*34 #PoeticVictory

 

Every cell in Teddi’s body sighed with relief when Jon’s lips touched hers. 

 

She didn’t know how to deal with Peabody’s.  She didn’t know what to make of his intention to “stick around a while”.  She didn’t even know how to feel about confessing Truman’s sins.

 

This, though. 

 

The tingle of excitement...  The flare of desire…  The delicious surge of hormones... 

 

This, she knew. 

 

“Come upstairs with me.” 

 

Frosted with lust, Jon’s irises gave the appearance of bewildered sea glass.  He was confused as to why she’d broken their kiss just as it was set to cross from innocent to intimate.  Teddi had expected as much but touched a finger to his bottom lip to prevent him from asking.

 

“I’ll be anything you want,” she breathed, inviting him to be arrogant, controlling and self-centered.  Those things would protect her from his poet’s soul, because it was one more thing she didn’t know what to do with.  Not when it was pointed at her. 

 

“You’re giving up your coveted control?” Heat melted away the frost to reveal smoldering intrigue.  He was now thinking of what lie ahead instead of behind, and perfect teeth nipped at the pad of her finger. 

 

That awakened Teddi’s Gypsy soul.  Her alter ego yawned and stretched languidly, pushing decorum aside to make room for audacity.  It was her mouth that hooked into a lazy smile to drawl, ““I enjoy being submissive – until I don’t.” 

 

 “You’re surprise after surprise, aren’t you?”

 

Not really, but she didn’t bother to correct him.  With their hands still clasped together, Teddi turned to the kitchen door and pulled him along. 

 

Jon was unexpectedly quiet on the trip through the hall and up the stairs.  He didn’t speak until her hand was on the boudoir’s doorknob.  Then, he posed, “Is there anything you haven’t done?”

 

Flicking the handle open, she stepped inside and touched the switch to illuminate her “cauldron of color”.  Conditioned to know what this wash of color meant, her body flushed with anticipation and what was to come – namely her.

 

“Lots of things.”

 

“Yeah?  Like what?”

 

The soft click of the door latching shut was music to her ears.  Inhibitions fell free, and the Gypsy slowly spun on the ball of her foot to face him.  She released his hand and hooked an arm around his neck while the opposite fingers walked in the opening of his black button-down.

 

“I haven’t licked your nipples.”  A light scrape of one emphasized the point.  “French-kissed your dragon tattoo.  Tasted your orgasm.”

 

“You like using your mouth, then.”

 

“Yes.” 

 

“That works.”

 

He captured her adventurous fingers, drawing them away from his chest and folding down all but one.  The middle was left standing exposed for a heartbeat before it disappeared through the glossy ‘O’ of his lips. 

 

Teddi’s uterus contracted at the wet suckle and a soft gasp broke free.  Curling a fist beneath her chin, Jon simultaneously supported her lax jaw and took advantage of the opening.  A thumb snuck inside, and hooded eyes flashed their approval at how quickly she latched on.

 

Awareness rioted in her belly the instant his thumbprint rasped against individual taste buds.  Each one was tickled with texture that demanded she flex her tongue.  The wicked, panty-drenching scrape of flesh had her doing it again… and again… and again.  It wouldn’t be hard to get off to this mutual draw and pull.

 

When she sucked, he sucked.  When she lapped, he lapped.  When she laved the webbing of his hand, he tickled hers with a flick of the tongue.    

 

It was tit for sensual tat back and forth, hot and wet, until the innocent erotica had her on the verge of orgasm.   When he pushed her finger all the way in and drew it back out through tightly puckered lips, Teddi couldn’t suppress the moan that rattled her tonsils. 

 

But it shriveled to a whimper when he abandoned both her finger and mouth.  Teddi blinked at the sudden change that left her feeling lost.   

 

“I can’t play this game with you,” Jon muttered while jerking the dress tie at her waist.

 

“What game?”

 

“Foreplay.”

 

Foreplay was more an appetizer than a game, but okay.  With a chuckle, she reached for his buttons while he fought with the knot borne of his impatience. 

 

“I’m always primed for sex.  Foreplay is optional.”

 

“Good.” 

 

He was frustrated by the stubbornly tied dress and abandoned the strings to simply shove up her skirt.  One powerful jerk had conservative panties pooled at her ankles, and a heartbeat later, an equally powerful hand inserted itself between her thighs. 

