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Flowers for Jill Ch. 02

By: Ginger_Martin



Author's note: 

Thank you very much for reading the first part, and for all the feedback. I appreciate it more than I can say! I hope you enjoy the second chapter, and continue to email me/comment with your opinions! 

Also, to the reader who mentioned the importance of coffee; you're brilliant! I'm a coffee junkie, and I threw in the coffee bit for you! 

Cheers! 

Ginger M. 

***** 

She hadn't been able to think coherently since Monday, and it was all his fault. Marc. Why did he have to go and complicate things like that? Having a name to go with the face...and body was driving her up the wall, but that's not what bothered her the most. She was shocked -almost scared- when she recalled his telling her that he knew who she was. How, what, huh? 

She had been alone in the suite when she woke up, which set off a number of alarms in her head since she was always the first to leave after their encounters. She never fell asleep on any of the expensive, lavish furniture pieces with him, and barely spared time to clean up in the powder room after they were done with each other. Her control over her surroundings was slipping; he was the final string that attached her to her command over things, and that was severed, too. 

Working for a company like Élsi Dussant, put her in a world where everything was a label, a designer name, and a season-hot commodity; hence a man with no name was everything she needed to balance her life. In a world where everyone dreaded horrid Mondays, and complained about them all week long, she looked forward to the first day of the week, because it was her Jack Day. Well, no more. 

Mind made up, she decided that she wasn't going back to the hotel on Monday, she wasn't going to stay and find out how he knew her name, and whether she was going to fall for him and have him break her heart just like Curt did all those years ago. 

On Monday morning, she cranked up her posh coffee machine adding an extra scoop of her Starbucks Blond Roast, and an extra cup of water; if she couldn't have Jack she'll enjoy Joe. 

She refused to look at her Howard Miller silver pyramid desk clock, and ended up flipping it face-side down when she couldn't focus on anything else but the ever moving little arms that edged closer and closer to the Six O'clock mark which indicated her Marc -no, Jack time. 

He's probably going to appreciate her not showing up since he was obviously in rare form the other day, and he slipped and let things progress like that. She was doing him a favor, and not avoiding an awkward situation. 

"You're a very selfless person, Jillian; self-sacrificing to no end." She murmured to herself and dug out for a pack of gum in her second desk drawer to hide her coffee breath. 

There was a knock at the door, and she straightened in her chair trying to look like Balanced Boss Lady for whoever wanted to see her, "Come in." The pack of gum she found was empty. Damnation! 

"Jillian, you're still here?" her casting agent stuck her head in with its mass of brilliant bottle-red hair decorated by the woman's trademark chopsticks, "It's after 7:00!" 

Her heart tripped, but she plastered a shaky smile on her face, "I had a lot of work to do." Mints, she had mints. 

"You've been here since 8:00 am, you never do the whole Manic Monday thing." 

A vision of Jack sprawled on the corner chair by the ceiling-high windows with her between his legs flashed in her mind, and she blinked a few times trying to think of something else other than his cum shooting from his penis to cover her breasts...her open palms massaging it over her full twin globes with her eyes locked on his. 

"I had some important things to do. What, with Mr. Dussant's son taking over the company we have to be in tiptop shape." she swallowed and shook her head, it wasn't a complete lie, "I went over some prospects for the..." she swallowed the rest of the sentence. She was going to say soon-to-be-vacated positions, but that was still a management-only discussion, "it's boring, really, just growth and payroll adjustment stuff." She waved her hand dismissively as she located her pack of strong mints, and popped two in her mouth. 

The redhead, Veronique, planted her butt in one of the progressive 1960's style chairs Jillian had ordered to be specifically made for her, and reached reflexively for the clock righting it, "Look, I know some people might get canned, and I don't care about that because I know I'm not one of them. I know my professionalism, and work ethic are stellar and I won't ever worry about my job, but I am worried about you. You've inhaled a whole pot of coffee today, and only came out for lunch-" lifting up a hand and nodding in explanation, "I know that because I use your fancy coffee maker when you're out of the office, and I had to settle for instant crap today, seriously, not cute, Jillian." 

That made her laugh, "Oh wow! I...I don't know what to say to that!" 

"I don't mess with your stuff or anything, but I did see that list you prepared for the upper management folks the other day, and I think you're doing the right thing." 

Chuckling, Jillian said "Remind me to lock my office door when I leave." She folded her laptop closed after hitting the "send" tab emailing Mr. Dussant Junior her latest list of candidates, and twisted her Cross pen closed, "I was wondering where all my ground coffee went!" she stole a peek at the time, 7:34 pm, he probably left the hotel a long time ago...or, did he wait for her? Damn, why was she still thinking about him? 

She pushed her chair back, and got up straightening her pencil skirt, and pulling it down a little. Veronique was smiling, "It's damn good coffee!" 

"You bet your ass, it is!" she made a shooing motion, "Okay, so your concern for my welfare is appreciated, now you need to haul your butt out of here so that I can leave." 

"Hey, don't lock the office door tomorrow." 

She slipped her blazer on, and grabbed her Gucci purse looking around the office to make sure she didn't forget anything she might need at home, and didn't leave anything "on" that wasn't supposed to be left overnight, "And encourage your snooping? You're delusional if you think I'm that crazy." 

They chatted easily on their way to the parking lot on the changes sweeping the company's various offices and stores, and by the time she got into her cherry red Jaguar XF, she was feeling considerably lighter. She just needed to revamp...everything around her, starting with her operating staff, then she could start trying new restaurants, and maybe change her gym or redecorate her dapper loft apartment. 

The drive from her office to her downtown apartment was short, and the trip would've been nicer if she'd walked instead. But it was already dark, and her BCBG Max Azria sling back heels were pretty and they complimented her crimson red blouse that contrasted with her black suit, but not at all made for a two mile walk no matter how nice the streets were. 

Key's jingling in their Tiffany's keychain, she strode across the hall after greeting the doorman, and messed with the elevator buttons until it came down. With the wheels in motion in her head, she was set to start planning a course of action; she needed a new source of entertainment, and just like she found Jack in an exclusive club's bar, she was going to find someone else. She knew people, she worked in the fashion industry for Pete's sake. Sure, she didn't look like a waifish runway model, but she was pretty sure most men preferred her FHM spread model body, with tits, ass, and legs for days, to a Marie Claire cover art piece that looked too untouchable to be human. 

The lift dinged, and she sashayed out smiling at the thought of her modeling for a men's magazine, all trussed up in exotic underwear, and biting bananas, licking cherry lollipops, or sucking down on a gigantic popsicle. It's not that she hadn't done it before; college loans were the pits, and her few modeling gigs made her almost, almost want to forget about business administration and just switch to modeling, but that was a—she stopped short, her train of thought halting go an abrupt stop. 

"Bad girl, Jillian; going out of your way to piss me off like that." He looked imposing, displeased, and a tad bit threatening. His blond hair looked like he'd raked his fingers through it several times, and his beautiful eyes were twin blue flames that blazed hotter with every passing second. 

"What are you doing here?" she swayed on her feet, her heels not providing much balance over the hallway's carpeted floors. 

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he laughed mirthlessly, "You stood me up." 

She licked her lips nervously, maybe if she didn't say anything he'll get the hint and leave. Does that ever work with people? Or she can lie to him and say she had an emergency, my grandmother slipped in the shower, a delivery truck rear-ended my car and I had it towed, something, anything. 

"I was going out of my mind wanting you, and you just..." he hissed shaking his head. It was alarming that she grasped on the way he said "out" in his Canadian accent; oat. The accent came out when he was aroused and, as she was learning now, when he was royally pissed. She was supposed to be dismissing him, not swooning over the way he pronounced words. 

"Look, Jack-" she started. 

"It's Marc. Enough with the Jack crap." He ground out furiously, "What? Is it too inconvenient for you to actually know who you're fucking? I didn't peg you for the common cum slut, but if it makes you happy to get on your knees and suck off a stranger's dick, then by all means, you can get on the floor and take my cock in the back of your throat -just the way you like it. And if you're a good girl, and you swallow every drop, I'll eat your sweet peach that will definitely be dripping honey after you're done blowing me. Hell, I'll even spit on your asshole and finger it for you -again, just the way you like it." 

He was seething, but she was shocked and chafed to red angry ball of fire, "Go to hell!" she wheezed unable to form any other scalding comebacks. 

"Is that why you ran away? Because you know who I am?" 

"I don't know who you are!" she cried, "Yet, somehow, you know my name and where I live. I should call the cops on you, Marc, or Jack, or whatever the hell you call yourself." 

A veil of understanding glazed his eyes, and his lips twisted to the side slightly, "Aaaah, so it's not the name thing." 

He was wrong, dead wrong; it was both! "I'm serious; I have 911 programmed to my speed dial." She slipped her phone out of the outer pocket of her Gucci. 

"You're scared of me." he was smiling fully, and despite her confusion and irritation with him, she felt her pussy clench and release at the sight of his smile. She shouldn't have met his stare, because the intimate way he was assessing her with made the crotch of her Elle Macpherson panties stick to her slickening pussy lips. 

"How did you get in here anyway?" she shook her head, clutching her phone in a death grip in one hand, and her keys in the other, making them leave burning imprints on the inside of her hand, "How on earth did you get past the doorman?" 

He said something, but the sound of a door opening at the end of the hallway, made her head snap in panic, and she rushed past Jack to her door opening it without thinking before her neighbor caught any part of her argument with him. 

She realized that it was a stupid mistake the second she put her foot in the apartment, because she found herself turned and pressed against the door before she could blink. He pushed her back until the door clicked shut, and his lips were mashed to hers in a wet kiss. 

This wasn't in the plans...wait, she didn't have any plans beyond showing him the door...preferably the one he had her flattened upon with his long hard body caging her small, soft one. 

His mouth was delicious, he tasted of light spearmint and a hint of something sweet; like Christmas on her lips, on her tongue as his stole into her mouth coaxing a moan out of her. 

"Mmmfff..." she grasped his shoulder looking for -needing something of him to touch, and her keys sailed down, clattering on the floor, but all she could hear was the smacking slick sounds of his lips and tongue battling and sucking on hers. Impatiently, she pushed at his suit jacket, and failed to get it off. 

He pulled back to push her purse away, she was still clutching it under her armpit, and it poked him in the chest, "Jack-Marc, wait!" her correction of his name earned her a loud smooch on the lips. 

He rubbed his lips back and forth on hers, his blue eyes half-closed yet locked intensely with hers. 

"Wait." She whispered weakly half meaning it, but he read beyond it, and kissed her, "I don't want to." 

"We need to ta-" she whimpered when one of his hands pulled at her black pencil skirt crudely bunching it up around her waist, and his fingers caressed the soaked crotch of her lacy panties, "Uhhhmmm, fuck!" her eyes fluttered closed, and he attached his lips to her neck, right under her jaw as he mumbled, "Yes, we need to fuck." 

"Talk." She stuttered incoherently as his tongue drew lazy swirling wet patterns on her neck and under her jaw. 

"Screw that." His thick index finger slipped under the thin material of her underwear and ran softly on her swollen labia spreading her moisture, "You're already wet. Is that for me?" he asked silkily nuzzling her temples, his breath making the tiny tendrils that escaped her loose bun flutter against her cheeks, "Have you been thinking of how utterly awful it was of you to stand me up like that? Coming up with ways to make it up to me?" 

"No." she told him the truth, "I was trying not to think of you, Marc." She turned and talked against his stubble-roughened cheek, then pressed a kiss to his warm skin. 

He pinched her cunt lips together rubbing them in distorted circles against each other with her clit trapped between his fingers, "Is that why you're soaking my hand, you little tart?" he swirled her wetness along her cleft all the way back to her anus where he twirled his slick middle finger and rubbed suggestively. 

"I'm not..." she bit her tongue when he pulled his head back to gaze into her eyes candidly, "Right." He said bringing his hand up, and beckoned her with a nod to look at his middle and index finger as he spread them indecently to stretch a line of her moisture between them, "What's this about then?" Aboat. Jesus. 

"Marc, I-" the rest of her sentence died and turned into a moan when he darted his tongue out between his fingers to capture her pussy juice on it, before licking his lips, "Yes?" he smirked, and when she didn't answer, he put his fingers to her lips smearing them with her essence, "Suck them." he whispered, "Lick them clean, Jillian." 

She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, but he tapped her cheek with his slick fingers, "Eyes open." 

Her lids fluttered open, and she waited for him to put his fingers in her mouth, but he just watched her until she extended her tongue and gave him a little lick. He let out a harsh breath when she placed an open-mouthed sucking kiss on his finger, and he brought the two digits together and fed them to her. 

Any reasonable decision she formulated earlier in the day was thrown away, and stomped upon as she slid her mouth on his fingers like she was sucking a cock. Hollowed cheeks and heavy-lidded eyes she went at him taking his fingers all the way until she felt like she was about to gag, and swallowed convulsively squeezing his long fingers with her throat muscles. 

His pupils were dilated and dark, surrounded by the blue ring of his beautiful irises, "Christ!" he ground out and pulled his fingers free of her lips to slide them into her panties again, going straight for her tight anus and circling it with the tip of his middle finger. 

She wanted to tell him to take it easy, to keep his hands to himself until they talked and she explained to him that their arrangement wasn't going to work any longer, but all she could think of was the moistened finger stretching her tight ass and slipping inside. 

"Marc, I've never-" 

"I know, shhh," he placed an extremely gentle kiss on her lips, "I can tell." He whispered against her mouth as his finger dipped deeper. 

She jerked, but he was a solid wall of muscle; he looped his other arm around left thigh to wrap her leg around his waist and open her up. 

"I had my mouth in there a few days ago, don't you remember?" he whispered huskily against her lips as his finger disappeared completely into her ass causing a feeling of fullness that was both strange and exciting. 

They made a comical spectacle, both fully clothed and disheveled, he with his suit jacket's sleeves scrunched up over his still cuffed shirt sleeves, and Jillian with her phone and purse still clutched in her hand, and her business skirt rolled around her midsection with her leg looped around him, and his hand in her knickers. 

He added a more vital tempo to his finger's movements in and out of her anus, positioning his hand so that its heel rubbed against her clitoris as he went in and out of her. Her breath came in short gasps as she looked down to see the edges of his Burberry shirt cuffs smudged with her juices. She contorted her shaking hand awkwardly to drop her phone in her purse, before tossing it to the floor, but once she had her hand freed, she didn't know what to do with it. On the one hand, she wanted to comb it through his brilliant blond hair, and cup his bristled cheek, and stroke his chest, and on the other she wanted to slap him in outrage for turning her into a nymphomaniac who couldn't say no. 

She did slap him, but it was so light he grinned thinking it was part of her tease act or something, it was difficult to tell with her lips parted and her eyes hooded as she gazed up at him. 

"Harder?" he went knuckle deep and she winced, partially at the odd pleasure that left her frustrated with herself, and at the length of his invading finger. 

Her answer came out in a strained groan, and he kept guessing since all her answers were unintelligible, "Too much?" 

Jillian nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again, and he chuckled, "I guess that's a no to a second finger." 

"Oh God!" her eyes shot wide open and she licked her lips reflexively, "Marc?" she made to peel his blazer off again, and he studied her for a quick second, before pulling his hand out of her panties, and shrugging out of his jacket. 

Her foot fell to the floor, trembling leg barely supporting her, and she clutched at his tie swallowing and blinking, trying to digest the varied sensations that assaulted her all at once. 

"Let me get this noose off," he prompted gently, and when she stared at the tie's perfect Windsor knot with two dimples, he grasped her hand tightening his large one on it, and pulled it down helping her take it off. 

Taking her cue from him, she made a quick job of unbuttoning his tailored shirt, barely able to meet his gaze as he sucked the finger that was inside her ass and gazed down at her, again, luring her with his basic sensuality. 

In a haze, she saw him strip her down to her lingerie and comment, "Always matching." Their eyes met, "I like that." He kissed her slipping his fingers into her red bra and pulling her breasts over the cups in a fashion that pushed them up and together like an offering, "You have the prettiest nipples." He praised plucking at the engorged tips, "I'm going to suckle them." she was pretty sure he said half of those things just to drive her insane, somehow managing to read her mind, and get a manual to all the buttons and gears he needed to press, twist, and pull to get her into that state of mind. 


Flowers for Jill Ch. 02



He latched his mouth to her left breast sucking the nipple deep and hard into his mouth causing her hips to jump, and her hands to fly to his head, indecisive between wanting to hold him and press her tit into his hungry mouth, or push him away to ease the intense sensation. 

He alternated between the two firm C-cups, his attentions messy and primal. Lips smacking obscenely against the flesh that got wet with his saliva, pulling at her nipple then releasing it with a wet smack, then moving to the other to nibble on it salaciously. 

"Marc, I need-" her hands that were exploring his wide shoulders and upper arms stilled and dug into his muscles as if to relay a secret message to him. 

"What do you need?" he straightened his back, that teasing half smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, and his free hand unbuckling his belt. 

Her tongue touched the middle part of her upper lip, and she answered his smirk with a teasing wide-eyed look, "Your big dick in my tight cunt..." She bit her lower lip and released it, "fucking me...hard..." 

His brows knotted in arousal, and she was pulled flush against his body. A ripping sound followed by his hands cupping her ass cheeks confirmed that he'd destroyed her pretty lace panty, but that didn't matter when the swollen knob of his cock was aimed at her moist opening. 

"Take that cock and put it in your hole." He ordered gruffly, and she wrapped her fingers around him squeezing the shaft and pulling up as if she wanted to milk his precome out of the large head. Both of them looked down at the clear fluid oozing out in fat drops from the slit of the mushroom head, and she felt her tongue trace her lips subconsciously recalling his addictive salty taste in her mouth. 

Marc, however, didn't give her the chance to get down to swipe a taste on her tongue; he dug his fingers in her shapely behind lifting her up, while spreading her ass cheeks and inner thighs apart. He left her completely open, and more than primed for his penetration. 

"Put it in your cunt." He rasped once more when she rubbed the slick, moisture-covered tip on her distended clit. When she continued to swirl his precome around the engorged nub, he shoved her back against the door with a loud thunk, "Right now." He struggled, clearly impatient and beyond playing games. 

Wrapping her legs more securely around him, she lowered herself on his penis, still holding it in place until the head popped into her. She then grasped his thick biceps with both hands, loosened her legs' hold around him, and sunk slowly down his rigid length. They both moaned when he was seated all the way inside her, "Balls deep." He whispered, and she clenched her inner muscles as if to make her pussy kiss his cock in welcome. 

He grinned bending his knees, and moving her against the door for a better position, before giving an experimental thrust. Appearing to be satisfied with his adjustment, he started stroking in and out of her gingerly, stretching her soft tissues and drenching his cock in her wetness. His girth almost burned when he went all the way in, his pubic hair scratched her clit, and she undulated with him plunged all the way to her womb, begging for more of that sweet friction against her aroused button. 

His eyes were glued to their groins rubbing together, and the pink nether lips sucking his cock. She whispered, "Can you...?" 

He took his sweet time answering, hands kneading her generous firm ass with uncouth, possessive fingers, "Can I what?" he canted his head to the side with a lazy smile, tracing his gaze along her torso, from her pussy, to her flat abdomen, up to her breasts held invitingly up by the twisted cups of her bra, with their tips glistening from his earlier ministrations. 

