*43 #ShoweredWithVisions

There was a part of her that wanted to argue with him.  To demand that he not treat her with condescending pity.  There was a bigger part of her that wanted nothing but to indulge in the most decadent escapism imaginable.  The man currently caressing her face and offering “whatever you want” was her lifelong obsession, and they were alone together in her house.

 

Forget that her cousins knew that little factoid and would likely call her out on it later.  Later, she would have recovered all her wits.  Later, she would be grounded and centered.  Recovered.

 

Because not only was Jon her obsession, he also held the mystical ability to heal her soul.  To erase the effects of tonight’s low-budget, three-ring circus, even if it was for just a little while.  What fool would choose to throw that kind of gift back in his face? 

 

"I'm glad you stayed.  Thank you."

 

"Your gratitude might be a little misplaced.  Not that I wasn’t concerned about you.  I absolutely was, but I stayed partly to make sure Pierce didn’t."

 

Pierce.  He took up not only one ring but two in the circus tent, and she’d need to work twice as hard to forget him for the night.  With Jon’s rugged features hovering just above hers, painted with a stroke of humorous arrogance, it wouldn’t be hard to forget that she even knew someone named Pierce.  

 

Teddi lifted a hand, lightly stroking fingertips along a jaw that was just starting to prickle with five o'clock shadow.  The tactile sensation against her skin was stimulating, and it prompted her to into ragged honesty. 

 

"I don't care why you stayed.  Just that you did."

 

Desire cut into his eyes, and the rose tint of sunset mixed with blue to give them a lilac hue.  "Sure you don't want to turn a kaleidoscope loose on this beige bed?"

 

"No," she declined on a breathy laugh.  One gentle shove to the shoulder had him standing upright and creating the space necessary to swing her legs from the bed.  "In fact, I don't even want to turn myself loose on you until I've had a moment to freshen up.  Would you like to wait for me in the boudoir while I do that?"

 

"Sweetheart, I didn't sit here and watch you sleep for two hours just to be sent away."

 

Confusion tipped her head to a curious angle.  "What does that mean?"

 

"Means I think you're plenty fresh enough to get dirty with me.  But…” he spoke over her disagreement.  “…rather than argue the point, I’ll be happy to join you in a shower.  We can do clean and dirty in one shot.” 

 

Shower?  With Jon? 

 

The regular rhythm of her heart grew heavier with either anticipation or anxiety.  It was most likely a blend of the two, but they mixed in such a pleasant way that there was no room for true fear.  Any extra space in her mind and subconscious was taken up by visions of a slick, naked man.  With images of steaming droplets trickling down the column of his neck and glossing his Adam's apple with the same allure as Snow White's poison apple.

 

"My hormones just exploded, so there may be more dirty than clean."

 

"Not complainin'."

 

The roguishly brilliant grin as he reached for his shirt buttons was potent enough to impregnate a nun, and that heavy rhythm in Teddi's chest turned staccato.  In the instant the two halves of black fabric fell apart, her “boudoir only” resolve wavered.  She became so consumed with the need to stroke his silver-dusted torso that desecrating the beige bed no longer seemed all that tragic. 

 

But imagine the feel of that torso if it was hot, wet and dripping.

 

It wouldn’t be the only thing dripping.

 

"You gonna keep givin' me that triple-X stare or are you gonna unlock your playpen?" he drawled with amusement.  "I assume that's the shower you wanna use?"

 

Licking lips that had gone painfully dry, Teddi dragged her gaze from his belt buckle to the nightstand.

 

"Yes," she rasped, reaching for her phone and calling up the app that would release the electric lock.  "Go.  I'm right behind you."

 

Jon almost told her how that lock saved her from a bunch of embarrassing questions tonight, but she was just now starting to loosen up.  He didn't want to send the Gypsy scampering into the shadows before she got to play. 

 

After kicking his shoes under her bed in a subtle act of defiance, he then padded for the doorway with faith that she would follow.  He could feel the light weight of her footfall behind him into the hall, and when he got to the infamous door, the knob turned easily, allowing him entry into the vibrant habitat of Dr. Cookie's alter ego.  The riot of colors welcomed him like a familiar friend and conjured memories of past visits. 