 

Two thick fingers jammed into her core, forcing Teddi to fist his unbuttoned shirt with a grunt. 

 

“Spread your legs.”

 

Freeing one foot from the panties, she took a wide stance and dug heels into hardwood when he hit her g-spot.  Jon worked it relentlessly, rubbing the bullseye at her very core with a heavy-handed determination. 

 

This was what she’d been imagining when his thumbprint scraped her taste buds, but that was a poor imitation of the aggressive abrasion taking place between her legs.  His thumb had only dampened her panties; his fingers were creating a waterfall. 

 

“Oh, Goddd…” she panted when sensing the trickle down her thigh.

 

“Is that good?  Huh?” His gruff demand only made it better. 

 

“So… good.”

 

Shameless hips rocked into the pressure as Jon’s other hand tunneled her hair.  Half was dislodged from its clasp when he gripped her skull, and the thumb she’d sucked now stroked high on her cheekbone. 

 

“I think about this,” he growled against the corner of a trembling mouth.  “The moments when rules don’t rule you.  When the Gypsy takes over.”

 

She could scarcely comprehend what he was saying.  Teddi was fixated on the meaty heel of his hand.  It ground against her softness until a bump of hardness rose in response.  

 

“But witnessing the actual transformation…?  Jesus.”

 

She was close.  With the dual manipulation of g-spot and her clit, it wouldn’t be long before the crest peaked.  Before the dam inside her broke. 

 

“A disheveled Dr. Cookie humping my hand like she’ll die if she stops.”  Jon released her head and yanked Teddi’s v-neckline and bra to expose a breast.  “With one titty hanging out of her perfect beige dress.”

 

The tightening of her freed nipple only heightened her pleasure, and when he tweaked it, she cried out.  

 

 “It’s like watching Clark Kent become Superman.” 

 

And Jon could never fucking unsee it. 

 

The divergence of propriety and passion.  Uptight and unbound.  Such stark contrasts, yet they embodied her – and slayed him. 

 

He rubbed harder.  Ground harder.  Got harder as she clung to his shoulders and lost her mind. 

 

Once the screams subsided, Jon downgraded his onslaught to a more leisurely pace.  Gentle fingers pumped as he slid an arm around her back to support the woman whose muscles still quivered. 

 

“Leapt that building in a single bound, huh?” he murmured against her temple.

 

“More like two buildings.  God, you’re good.”

 

“See what happens when I’m in control?” 

 

“It was lovely, although brief.  I hereby relieve you of your command.”

 

Jon pushed up his right eyebrow with censure.  “I don’t think so.”

 

“You knew it was a temporary thing.”

 

One of the hands that had been clutching his shoulders slid down to pinch Jon’s nipple and give it a sharp twist. 

 

“Dammit!” he hissed while instinctively withdrawing the hand nestled between her legs.  Her expression was nothing short of smug, and he was left scowling at her – until the yards of beige hanging at her waist caught his eye.  Evil simmered inside him.  She wanted to play nasty, fine. 

 

Jon bent to grab the hem and used it to wipe his sticky fingers, satisfied as hell when her smugness was chased away by horror.   She was disgusted by the wet, wrinkled handprint that stood out like a beacon on the skirt.  Evidently pussy and pin dots wasn’t an acceptable combination. 

 

“You owe me a dress.”

 

“Okay,” he agreed while casually shrugging out of his shirt.  “But it won’t be fucking beige.”

 

There was a wry slant to the Gypsy’s lips as she shimmied the besmirched brown wrapper down her body.  It and her sandals were kicked aside as a determined hand grabbed his waistband.  Hauling him forward, she countered, “And I’ll get you a shirt that’s not fucking black.”

 

He may dislike beige, but Jon could get used to the bossy blonde peeling open his belt and button fly.  Their game of bedroom one-upmanship was entertaining as hell. 

 

“You’re cute when you’re all rumpled and trying to be badass.  Kinda like a kitten that fell in the toilet.”

 

She was more than cute when her eyes and mouth crinkled up with laughter.  He’d thought Teddi an attractive woman upon first meeting, but she when gave up an orgasm and her clothes, Jon found her to be stunning.  She radiated a unique beauty backlit by an inner glow that he’d only seen inside this room. 

 

If she knew how mesmerizing it was, she wouldn’t keep it hidden.

 

“Toilet kittens?  I may have to revise my opinion on your poetic soul, mister songwriter.”

