there was no wrought iron obstacle to prevent Jon and his bottle of wine from driving right up to the front door. 

 

Bringing wine to a woman who was already chemically compromised might be tacky.  Probably was, in fact, but he reasoned that they didn’t have to pop the cork if she was too compromised.  He just felt it was appropriate to show up with something in hand, and he enjoyed wine.  Win-win. 

 

So, he had the fingers of one hand curled around the bottle neck, while his opposite index finger poked the bell.  She must’ve been hovering in the entryway, because he’d barely pressed it when the door swung open. 

 

“Hey,” he reflexively greeted.

 

“Hello.” Teddi retreated a step, and her hand lifted in silent invitation to enter.  The silence extended as the door shut, and he took a quick inventory of his hostess.

 

She was, as always, shrouded in beige.  The sleeveless dress with its high collar wasn’t as crisp as it had likely been that morning, but the creases wouldn’t be so noticeable if she was wearing shoes.  Bare feet, wilted hair and smudged mascara added to the imperfect linen, giving him the sum of one June Cleaver train wreck.

 

Boston had taken a visible toll on her, and it didn’t stop with cosmetics.  Sharp blue irises were dulled by a layer of weariness.  Her skin wasn’t any brighter with a pallor that bordered on unhealthy.  Habitually rigid posture sagged under strain. 

 

What bothered him the most, though, her air of… desolation.  Like she’d lost her puppy, kitten and best friend all in one fell swoop. 

 

Jon might not be her best friend, but he could sure as hell be a friend. 

 

“Looks like you could use a hug.”

 

Her head tilted thoughtfully to one side before she gave him a slow, faint smile.  “If you’re offering, I wouldn’t turn it down.”

 

“I’m offering.”

 

As delicate arms slid around his waist, he folded his across Teddi’s lower back and behind her neck.  Very little about her seemed normal – if such a word could be applied to Dr. Cookie Gypsy – tonight, but this hug delivered a nose full of normalcy.

 

“How the hell do you always smell like cookies?” he mused softly as she burrowed into the black cotton of his t-shirt. 

 

“Unsolved mystery of the universe.”

 

Jon’s smile molded into a pucker that he brushed against her temple.  “Wanna talk about your day or get drunk and forget it?”

 

“Neither.”  She eased back enough to make eye contact without leaving his arms.  “Can we go upstairs?”

 

His libido interpreted that as sex and screamed immediate approval, but good sense intervened.  She wasn’t asking him to fuck her. 

 

He didn’t think.

 

“You want me to tuck you in for the night?”

 

The dullness melted away from her irises like candle wax, leaving behind a glossy sheen of… Gypsy.

 

“I want you to take me higher than I've ever been.  Take me down and back again.  Come to me, be my disguise.  Open your coat, let me crawl inside.”

 

Not that that didn’t sound like fun, but…  “Are you speaking in lyrics?  My lyrics?”

 

“I listen to a lot of Bon Jovi.  It happens sometimes.”  She leaned up to feather a kiss against the hiked corner of Jon’s mouth. 

 

The contact was so light and brief that it could barely be considered a kiss, but it packed a wallop.  His libido was ready to give her something for the pain and let her crawl any damn place she wanted.  It was his conscience having a tough time getting on board.  It felt a whole lot like taking advantage of a vulnerable woman. 

 

Once upon a time, he would’ve taken it without a second thought, but that was a lot of hairspray ago.  He wasn’t an egomaniacal punk kid anymore. 

 

Well, he wasn’t a punk kid, anyway.  Egomaniacal depended on the day.

 

“You sure that’s what you want?  ‘Cause I brought wine.”  Adult Jon shifted his arm and the bottle so she could see.  “I can be a good drinking buddy.  Good listener.”

 

“I’m sure you can,” she placated without sparing the rosé a second glance.  She was too busy pushing under his shirt and gliding silky fingertips over his ribs.  “Maybe later I’ll appreciate your pity wine and feel like talking.  At the moment, I’d rather get naked.”

 

Okay, then.  He’d tried to do the right thing, but she couldn’t make it much plainer than that.  Her bluntness took out the guesswork and appeased his sense of morality.   