She squeezed her cunt around him in answer, but he drawled, "Can I what?" again, and she threw her head back banging the door in frustration, "Please, Marc." 

"Please what? I don't know what you want." 

"You know exactly what I want. Don't make me repeat it." 

"Say it." 

Their gazes clashed at last, and she frowned biting her lower lip hard, "You're gonna make that pretty lip bleed." He nailed her more securely against the door, leaving no room for even a shadow of personal space, "Tell me what you want me to do to you, Jillian." He was so big, so much bigger than her, and she was a tall girl, yet he still managed to dwarf her. 

"I want you to fuck me." 

He pulled out of her and plunged back in with a sudden rough jerk that made her wince, "Like this?" 

Her answer was strained, "Yes." She nodded and gulped, "More." 

"So demanding." He teased, but started to move within her again, more decisively this time, heedless of how rough he was being as she encouraged him and egged him on with her moans and the little kisses she peppered on his lips, chin, cheeks, and along his jaw line. 

Their bodies slapped wetly against one another, her pussy making lascivious gulping noises as it gobbled up his cock with every shove, every plunge, and every thrust that bounced her in his strong grasp. 

"You feel how deep I am in there?" he pistoned in and out of her with abandon giving her no room to move back, or rest her muscles that ached from his delicious assault, "All the way up to my cervix." She told him wrapping her arms around his neck. "You're so tight and wet for me." he released one of her ass cheeks only to slap it loudly, "You were mean, trying to ditch me just like that." She squeezed her eyes shut, "I'm sorry." 

"Don't worry, you'll make it up to me." he warned, the beads of sweat on his forehead and temples making his lopsided grin seem sinister and darkly sexy. 

She was too close to climax to hear the alarms sounding in the back of her head, "Whatever you want." 

"I want everything." He didn't give her the chance to reply, and stuck the middle finger of his right hand in her mouth when she opened it to object. Acquiescing, she sucked at his finger thinking that he wanted her to tease him about how she normally sucked his dick, but he commanded, "Make it real wet." She halted, and stared at him wide-eyed when he pulled the digit out of her mouth, looked at it, then spat on it, "Marc?" 

His mouth pressed upon hers as if to say "Shut up." And she started to kiss him back when she felt his finger pushing against her anus. 

"Unnghh..." she wiggled, and he held her still, impaling her on his dick. 

"Let me in." he coaxed, "Relax your ass for me, Jill." 

No one called her Jill but him. Even when she was growing up, not her family, not her friends, and she was a popular, loved child with a decent list of nicknames, just not Jill. Her heart lurched at his use of it, the way his husky masculine voice made it sound like it was her odalisque name. And, in a way, it was, and she was...his odalisque. So she did, loosening her muscles as best as she could with his thick cock lodged all the way inside her cunt. He was more resolute this time, slipping his slickened finger in one sleek motion against her body's resistance. 

He was everywhere inside her, kissing her, fucking her, making her heart race, and adding to her mind's confusion. Were she not such a mess of emotions scrubbed raw by the height of her arousal, she would have been outraged at the way he violated her, physically and mentally. But he was relentless, marvelous, and incredibly talented. No complaints or rejections were uttered by her, even when he added a second finger -just like he promised- and started earnestly fucking both of her nether holes. Her eyes watered, and she blinked against the sting of tears seeing a grainy splotch of mascara on his cheekbone. Daintily, she cupped his cheek and wiped her thumb back and forth cleaning the makeup off, and just...holding his face...feeling his skin on hers. 

He continued to drive into her, blue eyes dark with emotion and nakedly staring into hers. His rough chest hair scraped against her tender nipples, his balls slapped up against her ass and his hand with the force of his thrusts, and his possession took over her when she felt herself jerk and tremble. 

"That's right, come for me." he urged growing raucous and uninhibited, banging her back against the door, the loud thuds were bound to be heard from outside, but that was a matter of later consideration when compared to her rising peak. It grew larger, and larger still, expanding and fluttering until she burst violently-half screaming, half falling. Her legs almost gave way, and he had to slip his right hand out of her anus to hold her still as her shuddering breaths came in and out harshly, and her perfectly filed nails dug into his biceps and shoulders leaving bloody half moons on his white skin. 

He was everything at that moment, her world revolved around her center of pleasure where he was connected with her, "Come inside me." she whispered forcing her eyes open -she hadn't even realized they were closed, "Give me your cum, Marc." She clenched him deeply, holding and releasing in a long orgasm. 

He said nothing, and kissed her instead until her spasms slowed, and her eyes focused again. He held her still for a long minute watching her, ever watching her, until she murmured "That was superb...I've never...but you haven't..." she swallowed, "You haven't...uhm..." 

Marc set her heel-clad feet on the floor, grasping her waist when she wobbled a bit, "Get on your knees." He crooned nuzzling her temple and cheek and placing a kiss below her left ear. 

She obeyed delightedly, thankful for the thick Missoni runner she had placed there, and pushing a lock of hair behind her ear knowing that her curly chignon was a hot mess that testified to his rough treatment and the way she welcomed it. 

His hard cock was glistening with her juices, and she opened her mouth looking up at him -just the way he always demanded. He cupped her cheeks with both hands running his thumbs on her lips and making her suck on them. A tendril of his sweaty hair fell on his forehead, and he looked heartbreakingly handsome looking down at her with hooded eyes and ghost of a smile on his sensuous lips. One of his hands grasped his cock, and he slapped her with it, lightly at first as if to gauge her reaction. When she smiled and blinked at him, mouth still open, he smeared his precome and her moisture in circles on her cheeks and chin, then finally painted her lips with it until she smacked them together and licked off their combined taste. 

"Let me suck you, Marc," she pleaded massaging his hairy, muscled thighs with naughty, knowing fingers, "your cock needs my mouth." 

He wrapped his long fingers around the thick shaft holding it up against his stomach, "Kiss my balls first." 

Without preamble, she engulfed a swollen, full testicle into her mouth and lapped at it. Feeling him jerk, she started humming in her mouth and gave a sharp suck that made him grunt a filthy curse. She moved to the other one giving it the same treatment, and feeling her saliva pool under her tongue, she closed her lips releasing him with a wet pop, and held the root of his cock in one hand. Going up on her knees, she opened her lips around the head of his cock taking it in her mouth and slathering it with her saliva that dribbled down his length and coated her fingers. 

She sucked him, twirling her tongue around his engorged tip, focusing on the sensitive frenulum, all the while humming seductively without even realizing it. 

Rising for air, she watched her own hand jerk his dick with fascination, then gazed up at him biting her lower lip against her smile, and whacked his cock against one cheek then the other. She then pursed her lips in a kissy-pucker and started to smack his cock against them, opening her mouth to lick him every now and again. 

"No hands." His voice was choked, low, and strained. A red flush tinted his high cheeks, and his wide chest rose and fell with his harsh breaths. 

She let her palm caress the underside of his cock pushing it against his abdomen, then slowly slithered her hand on his abs, tracing his dark blond happy trail up and down while chasing his cock with her head to deposit kisses on it. Her hand ended up on his hip bone, the other one rested in her lap, and she finally managed to hold him in her mouth and lower her head on his length breathing through her nose and going for a throaty. 

Her attempts at deep throating him on the first try failed, and she blinked in frustration, and started to bob her head on him taking him deeper and deeper to relax her throat. He looked tormented from the teasing; his gritted teeth bespoke his herculean self-control, the one she aimed to bruise and destroy just like he annihilated hers. 

Jillian pulled back to the top, lips forming an O around him, cheeks hollowed pornographically, and she swayed her head to the sides as if she was listening to a sultry jazz number. She crept closer still, arching her long delicate neck, and suckled his glans until he swore and held her by the hair bun and forced his cock into her mouth. She smiled inwardly, relaxing and opening her throat when his dick reached then breached it. 

Hand fisted in her dark hair, he held her on him, her nose pressed to his crinkly pubic hair, and her throat convulsing with half-accomplished swallowing motions. 

She peeked at him from under her eyelashes, and watched his head roll back on his shoulders; so she took a deep nasal breath and swallowed with his cock in her throat getting him to grunt savagely and yank at her hair finally letting her release him. Ropes of saliva and precome connected her open mouth to his cock, and she panted and blinked before he urged her back on his dick rather impatiently. 

The hand in her lap slipped forward and she grasped the first thing it came in contact with; his belt buckle. She held the metal rectangle tightly bracing herself to offer her mouth completely. For the first time, the designer label on his elegant slacks, and stylish belt that were still around his ankles, escaped her. His Italian leather shoes that bracketed her knees went unnoticed. A woman that prided herself on knowing a designer by the cut of their clothes' patterns, and the ability to clock a knock-off no matter how close to the original it looked, and here she was utterly focused on servicing his cock with her mouth, and nothing else mattered. Nothing else held any significance, not even an instinctive thing that came as a part of what she did -no, make that breathed for a living. 

Jaw loosened, she let him fuck her mouth blinking at the tears that adorned her lower lashes, fighting the urge to shut them, refusing to look at anything else but his face, his electric eyes that galvanized her. 

He rammed himself deep again, and she choked letting out a loud gluuugh. Her eyes fluttered rapidly, and he refused to draw back, even when her hand that was holding him clawed at his thigh. 

"Unnghhh." She whimpered, eyebrows knitting together, and she finally closed her eyes surrendering to him. 

"Jesus Chriiiist." She heard him swear before releasing her hair. She fell back against the door, and stared up at him again wiping her hand on the saliva that leaked from the corners of her mouth. 

His brows lowered on his eyes, and he looked like he was about to say something, but she rushed to gobble his dick up again catching him by surprise. This was it, her time to catch him off guard and turn the tables. Boss Lady hard at work, hollowed cheeks, and undulating tongue, sliding up and down his cock unconcerned about her ruined makeup, or the accidental times the back of her head banged against the door. With her left hand, she cupped his balls sitting them on the heel of her hand while pressing her fingers to his scrotum. 

Marc's hand punched the door, and she heard him smack his forehead against it gritting his teeth to hold off his orgasm, "Slow down." He rasped, but she went faster, her interrupted breathing making her lightheaded, and she sucked harder still totally intent on tasting him when he lost his grip and let go. 

"Slow down, goddammit, I can't—uh..." he gasped shakily then cursed, and combed his fingers in her hair to, once more, cup her head. 

"But I want you to come for me." she teased giving him her best puppy-eyes good girl face, but he shook his head, "We do this my way." His other hand held his erection stroking it furiously, yanking at the long hard slick cock. He pulled her back by the hair everytime she touched her lips to his cock, everytime her tongue darted and sought the weeping slit on the angry bulbous head. 

He suddenly grunted and frowned, aiming his cock at her breasts, he uttered a strangled obscenity and shot his thick cream on her tits. This wasn't the first time he came on her chest, but the fact that she fantasized about this earlier that day, made her smile a big toothy grin looking at his beautiful cock jerking and spurting hot cum on her. 

Seeing her smile, he pulled his cock up slightly to paint her mouth with a glob of his salty cum. Still smiling, she licked it up, then latched her mouth to his cock sucking his cream straight from him, and this time he let her. 

She released him sloppily, and he deliberately wiped his wet cock on her chin and lips, then swiped a long slimy line on her left cheek. 

"Eat it off your tits, Jillian." Despite its raucous scratch, his voice still sounded decisive and civil, and she beamed at him, "I was planning on it." then cupped her breasts in both hands, and rubbed them against each other smearing his white cum on them and vaguely realizing that he'd ruined her expensive bra. Ironically, she didn't care about that. 

Lifting her right breast to her mouth, she licked at her own nipple, bit and sucked it taking his cum into her mouth, then slowly spitting it back on her tit. She repeated her dirty little show on her other breast, before massaging her breasts with open palms and in circular motions dividing her gaze between his eyes, and his hard-on that had only half softened despite his explosive climax. 

She luxuriated in the response her rakish behavior generated, and began to suck her fingers one after the other cleaning them, then going back to her breasts for more, "That's a lot of cum," she told him, "It's yummy." 

"You're a fucking tease." He chuckled, at last relaxing his face and stance. 

"You like it." 

"Hmmm." He nodded, "You don't do this for anyone else, but me, do you?" 

She blinked, "No." she shook her head calmly. She's had some wild nights and encounters in her twenty-eight years, but never gave this much, and never to a man who was a virtual stranger to her. A man whose real first name she didn't know a mere week ago. 

"I'm the only one who gets to enjoy this side of you, aren't I?" he knew it, but it seemed to matter to him that she confirmed it, so she did, "You're the only one, Marc." 

His chest rose up and down with his harsh breathing, and he pulled her up, and turned her back to him. She thought that she was going to get bent over and fucked from behind again, but he wrapped a strong arm around her, right under her breasts, and cupped her pussy with the other. 

His breath fanned her cheek, then he hesitantly whispered "Did I hurt you earlier?" 

She shook her head and smiled weakly, "No." her voice croaked and cracked, and she cleared her throat repeating, "No." 

"I wasn't too rough?" his fingers were bold in their exploration of her moist, swollen folds, and she spread her legs wider, her heels feeling like stilts that she can barely balance herself on. 

"You were, but I liked it." she turned her head and they kissed with verve, "You look good wearing my cum." He muttered between kisses, earnestly frigging her well-used cunt with two fingers. 




Flowers for Jill Ch. 02



"We need to talk." She whispered out of nowhere when she couldn't think of anything else to say. 

"About what?" he added a third finger and curled them to rub her G-Spot. 

Distracted with renewed arousal, she gulped, "I don't know...but...oh God!" 

"You taste like cum, you should be ashamed of yourself." He teased, a smirk twisting his beautiful lips to the side. 

"It's your fault," she started to say something witty, then gasped as his palm brushed her clitoris. 

"Not really, you're the one who went at my cock like a thirsty little tart." He covered her right breast with his hand and kneaded audaciously, timing his squeezes with his fingers' thrusts. Lubricious, slick sounds accompanied his finger fucking, and she laid her head back on his shoulder, loosening her muscles, and letting him hold and pleasure her like she belonged to him. This is the last time we do this, she promised herself, I'm revamping my life as of tomorrow...no, the second he walks out the door. But he was so warm, and big, and delicious, and a part of her refused to think that this would be it. It; with a capital I. That part was the one that melted in his arms, the one that bubbled and flared and erupted with his fingers deep inside her cunt. That was the part guilty of chanting his name incoherently as his fingers continued to fuck her through her orgasm, then clean her pussy off his fingers when he put them to her lips wordlessly. 

She propped her arms against the door holding herself when he released her to pull his pants up. The rustling of fabric behind her made her deduce that he was getting dressed. No second fuck? She wondered, and was answered when he picked her up, bridegroom-style, and laid her gently on the plush stretch sofa in her den. 

"I forgot something." He said against her lips when he kissed her, and she scrambled up folding her legs underneath her as she watched him step outside for a moment. 

In an instinctive, yet unneeded gesture of self-preservation, she crossed her arms on her breasts, and the sight she provided him brought a gentle smile to his lips when he walked in, disheveled and devastatingly raffish even with his shirt untucked, his tie draped carelessly around his shirt collar, and his suit jacket creased. This is the last time. She promised and warned herself at the same time, unsure of whether she liked that or not. 

"These are for you." He placed a medium-sized, clear crystal vase of soft pink daffodils and stark white narcissus on the Brazilian cherry hardwood floor in front of the couch, then bent to give her a lingering kiss on the lips, "They made me think of you." He murmured, and she eyed the pretty flowers then touched his cheek, her other arm still valiantly yet unsuccessfully trying to cover her breasts, "Because they're beautiful, and you're beautiful." He added. 

He straightened and looked around, "You'll have to give me a tour of the place next time I'm here." 

"Marc, ther-" 

"We're still doing Monday at the hotel," he interrupted pointing a finger at her in and wagging it comically, "don't be late, now, young lady." 

He winked and left closing the door solidly behind him before she could reply.



Flowers for Jill Ch. 03



Author's Note: 

Many thanks to everyone that took the time to comment, rate, or email me about the story, you're all superstars! 

I apologize deeply for taking so long to post this chapter; I've been busy, busy, busy, and my tardiness bugs me more than I can say. I wanted to post this as soon as I'm finished writing it, so I didn't proofread it, and I want to apologize in advance for any errors or misspellings you might find. 

I appreciate all your feedback and look forward to it, so don't hesitate to shoot me a comment or an email! 

Your girl Ginger 

***** 

Jillian was popular, but she didn't have a lot of friends. She had many acquaintances, but none of them was considered an extension of her family or whatever it is close friends were. She was, however, close to three friends. Two of them lived out of town, and she kept in touch with them via emailing and social networks when they didn't have the time to call or visit each other. The third was Spencer; her ultra awesome gay friend whom she could call or pay a surprise emergency visit anytime, and vice versa. 

While she was putting on her makeup, Spencer complained loudly on speaker phone, "You know, for a non-morning person, you wake up too damn early!" 

It was 6:42 am, and she'd already finished her workout, and was eating a breakfast of whole wheat bread with whole fruit, sugarless jam with a mug of black coffee while getting ready for work, "It's called committing to my work, Spence, you think I like getting up at the ass-crack of dawn?" 

"Some people do." He said it with such horror that she smiled and shook her head casting a glance at his caller picture on her phone screen, "They're unnatural." She commented. 

"Yeah, no kidding." He snorted, "So why do I have to suffer with you today?" 

"I need outfit advice." She rarely depended on another person's opinion when it came to her clothes, makeup, or hair, but today was important, and she wanted feedback. 

A theatrical gasp blared through the speaker before he said, "Are you asking for fashion advice? Gurl! What's going on?" 

She wiped a dot of makeup primer on the metal edge of her eyelash curler, then put it to her lash line, having found a trick to curling her lashes after applying mascara, "You know how I told you the boss's son is taking over?" when he confirmed it, she went on, "Well, he's coming today. We're all meeting him for the first time because he was pretty much out of the picture the entire five years I worked for Élsi Dussant. We've been emailing some plans and whatnot for the past few months, and he's basically been acquainting himself with the ins and outs of the company. I want to make a good first impression." 

Her friend's pause fooled her into thinking that he was compiling some suggestions for her, but he was in a whole other world all together, "Is he cute?" 

Grunting, she replied, "I don't know. I've. Never. Met. Him. Were you listening to me?" 

"Yes, yes," he defended, "I was just trying to get the scoop. So, like, why hadn't he been in the picture earlier?" 

She hadn't stopped to think about it before, "I don't know. He used to work for another company -again, I don't know why, but we bought it about six months ago, and then, suddenly, Mr. Dussant Sr. decided to plan retiring and moving his son in his place." 

"Fascinating." 

"Not really, you just like to put a dramatic spin on everything." 

"That's why I have way more fun than you." 

"True." She chuckled, "Now help me, I was thinking I should wear a dress." 

"Color? Style?" 

"It's a Calvin Kle-" 

"Don't mention that man's name to me." Spencer cut her off dramatically, "He is dead to me. Dead." 

Biting her lip against a laugh, she met her own gaze in the mirror, "Are you still upset because he dated that cute little porno guy?" 

Ever reasonable, he cried, "He stole him from me!" 

"You didn't even know the guy existed until they started dating." Silence followed until she cooed, "I wov you, Spency!" 

