Chapter Five

Two Steps Behind

Jack's POV

Had I been consulted for my preference on the way that I would like to spend my day, would it be... (a)…to spend the day nestled in a warm bed, cuddled up and all smoochy coo with my Dainty or...(b)…following around the jagoff that placed my lady love in Arkham Asylum on what was proving to be an unseasonably cold and rainy day, my honest answer would be the former...of course...rather than the latter. But given the fact that the chatter up, down, and all around Gotham was that Rizzuto was offering a substantial reward for Violet's return, to him, for punishment, I knew that he would have to be dealt with...in an imaginative and horrific way. I decided that striking those around him first would send a good message, would strike a little fear in the big bully, and after a day spent shadowing Rizzuto and his goons, I had my candidate.

The rumor had floated around that Louie "Jelly Belly" Romaro was Anthony's right hand man, with him nearly 24/7, and during the time that I spent stalking them, I saw that this was true. The extremely corpulent gentleman was also rumored to be Tony's bestest bud, an honor he had held from the age of five, and some had even dared to whisper that Louie carried a torch for Rizzuto that was as big as his jelly belly, but these reports were unsubstantiated. Whatever the exact nature of their relationship, it was evident that Anthony depended on Mr. Romaro quite a bit, and that the loss of this man would be devastating to him and with that thought in mind I set off for my new home, the first ingredient for my recipe of revenge formulating within the confines of my mind.

Dusk had settled in by the time I reached the house, and I unlocked and opened the front door, led by my nose to find the source of the scrumptious scents that greeted me. I found my Dainty in the kitchen, which was still somewhat in a state of disarray, with boxes scattered here and there, some that were open and more that were shut. She had dug out the new set of pots and pans and was dancing back and forth in front of the stove, stirring something in one of the tall pots. Her yoga pants were black and snug and well...very stirring in their own right, as was the heinie that they were clinging to so nicely. She had a tiny tank top on, deep purple edged with black in color, and when I let out a low wolf whistle to declare my approval and admiration of her apparel, she whirled around, screaming loud enough to do permanent damage to my eardrums.

The injury to my eardrums had no effect on my eyesight however, and I took immediate notice of her breasts, the size and shape of them displayed by the tank top more intimately than any garment had in the past. My hands were itching to reach out and cup one of the tempting goodies, but I could see by the openly hostile look on Violet's lovely face that now was not the time to be attempting to cop a feel.

"Damn it Jack!" she shouted. "You scared the holy hell out of me!"

That was a confusing exclamation, I mean, to begin with, how is it possible for Hell to be holy and also, I think that she's much too sweet of a girl to be filled with enough of Hell's presence to have it frightened from her body. I would have brought that fact to her attention, were I not terrified of the repercussions that pointing out the fault of her statement might bring at that moment, and so I kept those thoughts to myself.

"I'm sorry," I whispered holding out my hand, which held a present that I'd acquired for her that afternoon, as a peace offering. I had done substantial research in the library of Arkham, and through my online inquiries had discovered that aster blossoms signified both daintiness and a symbol of love. With that knowledge in mind I had sought out a reputable florist and had the sweet, grandmotherly lady behind the counter whip me up a bouquet of lavender asters and violets for my dainty little girl.

I had taken a chance, assuming that she would like flowers, and although I wasn't aware what her favorite blossom was, I hoped that she would like my choices, once I had explained them to her. She seemed genuinely surprised...and happy...that I had brought her back a prezzie, and she stepped forward almost shyly to take the posies from my hand.

"Oh Jack, they're beautiful," she murmured, burying her nose into the blossoms and breathing deeply.

You'd have thought that I had given her a truly luxurious gift from her reaction, rather than some fairly inexpensive flowers, but I didn't mind the response that my offering to her had inspired as she rushed towards me and threw her arms around me...after placing the blooms into a makeshift vase. Her body fit perfectly against mine, as though she had been formed for that one purpose, and I clasped her close against me, my senses flaring as her fragrance flooded my nose, her soft warmth igniting the arousal that always seemed close at hand whenever she was near.