 

“Point me to the kitchen and go do it,” he instructed, releasing her with a quick pat on the ass.  “I’ll throw the wine in the fridge and meet you in the cauldron of color.”

 

“Cauldron of color?” 

 

It was nice seeing a smile that traveled all the way to the corners of her eyes, and he winked his approval before teasing, “What?  Gypsies don’t have cauldrons?”

 

“That’s witches,” she chuckled and pointed behind him to a door beside the front one.  "Kitchen’s through there.”

 

“Got it.”

 

While he went to the fridge, she turned to glide down the hall, mounting the steps with light feet and a lighter heart.  Exhaustion be damned.  He was magic. 

 

Forget that he was going to have sex with her – again.  Forget his sweet gesture to be a good listener.    He’d banished the Boston fiasco to the background without the need for empty platitudes that everything would be okay.  A simple hug conveyed it to the depths of her soul. 

 

His touch was priceless.

 

Throwing open the boudoir door, she stepped inside and immediately twisted her arms to reach the dress’s back zipper.  It only took a mild display of contortionism to shimmy it open, meaning all Teddi had to do was unbuckle the belt in order to step free.  She was just hanging it in the closet when muscular arms snaked around her waist from behind.

 

“You’re wearin’ underwear this time.”

 

“I am,” she affirmed, laughing quietly and turning in his embrace.  “You rather like the thought of me being trashy enough to go commando, don’t you?”

 

“I like that you’re not as predictable as you pretend to be.”

 

Blinking up into hooded eyes, she reminded herself that this was just sex.  They were having a bit of fun that happened to do wonders for her mental health.  That’s all.  There would soon come a day when he walked away without coming back. 

 

Make sure he doesn’t forget you.

 

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” she murmured and went on tiptoe for a kiss that demanded his participation.  Impatient fingers burrowed into the soft coarseness of his hair and tugged.  She needed him closer to discover the taste of wine behind his lips.

In response to the insistent invasion, Jon fed her a growl and forced her to swallow it when he took charge.  Blunt fingertips indented the base of her skull as both hands angled it to suit him.  His thick tongue was an undeniable presence and filled her mouth to overflowing.  She was forced to inhale the steamy breath that came in short puffs when he could be bothered to exhale.  For the most part, Jon just kept inhaling.  Taking her in through his nose and absorbing the smell that enamored him.  Bruising lips sought the matching taste, but he would never find it.  Teddi didn’t taste like his beloved vanilla kippers.  It was desire that flowed from her pores.  Passion that simmered to the surface when one of his hands crammed into her sensible panties without invitation, only expectation. 

 

“You’re wet.”  The damp words trailed along Teddi’s jaw as heavy lips dragged its angle.

 

She widened her stance without shame, giving him full access to everything.  “Not wet enough.  Do something about it.”

 

The hand still plastered to the back of her head gripped sharply, and Jon tipped her face up to meet his.  Infamous blue eyes were black with arousal, but there was nothing soft about their depths.  “I don’t know what games you play with your friends, but I don’t let naked women dominate me.”

 

“When I’m naked, I’ll take that under consideration.”

 

The fingers that were so expertly paddling her pink canoe disappeared, leaving her aimlessly adrift.  Was he going to abandon ship at the first sign of mutiny?  She’d expected him to be made of sterner stuff. 

 

Then came the sharp dig of pain at her right hip.  It intensified, growing painful enough to draw a whimper until ripping fabric provided relief. 

 

He presented her tattered panties for inspection before tossing them aside and commanding, “Consider it now.”

 

That stern enough stuff for you?

 

Her heart fluttered at the confirmation he was a damn scoundrel and proud of it. 

 

But he wasn’t the only scandalous one around here.

 

“Still wearing a bra,” she pointed out cheekily, even as her blood simmered with lust. “Take it off like a good boy, and I’ll loan you the illusion of control.”

 

His gaze narrowed, and Teddi idly wondered if she’d pushed too far.  It would be a shame to have this end abruptly, but there didn’t seem to be anger shining from his slit lids.  There was speculation.  Like he was trying to figure out what to do with her. 

 

Do it all. Please.