"Color? Style?" 

"Lavender, knee-length sheath." 

"Purple again? Yawn!" 

"Hey, purple is great!" 

"Let's do something else, m'kay? What else do you have picked?" 

She had washed and straightened her wavy hair until it glistened in a dark curtain that she draped on her shoulders and upper back, "I was thinking a Calvin number would be appropriate, more business-like." 

"It's not always about who you're wearing." 

Trying to avoid getting into that subject with him like they had in the past, she corrected, "Whom." 

"I didn't realize I signed up for a pre-dawn wakeup call, and a double shot of bitch for breakfast." 

She was being unreasonably difficult, "Sorry. I truly am." 

"Apology accepted, but it won't be if you say you want to wear that orange wrap dress." 

She started to defend her pretty Nicole Miller, then bit her tongue swallowing the label name, "There this silver green sheath with a square-cut neckline, and a ruche bodice." 

"Sleeves?" 

"Cap-sleeves." 

"Shoes?" 

"Two-toned mint green cap, and taupe, sling-backs." 

"No, ew." 

Ew?? "Gray with dark silver mesh on the side pumps?" 

"Ooh, are they Louboutin's?" 

"Oh, so only you can pick by designer! And no; Diane Von Furstenberg." 

"Yes, and I don't know her, so yes." 

She smiled at her clothes' picks hanging on a wooden row of hooks attached to the door of her gigantic closet, and dedicated entirely to display possible outfit options, "Thank you so much." 

"Welcome, but we're not done," he enquired, "Makeup?" 

Oh, damn. "Uh...well, I'm ah...I started wearing mascara again, like...two months ago." She grimaced and heard him curse with a lot of "Oh no, girl."'s and "What the...?"'s. She had "gotten off" mascara a few months back, her decision made the day before she met Marc, after a rather ugly episode of her getting caught in the rain with washable mascara and no umbrella. Of course, fate decided that she needed an audience for her horrid look, and decided that she needed to run into her ex-flame, Curt. It was one of the few -very few- times for him to actually acknowledge her, and say her name. He only did that when he found her in a compromising position, and this particular situation was the mother of them all. 

"I thought you were switching to eyeliner and shadow for good. You caved! I can't believe you!" 

She realized that she didn't want to change her habits and preferences because of a man like Dirty Curty. For a long time, she stayed hung up on something that never happened, never developed, turning into a sad, simpering fool for...well, a fool! She didn't want that anymore, "That's too much makeup, with mascara I can just brush it on, slather some moisturizer and leave. And, and, and still look like myself without makeup." 

He contemplated for a second, then gave her his blessing, "Use a waterproof coat." 

By the time she left the house, she felt positively beautiful, poised, and ready to bitch-slap Goliath if need be. 

The fact that she was too early didn't faze her, nor did it prompt her to lollygag with any of the other employees that flocked the employee lounge and shot the breeze over fresh Kolache and Donuts. She was geared up for her big meeting, and had sailed through half a project when a knock on her door startled her. 

Her Michelle watch reminded her it was too early for Mia, her secretary, to be at her desk as she normally paged her before letting a visitor in. 

"Come in," her eyes moved back to the buyer's report she had printed earlier, and she highlighted another request to be approved. 

"Are you always this early?" 

The voice made her gasp jumping in her chair. Back straight, eyes wide, no sound came from between her parted lips, and she moistened them with her tongue and tried again only to croak out a weak, "Marc?!" 

"Instant Human Just Add Coffee," he read the quip on her coffee mug, "That' funny! Good morning, workaholic!" 

She wrapped her fingers instinctively around her cup, hiding the writing, I won't ask how you knew I work here -not now anyway, but I will ask you to kindly leave." 

When he merely parked his butt in a chair after inspecting it with a grin, she explained, "My new boss is coming today. Actually, he's everyone's new boss, and we have a meeting. Please, I'll see you at the hotel this evening, I promise." 

"Funky chairs. Custom made?" he was still smiling. 

"Marc!" she shot up in exasperation, "I wasn't planning on ditching you, I swear. This isn't necessary." She glared at him, arms crossed, lips twisted in irascibility, but he just said, "Oh I know you were coming." He adjusted his gold tie on his blue shirt, then looked her square in the eye, "I don't tolerate bullshit, and I know you don't either." 

"Good. Then you'll appreciate this warning," she stayed behind her desk knowing the importance of keeping a buffer between them, "If you don't leave now, I won't show up at the hotel...not today, not next week, not ever. I don't want you to embarrass me at work." 

"I don't take well to threats, and I won't embarrass you." 

"I'm done arguing with you." She strode briskly towards the door, "I'm going to ask nicely for the last time, but if you don't comply I'll have to call security to escort you out." 

He caught her from behind hugging her close, big arms wrapped around her, "I don't take orders, either. This is the first time I see you in a dress. I like it." his voice was smooth as whiskey in her ear, "I like it very much." It burned its way down warming her to the tips of her toes. 

She closed her eyes resisting the urge to relax in his hold, "Marc, no." 

"Lock the door." 

Swallowing, she whispered, "I can't. Not here, please; my job is my life, I can't lose it." 

"No one will know." 

"I'll know. It's not professional." 

"Lock the door." He repeated, the order a low, dangerous hiss that she found herself obeying with shaking hands. 

His lips were hot and moist on the side of her neck, and she swept her hair to the side presenting no obstructions in the way of his wonderful mouth. 

He ran his hands on her sides feeling her up from ribcage to thighs, up and down, then up again...slowly, deliberately...slithering down thoroughly, hypnotically, settling on her hips for a few heartbeats, "How can a woman be so impossibly tiny, yet so perfectly curved?" he whispered in her ear spanning her small waist with his hands as if to see if his fingers would meet -and they almost did, "Your ass is pure magic." His hands roamed lower again caressing her hips and ass boldly like he owned her. The thought disturbed her; she didn't want to belong to anyone. Not in that way. People always disappointed her. The only one who's always been there for her, dependable, non-judgmental, and well-versed in her deepest thoughts was herself. The fact that he murmured, "All mine" while stroking her firm derriere in circles, added to her anxiety. 

"I workout, that's why." She said dryly, her voice a scratch against his smooth petting. She placed her hands on his giving him a chastising squeeze, "And I'm not yours." 

Relentless and incorrigible, he pressed her against him with a big hand on her stomach, "When you're with me, you are." 

"Right." She infused as much irritation in her tone as possible, but her body was winning over her mind. Sanity was slipping, the whole I'll-worry-about-fixing-this-later warped concept -which was foreign to her strict way of thinking and planning- presented itself as the most viable option. 

"There isn't much we can do here without messing up the place, Marc." She managed to turn in his arms and hold his face with both hands, "You'll have to be discreet without sacrificing any of your skills." 

Even in high heels, he towered over her 5'9" frame, and she had to rise on tiptoes to kiss his sensuous mouth. That chocolate-minty taste that she now associated with him, made her smile into the kiss. She was sucking on his lower lip noisily when she imagined him keeping a stash of Andes mints handy, maybe on a chubby chef-shaped ceramic jar on his kitchen table. The imagery made her giggle. 

"What is it?" his inquisitive eyes had a trace of humor when they searched hers questioningly, "You should know better than to laugh at a guy when he's trying to impress you." 

"It's not that," she gave him a dozen quick pecks on his delicious mouth before saying, "Your kisses taste like Christmas." 

"Christmas is-"He started, but she kissed him again lingeringly cutting off his reply. 

He was hard, broad, and beautifully angled everywhere. The appreciation she had earlier for his ability to bring together his navy trousers and camel blazer in a refreshing utilization of suit separates, was now transforming into frustration with the fact that he was dressed so formally, that there were a lot of clothing items between her and his bare skin. They had very limited time, and a lot of layers between them. 

"I have thirty-nine minutes." She pushed his jacket off his shoulders, kissing his chin and mouth, and that soft area between his cupid-bow and nose. This was her first time to see him -to feel him clean shaven. The smooth texture of his skin contrasted with his sharp, masculine edge. 

She traced her fingertips along the square of his jaw where his skin stretch tautly when he smiled down at her, "I can make you come at least three times in thirty-nine minutes with time to spare." 

Her eyes were riveted to his face. He looked so handsome and clean-cut in the daylight her large office windows provided. His wide smile would've seemed wholesome had it not been for the teasing quality of it that paired perfectly with his salacious suggestions. 

She noticed, for the first time, how long his light golden lashes were, how the straight slashes of his eyebrows were darker where they started, their color gradient, as the ends were a lighter blond "So you think you're that good?" 

"I rely heavily on the adequacy of my talents, so yes, ma'am." 

"Don't call me "ma'am"." She chucked him lightly on the chin and sent her other hand to inspect his crotch, to be rewarded with a big hard erection that pressed defiantly against his slacks' zipper. He groaned at the feel of her hand, fidgeting his left leg uneasily. She cupped him, stroking up and down his hard length, and relishing his response and the sight of his lashes touching the tops of his cheeks when he squeezed his eyes shut and swore. 

"You're hard already." She crooned, "So hot, so thick," slipping her fingers lower to caress his balls through his pants and boxer briefs, she bounced them lightly, "So full of cum for me." 

Eyes still closed, his mouth quirked to the side and he breathed, "Yes, ma'am." 

"Cheeky!" she squeezed his testicles tighter making him groan and shift his legs again, "Jesus, don't...I won't be able to hold it if you..." he swallowed and opened his eyes trying to pin her with his intense gaze, but she pushed further, "Don't call me "ma'am"," she palmed his balls expertly, "it makes me feel old and matronly." 

"Matronly!" he coughed a strangled chuckle, "Lady, you're the furthest thing from matronly!" 

"Lady?" she walked him back towards her desk, guiding him by the crotch until the back of his thighs bumped the wooden edge. 

There was a lopsided grin on his face, "Why not?" 

His belt buckle came off with a flick of her fingers, followed by the button, then the fly, and she went down to her knees hitting the carpet as the zipper slider hit the bottom of his pants' crotch line. 

There was a damp spot on the front of his white boxer briefs, and she glanced up at him momentarily before letting her lids fall closed as she put her lips to the convex notch his glans made against his briefs. He groaned, she sucked, knowing that the cotton fabric adding to sensation her mouth caused, and she let her tongue seek out the details of the tip of his cock, his frenulum, the round edges of the mushroom head, and the slit that leaked copious precome. 

Hand fisted in her hair, he pulled her back so that she looked up at him, and rasped, "That's not what I had in mind, Jillian." But she touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip pulling his underwear down, and freeing his cock that flapped up, lissomly bouncing up until she grasped it in her hand, "You don't want this?" she squeezed the tip milking more precome out of it then wiped it on her lips like lip-gloss. 

Marc's hand tightened in her hair, "Jesus!" 

She fought a triumphant smile and ran her tongue on her lips taking his taste into her mouth, smacked her lips together, then kissed his cock, "You don't like it when I do this?" she cajoled kissing the thick, throbbing vein that ran along the lower side of his dick. 

"You know very well that I do," he pulled at her hair a tad harder than before, and she felt her scalp sting in several places. A small wince escaped her lips involuntarily, and his grip lessened perceptibly as he stared down at her with unreadable, flaming blue eyes before barking, "Get up." 

He kept his hand in her hair when she rose up slowly, clumsily standing in front of him on wobbly legs with a chary, uncertain look in her eyes, "What are you going to do?" her timid voice sounded enticing even to her own ears, and she cleared her throat, "Marc?" 

His answer was a fierce kiss that surprised her into gasping, but he didn't heed her surprise using it as an advantage to plunder her mouth avariciously feeding on her with a growl stuck in the back of his throat. His hand soothed her abused scalp gently, blunt fingertips twirling in circles around the roots of her hair and making her want to purr at the contrast between his fierce kiss and tender touch. 

Putting her own fingers to use, Jillian tore at the buttons of his shirt without bothering with his tie, and rested her hands on his lightly furred chest that expanded in a deep sigh at her touch. For a man, he was extremely graceful, for a man of his athletic build and big frame, he needed a new word put in the dictionary to describe his agility as he danced her around until she was seated on her desk top with her dress around her waist. 

He paused briefly to unbutton his cuffs, and roll up his sleeves, but didn't waste an extra moment to take it completely off, dropping to the floor in front of her. 

"For all the times you did this for me, Jill." He declared cupping her knees and parting them before he edged closer and closer until her thighs straddled him. 

Something pinched her heart, an alien emotion that she was too scared to dwell upon, so she didn't -she wouldn't go there for him...for anyone. She took in his smiling face between her legs, hair blond as wheat in the sun, crisp and ready for harvest...don't go there, her mind warned when she plunged her fingers in his hair, clenching and unclenching them amongst the burnished gold locks. 

He winked at her before turning to her left thigh, his lips connecting with her soft skin in a tenuous, aerial little kiss that developed when he parted his lips to suck at her inner thigh sharply. 

Jillian gasped, slipping slightly off the glass top that covered her desk, and placed her hands on both sides bracing herself up. Mindless of her precarious position, he turned to her right thigh leaving another wet love bite on it, and it hit her that he was marking her. His kisses went beyond affection, or wanting to sample her taste; he was leaving his stamp on places only she would see and know who was there claiming her as his. She wanted to tell him to stop or to feel impervious to having him sign his work -so to speak- but it was all a part of the Pleasure Package that was Marc's specialty. 




Flowers for Jill Ch. 03



He nuzzled her skin where it was incredibly sensitive, taking his sweet time to get to the soaked crotch of her lace g-string. Inhaling her musky essence, he murmured, "Time?" 

Her hand shook when she lifted it to peek at her watch, and she dropped it back on the table, dug her left heel in the carpet pushing her body up, then held her trembling wrist in her line of vision again, "Thirty-one minutes." 

"Plenty o' time to go." Marc opened his mouth on her lapping at her cunt through the flimsy crotch of her panties -just like she did for him. He gave her as much as she gave him, and more. His whole demeanor relaying how her pleasure satisfied him, like pleasing her granted him the same euphoric gratification that she felt when he was on her. 

Slipping his finger into the leg of her g-string, he pulled the crotch away from her cunt, and slid his finger up and down in her moisture spreading it. the slick friction his knuckle caused everytime it came in contact with her softness, everytime it slipped over her clit, made her bite her lower lip flinching with half moans every few seconds. 

"There's so much honey," he rubbed the lace against her leaking hole, then pulled it back and to the side, clear lines of her slimy arousal extended and stretched obscenely between her panties and cunt, "my favorite breakfast," he licked the strings of moisture twining them around his tongue, "So sweet...the sweetest." With his right hand, he pinched her pussy lips together between his index finger and thumb, rubbing them against each other, then kissed them like he would her mouth. 

Jillian squirmed curling her fingers around the table edge, only Marc would fuck her mouth like a pussy, and kiss her pussy like a mouth. She heard herself whimper his name when he slipped his tongue between her nether lips while still holding them squeezed together, and lap up and down then gradually slip his fingers to the sides opening her pink petals like a blooming flower. 

"Hold your panties for me." he asked, and she complied hooking her trembling middle and forefinger through the lace, and pulling it to the side. "Just like that," he commended, "feed me your honey, sweetheart." 

His tongue explored her intimately, getting to know her better than she knew herself, making wet clicking sounds against her cunt everytime he licked her to scoop some of her juice into his mouth then swallow soundly with hushed, animalistic little grunts. 

Her eyes fluttered, gaze unfocused and jumping everywhere until it landed on a display of a hollow metal mannequin and an irregular, elongated mirror that she had set up close to the corner of her office that faced her desk. The reflection of the sight they made was wanton...forbidden, and her eyes were glued to their image knowing full well that what they were playing was indeed wanton and forbidden, not to mention that it put her job on the line. She may very well be escorting her career to the guillotine to be beheaded the second anyone found out about her indiscretion. 

Heart rapping a deafening tattoo, she felt his lips form an O around her distended sex bead sucking it, and toying with hood of her clit, all else lost its importance...everything faded next to the intense point of pleasure where his mouth fed on her center. Her toes curled in her shoes, one hand tightened on the desk while the other shook spasmodically, still clutching her underwear as her head lolled back on her shoulders in sheer ecstasy. 

She felt her moisture drip lower, sliding in chubby drops between her ass cheeks and gather at the star of her anus. Marc's tongue followed the wet trail several times licking her dedicatedly as if he was priming her ass for a fucking. The idea that never held any appeal to her before didn't seem like such a bad thing right then. On the contrary, the memory of his fingers there triggered a dark craving she would've frowned upon had she not been so high on the pleasure he heaped upon her. She was too numb to think prudently, or even feel the discomfort of her position with the table edge -glass over cherry wood- biting into her soft ass cheeks, or the cramps caused by holding her legs rigidly still against their shaking. There was no other sensation to feel but his tongue licking between her inner and outer labia, then dipping into her tight hole repeatedly in shallow, quick fucking gestures. No other point on her body existed but the snug opening that welcomed two of his thick, long fingers which slid inside her and curled up brushing her g-spot on their way in and out. 

In and out he finger-fucked her, mouth latched to her clit suckling on it. Everything sped up against everything, coming together in a crash of iridescent lights that flickered behind her eyelids when she shut them against the blast of her climax. She shook and convulsed against his face, too weak and shocked to moan, the only sound escaping her lips was the choppy gasps and exhales that were choreographed to the rhythm of her inner muscles' clench and release on his fingers. 

Her waning strength succumbed to the orgasm's aftershocks, and she thought with a thread of hazy panic that she was going to collapse, but Marc was there to hold her still, like a masculine brace that surrounded her with his muscles and scent to keep her world together. 

"Oh my God!" she managed a half whisper-half moan, and he kissed her brow, her cheekbone, and then her ear before declaring in a seductive murmur, "That's one." 

She blinked, a spall of sanity tearing into her brain, "We don't have time." 

He cupped her ass seating her more comfortably on the table, "We have more than enough time, just keep your legs spread wide for me." his hands slithered forward and pushed her thighs further apart testing her flexibility, and grinned mischievously when they lissomly yielded, "Watch me get inside you," he urged dropping his stare to where his groin faced hers, steel-rigid erection in his hand poised at her entrance, demanding entry. The spectacle's lewdness was intoxicating in a ribald, smutty sort of way, again, forbidden yet delicious -just like everything Marc was about. 

He rubbed the swollen head of his cock up and down along her cleft mixing his precome with her dew, their combined juices making slick little sounds of lubricated flesh on flesh. Lower he went, until his glans touched her asshole where he paused to stroke her with a lopsided smirk pulling at the left corner of his mouth. They both peeked up at each other at the same time, and she lowered her lashes quickly when he licked his lips and canted his head to the right, still smiling that smug, male smile of his. 

Before she formed on objection, he ran his dick back up to her cunt hole, and thrust experimentally into her. Her still sore tissues remonstrated against the stretching invasion, and she whimpered shutting her eyes and biting her lower lip. 

"You okay?" she felt his nose nuzzle her cheek, and swallowed, "Hurts..." then opened her eyes and faced him, "I'm still a little tender," 

A thread of pride tinged the blue in his eyes darker, and he pushed a little deeper, "Does this hurt?" she blinked biting her lip again, and didn't answer, so he plunged deeper still, "Do you want me to stop?" 