"I didn't know what kind of flowers were your favorite," I explained, leaning down to rub my lips against her throat. "Would you like to know why I picked these for you?"

"Sure," she gasped, raising her chin to offer me better access to her neck, her hand twining in my hair, pressing my lips more firmly against her flesh.

I parted from her throat reluctantly, pressing one final kiss upon her warm skin and then drew back, so that I could look at her eyes. They were shining happily, a sight that would never grow old for me. "The violets are there for both your name, and for the fact that they signify modesty and simplicity. You are a humble woman, and your beauty is effortless, a natural radiance that doesn't require any further adornment. The asters denote daintiness, for my Dainty, and they are also a symbol of love...a representation...you could say... of the love that I feel for you."

Her eyes widened with surprise and she took a deep breath, and I realized that I had made a grave mistake in baring my heart and my soul too quickly. I had convinced myself that she felt the same...that she loved me just as I loved her, but now I realized that I had misinterpreted the emotions that showed in her eyes.

I pulled myself out of her embrace, muttering and stumbling over a clutter of pathetic apologies, desperate to flee, from the room and also from the ridicule that she was sure to pitch in my direction, but she held fast to me, keeping me firmly in her arms. I didn't want to look at her...I didn't want to see the disdain in her beautiful eyes...that would be too much for me to bear. I was hurt and I was livid, and I tried to pull myself from her embrace once more, hissing at her angrily to release me, but she refused to comply with my demand.

"Jack, please look at me," she murmured, caressing my back with her hands. "Don't push me away."

Her hands felt good, stroking the tension out of my muscles, and I reluctantly met her gaze once more, ready to run if I saw the derision I was expecting, and my entire body seemed to swell and deflate with relief when I saw that her eyes were still sparkling happily, and there were also tears brimming there, ecstatic tears, by the look of them.

"You took me by surprise, Sweetheart," she whispered, leaning forward to brush her lips across my cheeks, tiny kisses above, below, and on my scars, which I still expected to repulse her. "What I felt, what I was going to say before disbelief momentarily stole my voice from me was that I love you too, and that nothing that you could have said would make me happier than I am right now."

The heart is an amazing thing...it can plummet to its deepest depth of depression in one moment, and an instant later it can rocket with happiness to a height barely contained in one's body. That was what I had just felt; the lowest of melancholy followed by the soaring of joy that threatened to consume me completely. Who would have thought that a freak like me could have landed such a classy dame, a grade A woman who loved me just as much as I loved her...at least I hoped that she loved me that much.

"What if I had said that you make me feel all funny and hot inside when I look at your fanny in those tight pants?" I asked, snorting with laughter and ducking away from a rather pitiful attempt by her to slap me. "Or what if I'd told you that your boobies jiggle rather provocatively in that tank top whenever you walk and it's all I can do to keep my naughty hands all to myself?"

She narrowed her eyes at me, and I yelped in a rather sissified manner as one of her stinging slaps caught me on my shoulder. "I'd say that you need to reestablish yourself as the boss of your body," she retorted. "It sounds to me like your penis has taken over the base of operations."

Man, oh man...did she have any idea the effect a simple blurting of the word "penis" had when said term came rolling out from between lips like those pouty beauties that she carried around on her lovely face? It was like she had reached down and tickled those kissers across the very part of my anatomy that she claimed was currently running the show for me. Not that she had said something that was fraudulent...my Willy definitely influenced a good deal of my thoughts these days.

It occurred to me then that she was staring at me, and I tried to recall what it was that we had been discussing or whether or not she'd asked me a question, but my mind came up blank. All I could remember was chatter about willies and boobs...oh yeah, there was a mention of booty in there as well...but surely she hadn't been running on about those sorts of things, so I decided that a little cuddly and smoochy was the best tactic for me to take at that time.