 

That wasn't the only thing they conjured, though. 

 

Jon could also now envision Pierce leaning against the purple velvet headboard.  The imaginary man wore a smug grin, fisting the back of Gypsy’s hair while she went eagerly down on him.  That was quickly chased by another image, this one of her climbing the guy's chest and sinking onto a foot-long dick. 

 

Insecurity wasn’t Jon’s thing.  Under normal circumstances, he was the cockiest son of a bitch walking, but there was no lying to himself about this.  Pierce’s face and intentions were too fresh in his mind.  If Jon had to crawl in bed with the guy’s ghost, here was a very good chance things would go south – namely his hard-on.

 

Thank God they were headed to the bathroom, where Jon’s imagination wouldn’t be so determined to sabotage him.  

 

The door clicked shut an instant before there was a soft body plastered to his back, with breasts pillowing against his shoulder blades.  Splayed feminine hands settled into his rug of chest hair, scouring up, down and across while she eked out a soft puff of satisfaction.    

 

"Have you been a good boy this week?"

 

He would swear that even her voice was different inside these four walls.  It took on a husky edge designed to make him forget anything other than the chemistry that simmered between them. 

 

Fuck Pierce.  Jon was the Gypsy’s fantasy, and he’d goddamn well live up to the title.

 

"Not as good as I'm about to be."

 

The laugh was a sultry one as she delved fingertips into his waistband and stroked the intimate spot below Jon’s belly button.  "I’m sure, but I was really asking if you did your homework.  Do I owe you a reward?  A dark desire brought to light?"

 

Easing her arms away, he turned within their circle and burrowed into loose honey hair.  He fisted the thickness of it and spoke very deliberately, so that she understood this wasn’t about some fabricated business arrangement.  "No rewards.  No motivation.  Tonight’s just us.  Just because."

 

Startled eyelashes fluttered and then stilled with her acceptance.  He’d half-expected to be met with a struggle but was pleasantly surprised that she didn’t try to cling to the working farce.  Teddi merely jutted her chin and divulged, "I've never had sex in a shower before."

 

Jesus.  Just like that, she’d knocked him for another loop. 

 

Jon would’ve sworn that, at her age, there was nothing this adventurous minx hadn't done.  The cloak of sexuality worn so confidently by the Gypsy was too rich and textured.  It spoke of experiences that extended far beyond a simple shower.  She had handcuffs, for Christ’s sake.

 

Which she’d probably used on Pierce, but again… fuck Pierce.  Thanks to his boring ass, Jon was the one who got to take her water cherry.

 

"Well, lemme tell ya."  With fingers still entrenched in her hair, he skimmed both thumbs along the line of Teddi’s jaw.  "I have, and I'm so fucking good at it, you’ll be ruined for anybody else."

 

“That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

 

A mighty surge of testosterone nearly drowned him, but Jon was a strong swimmer.  He rode the wave, taking a step back and turning her by the shoulders.  With a sharp tap to the seat of her linen pants, he growled, “Then get your ass in there.” 

 

Both pieces of her sweater set were swept over her head in tandem and draped over the chair.  Tousled blonde waves bounced against bare shoulders as she sashayed toward the en suite while unclasping her bra.  It was tossed over her shoulder with a naughty grin, and he caught the conservative scrap of taupe satin that screamed of Dr. Cookie.    

 

The Gypsy really needed sexier underwear.  Then again, beige cashmere and linen didn’t really suit her, either.  They needed to do something about her wardrobe, but now wasn’t the time to give a rat’s ass.  Running water beckoned him to abandon the serviceable bra onto the floor, along with his clothes.

 

Stepping into the tastefully bland bathroom that suited the rest of the house more than her playroom, he found that she’d already shed the rest of her Dr. Cookie suit.  The pants were a folded square of beige on the closed toilet lid, with satin panties neatly fashioned into a smaller square atop them. 

 

The woman herself was holding the glass shower door, and curling fingerlets of steam escaped to beckon Jon inside the cubicle of glass and sandstone tile.   If their invitation wasn't blatant enough, Teddi padded it with a playful, "Chop chop, Mr. Bon Jovi.  You have promises to fulfill."

 

"I hate it when you call me that," he grumbled, nudging her into the spray ahead of him. 