She shook her head, lips mouthing the word "No", then cleared her throat and said it; his intruding penetration a delicious marriage of pain and pleasure against her pussy that was attenuated by her earlier orgasm. 

"You sure? I can kiss it and make it better again." he crooned, but his hips were already moving forward, driving into her. 

She put a hand to his waist, right above his hipbone, and smoothed his tie on his bare chest with the other, "Keep going, fuck me, make me come for you again, Marc," 

"Right here in your office?" he teased, "You're not gonna call security on me?" 

"Fuck you!" she pulled at his tie when he buried his cock all the way inside her, "Maybe later," a small grin touched her lips and he gave her a sharp thrust as punishment, "Not if I filled your mouth with cock and cum to shut you up." 

"Yum!" she yanked his tie again, bringing his head closer to hers to kiss him, "I can't wait. I love it." She clenched her cunt on his penis drawing a harsh curse out of him, "You're a filthy little nymphomaniac, Jillian," he pumped his hips bluntly, stretching her quivering pussy around his thick tool, "do you beg other guys to fuck you like this?" 

She didn't, not with anyone else; he was a whim, a fantasy that she acted upon after caging all of her cravings and lustful dreams far too long, but she didn't want to reveal that to him, "What difference does it make?" 

Her answer set him off, his brows lowered to knot in a sullen frown, and she felt his fingers dig roughly into her thighs, "Do you?" he enquired again fucking her faster as if to chasten her pussy for ever embracing another cock. 

Jillian gasped rather loudly, then swallowed nervously, "No, I don't..." then she added, "I swear." And grimaced at her weakness, and turned her head to the side. 

"That's what I thought," he grumbled settling his right hand on the small of her back to keep her from bouncing as his pounding got more feral, and insistent, "you might be a little cum-slut, but you're my cum-slut, and it's my cock you'll be begging for." 

What brought that on? Why was he suddenly so intent on staking a claim on her? She didn't need any more confusion to add to the bewildered tangle of emotions that raged within her everytime she thought of him, "How come you can say that I'm yours, but I can't say it about you?" she struggled to keep her eyes focused on his while his cock pistoned in and out of her making a variety of luridly pornographic sloshing sounds. 

"Who said that you can't?" he paused for a heartbeat, and she inhaled swiftly, taken aback by his loaded question, and her inability to find an answer. Her vision cleared, and she gulped, "Marc...I don't-" 

He shoved his cock into her, and ground out, "Yeah?" 

She cried out feeling his encroachment on her body and now mind, complete in all aspects; he wanted to takeover and she was letting him, "Why did you make it so difficult?" she framed his face with her trembling hands, wanting so badly to staunch the traitorous part of her that was glad he took things further than they agreed upon all those months ago. 

"I didn't make it difficult," he faced her, and when she dropped the subject, too wound up in her arousal to contest his argument, he kissed her and slowed his thrusts readjusting his stance to stuff himself all the way inside her until he hit all the places that made her squirm at once. And squirm she did, scratching at his shoulders, and pulling at his tie and the lapels of his open shirt as she felt every thick vein on his solid erection titillating and scrubbing her softness raw. 

She was so close...his pubic hair scraped her engorged clit, his cock hit her all the way to her womb, the lace of her panties added to the maddening friction of his thrusts, and his left hand palmed her breast through her dress...she was so close, she swallowed the nervous saliva forming in the back of her throat, and heard her own heart thump loudly in her ears, her blood thinned by arousal like it was light with alcohol, yet this was more intoxicating than the hardest liquor, "Marc, I'm going to come," she leaned forward breathing against the place where his neck met his shoulder, "I want you to come with me," her tongue darted out to lick the small beads of dew her breath left on his skin, then kissed him hard enough to leave a hickey, "I want you to come with me," she whispered shakily whimpering and beating her left leg back, hitting the desk with her heels. 

"Yes, baby, come for me, squeeze my dick with that tight pussy, Jillian, come for me," he pumped into her faster, then she heard him groan, and wheeze a strangled curse as he released into her. His large cock felt impossibly larger as it surged deep spurting into her, and the power of his combustion set hers off. She had to bite his shoulder to keep from screaming, the ebb and flow of her orgasm milking him dry, and drawing out his pleasure. He pulsed inside her, his heartbeat hers for those countable, precious moments, and her cunt gobbled him up greedily squeezing him, clenching against him, spasm after spasm announcing the "Mine." Declaration she couldn't bring herself to voice. 

He stilled within her, but she was wracked by lingering, softer spasms still that were too perfect with the taste of his skin under her tongue, and the sound of his harsh panting in her ears. 

"That's two." He muttered hoarsely and straightened up bringing her face up with his fingers under her chin. 

"I don't think I can take another one." She confessed, but he gestured with his head for her to look at their centers as he slipped his softening cock out of her with a wet slurp. 

Instantaneously, a stream of his pearly white cream started to dribble out of her pink hole, and she put her hand to it, then met his gaze. He looked like he was fighting a grin, "'S gonna make a mess." He murmured, leaning his head characteristically to the side, his grin winning over. 

Unthinkingly, she brought her hand to her mouth, and lapped at the puddle of cum gathered in her palm, then watched with wonder as his limp cock lurched up, and heard him swear violently, "Motherfucker!" he ground out, all traces of his smirk erased, and replaced with hungry lust, "Eat it off your fucking hand, eat it all off." 

Aha! And just like that, she had the upper hand again; right in her hand! Smiling into her palm, she licked his cream, then swallowed it soundly, and licked her lips contentedly afterwards. 

"There's more." He rasped, and she nodded swirling her fingers on the plump drops of cum that dripped on the glass-top of her desk, before bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking them. 

"Time?" he requested gruffly, eyes dilated, and fixed on her, and she finally released her panties lifting her left hand to her mouth and cleaning his semen off the thenar muscle arch, under her thumb, and flashing her watch at him. 

Nodding resolutely, he reached behind her, and she followed his face giving him a wicked smile while nibbling on her fingers soundly. He divided his gaze between her eyes and mouth barely blinking, his breathing was harsh, but a ghost of his grin shadowed his face when he murmured, "Ready for number three?" 

She glanced at his already semi-hard cock, and reached for it, but he grasped her wrist with his left hand, "No time for that," he said flashing in his other hand her budding rose glass figurine that he snatched from her desk. 

Frowning slightly, she started to question his intentions, then shook her head, "Whatever you're planning, Marc, it's-" but he was already pulling at the triangle that formed the front of her g-string, rubbing the lacey material between her nether lips, and soaking the already stained fabric with their essence. The pattern of her panties' lace sent short electric jolts of pleasure through her. 

"You sound much more agreeable with my cock in your mouth, Jillian." 

"How dare you!" she slapped his shoulder, but he flashed her a smile, "I jest, my lady, I jest!" his teasing making her giggle against her will, "You're incorrigible." 

"I aim to entertain and pleasure," he said holding her panties to the side with one hand, and touching the clear glass of the flower to her moist folds. 

"I need time to recover, Marc," she admitted seeking his gaze, but he merely kissed her, the sapid taste of his ejaculate mixing with the remnants of her pussy on his lips. The flower scraped in circles around her hole, then he brought it to her clitoris, the glass slithering easily with her moisture -and his- all over it. 

That's all he needed to do, kiss her breathless while twirling the flower in maddening patterns over her sensitized button. Her hands rested on his chest, sticky with his residue that her fingers twirled his chest hair with, then painted over the flat disks of his nipples. 

"Jesus, Jillian, no," he entreated, "this time's for you." 

"But I want to touch you." 

His right hand shook pressing the glass flush against her clit, "We don't have much time left." He rubbed faster, making sure the top of the bud, where the petals' edges were corrugated and scalloped, scraped across her clitoris until she squirmed and her breath turned patchy. 

She pinched one of his nipples sharply whispering, "I can't, Marc, it's too much," but he didn't ease up until her third orgasm hit her in an abrupt wave. She keened softly, then closed her eyes and felt his left hand cover her mouth masking her moans. He thought of everything, she mused in the back of her mind feeling him slip his middle finger into her just to feel her undulating inner muscles ripple and squeeze him one more time. 

That last one left her with a sensation similar to an ice-cream induced brain-freeze, and she swayed and leaned against him when she tried to stand up. Releasing her breath on an exhale, she said "I need to clean up," and slipped her panties off awkwardly, stepping out of them and holding them crumpled in her hand and adjusted the skirt of her dress, "Wait here." She held a finger to him and made to turn to her private bathroom. 

Trousers clutched at his waist with the zipper down, he asked, "Do you have any Kleenex?" and looked sensuously sexy with his rumpled clothes, and mussed hair, his cock unapologetically hardening again like a flagrant indicator of his lust. 

She dug in one of her drawers and tossed him a pack of moist facial wipes, "This is better." 

"Thanks." 

What have you done? Was her first conscious thought when she met her reflection in the mirror, the second one was a deep appreciation for the fact that she had her own bathroom complete with a bidet shower that came with her deeply rooted hatred of germ-occupied public bathrooms. 

What have you done? Was still a predominant query that her sanity demanded an answer to, even as she washed up and dried, brushed her hair neatly again, then sprayed some perfume to cover any scent of sex that might've clung on her. She made a quick job of washing her g-string, and hung it to dry on a towel rack, she'd worn it with a matching balconette bra just for Marc...well, good ol' Marc's impatience had separated it from its mate for the remainder of the day. 

She always kept a change of business clothes in the office, but her fresh underwear were in her gym back. She calculated whether she had enough time to run down to her car and retrieve a pair of panties when the bathroom door opened behind her and she jumped to see Marc enter so casually, and drop the used wipes into the trash bin. 

"Excuse you!" she smoothed her dress down again, brushing over the small wrinkles that still attested to what they did a few minutes ago. 

"I figured you were done," he turned on the water and washed his hands, then his face, and took the liberty of using one of her monogrammed hand towels to dry, before dipping it under the faucet's running stream and wiping his chest with it, "you got cum on my chest, Jill, I have to clean up, too." 

She heard herself say, "You look like a male stripper with your shirt open, and your tie hanging on your bare chest like that." 

He laughed taking off his tie. 

"I'm sorry about your tie." She pointed at the wrinkled, and miserably ruined tie apologetically, and he shrugged, "Don't worry aboat it." his accent so fetching as his voice echoed slightly in the bathroom. 

"I have a few sample orders here somewhere, I'm sure there're a few ties in one of the boxes." 

He buttoned his shirt and stuffed the tails in his pants, "I'd appreciate another one if you can find it." he'd done a good job of stuffing his cock in his pants again, and adjusting it so that it doesn't bulge against his zipper too obviously despite its large size. Noticing the destination of her gaze, he said "I'm going to have to go like this all day if you don't do something about it soon -after the meeting, maybe?" 




Flowers for Jill Ch. 03



"You're insatiable." she left the restroom with him on her heels, and started digging in a box labeled "Accessories" with a short list of designer names printed on the same label. 

"For you, I am." 

She found a beige tie that worked with his outfit, though not as elegantly as the gold one did, but he didn't complain about the color. Her walking up to him and sliding it around his collar to tie it surprised him, and he smiled, "This is nice, you're sweet." 

She paused, then said, "Listen, Marc, this has just taken a serious turn; you've gone and changed everything making it so difficult." 

"I wanted more, you wanted more, but you were too chicken to tell me; so I took the lead." He added steadfastly, "It was bound to happen." 

"That's not true." 

"You're a terrible liar -beautiful, but terrible." He challenged, and she shook her head, "Okay, so we'll do it your way, but as it stands, you know a whole lot about me, and I know diddly squat about you." She slid the knot up setting it between his collar points, "I know you're Canadian because of your accent, or maybe from somewhere in northern Michigan?" 

"Canadian's right," he smiled, "Born in Montréal, raised all over, but always a Montréal boy." 

"What do you do for a living?" 

"I work for my family's business." 

She scowled, "Like the mob?" 

He chuckled, "Do I look like someone who works for the mob?" 

He looked like he could be a professional athlete, a hockey player or something, "I don't know how mobsters are supposed to look like." 

"Al Pacino." He smirked, but she shook her head, "That's politically incorrect." And before he opened his mouth to say something, she shot out, "You're not a male stripper, are you?" 

"Nah, I'm too shy." He fought a smile, placing his hand on his chest in a humble gesture. 

"Right, and I buy my steak meat from Wal-Mart." 

That made him laugh again, he looked so relaxed in her environment, like the monumental flip in their arrangement didn't have the same perplexing effect on him as it did her. 

Her pager buzzed, and Mia said "The folks from management are swarmed around Helga, and I think she's P-ed off she looks like she'd just bitten a lemon. Good morning, Jillian." 

"Morning, Mia, and you know that's Helga's happy face," she pressed her pager button talking into it, then turned her pyramid clock towards Marc -who was putting on his suit jacket- gesturing the time, "Is Mr. Dussant Jr. with them?" 

"I don't see him, they all look so grouchy -well, not all of them, just Helga." 

Helga was Jillian's boss, and one of two above her before the Dussant's, "Again, it's her happy face, she's a sweetie beneath all that." 

Mia said something else, but Jillian released the intercom button turning her attention to Marc, "I don't even know your last name." 

"Dussant," he stated simply, "Marc Dussant." 

The ground disappeared from underneath her feet as her heartbeats turned into a buzzing noise in her ears, and in a flurry of motions, her door was opened by her secretary, and a group of her coworkers marched in, headed by Helga who exclaimed, "Mr. Dussant! We were looking for you!" 

Marc Dussant? Belatedly, she connected the dots, M. Dussant stood for Marc not Marcel, but she had just assumed the name was the same as his father's since everyone called him Dussant Junior. He knew exactly who she was all along, knew where she lived, where she worked; he was her goddamned boss and she was in the dark this whole time! 

Swallowing, she turned to her officemates trying to come up with a fib to placate their curiosity, but Marc was already talking, "I stopped by a little early to see Ms. Zahra," he looked at Jillian, he knew who she was from her employment history down to her last name, yet she only found out what his last name was less than five minutes ago, "We're good buddies." He flashed her a smile, and she exercised a herculean amount of self-control to keep from slapping him soundly, and calling him every name in the book -and a few she'd come up with just for a bastard like him. The asshole, how dare he! 

"Are we?" she cocked her head to the side belligerently drawing composure from her furiousness, "Huh! I can't call my new boss a friend, anymore, now can I?" her gaze told him to go fuck himself for there will be no more Jillian for him, but he slipped his hands in his pants pockets rocking back and forth on his heels, "Of course you can, I'm not that kind of boss, Jillian." 

"We're so glad you're here," one of the guys said extending his hand, "your father was a stellar guy, real hardworking, yet very approachable, and he had you in his highest regards." 

"I have big shoes to fill," he nodded shaking the man's hand, the ice-breaker creating a chain reaction of introductions, while she grabbed the folder she'd put together for the meeting with quivering hands, ignoring the puzzled looks her secretary gave her. 

When they left to the boardroom, she just followed the crowd on leaden legs, a million warring emotions scrambling and combusting in her mind, and forming a massive lump in her throat. 

The boardroom was cool, elegant with a lot of glossed African Blackwood furniture and modern art that bordered on out there in its styles. It also smelled of the fresh linen scent that the cleaning lady tended to go heavy on, which made a lot of employees go ahead and buy her other air fresheners, but she never used any of the stuff they brought. 

There was a long breakfast table set up with a Keurig coffee machine, an electric glass kettle full of water for tea, and an array of pastries. 

Eyeing the buttery no-no's, Jillian shoved a company logo mug under the coffeemaker's spout, selecting a cup of dark roast to go with her gloomy mood that bubbled indignantly just like the water boiling in the kettle on her right. Ultra-mega pain-in-the-ass, Sam Delaney decided to inject himself next to her, intruding on her personal space with a suave smile other women swooned over "I wouldn't have imagined that a woman with your figure would touch any of these goodies." He gestured the pastries that she wasn't planning on eating a piece of, since she'd already had breakfast. He knew her better than that, and she had a serious pet-peeve that involved the ignorant notion that a woman who fit in her low-digit-sized clothes starved herself. Sure, she didn't go ham on ice cream and chips every day, but she didn't deny herself, "All in moderation," she barked snatching a mini cheese Danish with a glistening raspberry on top, and sunk her teeth into it. The treat tasted like sawdust as her dour mood pissed on everything -thanks to Marc The Lying Asshole, who was talking to someone else with one hand in his pocket while the other smoothed his tie absently. 

As if sensing her eyes on him, he glanced around and smiled unconsciously at her without a trace of malice or teasing in his eyes, and she felt her insides roil with a mixture of rage, confusion, irritation, attraction, and...that nameless feeling that bugged her like a pesky fly that refused to land after she grabbed a newspaper to swat it. 

She gave him a dark scowl before turning to the coffee machine that coughed and spat the last of its steaming, bitter stream, and she pulled the cup fast splashing a sizeable hot drop of coffee on her hand. 

"Whoa, careful." Sam grabbed a few napkins offering them to her, "I'm not in a hurry to use the coffeemaker, don't worry." 

"Thanks." She grumbled snatching one of the napkins and wiping her hand. 

"Welcome!" he smiled genially looking very much like the same as he did the first day she met him in college when she helped him find his class. Okay, so he was a decent guy, but it lessen the fact that he was a major pain in the hiney who seemed to sprout everywhere she went since their university days. 

"So you know that guy?" he gestured with his eyebrow at Marc, and she felt an outlandish urge to laugh, "By that guy you mean our boss, right?" 

"Uh, duh!" 

She threw him a withering look and shook her head, "Not really, we just kind of...we're acquainted, but it's all because I had to email him several times after Mr. Dussa—his father started planning his retirement and I needed direct managerial guidance." It wasn't the entire truth, but it wasn't a lie either, and she didn't feel as terrible as she would have had she agreed with Lying Marc's story about them being buddies. 

As usual, she sat on Helga's left and watched Marc take his dad's seat at the head of the table as if he'd done it a thousand times before, and he started "Okay, so many people ask me why I haven't worked to Élsi Dussant straight out of college, and I'm sure you all wonder the same thing; why now? Well," he drew a breath, "dad wanted me to, I didn't, and we had an argument about it -a bit of a squabble, if you would- and since I wanted to do my own thing, I headed over to a smaller company -one that didn't have my grandmother's name on the building outside," he grinned glancing at the big logo on the wall of the big hall, then the coffee mug in his hand, "and the inside, and the cups, and the letterheads, but I digress...older and wiser, I saw an opportunity of bringing the companies together, and suggested a buyout to my older boss then to my father, aaaand, a mountain of paperwork later; here I am!" 

He was schizophrenic, is what he was, Jillian raged, how could someone act all nice and professional when he was such a massive dick—wrong choice of words, but she still agreed with herself. He'd seemed very business-oriented, and dripped of professionalism in his emails and the way he handled the reports she sent him, which contrasted shockingly with what he just did to her in her office, making her count her orgasms and lick his jism off her fingers. 

"Ms. Zahra here has helped give me a detailed picture of how things were looking, staff and image-wise, and I have to agree with her on the number of changes that need to take place in order to keep Élsi Dussant from sinking and turning into another coup d'état for another corporation," he pulled a few documents from a folder supplied by -whom she assumed was his assistant- and hit a few printed bullets, pausing to explain his view in between his reading, as well as sending sharp scrutinizing looks at the faces of his audience. 