I pulled her up into my arms, lifting her quite easily from the floor and kissed her until we were both breathing hard and my John Thomas was surging insistently against that soft, moist heat between her pretty legs. I was allowing myself to get carried away, something that I had promised myself I wouldn't do, and there was also the point of fact that I was starving, and if my nose was right, there was a pot of homemade chicken noodle soup simmering on the stove.

Against the protests of my raging libido I set her down gently on the floor and crossed the kitchen to take a deep whiff of the soup, delighted when I didn't see anything other than the broth, bits of chicken and egg noodles in the pot...no orange or green floaters to bring me down off of my anticipation of the culinary delight that awaited me. It would appear that my Dainty shared my view that there was no need to befoul...get it...befowl... perfectly good soup with carrots and celery...yeech.

I turned and gave her my best impression of a starving waif, and she giggled, while pointing at the table and told me to have a seat. Now was the time to feed a more basic hunger, with plenty of time later on to explore the ravenous need that was blossoming between me and my lady love.

"Just a minute," I thought to myself as I sat down, taking a deep breath, moaning in a nearly orgasmic fashion as the delectable aroma of cinnamon and sugar filled my nose. That was when I spied them on the counter...a platter of cinnamon rolls, homemade ones by the look of them.

If I didn't know better, I'd swear that this girl was intent on doing me in...Or at the very least, turning me into a man whose waistband grew until his penis rested in the shade year-round...I wonder if a lack of sun would make it shrink?

Violet's POV

Jack fell asleep during the movie, not that I expected Sense and Sensibility to grab hold and keep his interest anyway. I suppose the fact that caught my attention and caused me to giggle wasn't that he had drifted off into dreamland, but rather the fact that he was sitting with his arm around me, his head resting, leaned back on the sofa, his mouth wide open as he snored loud enough to disturb the sleep of the dead.

I suppose his exhaustion was due to his journey out of doors today, wherever it had taken him, in addition to the two bowls of soup followed by three cinnamon rolls that he'd devoured for supper. I had always known that I had a gift where cooking and baking were concerned, but to hear the praise that he had lavished on me throughout the meal, you'd think that there wasn't another person walking the face of the Earth who could best me in culinary excellence. It was odd to hear compliments, after so many years of cruelty and spite, but I was quickly becoming adjusted to the commendation, and the affection was a nice surprise as well.

You could have knocked me over with a feather when Jack had told me that he loved me earlier, and I had been so dumbfounded that I hadn't been able to answer him as quickly as I would have liked to, and the hurt and anger that I had seen sweep over him had broken my heart. I hadn't been confused by his behavior at all, knowing all too well what it was like to offer your heart to someone, only to be rebuffed by the person that you long for. My experiences were from my family, from their cruelty and their disloyalty, and I had a feeling that Jack had never truly been loved, not in a way that would have been satisfying to both his heart and his soul.

It was during times like that in the kitchen, when he had offered me the flowers, so shy, just like a little boy, that love swelled my heart to an extent that it was nearly painful, and when he kissed me breathless, blind and crazy that my desire for him seemed to take on a life of its own, a need that drove me almost to desperation. Jack was unyielding in his belief that we should take things slow, and while part of me appreciated his thoughtfulness for my comfort, another part of me wanted to ask him to take me, right then, wherever we were, consequences be damned.

The snoring that was vibrating my eardrums died away, and I turned on the couch to watch him sleep, loving the fact that I was given this opportunity. He was ashamed of the scars that marred his beautiful face, and was filled with the ludicrous notion that I was repulsed by the flesh, but in truth, the imperfections on his face made me love him all the more, they made him even more irresistible to me.

I turned the movie off, having lost all interest in the loves of the Dashwood girls myself, and very slowly and very softly I moved myself toward him on the couch. I straddled his body, one of my legs resting on each side of his body and lowered my head to kiss him, hoping to convey to him how he made me feel.