 

"Oh?  Why?"

 

The door closed with a muted thump, sealing them inside as she tipped her head back into a pelt of scalding water.  Reaching around her, he dialed the temperature back to something that wouldn’t cause third-degree burns and joined her in the spray.

 

"Because it's too fucking cold and impersonal for a man who knows the taste of your pussy," he stated bluntly, lifting palms to the slippery curve of her breasts and kneading.  "I think of you with a bunch of different names, and not one of 'em starts with 'Ms.'"

 

"Do tell," she invited, her eyelashes spiky as she stacked her hands over his and silently instructed to knead harder. 

 

There was a quiet gasp when he pinched the hell out of one nipple, but no complaint.  In fact, a lusty sheen glazed her eyes, so he treated its partner to the same vicious pinch.  Her groan underscored Jon’s recitation of, “Teddi.  Doc.  Cookie.  Doc Cookie.  Gypsy.  Any of those is more appropriate for a lover than 'Mr.'."

 

"Is that what we are?  Lovers?"

 

Was she fucking serious?  With closed eyes and drawn brow, her face revealed nothing beyond intense concentration.  She was way into the boob play, so he didn't think the question was meant to be a joke.

 

"You're too smart to act stupid, Doc.  What the fuck do you think we are?"

 

One corner of her mouth kicked up as delicate fingers glided onto his hard-on, stroking with the precise pressure it took to draw his balls tight.  He would've thought it was a ploy to distract him if she didn’t accompany it with a quiet, "I don't think.  I just enjoy it as it comes."

 

He lurched forward, shoving her out of the spray and against the wall with a splat of flesh on tile.  The hand between his legs stopped its slow stroke to go lax, and it fell completely away as hard fingers caged her waist.  Water prickled his back like hot needles, but Jon barely felt it as he spoke into open and fully dilated eyes.

 

"Make no mistake, Gypsy girl.  We are lovers, and while I'm on the subject, I've decided I don't want to share." He dipped a set of domineering fingers between her thighs, gratified when she mewled and scooted one foot out to offer unrestricted access.  Forcefully gliding into a channel that was hotter than the water, he decreed, "This pussy is mine until further notice.  You understand?"

 

It was almost impossible to tell how much of the liquid coating his fingers was shower and how much flowed from inside her, but he'd bet it was at least a good fifty-fifty split.  She liked it when he tried to ride roughshod over her, mostly because it gave her the chance to put him in his place.  Even as she humped his hand and clutched at the back of his neck with both hands, Teddi was bold as brass.

 

"It belongs to me, you arrogant son of a bitch.  You think you can just call dibs on it because you're Jon Bon Jovi?  You think that's your right?"

 

With three fingers buried to the hilt and a thumb circling against her clit, he didn't back down.  She wanted this.  She wanted him.  He was her mother fucking fantasy, for fuck's sake.

 

"You said you'd be anything for me in this room," Jon reminded.  "So you're mine.  I own you."

 

Her head bounced back against the tile in what appeared to be evidence of defeat.  Closed eyes could be considered a sign of surrender, but they popped back open at the same moment she gripped the hair at Jon's nape and pulled his face close. 

 

"I won't belong to a man who can't be bothered to kiss me before sex."

 

His lips crashed down on hers a heartbeat before a dick replaced fingers inside her flooded core.  There was no finesse Jon's possession of her mouth.  It was raw need and desire that pushed between her teeth and licked behind them.  He force-fed her his tongue and reveled in pride as she swallowed it with the same eagerness that had slick legs clamping around his waist. 

 

He could taste the need in her groan as hips tilted to accept every inch he could muster.  She was taking what she wanted and taking it without manners, propriety or thought for anything other than the desire that spurred her.  She was a live wire in his arms, and with the water spattering around them, there was every possibility they'd both short out before they were done.

 

Until then, though, he crawled as deep inside her as he could get.  His tongue sought.  His cock foraged.  Both were raring to be bathed in the Gypsy kaleidoscope.  To be caught up inside the whirlwind of color and passion she kept hidden from the world.

 

Because she didn't hide it from him.

 

Forget her pussy.  This flamboyant abandon was what he wanted to claim.  This was his.