Opinions were thrown about, some possible solutions, some plain silence fillers that screamed I participated, so that's out of the way, and she found it difficult to keep her attention from straying towards Marc. She was staring at a printed page in front of her, after reading the same paragraph a good thirty times without really reading it, when his voice rang out, "I'd like to work on your suggestions, Ms. Zahra." 

So she went from Jill to Ms. Zahra in less than half an hour, "Right, yes," she straightened in her seat tapping her pile of papers on the table, "The ah...the proposals I've emailed you about?" she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze as she went on with her plans shortening the detailed aspects to as not to bore everyone to tears since this was just an initial discussion. 

"The plan is to revamp the operating staff and some of the managerial chairs, and I think it's been delayed for far too long," Marc commented using the same description she had in her head; revamp, she found herself staring at his face for a brief moment that she killed the second he turned his eyes to her, "The assessments you've given me are quite bleak, to be frank, but not unsalvageable." He repeated. 

"We need to act fast though," someone put it, "you don't want us to promote from within, Jillian, but it will save us the training time needed on outsiders." 

"Here's my issue," Jillian began spiritedly, "We don't have the right people in the right places; a buyer for a Dallas market can't do the job in place of their peer in...say, Atlanta, unless they're from Atlanta, or very well acquainted with the funky fashion trends ATL requires as opposed to the old-money austere-class Dallas socialites lean towards...and that's just one example, on just one problem area. I've been guilty of micro-managing before -caught myself doing it several times- but sometimes it's the only way to prevent disaster." 

"Yeah, you breathe this job." Sam put in. 

"She does micro-manage!" Stella, the marketing guru chuckled, her short, straight blunt-cut platinum hair bobbing forward and back like a pendulum, "In fact, that dress she's wearing was obtained by her interfering with a buyer's deal that was going down the drain, and saving it. She finagled it right from under Gilbert Goupin's talons!" 

The memory of beating another company to the punch brought a grin to Jillian's face, "It's a limited edition, I had to save it, and keep a memento for myself!" 

She felt his heated gaze on her for the remainder of the meeting, and was crafty in her escape as she sneaked out of the hall unnoticed by him, and slipped into the ladies' room. 

The common restroom was nice, but she hadn't needed to use it since she got her promotion and bigger office more than two years ago, but it was the closest place to hide in until everyone went back to their offices. A soft hiss startled her, and she detected the air freshener attached to the wall, her OCD brain emphasizing the scent that was better than the boardroom's fresh linen, as she watched the small drops get sprayed across the air. 

"You're pathetic," she told herself breathing deeply, and watching her chest rise and fall in the mirror, her breasts pushing against the dress' bodice like they're about to spill out everytime she inhaled. 

She shook her head still looking at her reflection, not heeding the door that swished open, until she saw his reflection behind her in the mirror, and swiveled on the balls of her feet with a finger pointed at him, "You lying bastard! How dare you! You're a liar, a jerk, and you sneak on people in bathrooms," she was gushing, and didn't care to lower her voice, "you can't do that to people...what was that, like, a-a-a test?" she threw her hands in the air, "Okay then, I guess I failed. Good for you, good for you." She caught herself before she turned into a full blown lunatic. 

"I didn't lie," he amended, "you wanted a stranger to fuck, so I didn't tell you my name until you asked for it." 

"Omitting important facts is lying, genius." 

"It wasn't a test, I wanted you. Still do. You're not wearing panties, are you?" 

"What the..." she blinked pressing her fingertips to her temples, "Are you for real? What are you on, seriously, 'cause it sure is one hell of a trip!" 

He started to say something when a couple of conversing voices materialized at the door, making him slip into a stall and try to pull her with him. She swatted at his hand right before the two women walked in, and he was forced to close the door and hide. 

Striding decidedly to her office, she emptied a box of hopeful models' polaroids, and started arranging her personal stuff in it. The stylish desk clock, her collection of engraved ballpoint pens, an eclectic selection of planners, rolodexes, and her—she paused staring at the glass rose that Marc had wrapped with a moist wipe clearly intending to wipe it after he cleaned himself. The delicate artwork sat there like an offending witness of her foolhardy, reminding her of how people always let her down. 

She shook her head in an attempt to reroute her thoughts, this box wasn't going to be enough -her office had become her home away from...actually, her own home was "Home away from the office" so to speak- she'd brought in a lot of stuff turning it into a cozy haven for her to drown in her work. Things won't fit in her car in one trip. She also needed to type and sign an official letter of resignation...oy vey! 

"Jillian, you have a visitor." Her intercom blared. 

She leaned across her desk pressing the button, "I'm busy." 

"It's Mr. Dussant." Mia clarified the same moment Marc pushed the door open, "That wasn't cool." He began, then halted, taking in her half empty desk with the loaded box on top, "What's this about?" 

Facing him, she squared her shoulders, "I quit. You don't need to fire me, I'll do it for you." There. This was easier than typing a letter of resignation. 

A dark frown transformed his face, "You what? I won't accept it." he treaded towards her, and she held a hand up gesturing him to stay away, "I'm saving you the time and energy, and saving myself from the humiliation of a demission. I failed your test, hence I'm leaving." 

"What test? There's no test. What's with all this crap? I told you I don't like bullshit." 

Arms akimbo, she spat, "No bullshit here, I'm leaving. Officially." 

"Yeeaaaah, no. You're not. I don't accept; you're the best asset this company has, and you said yourself that this job is very important to you, don't flip out over some personal shit that isn't related to your work in any way or form. What we have between us is exactly what it is; between us. Personal. Case closed. When you come in here, I expect you to do your job the way you've always done it, and I shall do my job the way I'm needed to. Our relationship-" 

"Is that why your fucked me in my office?" she nearly shouted, and stood in place, shaking with rage for a ten second count, before snatching her purse, "I'm done with this." 

She rounded him reaching the door first, and throwing it open in a cheap shot at stopping any further arguments from him in front of witnesses, and out of the privacy of her office. 

"This conversation isn't over." He ground out then walked off ahead of her. 

"Wow, he looks pissed." Mia remarked tilting her head back to stare at his retreating behind, "He's a super hunk. I like angry hunks." 

Jillian shook her head balefully, "I'm leaving for the day." She declared shutting her mind and ears against Mia's comments about what a prime piece of beefcake Mr. Dussant Jr. was. 

Unconsciously, she drove to the pet store closest to her loft, and walked straight to the cat section where they had some cats for adoption. One cat has caught her attention a few weeks back, as she frequented the store to look at animals she didn't have the time to raise, and she noticed that it -she was still there. 

The kitty was three years old, as the chart on her glass window said, nameless, and had a bum-eye. 

"Hi Kimmy," Jillian touched her hand to the glass watching the cat's good eye dilate in affection before she started to rub herself against the window as if she was getting stroked by Jillian's hand, "I missed you." 

It was sad that everyone wanted the pretty little kittens, and fluffy cats, but no one wanted Kimmy because of her eye. She was a very friendly calico, and it squeezed Jillian's heart to see her get ignored by the kids and animal lovers who came in to adopt a helpless creature, and walked out with one of the cute ones. 

"You should take her home." Shannon, the store manager walked up to Jillian, "I know you want to." 

She smiled ruefully, "I can't take care of her, you know that." 

He cast her a knowing glance, "You'll make a great mother for her; you're very affectionate and kind." 

"Right," she laughed mirthlessly, "you should do stand-up, Shannon." 

But he insisted, "You come in here regularly to look at the animals, and donate money, and you don't even own an animal. That says something. And I haven't even mentioned how sweet you are to my associates, or the Christmas gifts you gave us last winter." 

Was she kind? "What if I was a terrible person who wanted to attune to their sins by giving back a little?" was she a terrible person? She tried not to be, very effectively, in fact, yet karma seemed to be after her all the time. 




Flowers for Jill Ch. 04



Author's Note: 

I enjoyed and appreciated all the feedback sent to me, and I bow in humility to everyone that took the time to shoot me an email about my work. 

I take all critiques and suggestions in mind when I'm writing, and I encourage you to send me your opinions, and be as detailed as you'd like to be. 

I had to cut this chapter in half, for it was threatening to be really long, and I worked it in a way so that you don't feel disconnected at the end, or overwhelmed where the next one starts. Chapter Five is currently in the works, and two more future chapters are being plotted and outlined in between breaks. 

Again, thank you for reading, and lots of love! 