 

She picked the wrong moment to challenge him on that particular subject.  The poet inside him had already been scribbling thoughts. 

 

“Her soul glows a sedate amber, radiating understated beauty – until it kisses a prism.  Then it fractures into a spectrum so brilliant that the world can’t tolerate its splendor.  That mass ignorance is why she shamefully hides the prism in her pocket.  It’s why she wraps her vibrant soul in a plain brown paper.”

 

Fingers stilled on the button fly over which she bent.  Jon expected her face to lift with either laughter or denial, but she kept it averted while abandoning the buttons.  She instead grabbed each side of his open waistband and spun him toward the bed. 

 

“I thought we decided poetry doesn’t belong in bed.” 

 

A light shove to his chest said she wanted him on the mattress, and Jon obliged by allowing himself to topple.  Propping up on both elbows, he noted, “You brought it up, not me.”

 

“My mistake.” The words weren’t cold nor were they warm as she tugged off one of his shoes and dropped the foot.  She did the same to the other without looking his direction.   “Take your pants off.”

 

“Hey.  Are you mad?”

 

With a pointed glare at the untouched denim encasing his lower half, she denied, “Don’t be silly.  I was just expecting more of a fight when I decided to take charge.”

 

Jon gave a relieved chuckle.  For a minute, he thought his impulsiveness had put a damper on their fun.  She was right about this not being the place for that shit. 

 

“You’re taking charge?  Is that what you think is happening?”

 

“I don’t think; I know.”

 

Impatient that he wasn’t moving get rid of the jeans, she burrowed her hands under him and jerked on the back pockets until his ass was bare.  The legs slid easily off after that, falling to floor a split second before she planted gloating hands on her hips. 

 

“I guess that’s supposed to prove something?”

 

“It seems pretty evident to me.”

 

In a blink, he was off the bed and bending her over it.  A firm hand palmed her nape, and Jon used the pressure to pin Teddi’s cheek to the mattress.  She squirmed as he nudged her feet wide but was unable to escape the submissive pose.  “Still seem evident?”

 

The squirming ceased. 

 

Realizing she wasn’t going to escape, she decided to make the most of the situation and swayed languid hips against his crotch.  The move was both sexy as hell and effective, because it brought him back to full mast.

 

“I don’t know about evident, but it certainly is arousing.”

 

“Jesus, woman.  You make me crazy.”

 

“Welcome to the club.” She cut him a side-eye.  “Now, either let me up or prove you’re worthy to dominate me.”

 

“Worthy?”  He delivered a smack to one pale ass cheek, gratified when it bloomed fuchsia.  “I’ll show you fucking worthy.”

 

Jon drove balls deep in a single stroke.  The force of their colliding flesh was harsh enough to rattle teeth, and her strangled cry invigorated him.  There would be no doubt who dominated this round. 

 

Mindless fingers flexed against her neck as he took ownership.  As she gave it to him.  Because, as fiercely as he reamed her, she still met him stroke for stroke. 

 

“Say it,” he gasped, enamored with the open-mouthed grunts he hammered out of her.  “Tell me you surrender.”

 

Closed lids slit open to toss a glassy glare his way.  “No.”

 

His hand slid from her neck to tug at tangled tresses, and dammit if she didn’t groan with pleasure.  Her knees locked to keep from buckling at the power behind his possession.

 

Blinking away the sweat that ran down his temple, he clenched a tighter fist around her hair.  “Say it.”

 

“You… don’t… need… it,” she panted between impacts. 

 

“But I fucking want it.”

 

“No.”

 

So defiant.  So confident. 

 

Again and again, he tried to break her.  Over and over, he pummeled.  Time after time, he abused her body – and all the Gypsy temptress did was goad him. 

 

“Such a good boy,” she groaned.

 

Jon sank deep and held there, grinding against swollen and abused folds.  “There’s no boy here, baby.  That’s all man who is fucking you blind.”

 

That declaration was chased by the most violent thrust yet – and her ultimate surrender.

 

“Oh.  Oh God.  Ohhhhhnnnnghhhh!!  D-don’t… don’t stop… yet!”

 

Her muscles convulsed around him, gripping and relaxing with each spasm, but she didn’t have to worry.  Stopping wasn’t on his radar.  He needed to go.  To run.  To race for the finish line. 

 

Until he dove across it with a snarl and sweet, sweet victory.