I traced the tip of my tongue along the seam of his lips, and he groaned aloud, grasping me firmly in his arms, but I wasn't ready to relinquish control just yet and ran the naughty point all over his face, tracing each scar, marveling at the softness of the flesh that had caused him so much pain. I strayed from my exploration long enough to pull his shirt off over his head, knotting his hands as well as if I'd been in possession of some handcuffs. He had awakened fully by this time and watched me very intently as I kissed every spot of him that I could reach.

He humored my boldness until I reached his chest and ran my tongue over and around one of his nipples, and then he gasped and tore his hands against the binding of his shirt, ripping the material as he grabbed hold of me and all but bounced me off of the surface of the sofa with the urgency of his desire.

His eyes were bright, burning with the need that was coursing through him, and I shivered with anticipation as I realized that what he wanted, what he needed, was to coax and charm the pleasure from my body, which would result in sating at least some of his arousal...and mine as well.

"Such a naughty little girl," he whispered, leaning down to run his lips over my face, kissing me softly everywhere, except for my lips. "Tempting a bad man like me might be pushing your luck a little too far, my dainty, wanton minx."

His voice was a seductive growl, a sensual timbre that caused my craving for him to grow. He had to know the effect that he had on me at times like this, when I was vulnerable and hungry for him, everything in me crying out for him to place his hands on me, to press his lips against my body. I was so wet, swollen with my ache for him. I writhed against him, whimpering with need, even though he'd barely touched me, and I should have been ashamed to hear myself begging for him to touch me, please...to kiss me, please, but I wasn't embarrassed at all.

His eyes changed then, as I pleaded with him to take the incessant throbbing away, the one that plagued me whenever he was close to me. They were still alight with passion, still smoldering with seduction, but a small piece of kindness was there in his gaze as well, along with the love that he had professed to me earlier that evening.

"Don't worry, baby girl," his voice was near my ear, accompanied by the warmth of his mouth as he leaned down to draw my earlobe into his mouth, suckling it gently. "I'm not going to leave you in this state."

He moved between my splayed thighs, which had parted for him as though it were the natural response for my body, to open to him and lay ready and waiting beneath him. I felt his arousal pressed firmly against that spot that was aching and arched myself up against him, desperate to soothe the throbbing. "Easy does it my Dainty," he gasped, before capturing my lips, his tongue rushing forward to mate feverishly with mine. The room around me grew dim, sound ceased to exist, and all I knew was the feel of him, the smell of him and the taste of him.

One hand he had placed behind my head, moving me as he kissed me, while the other traveled from where it rested against the back of the sofa, down to cup my breast. No one had ever touched me there before, well except for my doctor, and since I don't have any sexual attraction towards her, it wasn't quite the same sort of sensation. He was able to grasp it entirely in his hand, and I wondered for just a moment whether he thought that I was built inadequately, at least I wondered that until he broke his lips away from mine to smile at me and whisper one word..."perfection".

He was definitely a silver-tongued devil, my Jack was, and the only thing that would have made the moment better would have been if my breast were bare, pressed against the lightly calloused skin of his palm. I knew him well enough to know that he'd say that we'd do that "all in good time" and that we should concentrate on "taking things slowly". I knew that he was right, I knew that it wouldn't take much for me to find myself in over my head, but knowing something isn't the same as liking something.

I couldn't really describe the feel of his hand on me accurately, not in a way that would do it any justice, but I would swear that when he tugged on my nipple, I felt the pull between my legs. I could feel that my panties had grown saturated with the proof of my desire, and I felt so engorged from the rush of arousal that had engulfed me that it was nearly a painful experience, the sort of pain that feels so good, if you know what I mean.

I would have leapt off of the sofa if he hadn't been lying on top of me, when his mouth took the place of his hand, his teeth drawing my nipple into his mouth through the fabric of my tank top. He alternated between nipping the hardened flesh and suckling on it, drawing his tongue all around, driving me crazy, and then I froze as he leaned himself onto his side, his hand traveling down my tummy, tickling me for just a moment before cupping me boldly in his hand.