Ginger :) 

~~~~~ 

Being realistic was the backbone to Marc's thinking process. He didn't sugarcoat bitter facts, didn't waste time on pretty clichés and words when he could be doing something, and didn't play games...well, the last one was true until the night he dove head-first into that tryst with Jillian Zahra. 

He knew going in, that it will be a short-lived affair, and assured himself repeatedly that -come next Monday- he was going to clear things out with her. Tell her who he was, how meeting her in that bar was no accident. It never did work that way, though. Maybe it was him, maybe it was the sex...the mind blowing, bone melting dirty sex, but he just couldn't bring himself to reveal his name and position knowing full well that Jillian would end their association on the spot, and never want anything to do with him on a personal level anymore. She was that kind of employee; slaving, by choice, in her quest for excellent output without relying on any handouts. He did his homework on everyone working for his father before agreeing to assume the old man's position. He also knew that their official introduction was imminent, and that she was going to be shocked, or pissed...or both. Well, she was both, and he told himself he was prepared for it all along, but it didn't feel that way after all. 

The tangy taste of her pussy lingered under his tongue, and he could still smell her on his clothes, feel the smooth puffy lips of her cunt on his lips, chin, and cheeks. 

"Fucking hell!" slamming his office door, he stared blindly at the panoramic view his windows provided of the city, and wondered for the hundred and fiftieth time why he was so agitated by her expected response. Was some part of him wishing she'd forgive his little faux pas and just say something like, "Water under the bridge! It's cool, but we can't do the nasty anymore" and they'd resume their lives? Or was he secretly hoping she'd carry on with their arrangement with added clause; keep the sex out of the office where they're both genial, professional colleagues, but still see each other after work? The latter presumption sounded better since he already knew that he didn't want the sex to end. 

He heaved himself heavily in a chair, and booted the computer on the desk watching his scowling reflection on the crystal screen go from black, to blue with his operating system's logo greeting message, then finally settle on the computer background that held the company's name in loopy silver letters. 

He'd dug his own grave, and wasn't proud to admit it, but took full blame for it. He also knew that he screwed himself royally because she could walk out on the company at that critical transitional point, turning things inside out, upside down, and ass backwards all at the same time. The thing that bothered and puzzled him the most however, had nothing to do with work, and everything to do with the fact that she might never forgive him. She was stubborn, and he was in purgatory. The way things escalated, taking over his self control, the fact that he found himself constantly thinking about her -not always in a sexual way, but with genuine interest in her as a person- indicated that his only option was to fry in his own hell over this. 

Resolutely, he steered his thoughts in a professional direction again. Still frowning at his screen, he pulled up his email application, and hit compose, trying to come up with a short message that explained that her position with the company was intact, and she had nothing to worry about in that respect. 

"This job is my life." She had said, and he knew -based on the quality of her work, and everyone else's recommendations- that she meant that. 

"Jesus!" he pinched the bridge of his nose briefly, before sliding his fingers up to rub his forehead irritably. He should've told her that very first time at the bar...and sacrifice all that intoxicating, wild sex? His brain questioned, would she have said "yes" back then if she knew him? Maybe come up with an arrangement similar to their original one? 

The answer was a resounding "No" and he knew it. Still, it didn't explain why he acted so irrationally; reckless, feckless, and untamed in his indulgence. He never had trouble getting women; his position, looks, and money made it almost too easy, yet he still took that nosedive and messed around with his own employee. 

He tried to word together that email while trying to banish the niggling sense of guilt he felt by telling himself that she had overreacted. He argued that she should've expected an unpleasant issue to arise after her unaccountable decision to pick up a stranger and suck his dick for him. She's an intelligent, grown woman who knew exactly what she was doing when she made a witless, wanton decision to have fun, he told himself, and was lucky it was him she propositioned and not some demented psycho who wanted to chop her u—he couldn't complete the thought...the idea of someone getting their hands on her made his head and temples prickle with an angry, stinging ache, and he didn't even want to consider the possibility of her getting hurt by someone. 

Still, he shouldn't experience remorse or dwell on the what-if's that fixed nothing. What happened, happened, case closed. He'll just have to talk to her later -when she was more receptible- and help her see things from his perspective. 

Later proved to be less than five minutes later as he, impatiently, dialed her office extension only to get her secretary who told him that she left for the day. That's cool, he'll try the next day. 

But she called in on Tuesday morning, telling Helga that she didn't feel well as her summer allergies were acting up, and she won't be able to make it in. 

"She's not sick." Helga crossed her ankles after seating herself in the chair across from his desk. The portrait of high fashion propriety, Dorothea Darby of Berryville Arkansas, has been Helga Bloom for the past twenty-five years. And for the same twenty-five years, she has worked for the Dussant's, maintaining a firm grip on the company's ins and outs, as well as being embraced by the family as one of them. She once told Marc that babysitting him when he was a kid was the closest thing she ever got to having her own child, as she often expressed no wish to have any children that mirrored the big, poor household of her childhood, but he suspected there was more to the story, yet kept his nose out of her business. 

"She never misses work, reason or no reason," she continued, "I remember when she came to work after her Caribbean trip where she got food poisoning. She looked green in the gills, but put in a full work day even after I tried to coerce her into going home for some rest. Jillian is the definition of a workaholic. Her whole family is like that. They get together every Sunday for brunch at The Russian Tea Room where I think they brag about who put in the most hours at work that week." 

"You're the same way, Helga." He sat back in his chair, and mused at how the older woman had managed to look the same for a quarter of a decade with her dishwater brown hair cut short and curled at the ends towards her chin. If she had any wrinkles, they were skillfully covered by her tasteful makeup that was always applied the same way, never varying in colors or style. 

"Yes, but I'm not twenty-eight with a dancer's figure, and exotic looks and need to get out there and start dating." 

She waved when he squinted "Jesus, Helga!" 

"Oh c'mon, I have eyes and ears, and I know how guys drool over girls that look like her." Then she fixed her pale eyes on him pointedly, "I've seen the way you look at her, young man, and I have to warn you, she's a good girl, and you shouldn't mess with her." 

Good girl...Jillian. Right! He shrugged, "I don't mess with anyone that doesn't want to be messed with." 

His defensive response got him pinned by the old woman's gaze for a few long moments, and he felt like he did when he was twelve and got caught -by her- drinking from the whiskey bottle he managed to smuggle from the liquor cabinet, "What did you say to make her angry?" she said at length, and he fended himself, "I didn't say anything to her, you told me she's your top manager, so I went to see her earlier this year, and we stayed in contact." It wasn't a lie, just the paraphrased truth. 

"Smyth told me you've been to see her at her apartment." She said referencing the apartment building's doorman and his big mouth, and Marc nodded, "Yeah, so?" 

"So you pissed her off, haven't you? What did you do to her?" the woman wouldn't quit, and he really didn't want to talk about this as he started to feel like such a heel for corrupting Good Girl Jillian with his profligate ways, "For the love of God, Helga, she called in sick, how's that my fault? Maybe she is sick, and couldn't bring herself to come to work. Maybe she has some sort of woman emergency or something, how would I know?" liar, liar, liar, his conscience chanted as he went on, "If it makes you feel any better, I'll call her at home and check on her." He conceded, but his companion was still unconvinced when she murmured, "Do that." 

"She probably doesn't want to be bothered, but I'll be nice." 

Her hands that were clasped in her lap, moved to the arms of the chair "Do whatever it takes, just bring her back; she's my right hand." He nodded, and she went on, "She stumbled upon us about five years ago when she submitted her résumé for a receptionist position. I heard her speaking to that dolt they had in human resources back then, and she sounded so fluent, so knowledgeable, but he kept making excuses, so I stepped in and took a look at her CV and coversheet, and I knew, I just knew she was made for something better, that she was capable of giving all she could to this company." She smiled reminiscently, "She was desperate; she had a modeling portfolio, and some experience doing social work 'cause she was working for the city at the time. But she had a business degree from Columbia that was being wasted on her dead end job. I took her in, and she never disappointed me. Bring. Her. Back. Marc." She closed with a chastising demand. 

He was silent for a minute, absorbing it all and mulling over the new insights he had into her life, "Did she want to be a receptionist or a model?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him. 

"Both, anything. I told you, she was desperate for a job with decent pay." 

"She wasn't living in your building at the time." 

"No, I helped her get her flat about a year after I hired her." 

Another pause, "You said she had a modeling portfolio? I thought she worked for the city before coming here." 

A slow smile showed a straight row of teeth that was very lightly glazed by the yellow stamp of smoking, "She modeled lingerie in college." 

Whoa! "She mod- uhm," he cleared his throat, "modeled lingerie?" the ache in his head was beginning to intensity in the dull throbs at his right temple. 

"I thought that might get a rise out of you!" Helga chuckled mercilessly at his squirming, "What's going on between the two of you?" the subject change was sudden, and unwelcomed as it made him resort to lying again, "Christ, Helga, we had a couple of drinks then talked shop, would ya let it go?" 

"Apologize and make it right." She breathed rising from her chair, "We need that girl here." 

He grumbled something about how she always assumed it to be his fault, even when he was in the clear, and she merely gave him another one of her all-knowing looks that shut him up. 

"Bring her back." She pronounced with a finality before walking to the door, but a quick thought rose to the surface, and he called out, "I'll have to ask you to stay out of this," he didn't want her to question Jillian about the reason behind their little tiff, "This is my soup to stir, I'll work it out with her." But the woman was exasperatingly insistent, "I've had your cooking, you can't stir soup for shit, buddy boy, if you don't get her back, I will." Her roots that she'd buried diligently were still deeply planted in the south as her southern accent made a rare appearance announcing how serious she was. 

She was very wrong on several matters in her argument; Jillian wanted her job and loved it, she wasn't going to leave just like that. And Marc's cooking has evolved since he was a nine year old who burned scrambled eggs, and charred a pan of bacon strips...he was old enough to burn bridges instead, and set ablaze the launch of his new job with one lousy lie that kept on growing. 

He didn't want to use one of the company lines to call her speculating that she's screening her calls, and would disregard any one that came from him. So he grabbed his cell phone and dialed her number for the first time ever, even though he programmed it with his contacts hours before first meeting her in February. 

"Hello?" she answered on the third ring, and sounded perfectly fine. 

He could hear the TV through the line, and an incessant chant of Jerry, Jerry, Jerry brought him up to speed, she was watching trashy daytime television! "Jillian?" 

"This is she," she answered, and he heard a clank, and a soft clattering before the TV volume was turned lower, "I'm sorry about that, go on." she apologized unnecessarily, and he didn't have to wonder long if she recognized him and was being magnanimous, because the minute he enquired, "How're you feeling?" she murmured what he thought sounded like "The audacity!" before hanging up on him. 

"Oh c'mon!" he dialed again, but got busy message, so he waited a few minutes while going through some papers then dialed again and got a this subscriber is not available at this time recorded message that didn't even allow him to go to voicemail. It must be some number blocking app, he concluded as he sat stewing in the big office. As if to punish and torment him, the memory of their first encounter played in his head again. And again, he wondered how and what he could've done to make things different. 

He'd stepped off the elevator that night prepared for a standard business introduction over a drink, nothing that he hadn't done before. His eyes scanned the people sitting in the dim, yet outrageously suggestive lights, a mixture of purple and red that made the whole place seem so surreal. He felt a heaviness in the back of his head relaxing despite his intent to stay shrewd and courteous. He wasn't big on those exclusive, hip bars and clubs, and preferred regular sports bars, or round-the-corner type old fashioned jazz bars with live performances. 

Where is she? He knew how she looked like from pictures at various company events, and sought out a tall svelte-figured woman, with Mediterranean coloring. He scoffed at his automatic search around the isolated corners, a woman like her wouldn't be hiding in the shadows, he told himself and walked over to the far part of the round bar. He shot to kill, his gaze landed on a woman in a tan or buff colored business suit with dark hair that the lights reflected against making it seem prodigious and wild as it fell down her back and around her shoulders. 

Her heels looked too high to be walked on, stilts, he thought to himself watching her cross her legs, and hook her left heel through her stool's stretcher. He smiled unconsciously, striding across the black marble floor his eyes glued to her plump heart-shaped ass encased in the pale beige material of her pants, and displayed delectably on the stool's seat. She had her jacket in her lap, and was looking through one of the pockets. Her action automatically prompted him to reach into his own pocket for one of his hard candy chocolate mints. 

She swiveled in her chair, having dropped something, and Marc reached down just in time, and had to search with his eyes for a second before he found a small black hair clip. 

"I believe this is yours." It was comical, the way he knelt on one knee holding the ridiculous plastic clasp with the black teeth opening and closing it with one eyebrow raised. 

"Yes, thank you!" she plucked it from his hand, her eyes studying him quickly, before she draped her blazer on the back of her chair. It covered the view of her lush backside hiding it from the other occupants of the room, but didn't erase the sexy image that was now engraved in his mind. 

"I never really understood women's need for all of these extra accessories," he declared claiming the seat on her right without an invitation, and she gave him a sidelong glance with a small grin, "They're necessary when we want to look pretty for you." 

He watched her gather small locks of hair from the top of her head and the sides, and clip them together and away from her face, "You don't need any help to look pretty for me." he found himself saying, and wondered where his filter had disappeared to. 

Of all things women have ever done when he flirted with them, she snorted and rolled her eyes muttering something under her breath, but was unable to hide the small smile that kept tickling the edges of her mouth. 

His mouth was acting as his unofficial commissary, letting out all the thoughts that he didn't need to voice to a businesswoman that represented his company, "I bet you'd look even prettier without all that stuff," he gestured her clothes, "I'm even willing to participate in an experiment just to prove it to you." He pushed the round mint around his mouth with his tongue, and imagined hearing it clicking against the inside of his teeth. 

She touched the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth chuckling lightly and turning away from him, and he nudged her with an elbow, "I'm serious, I'm all in when it comes to helping folks." Stop talking! 

"Thanks, but no thanks." She finally managed to hold her grin in check, and took a sip of her drink. 

"Boulevardier?" he gestured to the classic thick glass, and she nodded, "I don't do sissy drinks." 

"No you don't," he agreed, "Can I buy you another one?" 

He gestured the bartender, but she shook her head, "One's enough, I'm driving, and I buy my own drinks." She shot him a steady stare, "Again, thanks but no thanks." 

"Bourbon Manhattan," he said to the bartender then turned to her, "I like responsible drivers, you get a gold star." 

She did that light snorting thing again, and shook her head amusedly, "I don't need your gold star, I have too many." 

She was a smart ass, but so was he, "Oh yeah, did you give them to yourself?" 

She made a funny face, "Of course, the front of my refrigerator is practically golden now." 

It was his turn to chuckle and shake his head. He liked her already, she didn't sound like the everyday girly-girl that melted visibly at his first attempt to flatter her, yet she was very much a girly-girl with her lightly applied makeup, the cute trinkets of her jewelry, and that hair clip that seemed to matter so much to her. Even in that formal pants suit, she managed to look extremely feminine, and her yellow shirt complimented her olive skin, and he found himself admiring it despite the fact that he didn't care much for yellow. 




Flowers for Jill Ch. 04



They chatted for a while, and she told him to swirl the orange rind in his drink before tasting it when his Manhattan arrived. He offered her the bitter orange spring after he did it. She licked a drop from the tip, then took a small bite of it, and chased it with a sip from her Boulevardier. 

Entranced by the movements of her mouth, and tongue, he surveyed her features more closely, then said "You have very long lashes." absently biting on the orange peel. 

She blinked at him, "I'm not wearing mascara." 

What was that supposed to mean? "Um...okay?" 

She touched her lashes with the tips of her fingers quickly, then lowered her hand to wrap it around her glass again, "They look longer when I have some mascara on." 

"I'm no makeup expert," he admitted spitting the orange in an ashtray as its taste didn't quite complement his chocolate mint, "most of that stuff is just Klingon to me." he made a face, and sent his mint to the ashtray too, sputtering quietly in an attempt to get rid of the uncoordinated tastes. 

That remark made her burst out laughing, then cover her mouth attempting to keep it to herself, "Klingon?" she repeated, "Good God!" 

"What, do you speak Klingon?" he had his elbows on the bar, and pushed them forward to lean his head to the side for a better view of hers. 

"I'm not a Trekky," she explained meeting his gaze, "I never have time to follow cult shows, which sucks because I never have anything relevant to say around my friends who do." 

"Surely you can spare an afternoon to watch Star Trek reruns with your friends." He suggested, but she shook her head, "Okay, okay not my friends; I meant geeks at parties." 

He laughed, "Well, you're lucky I'm not a fan of the show, or I'd take serious offense to being accused of being a geek, especially by a gorgeous woman like you. But I can make a suggestion; we can both go to one of your geek parties and keep each other company. We'll be the outcasts, eh?" 

"I don't have time for geek parties anymore," she cradled her drink closer to the edge of the counter, "I'm too busy." 

"Private parties then; just you and me." Why had he not put a cork in it already? 

"You never quit, do you?" she sat straighter in her stool, "Most guys are too scared to even say "Hi" to me, but you just keep on plowing your way through." 

It took a few seconds for the implication to dawn on him, and he sat up, too, guys were intimidated by her because of her looks and personality, "I'm not intimidated by beautiful women-" 

"I'm told I'm mouthy and bossy." She added. 

"I like that; spices things up-" 

"I'm also a handful-" 

He interrupted this time, by pushing his foot against the bar to scrape his stool back a little and gave her ass a blatant perusing look, "I can see that, I like it, do you squat or something?" 

She swatted his arm attempting to frown, "Screw you, I'm not fat, I wear size four bottoms." 

He wiggled his eyebrows, "And what, no tops?" 

"Smaller tops," she gave him a haughty look, "I have to size up with bottoms, but I'm not the elephant you're trying to make me into." 

That's what she got from his comment? Jeez, women! "That's not what I meant, I was complimenting your ass—ets." He sniffed quickly in the middle of saying "assets" and met her eyes meaningfully. 

"You're pretty, but I don't have time for pretty boys." She broke eye contact going back to her drink. 

"I'm the farthest thing from a pretty boy." 

She glanced at him again, and nodded, "I didn't want to say handsome, because you seem to be aware of that, but you insisted." 

"Hey, I didn't, I just defended myself against a false description. I'll take handsome, nothing wrong with that." 

"I don't play with handsome boys either." 

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe the dim lighting mixed with the loopy purple and dark red surroundings that contrasted and complimented the black flooring to set his wild side free...or maybe it was the irresistible, exotic woman with the smart mouth, and almond eyes that made his blood boil. He wasn't sure, wasn't even thinking straight when he murmured, "Good, because I'm a man, not a boy, you can definitely play with me." 

The way her gaze concentrated on him, made Marc think she was going to cuss him out, but she licked her lips after making him stew for a few long moments, "That might be fun." She said very casually, and he extended his hand automatically, all caution heaved to the side, "I haven't introduced myself officially." 

"I don't care who you are," she surprised him, "I don't want to tell you my name or life story, and I don't want to know yours. You could be Tom, John, Stan, Jack-whatever, it wouldn't matter." 

His heart beat faster sending blood in hot surges down to his groin, "You still wanna play though." 

She swiped her lower lip with her tongue moistening it, then took the fleshy bit between her teeth and nodded giving him a naked look of desire, "Definitely." 

He leaned closer to her breathing in the dark, spicy scent of her perfume, and whispered in her ear, "What will you call me when I make you come?" 

She shivered and murmured something unintelligible, and he placed his left arm on the back of her stool surrounding her, "How about I be Jack, and you be Jill? Just like that silly kiddy song...you know, since we're playing and all." 

She turned her head to him, her mouth inches away from his, and placed her hand on his thigh. Her eyes went hard for a second when he said Jill, but softened at his lopsided grin, and she said "Okay," running her hand up and down his thigh, stroking closer to his crotch, but never really touching him there. 

The arrangement was made, he went to the hotel first and didn't tell her that he was already staying there while looking for permanent lodgings, but told her to get a key for the diamond suite at the front desk. When she expressed no wish to show her ID at the hotel, he gave her his original Québec license plate number from his first car -the one he still paid for a vanity plate just to keep- 307VK4. The number on the plate he managed to save when he was nineteen years old, and his car slid on black ice, flipping in the air several times before landing in a ditch with him trapped -miraculously- with minor injuries, but scared witless. 

The rush he felt sent adrenaline cruising through his veins to intoxicate him far better than his half drunk cocktail would have done. He felt lightheaded with a strange elation that was the closest thing to an out of body experience according to how he saw it. 

"I won't fuck you," she declared when he cupped her nape pulling her face under his to kiss her, "I just want to suck your dick for you, and finger myself while I do it." 

She what? "I have protection," he said trying to be helpful, "I'm clean, no worries there, but I'm always prepared." 

But she shook her head, "No, Jack, it's either that or no deal." 

He wasn't crazy enough to decline a blow job, but he also wasn't an idiot who let -what promised to be- a prime piece of pussy go without being sampled by his cock, so he tried again, "I'll make it worth your while." He took her hand in his much bigger one, so soft and delicate against his rough masculinity, and placed it on his hard-on through his slacks. They both moaned at the contact, and he stroked up and down feeling her tighten her fingers a little to trace him assessing his size, "You're a big guy," she whispered and met his gaze in awe. 

"I'll only be half way in when you start having your first orgasm." 

She squeeze him testing his girth, and her eyes fluttered as she swallowed, "No, Jack, that's not the deal. All I want is to get on my knees and take your cock into my mouth," her dark dilated eyes were glued to his, "I'll suck it deep into my throat, harder and harder milking it for cum. That's all I want." 

Damn, but she knew how to talk dirty! Marc's head was spinning with arousal, "Whatever you want," he put his mouth to hers, at last tasting the beautiful full lips that drove him berserk all evening. She opened her mouth for him without a trace of shyness of timidity, letting out a sound of feminine need and pressing her body closer to his. She felt so good, all soft curves and small bones that made him feel infinitely male when he caressed her intimately. Slowly stroking her sleek flanks, and descending to her hips and that mouthwatering ass he's been yearning for since he laid eyes on her. He traced her teeth with his tongue, and she chased it with hers licking his lower lip then moving to the upper one while making small noises in the back of her throat. He countered by twirling his tongue around hers and pulling it to his mouth, but she pulled it back luring his tongue into her mouth where she sucked on it. Their kiss ended with a loud smack when they both withdrew for air, and she pushed at his chest a little, but he didn't let her take a step back cradling one of her ass cheeks and molding her against him. 