 

The urge to pit her wantonness against his male pride had her softly taunting, “Don’t pussy out now.  If you want control so badly… fight me for it.”

 

In the blink of an eye, her bra was on the floor and her back was bouncing against the mattress where he’d tossed her.  He crawled between her legs still fully dressed, and the scrape of denim against her inner thigh was erotic.  Almost as erotic as the wicked determination in the face hovering above hers. 

 

“Don’t start shit you don’t plan on finishing, baby.”

 

Teddi hiked her chin, meeting his dire warning without fear.  She wanted to know how far he’d take this, and it was pure adult excitement that fueled her cocky, “There’s nothing you can start that I won’t finish.  Baby.”

 

“Mother.  Fucker.”  The hissed swear sent Teddi riding on a wave of exhilaration as he jerked open his belt.  “You asked for this.  Remember that.”

 

When he buried himself to the hilt, Jon’s jeans were still above his knees.  The cut of belt loops and leather were an unusual sensation in the back of Teddi’s thigh, but that made it all the more thrilling.  He kept his upper body suspended above hers by propping both palms into the mattress.  She assumed so that it was that he could gauge her reaction as he rammed again and again.

 

Perhaps he expected to find remorse?  Fear?    If so, he was disappointed.

 

Teddi’s reaction was to spread her legs wider and clutch at his backside.  Short nails would leave half-mood indentations, and it gave her perverse pleasure to know he’d bear her mark this time.  Her head fell back, hair scraping the bedcovers as the sounds of sex provided an added layer of erotica. 

 

Each lunge into her womb came with a bottled grunt.  The dangling belt buckle clanked.  His flesh slapped powerfully against hers.  Her body sucked greedily at his. 

 

The ebb and tide of male possessing female was timeless.  This was why she existed.  This was her reward for living.

 

Teddi moaned at the sheer ecstasy of it all.

 

“Still believe you’re the one in control, Gypsy girl?”

 

And he likes to play, too.

 

She grinned at the ceiling without opening her eyes. 

 

“When you can’t even wait to get your pants off...”  Her laugh broke off on a gasp as he hit new depths.  “…yes!”

 

He bent to playfully nip the upper curve of her breast, inviting another gasp that chased away all amusement.  Teddi abandoned her grip on his butt to wind fingers into silky silver strands and force him lower. 

 

When his lips were poised above a throbbing nipple, she quietly ordered, “Suck.”

 

The soundtrack screeched to a halt, like a needle scratching over vinyl.  There was no more slap, suck or clank.  His hips had gone still, leaving him sheathed inside her when arching one eyebrow. 

 

“I can’t decide if your determination pisses me off or turns me on.”

 

Actually, Jon knew exactly which it was.  He’d gotten a massive hard-on the instant she’d told him not to pussy out.  Her feisty banter since then had only added fuel to the fire.  

 

“Well, figure it out later,” Teddi huffed, arching her lower body against his.  Ms. Bossy Pants thought she was going to run the show, but there was one very important detail she’d forgotten.  He was stronger.

 

His sudden shift in body weight from hands to knees startled her into relaxing the hold on his hair.  The brief lapse would cost her dearly, because it gave Jon the opening to grab her wrists and pin them high on the mattress. 

 

“Who’s the boss now?” he demanded with another abrupt weight shift to grind deep in her pussy.   “Huh, baby?”

 

Wide eyes went from startled to approving to sultry before he’d gotten in a full stroke.  Full breasts jiggled with the effort to buck her hips against him.  His move had turned her on like a light switch and she was ready for the finale.

 

Hell, he was, too.  Nothing would please him more than clashing against her until they both cracked, but it was an egomaniacal day in the neighborhood.  He wanted to hear himself declared the winner and withheld his next thrust until she did.

 

Except… 

 

What was that he’d said about liking her lack of predictability?  Whatever it was, he was going to have to reconsider, because the Gypsy girl didn’t gracefully concede defeat. 

 

Oh, no.  She looked him dead in the eye, smirked – smirked – and murmured, “Took you long enough.”

 

So, Jon did what any red-blooded man would do.  He fucked her until his ego and her attitude both surrendered to the greater good.

 

And damn was it good…