I halfway expected myself to go to pieces then and there, my first orgasm orchestrated by anyone other than myself, and I was surprised, and just a little disappointed that while my passion flared, and I grew even more aware of him and of myself, I wasn't quite pushed over the precipice just yet.

His fingers curled down to cup me, teasing my swollen pussy lips through the thin material of my pants, and he used the butt of his hand in a rhythm against the spot where my clitoris had strayed from its confines and was peeking out, drawn out of hiding by the increase of stimulation that I was enjoying. He played me like a fine instrument, one that he'd spent years practicing on, and soon I was writhing against his hand, tossing my head back and forth, whimpering as I sought the release that I knew was there, somewhere, waiting for me.

"Don't fight it sweet baby girl," Jack whispered, his hand growing more insistent against me, refusing to allow me rest until I reached my summit. "Don't think about what you're trying to do...just let yourself feel it."

Did he honestly think that I was fighting this? That I didn't want to find the satisfaction that I had thought was possible? I wanted it in the worst possible way, and the thing that had me scared was the thought that maybe I was defective in some way; maybe the only orgasms I was meant to enjoy were the lonely ones I gave to myself.

"I love you Violet," Jack whispered, kissing me gently, almost reverently. "I've loved you since the first time I saw your eyes. I've thought about holding you, about kissing you since that first night. And every night I've thought about putting my hand where it is right now, and how amazing it would be to hear you as you came apart beneath my touch."

His fingers tightened against my pussy lips, the butt of his hand hit exactly the right spot, and I froze for just a moment as a wave of release coursed through me that proved that while I had assured myself in the past that I had experienced an orgasm, I had been sorely mistaken as the real thing seized hold of me. I tried to muffle my cries, embarrassed to proclaim my liberation so loudly, but it was impossible to quiet myself. I cried out over and over, my voice growing hoarse as I shouted Jack's name, that I loved him, as well as several things that were slightly sacrilegious, tears flowing from my eyes as wave after wave of aftershock trembled within me.

Jack sat up on the sofa and moved me forward, then pulled me back into his arms, my body still quaking and quivering from my release. I started to turn, eager to return the favor, but he stopped me. "I'm happy just like this my Dainty," he whispered, cuddling me close in his arms, the evidence of his own arousal hard against my backside.

"Why won't you let me?" I whispered, thinking that this was a hell of a time for him to be stubborn about not going too far, after he'd just decimated me on the living room sofa. I was curious to touch him with my hands, to see how he reacted to that, but he refused to give in.

"You need a gradual awakening, sweet girl," he murmured, kissing my forehead. "I won't rush you; I don't want to ruin things by going too fast."

"You've got to be hurting right now Jack," I argued, one last contention on my part, with the full knowledge that he would win, just as he always did. "I just want to make you feel as good as you've made me feel."

He giggled softly, and kissed me, lingering long enough on my lips to rekindle the fire between us. "The pain is temporary, my love, and won't place me in any danger whatsoever. As for feeling good, let me assure you that hearing you at that moment, when you came, did things for my heart...and my pride...that I'll replay over and over again."

I cuddled against his chest, my eyelids growing heavy as I surrendered myself to the warm glow that apparently followed an earth shattering orgasm. I knew that the bed would be more comfortable for a good night's rest, but I didn't have the strength to make the journey to our room. I murmured that I loved him and wished him goodnight, sleep finding me more quickly than it ever had before.

A/N: Thanks to all who have read and reviewed, and/or added me to your various alerts and favorites. I know I was a bit of a tease with this chapter, at least where poor Jack was concerned, and I'm afraid that I intend to make him suffer a bit more in the next chapter as well. I also want to apologize to those who may have found parts of this chapter rather saccharine in flavor, but I'm a sucker for mush, incurably addicted to lemony prose.