Her hand was trapped between them, still squeezing seductively on his throbbing, hard cock, and he said, "I'm going to come in your dirty little mouth then, fill that delicious, sassy hole with cream until it leaks down your chin." 

"Give me all you've got," she dared, "I'll swallow it all." 

"Why don't you get out of that suit then?" he wanted to unwrap her like his own sex prize, but didn't know if he could prevent himself from crossing the line she'd just drawn. He took a step back and watched her take off her shirt that reminded him so much of bright lawn chairs, while working on the buttons of his own clothes. 

Jillian didn't draw it out in a lengthy, slow striptease; she met his gaze unwaveringly while working her buttons in deft, elegant snappy movements. Her impertinent straightforward style egged him on, working surprisingly better than a teasing performance would for it wasn't a performance. It wasn't an unveiling, but a resolute cocking of a gun that shot straight to his straining erection. 

She swayed her hips and shook them a little when her pants refused to slide off them unassisted. And he swallowed watching her roll the pale fabric down, lower lip between her teeth in concentration, then bend low slipping the garment off, her hands touching her long sleek legs in a ghost caress. 

"Keep the shoes on," he ground out, his voice husky, "They turn me on." 

She kicked her left leg, sending -what he knew were- designer pants flying a few paces away, "What else turns you on?" 

That damn yellow underwear! When did that canary shade stop making him want to scratch his eyes out, and made him want to lick her to see if she tasted like a lemonsicle? 

"Matching underwear," he answered canting his head to the side, and gesturing his with his chin, "Lacey matching underwear." And it was all lace, no lining, no padding. Her ripe breasts filled the delicate cups, skin the same shade as café misto with whipped cream swirled in, providing a soft tan backdrop to the yellow casing. The strategically placed embroidered flowers on her bra couldn't quite hide the outline and shape of her dusty caramel areolas, and he heard his breath come out in a whoosh when he dropped his gaze to her chest. 

"Ooh, goodie, I came prepared." She muttered throatily trying to sound cavalier, but her breasts rose and fell in quick little tremors belaying that she was just as affected as he was by their heated proximity, "Like what you see?" the cliché sounded like a sexy come-on being uttered by her breathy voice. 

Marc could tell that she was comfortable in her skin, confident in her half-nakedness. And why wouldn't she be; she had a body that had him metaphorically slobbering, brain running loops, and jumping off the cliff of reason in his eagerness to have her. 

Insouciantly, he shrugged his right shoulder, "Yeah, that's nice." 

That nudged her right where he wanted it to, "Nice?" she ran a hand from her thigh, to her flank, then turned it to cup her breast, "Try again." 

Chuckling, he tried to tear his gaze away from the hand kneading the firm globe of pliant flesh, and getting her nipple to harden ever more and poke at the delicate fabric of the bra's cup, "I wouldn't know until I touch you...taste you..." 

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," she wagged her finger at him, "You won't get me to break our deal." 

He took a step forward, one resolute pace, determination and lust casting a harsh shadow on his features, "I won't break the deal; take off your bra." 

She, in turn, took a step back, eyes widening slightly at his austere tone that provoked no argument. Then she did that thing where she worried one side of her plump lower lip between her teeth, "One taste." She whispered as if he was asking for a lick from her ice cream cone, or a fork-load of cake from her plate. 

He nodded nevertheless, and watched her, enthralled as she reached around to release the bra hook at her back. Her arms then crisscrossed on her chest, and she pulled it by the straps, pausing to squeeze her breasts together with her elbows when the lacey cups slipped beneath them to reveal her full tits. Marc stared in fascination at the gorgeous handfuls topped with caramel nipples that blossomed into puckered little treats when exposed to the cool air. Molten molasses, sweet and decadent; beckoning him...begging for his touch. 

He grasped her bra from the middle part, tugging at it rather uncouthly and making her release it. Flinging it away, he dropped his gaze to her bare chest, "You have perfect tits." He cupped them reverently, running the pads of his thumbs over the velvety tips. 

"They're not very big," she repined in a voice that turned into a strangled moan when he compressed her nipples between his thumb and forefinger and twisted, "Oooh...unnnhh..." her lids fluttered revealing how sensitive her breasts were. 

A slow smirk of satisfaction tugged at the side of his mouth at the discovery, and he changed his tactics rolling her nipples as he said, "They're just the right size; I like them." he loved them, he's been with a lot of women, non-discriminating when a pretty woman flung herself at him, and he realized that he liked natural breasts best. The way they responded to his ministrations drove him wild, and the feel of them in his hands was definitely more enjoyable. And Jillian's breasts were exquisite, C-cups -if he had to guess- with their nipples upturned and pouting as if to demand to be suckled. Not being a man who disappointed, he leaned down and took her left nipple between his lips and sucked gently, experimenting with her response. When she moaned again and arched her back, he sucked sharply rolling the tight bud with his tongue and pushing it against the roof of his mouth. 

She went feral, holding his head in both hands and breathing harshly while he fed on her tit, and he pulled back slightly to scrape her with his teeth and make her wail and fist her hands in his hair. She tasted delectable, and he lingered on her breast until she pulled at his hair, offering him the other one held in her hand. 

He glanced at her face quickly and winked at her when their eyes met, then treated her right tit to the same handling the other one got; scabrous and base, biting and suckling her until she prayed and cursed raggedly whispering contradictions like "Ow...ummhh...don't stop. Hurts...oh God yes, more..." 

He wasn't gentle, but he didn't press her either; stopping at just the right moment to move to the other breast giving the ravaged one a respite. He nipped, sucked, bit, and laved her swollen nipples and areolas until her knees buckled and almost gave out and she braced her hands on his shoulders. 

Her lower lip was trembling and she bit it squeezing her eyes shut. Her left foot pointed to the right making her leg bend to the inside. He cupped her crotch feeling her moist heat through the gossamer-delicate fabric of her panties, and asked, "Do you want me inside you now?" and rubbed the palm of his hand along her covered cleft teasingly, but she squeezed her thighs together and whimpered unevenly digging her fingers into his powerful deltoids. 

"Whoa..." he wrapped an arm around her, his other hand still cupping her sex, and bent his head touching his nose to hers and prompting her to open her eyes, "Are you oka-" the look in her eyes -dazed and giddy- translated everything, "Did you just come?" he chuckled incredulously, "Holy fuck!" she was unbelievably responsive; her whole body wound tight and primed for the taking. 

She gulped several times, then pushed herself straight, "Sensitive nipples." She had the gall to grin at him teasingly when he was still thunderstruck by how easily he brought her to orgasm. 

"You don't say!" He tugged and fiddled with his belt for a moment before unclasping it, the intricate buckle that seemed so elegant and right when he chose it, was merely a nuisance when things really mattered. His button and fly cooperated, sliding smoothly to reinforce the nonchalant front he presented despite the flames blazing in the pit of his gut. 

"I need your mouth on me before I'm way past sticking to your little rule." He ground out throwing his gaze around the room, and located the extravagant modern sofa that was just another expensive deco piece that reminded him of his intemperate, over the top life. His eyes returned to her, naked save for her soaking panties and heels, hair mussed, lips red and slightly puffed from his kissing...his employee...one of his execs...she was a part of all the opulence that he was born into, a piece of the money machine that made a lot of people who resented him and his likes of rich people, pretend to like him. But she didn't know him, she didn't know or care about who he was and what he had; she wanted the nameless man, not the affluent heir and leader of the Dussant companies. "Get on your knees, Jill." he ordered; tonight she was his because she wanted to be, he'll deal with the consequences tomorrow. 

He sat down on the couch, his pants unzipped, but he held them around his waist. It took her a moment, then she blinked in comprehension, and complied docilely. Taking her hair clip off, she dumped it on the carpet, then fluffed her hair dramatically, before getting on her knees slowly, and making a show of crawling over to him. Her beautiful, full ass cheeks swallowed half of her panties, and formed a heart-shaped temptation that he wanted to get his hands on, but he refrained. If he touched her anymore, she'd be on her back, legs spread, with him pummeling into her wet channel; his self control needed to prove that he's still a civil human. 

Jillian placed her hands on his knees, flexing her arms to lift her body up slowly, like a siren rising from the water to lure him in with her, "Can I suck your cock now?" she licked her upper lip obscenely, closing her eyes and opening them in a slow seductive gesture. 

"It's right here," he lifted his hips off the couch, "come and get it if you're serious." 

"You're so bad," she glued her gaze to his, those fathomless, almond-shaped eyes galvanizing him, "making me beg for your cum like that." Her hands stroked up his slacks-covered muscular thighs, and he groaned a curse, then tried to hide it by clearing his throat. 

"Well you're not so serious about it, it seems," he argued teasingly, "if you were, you'd have your mouth full of cock by now." He raised his hips again prompting her to pull his pants down, and she did, running her long, slender fingers through the dark blond hair on his thighs in a ghost touch that made him shiver. 

Marc's blood ran faster, thin and frenzied, his arousal making him feel the same way as he would if he'd taken a couple of aspirin and drank a double shot or espresso right after. He had to have her touch before exploding in his boxers, but she took her sweet time kissing his thighs, nuzzling the curly hair on his rigid muscles, and adjusting herself to kneel with his trousers under her knees. 




Flowers for Jill Ch. 04



Taking control, he grasped her by the hair and brought her face to his crotch, then tightened his fingers into her silky strands to move her against him so that the lower part of her face stroked his cotton-covered erection. 

She moaned and opened her mouth on the fabric sucking sideways at the middle part of his shaft, and he flinched and pulled her head back as the sudden movement made his cock jerk and threaten to release. 

"You fucking tease." He admonished and praised at the same time, noticing the glint in her eyes, and the grin she tried to contain, "I'm going to fuck your throat raw for being such a tease." 

"I'm not a tease, I promise; I'm just shy." She goaded him strumming her finger tips along his hard-on like she was playing the piano, "I wonder what you have here for me." she reached his waistband, and pulled down at the same time he hefted his hips up to assist her. His hard cock thumped up slapping her jaw, then bounded to slide along her cheek until it went all the way to flap up against his stomach, before the heavy, large head weighed it down to settle on his abdomen. He was larger than average, he knew that and tried not to make such a big deal of it, but the way her pupils expanded and her nose flare when she saw the tip of his penis touch his navel, made him smirk with arrogance. He was a challenge for any cocksucker out there, no matter how talented she was. No one's ever been able to take his whole length down their throats, and he didn't mind having a woman's hand on the root of his dick to make up for the inches she couldn't get into her mouth. 

Her breasts rose and fell with her breathing, and she lifted her gaze to his again, "You're larger than I expected." 

Marc took his cock in his right hand jerking it a couple of times, before lowering it to wipe the leaking tip on her cheek, "Don't be scared of it, c'mon give it a little kiss." 

"I'm not scared," she watched his eyes as he swept his thick penis across her face leaving a translucent trail of precome on the apples of her cheeks, and her forehead. She was forced to close her eyes when he moved it across her face again, changing the position a little, painting her with his pre-ejaculate to mark his territory. 

"Kiss it then." He dared her, positioning his glans at her lips, and she pursed them to place a resounding kiss on him, before parting them to French kiss the tip as enthusiastically as she kissed his mouth earlier. She then darted her tongue out and started to bathe his member with her saliva, heedless of how slutty it made her look to salivate over a stranger's dick the way she did. She kept her hands on his thighs, caressing them and pausing to dig her nails into his skin every few seconds, while twirling her tongue around his penis messily and looking up into his eyes. 

One hand combed through her silken hair, the other held his cock as he fed it to her, slowly pulling her head back to rasp, "Open up," then sliding into the pink cavern of her mouth, pushing her head down on him to sink a few inches into her. 

Expertly, she sucked him as she went, loosening her lips a little to let her saliva coat and lubricate his cock, and he stroked her cheek to complement her zeal and talent, "Good girl, Jill, now see if you can get more in." 

She pulled back for air, and smiled at the weeping tip that never stopped dripping seminal fluid, "You're oozing a lot of precome." 

He was one of those guys that produced a lot of precome when aroused, and it used to embarrass him when he was a teenager and got excited over everything and nothing, but as an adult, he acknowledged the need for it in a blowjob. Most women didn't comment on it, but Jill wasn't most women, and she didn't drop the subject as she lapped at the tip with quick, kitten-like licks, "It's flooding my mouth, so yummy, I love it." 

He smacked her cheek with his dick playfully, smearing her saliva and his precome on her golden skin, "You talk too much," when she smiled, he rewarded her with another whack, and another, before tugging her hair and getting her to present him with her other cheek, and repeated his slick slaps leaving her cheeks flushed and streaked with moisture. 

When her hands left his legs to squeeze her own breasts, he released his cock and watched it with her as it bounced up again, "Take it." he told her, and she complied by wrapping her left hand around it, and giving it a few pumps then taking it into her mouth again. 

Her tongue licked the bottom of his dick as she descended on him, pausing several times to undulate her tongue and move it to the side spreading her spit on him to make it easier to take his length in. He watched her go lower and lower, until her lips touched her fingers, taking a little more than half of his cock in. 

He complimented her again when she dragged her lips back and released him with a pop to breathe again, "You're doing very nicely," he murmured, his voice hoarse and strangled, "keep going. Jerk me with your hand if you can't take more into your mouth." 

She frowned momentarily, then shook her head, "I'm taking you all the way in, Jack, I want you down my throat." 

"It's okay if you can't," he reassured her, "I don't mind." 

Her eyes softened, and he heard her whisper, "You're kind, people get mistreated when they're kind." 

That remark made him laugh, albeit a strange choppy laugh, but he shook his head, "You're giving me too much credit, baby, I'm big and I'm bragging about it!" 

"You're huge." She agreed, "but I can deep-throat you." 

A challenge? "Show me." he encouraged grasping her wrist and taking her hand off, "No hands this time." 

She put her hands in her lap, and burrowed closer to him, the smile on her face telling him how much she liked the give and take between them. 

A kiss on his glans, a lick, then she wrapped her lips around him and sucked sharply at the head making his leg jerk abruptly. She then proceeded to suck and move forward, her eyes glued to his, her cheeks hollowed, and her skill moving her on top of the list of women that sucked him before very quickly. His cock was about three quarters inside of her mouth when the tip reached her throat, and she gagged twice, tried to hold on, but couldn't and pulled free of him. Thick lines of saliva connected her gaping mouth to his penis, and she took deep breaths and blinked rapidly. 

That was more than any other woman has even been able to handle of him; holding on for about ten seconds with all that cock in her mouth was admirable, and he started to tell her that, but stopped himself. Let her try and take some more, she seemed bent on doing so, so why not let her? 

Her tongue swirled the white, bubbly lines of spit in the air collecting the slimy saliva and cock juice into her mouth as she leaned forward again. Reaching him, she rose slightly higher on her knees, then spit the foamy mouthful of moisture on his cock and nuzzled her lips into the mess. 

This was definitely the naughtiest blowjob he's ever received, topping even the ones he got during wild college frat parties, and loose wanna-be models who chased him around offering their mouths for his use. She was uninhibited, primal, and she didn't flinch from his girth, cock slapping, or the sight of his full, low-hanging balls that promised to flood her mouth with cum. 

Quick, slick sounds alerted him to the fact that she had a hand in her panties when she took him in her mouth yet again. She fingered herself and went down on him, and he combed his fingers through her hair in silent gratitude and incitation, "That's it, good girl, keep going." He kept urging her, and she moved on until he hit her throat. This time, she relaxed her jaw, closed her eyes, and carried on courageously until the large head popped into her throat. He saw her eyes squeeze tighter, a few tears escaping them to cling to the tips of her lashes, but she didn't stop her advancement. Her throat tightened convulsively when she swallowed difficulty on him, and he sat still for her until she progressed again taking the last inch in, and burying her nose into his pubic hair. 

His head buzzed and his eyes glazed in lust; he was bottomed out inside her throat, this had to be a dream or something, it was too decadent, too licentious to be a mere unexpected turn to a regular day. 

"Christ!" he prayed throwing his head back against the sofa's rest, and felt her gulp one more time, before withdrawing to inhale a lung-full of air, and cough a few times. Her eyes watered, her nose reddened, and her lips were swollen -she was beyond beautiful, very female, and unrestrained. Used by him. 

"Fucking unbelievable." He heard his own voice exclaim, and she smiled weakly at him, and wiped her mouth on her right shoulder. 

"Did you like that?" 

As if she had to ask, "What do you think?" 

"I think I should go again." 

"My thoughts exactly." 

She was bolder now, knowing that her throat can accommodate him. She gulped him down again, slipping him into her throat and holding for a count of twelve or fifteen seconds during which he reached for her neck to massage it gently, still in awe at her skill. 

She gagged loudly, and frowned drawing back, but didn't take a break to breathe through her mouth, and attacked his cock again. His hands held her head, and he stroked her cheeks and ears with his thumbs, and allowed himself to thrust into her at last, fucking her mouth and throat roughly. She gagged on him several times, but braved on, the thick spit that leaked from her mouth dripping onto her thighs, chest, and his trousers. 

Their eyes were locked on each other's, and the minute hers flapped shut, he knew that she was coming. Muffled moans came from her mouth mixed with the gluck, gak, guh chocking noises, and he sped up involuntarily, completely transfixed by the sight of her climaxing as she masturbated herself and fellated him. Loud, slick gagging noises filled his ears, and he felt a spasm move up his legs, his blood heating and leaving his brain that went numb for a second, before his orgasm his him like a freight train. 

He growled brutally as his semen erupted out of him powerfully, shooting straight down her throat. Jillian swallowed, her eyes fluttering in surprise, then she took over pulling back and grasping his cock with a hand to aim it at her open mouth. 

He couldn't close his eyes despite the intensity of his climax, the sight of the thick white ropes of cream coating her tongue and filling her mouth was impossible to resist. Her fingers squeezed his shaft milking him for all he's got even when his cum was too much for her to swallow and started to leak from the corners of her mouth to drip down her chin and onto her tits. 

"Swallow it." he murmured huskily when the last drops of cum spurted out of his cock, and she closed her mouth swallowing his load, then licked her lips and darted her tongue to lick at the small runlets that lined the sides of her mouth. 

"You rocked," he was unable to resist grinning at her, feeling on top of the world; Christmas, New Year's, Halloween, and his birthday came on the same day it seemed, and this was his gift. 

She flashed him the rock sign of the horns, before wiping her mouth with both hands, then licking them clean -even the one that she fucked herself with. She coughed a couple times, and cleared her throat, before leaning backwards and lying down on the carpet to rest. 

He was drained, but the sight of her bent knees slightly spread and presenting him with her flushed, soaking pussy, revved him on. Peremptorily, he bent forward and hooked his arms under her knees, straightening her legs, and tugging her up and closer to him until she straddled him. 

Her eyes shot open, and she braced body on her elbows, "What are you doing?" she wriggled in the uncomfortable position, but his answer was to rip apart the crotch of her panties, and lower his head to her cunt and take a long, luxurious lick of her sopping juices. 

She tasted heavenly, clean and tangy, and he swallowed his first taste of her before spitting a mouthful on her snug hole. She flinched tightening her legs around him, and he swirled the sticky moisture around with his tongue then pressed his lips between her spread out pink lips and kissed her. Her legs were trembling, whether from the awkward position, or his intimate kiss, he didn't know, but he wanted to find out. Big hands covered her incredibly soft, delicately muscled thighs, his skin seemed pale on her tan thighs, yet she still looked boundlessly dainty, a golden female. He lifted his head and met her eyes with his; light blue on dark brown, she whispered "Jack, please." And that was his answer. 

"You taste like a tart, you tart." He cooed blowing at her shaved juicy peach that quivered and oozed more of its raw, slick must for him to lap up. 

Marc licked her, and she moaned "Jack." again, the nickname started to bother him. Here he was, going down on her for all he was worth, and she said the wrong name, yet he didn't have the grounds to complain. So, instead of grousing about who, he focused on how much and what alternating between nipping her blossoming, pulpy lips and licking up her slippery elixir. 

Her fine, long left leg extended and retracted fitfully, before straightening to dig the heel of her shoe into the cushion behind him. Her body's responses encouraged him to move faster, rolling his tongue and pushing it into her cunt hole. He had an idea to repay her for the best head he'd ever gotten, and was going to reward her with an orgasm she won't forget for years. 

Readjusting his hands and legs, he stationed her more securely, holding her still with his left hand, and freeing the right to swirl her wetness with his finger tips. Her breasts jiggled when her body bucked, and she covered them with her own hands, digging her elbows into the ground, and squeezing hard, "More." She entreated, and he dove in for the kill, plunging two fingers into her tight passage, and curling them up to where her spongy g-spot was. She cried out, kicking one of her legs, and he smiled into her pussy, nipping at her distended clit, and rolling it between his blunt teeth with infinite finesse. 

"Oh my God, oh my God," she repeated with a tremulous voice like a divine mantra, gulping and bucking, her fingers contracting to knead her tits harder. He didn't stop, even when she thrashed her head to the sides whimpering, and sobbing little prayers. On and on he went frigging her snug cunt and suckling her clit, until she cried out and started to contract and convulse around his fingers. 

Inside her, he moved the tip of his middle finger just right, and triggered the eruption he was aiming for. Three quick squirts of warm pussy juice gushed out of her tightness to soak his hand and face, and he heard her gasp, clearly not expecting that to happen. 

"Oh God, Jack, what? Oh God...aaah..." 

"Easy, easy..." he kissed her tender, swollen folds soothingly as she came down her pinnacle, and she shook her head blinking in bewilderment, "That's never happened to me before," he moved her heavy-lidded tired gaze to his, "I didn't even think it could happen to a woman, thought it was all a myth." 

Squirting was messy, and he didn't try it with many women, but she was the exception to every rule, "Well now you know better." He smiled easing her legs down, and smoothing his hands on them to massage any cramps his inexpedient, crude handling might have caused. 

"Mr. Dussant, there's a gentleman here that says he has an appointment with you." His intercom sounded loudly, tearing into the silence of the room, and he stared at the black and silver box with the blinking red light. 

"Mr. Dussant?" his secretary enquired again, "Are you there?" 

Shaking himself from his reverie, he cleared his throat and pushed a button turning the light green, "Yuh...give me a second." 

What the hell? Here he was, a thirty-three year old civilized -seemingly together- man reminiscing and daydreaming about a sexual encounter he's had months ago with one of his top employees. He felt like a nincompoop sitting there and sporting a boner right in his office, wasting the better part of an hour in sexual memories. 

"I'm wrapping up a...a dealy here, Mrs. Kirchhoff," he said in the intercom again, "ask the gentleman to wait, and offer him some refreshments." 

"Okay." 

But instead of focusing on getting himself situated, he dialed a number and had a brief conversation with the ancient lady from archives who said she can retrieve Jillian's initial application with all her other personnel documents for him. 

"Do you have a copy of her modeling portfolio down there, as well?" he asked trying to sound casual when he was tapping the end of his gold pen nervously against his burnished mahogany desk top. 

"I'm not sure, Mr. Dussant," her voice waivered with age, "I sure hope I can find it, though." 

"Thanks, Mrs. Rosewood, I appreciate it." 

He made another phone call to one of the talent scouts he knew from his old company and asked for any and all pictures and spreads he can find of one Jillian Zahra. 

"And what do I get for this? I can't waste my time looking for some chick's pictures when I could be looking for a job, hot shot." 

Marc winced taking the phone away from his ear, and scratching its corner against his chest, then capitulated "Alright, alright, I'll also have them look at your CV here and see what we have." 

"Now you're talking!" 

"I can't promise anything, but I'll put in the good word for you." 

He was already descending, and he didn't like it. Sure, the guy was competent, but that wasn't the reason why he recommended the position. A part of him was willing him to offer Jillian a raise or a higher position to see if that'll get her to continue having sex with him, and he wasn't particularly proud of himself for thinking like that. He went from fending off excessive female attention, to plotting to bribe someone to fuck him. It's always been the other way around. Model hopefuls offered him sexual favors for a shot at a commercial or a chance to be featured in the company's fashion catalogue. When he wasn't being propositioned by a woman looking for a job in the fashion world, he basked in the smug satisfaction of being the recipient of ongoing offers from glamour models and starlets who didn't mind being labeled as arm candy as long as they got to be with a handsome, rich young man. 

None of them was like his addictive, delicious, stubborn Jillian. He could be stubborn, too, and she was about to be on the receiving end of one hell of an obstinate onslaught of persistence. 

He went to his private bathroom for a splash of cold water on the face, and tried to readjust his unrelenting erection to conceal it as best as he could. He groaned grimacing at how the casual touch jumpstarted him; his cock was hard, and primed for a fuck, and it didn't understand his precarious situation right then. 

Short few minutes later, he managed to look presentable, and washed his face and hands one more time, before heading out for his interview. Separating Mr. Dussant the boss from Marc -Jillian's profligate lover- was proving to be a challenge he wasn't sure he can win.



Flowers for Jill Ch. 05



Author's Note: 

I apologize deeply for the long wait. I got promoted (yay me), but now I have a load of responsibilities and a bunch of idiots to reform (boo); so I've been busy, busy, busy with work. 

This chapter was supposed to be one with the one before it, but as I mentioned before, it stretched out and I had to cut it in half. Well, it's still very long, and I had to cut a lot of scenes from it, but didn't want to butcher it more than I already did, so I stopped cutting. 

I feel like I need to start posting the future chapters under the "Novels and Novellas" category since this story (which started out more or less as a dare) got longer, and somehow more personal. I wanted to get some opinions though, let me know. If I don't get any advice, I'll probably go ahead and change the category with the next chapters, so don't leave me hanging! 

Again, thank you for reading, and I look forward to all your feedback! 





Flowers for Jill Ch. 05



"What do you want me to do in the meantime?" 

Laying down the law, and proving himself to these people moved to the top of his list as he answered, "Mrs. Kirchhoff needs some help, she worked with me for a while now, but she needs someone to introduce her to some of the things we do in Élsi, I need you to be that someone since you seem so knowledgeable and competent." 

"It'll be an honor, sir." 

For the next few hours, he heard the two women bickering, joking, exchanging information, and criticizing each other's look. The old woman nagged the younger one about her cornrows and nose ring, and the young one hassled her about her tweed suit and Great Aunt Greta hair. 

He was more than happy to change into his gym clothes and circumvent some of his frustration and mixed emotions into some exercise, yet angry with his distracted mind that skipped reminding him to bring his own water bottle which obliged him to drink from the gym's fountain. 

"Heeey, Mr. D.!" 

He turned towards the greeting, recognizing Sam Delaney's voice, "Don't do that." He shook his head, then clarified, "Mr. D., I don't like that." 

"Sorry, Mr. Duss-" 

"It's just Marc when we're not working," he offered the man his hand attempting a friendly gesture, "It makes me feel like an asshole to have people call me Mister all the time." 

"It's cool, man." Sam shook his hand, "I've been seeing you around this gym lately, 'course I didn't know you until a few days back, but it's good to have someone to workout with." 

Marc wasn't a big fan of the "workout buddy" concept as he found it merely distracting when he wanted to go to the gym, exercise, and be done with it without squandering time on chitchat, but he nodded congenially, "Yeah." He didn't want to lie or be a jerk, yet found himself doing both a lot in the past few weeks, "I had to switch to this place because it's close to the townhouse I leased; saves time." 

"I hear ya, I wasted a lot of time trying to figure out my commute when I first moved to New York." 

"Yeah? You just moved here recently?" he then pointed at the bench press, "Can you spot me?" might as well make use of having a partner there. 

"Sure, and no...well, reverse that!" Sam chuckled, "I went to school here, so it's been a while." 

He slid the weight plates in place, and clipped them with a spring collar on either side, before lying down on the bench and grabbing the bar, "Where did you study?" he asked conversationally and the other man replied, "Columbia." assuming his position at the head of the machine. 

"Good choice. So how'd you figure out the transport? You didn't buy a car and try to figure it out that way, did you? I know a lot of green folks who do that." He pushed up his first rep feeling that initial strain in his chest, arms, and shoulders. 

"Nah, I'm from Baltimore, so I had some clues. I got help from some friends at school." 

Marc grunted his reply without stopping his activity as the other man went on, "I relied heavily on favors back then, I was always asking people to show me around. That girl Jillian, from work, she went to Columbia with me. Such a cool chick, but at times, I felt like she wanted to snap my head off. Still do." He laughed at his own quip, but Marc's movements wavered, and he dropped the bar down quickly, avoiding an accident. 

"Hey, slow down, buddy, that's a lot of weight you got there." Sam reached for the bar holding it unnecessarily. 

Cool chick? What did that mean? Did he sleep with her in college? Clearing his throat, Marc tried to sound casual as he asked, "You two an item?" 

"No, it's not like that, she introduced me to Madeline, my crazy bitch from hell ex wife. Of course, she wasn't a crazy bitch from hell back then, and we had a good couple, three years before she metamorphosed." He laughed again, seeming to really enjoy listening to himself talk. 

"Huh," he focused his eyes on a dot that marred one of the ceiling squares, and asked as casually as he could, "She dating someone now? Ms. Zahra, that is." 

"Naw, Jillian doesn't date," Marc's brain started forming quick accusing conceptions before Sam explained, "she was in love with this guy in college, and he broke her heart, and she just...I don't know, she focused her whole life on work. When she's not working, she's doing something for work; organizing charities, trying to endorse campaigns and stuff. That autism thing we do every year to help raise money for research? She got in touch with the foundation and convinced Mr. Duss—your father to endorse it. She does a back to school drive almost every year, and I think she volunteered to distribute the backpacks and stuff last year." 

Marc finished his workout in silence, mulling over the new information, and feeling more confused by the minute. They switched places, and Sam asked to borrow his workout gloves when he did his presses -another thing that Marc didn't relish in a workout partner. 

"What happened between her and that guy?" he asked at length, telling himself that this piece of discovery didn't rouse his envy in the least bit. 

"I don't know, the guy just...didn't want her. It was sad; she chased the guy all over, and he went out with every girl but her. Almost everyone knew she had feelings for him -including him- but he was kinda mean about it. He once called her, in front of everybody, a woman of color, and that was just wrong, man." 

A woman of color? "But Jillian's white! And people still say that? That's racist." She was tan, Italian heritage maybe? Something Mediterranean, but Marc wasn't focused on profiling people that way as he saw everyone as human, but he had a thing for exotic women. 

"Well, sorta," the other man explained, "Her father is Lebanese I think, or like, second generation Lebanese, I don't know, but yeah it's dumb." 

Aha, Mediterranean! "And she let that get to her? I mean, surely a woman as smart as her wouldn't want some bigot as a boyfriend." 

Shaking his head ruefully, Sam said, "I thought the same thing, but she was so fixated on him when he didn't give a shit, and a bunch of other guys wanted a chance with her. Madeline and I talked to her about it senior year, and she said she was over him, and started dating a fireman, but they broke up. Actually, she broke up with him, and he was so upset at the time. I remember him causing a big scene on campus, he showed up and started yelling and shit, but they worked it out and went on and off for a while. I think they still see each other every now and then." 

That headache Marc began to associate with Jillian-related complications started to creep up, and press onto his temple again, "So she is dating somebody." 

"Well, no," Sam wiped his sweat with a towel that looked like it has seen better days...much, much better days, and started to rip at the gloves' Velcro, "he lives in Kansas City, and they're best friends now. She brought him to a couple of company charity events, but she sometimes invites this gay guy she's friends with, or her other friend Simone or something." 

Doing a quick calculation with his head's GPS, Marc concluded that this was the closest gym to Jillian's flat as well, "She works out here, right?" 

"Not anymore." Sam handed him the sweaty gloves, and he slipped them on begrudgingly, "Not since Curt -that's the guy from college- started coming here. As a matter of fact, he's the guy over there jumping on the plyo box. 

Turning around, Marc spotted a tall, physically conditioned man taking long leaps on a high plyo box. A couple of women stood watching him and commenting with a few guys who cheered him on. Taking a closer look, Marc discerned the cocky grin on the guy's face, along with his not-so attractive facial features. 

"That guy?" he cried in disbelief, and Sam chuckled, "I know, he's forever in high school land. He's from a small hick town somewhere in the Midwest, and he played basketball in college or something which, I guess, makes him some sort of god down there." 

Marc wasn't normally a superficial guy who judged people by where they lived, but knowing Jillian's past with that man made him less than reasonable, and no better than the intolerant fool who almost slipped off the top of the box when he leapt up, "She should've known better, he looks like an idiot." 

"Love is blind, isn't it? 'Sides, people seem to like being around Curt, we crossed path a few times, hung out and shit, and he's one of those charismatic dudes. You know how it is." his companion clapped him on the shoulder, "Hey, you're a big guy, can you show me how to build my shoulders to look like yours?" 

During the next twenty or so minutes, Marc craftily milked Sam Delaney for more details on Jillian's life, and tried to put together a more descriptive picture of the woman she was. She was good with people, social and friendly, but kept to herself the majority of the time. Other than the fling with the firefighter, she didn't have any relationships, but Sam said he suspected she went out on the occasional dinner every now and again, nothing to be mentioned especially for a woman as beautiful as she. 

"I don't think she wants to be serious about anyone." Delaney had commented before Marc steered the conversation glibly away from her, to avoid raising any suspicions about the nature of his interest in her. 

On the inevitable trip to the water fountain, Marc passed the guy -Curt Hallward, Sam said his name was- who was still surrounded by his worshipping entourage, and heard him say "And I was like, man, I'm like seven feet tall, do you really wanna do that to yourself?" drawing a collective laugh out of them. 

Charismatic, my ass! Marc thought currishly studying the guy better. They were about the same height, Marc's build was more imposing as a residual result of the years he spent playing hockey in his childhood and later in college before his car accident made him more realistic about what career he wanted to pursue, the other guy was big but still lean, and Marc arrogantly told himself he can take him in a fight. Brown hair, slightly large ears, and an ornery yet lazy mouth deemed him average in Marc's head, and way below that when compared to Jillian. The guy's surprisingly shrill, high laugh didn't help Marc's assessment of him. The women who passed him, however, paid him that extra bit of attention that Marc was very well acquainted with, and the whole workout session turned into a pissing contest that took place in Marc's head only keeping him in the gym long after Sam departed, and definitely longer than he needed. 

Impervious to Marc rising dislike of him, Curt approached him pointing at the cable machine he stood in front of, "Hey man, you using that?" 

Marc didn't notice him at first as he was shuffling the music on his iPod, and shook his head "No." before glancing up to meet the man's pale blue gaze, "Mind if I grab one of the handles?" 

"No, not at all." He continued to stand in place and glare at Curt who finally pointed at where he was standing, "Excuse me." and reached to release the handle's catch after Marc stepped aside. 

"I saw you training that guy, are you a trainer?" Curt asked casually, "I'm a manager at NutriExcel, and I can hook you up with some supplements if you want, we sell to a lot to personal trainers and athletes." 

"No, I'm not." he answered laconically. 

"You're in great shape though, man. It's a good field to get into, good money." 

Superciliously, Marc straightened to his full 6-feet 3-inch height and declared, "I'm the CEO of a company my family owns." Then decided to add, "Élsi Dussant; fashion. We own a chain of exclusive high-end boutiques." 

Whistling in admiration, Curt said, "Wow, that's a spiffy company, dude, dust that shoulder!" 

Marc felt more inwardly hostile towards him, despite the guy's affable attitude. The fact that he had rejected Jillian breaking her heart, and the possibility that she still had feelings for him contradicted everything, teaching Marc, possibly for the first time, what jealousy really felt like. 

"Thanks." His forced smile felt more like a grimace, and he ended the short exchange by slipping the buds of his headphones back into his ears, finishing his workout with a series of stretches and compelling his thoughts to veer away from his newly discovered rival. 

Or maybe not, he thought on the drive home and throughout his shower and rushed supper that he barely tasted, maybe she truly was over the guy, maybe she just didn't want to get into a relationship to avoid the headache. He was the same way after all; quick, casual encounters with women were a lot more concordant with his lifestyle and taste. Maybe she didn't want complicated entanglements, just like him, in which case, their relationship -no, scratch that; their association, their arrangement could be continued successfully. 

He found himself automatically reaching for one of the catalogues, and thumbing through it in search of her pictures, then stopped himself and went to bed. But sleep wasn't forthcoming when his mind raced and raged loudly, emphasizing his migraine, and chafing his peace of mind exasperatedly. 

Unthinkingly, he sprung out of bed, threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and zigzagged through traffic getting to her place in record time. 

As if expecting him, the doorman just nodded at him after letting him in, and he didn't bother trying to guess what Helga might've told the old man. The elevator didn't arrive down fast enough, nor did the trip up assuage his burning yearning for her. 

He rung her doorbell, then knocked on the door. In his haste, forgetting to put together an apology, or come up with a speech to grant him her forgiveness. 

"Jillian." He said breathily when she opened the door, and his eyes fell on her upturned face that he missed so much. 

"Oh hell, no!" she frowned and made to close the door, but he stuck his foot between it and its frame, "Please, don't. I need to talk to you." 

"To insult me by telling me that I'm being ridiculous?" she shot back, "No thank you. I only opened the door because I thought it was an emergency or something. Do you know what time it is?" 

He didn't. He knew it was late, but didn't even stop to check or estimate the time, "Jillian, please, let me talk to you, please." What was it about her that put him in that rare form, that outlandish mode that made him act impulsively and imprudently? Headlong, he pushed, cajoling and begging her, "Please." 

"I sent my assessments and reports over today, I'm not neglecting my work." 

"It's not about that," he shook his head, "Let me in, Jillian." 

She lifted her right hand opening it in his face, "Five minutes." 

"Whatever you say." He agreed easily, but she wasn't feeling charitable, "Five minutes only, I'm serious; I'll time you." 

"Whatever you want, Jill." he nodded again, feeling lighthearted when she acquiesced begrudgingly and stepped aside holding the door open. 

"Speak your piece and go." Her face was bare of makeup, her hair a halo of waves and curls around her shoulders. She wore a tiny, slightly see-through pair of black and white striped short shorts, and a pink tank top, and had a thin book rolled in her left hand with her index finger marking the page she stopped at. She looked clean, unpretentious, earthy, and infinitely female...she was all he wanted. 

The realization rattled him, and taking a deep breath, he started from nowhere, "That whole thing between us, it wasn't planned, I found myself going forth without thinking, and I went too far." 

"You don't say." She scoffed, but he pressed on, "I wasn't expecting myself to behave that way. I saw you and I...I'm not myself around you," he wiped his hand over his face, "it's the exact opposite, actually; I'm too much myself around you, I lose all control and just let go without analyzing..." he shook his head drifting off again. A man without of plan of action laid all his cards on the table, revealing too much, but he didn't have much to hide standing there in her living room and spewing out his guts like he's never done before, "I have no filter around you, no self control, and not much prudence; I just go for it...for you. The whole thing started out as a fantasy, one that was born right there when I met you, unplanned, I swear. I couldn't stop myself, I wanted you so badly, and I still do. I don't think I'll ever stop wanting you." He rolled his fingers inwardly, fisting his shaking hands, "I'm sorry that my indiscretion hurt your feelings, Jillian, but I'm not sorry it happened. I'm not sorry for what we did together. I'm sorry for the way it happened, though. But still, if I were able to go back and tell the truth and not be able to have you, I would probably repeat my mistake just for the sake of being with you like that. I don't regret having sex with you, but I do regret having shocked and hurt you like that." 

He was breathing hard by the time he finished talking, and he realized that he was studying her face, watching out for her answer whatever it was, and bracing himself for it. 

"That doesn't make sense," her voice was low, but steady, "I wouldn't have agreed to do...that with you had I known who you were back then; so that cancels out the validity of your apology. You were selfish and insensible, while I felt lonely and needed a stranger to help fix..." she stopped herself, and shook her head taking a step back, "You knew exactly what you were doing, and knew the consequences, but that didn't stop you. You stepped over me to live your egocentric fantasy." 

He took a step towards her, countering her retreat, "It was a fantasy at first, an adventure, I'll admit that. I never really got to chase or woo any woman, women normally threw themselves at me, but you were different from the start-" 

"You liked the chase, the game-" she interrupted furiously, but he had a confession to complete, "That first time, yes, but things became different after that and I lost the ability to stop myself." 

"What a raft of shit!" she mumbled slapping the book nervously on the side of her thigh. 

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Jillian." He tilted his head until he met her gaze, "You deserve better than a callous asshole," he thought fleetingly of Curt Hallward and how he hurt her, and pressed on with his case, "and I'm here to make things right. To apologize, and seek your forgiveness." 

"I'm not the forgiving type." She broke the link between their eyes, but he thrived on, "Make an exception for me, Jillian, I won't disappoint you." 

She turned around throwing the book on a sofa, and pressed her fingers into her eye sockets, "I don't have the time or the energy for this." 

Startled by the book being suddenly flung away, his eyes scanned it quickly revealing it to be a selection of poems by T. S. Eliot, "I won't disappoint you." He reassured hopefully for, just like him, she was up late, seeking solace from a book just like he sought release from looking at her pictures, enquiring about her life, and thinking about her. 

"You're asking too much of me," she turned around glancing at a wall clock, "Your five minutes are over, Mr. Dussant." 

The way she said his name made him cringe in dejection, "Can I get another five?" he reached for her, but she walked off. 

"It won't change anything, I heard what you had to say, and I haven't changed my mind." 

"I won't talk about it; we'll just sit together." She rolled her eyes at him, but he pressed on, "we can speak about other things." 

"It's too late for chitchat, Dussant." 

He gave her an adulating smile, "It is late, but you're up and so am I, we might as well keep each other company. We'll just sit together in silence, if that's what you want. Get a cup of decaf maybe." He didn't like decaffeinated coffee, but he was trying to be agreeable and cajoling. It was hard not to exhale in relief when she said, "Decaf is vile hot water, I don't drag that garbage into my house." 




Flowers for Jill Ch. 05



"See, we're already off to a good start!" 

She rolled her eyes again, "How's that? We've just disagreed on something...again." 

"Actually, no; I don't like decaf." 

"Right. Whatever." She shrugged, but didn't kick him to the curb, choosing to reseat herself on the sofa, reclaiming her book, "There's a bowl of nuts on the kitchen table," she pointed at her elevated kitchen area that looked like a bohéme café with its quaint furniture and cozy accent pieces, "help yourself or whatever, I don't care." She waved her hand then started leafing through the book for the place she stopped at. 

"Thanks." He strolled across her living room, not really interested in mixed nuts, but curious about her house. Books seemed to occupy the majority of her living room and parts of her kitchen with an eclectic collection of bookcases with various designs and sizes. Some shelves divided their space between books and antiques, candles, or decorative pieces, while others filled with books or devoted themselves to display something else. She had a nice collection of paintings, lots of prints, mostly Van Gogh's and Monet's. 

The high Andalusian style high dining table was surrounded by wooden stools with midrise backs, and no arm rests. He reached for the nuts bowl on it and his eyes fell on a crystal ashtray that contained her keys, a hair pin, and one of his sugarless Kerr's chocolate mints. 

Eschewing the nuts, he snatched the hard candy and smiled when he sat across from her on the couch holding the mint between his index and middle fingers, "Another thing we have in common. I love these things!" he popped the mint in his mouth, the familiar weight resting on his tongue, and the fresh taste tickling his taste buds instantaneously. 

"Actually, that's yours; you dropped it in my office. I was curious about it because I haven't seen this brand before, but then again, I'm not a candy connoisseur." 

"It's Canadian." 

She continued to stare at him, scrutinizing him with those piercing dark eyes before dropping her gaze to his chest, "Your team stinks." 

He peered at his gray t-shirt that said Property of Montréal Canadiens under the team's logo, and raised his eyebrow at her, "Um, Stanley Cup Playoffs? Conference finals? One of the last standing four teams? It was just a couple of months back, sweet cakes, don't you remember?" 

"The Rangers beat you in all games, fool!" 

He didn't know whether to be excited about her talking to him -sarcastic and scoffing as she was- or about the fact that she obviously watched hockey, "Oh, so that's how it is, you're a Rangers' fan." 

She pushed off the couch, clearly too distracted to finish her book, "No, Penguins and Avalanche." 

Choking on his mint, he coughed out, "Penguins?" then he cleared his throat, "Oh c'mon, I liked it more when I thought you liked the Rangers. You are from New York after all." 

"So?" she raised a shoulder then bent over moving things on the coffee table, "I like Sidney Crosby." She said, and it took him a moment to register as he stared at her derriere pushed up in the air, her tiny shorts riding up and over the full cheeks. His eyes detected no panty lines which sent a rush of blood to his groin; there was only one thin layer of clothing between his hands and her delectable body. 

She straightened, and he shook his head, "Wait, Crosby? Cry baby, dive everytime, Crosby?" 

"Captain Crosby." She corrected walking off to a sideboard table and yanking open one of the drawers, "Best in the world, thank you very much." Then she added under her breath, "Where the hell is that bookmark?" 

"I'm going to forgive you for that transgression, but you'll have to be more open minded about forgiving me, too." He knew he pushed it when she turned to face him jabbing a finger in his chest and snapping, "Forgive you for being a lying bastard who tricked me to get some sex and entertainment on my expense?" 

Both hands held in front of him, he backed off, "Okay, alright, I'm closing the subject. I'm sorry...again. I find myself apologizing a lot lately." 

"Maybe you shouldn't do stuff that force you into a position where you have to apologize. Ever thought of that, Mr. Dussant?" 

"I'm closing the subject," he repeated, and pointed at the big, fancy aquarium by her window, "Nice aquarium. Why is it empty?" 

She half-twirled to cast a long look at the glass case, "It's not empty." she whispered. 

"I need to get my eyes checked, eh?" he grinned closing the distance between him and the aquarium and bending with his hands braced on his knees to pay closer attention, only to find that it was in fact empty. He glanced back at her in question, and she pointed at a big rock on the bottom, "That's my pet rock, Walker." Her eyes glazed as she said, "Get it? Rock? Walker?" 

He frowned, "Why don't you buy some fish for it?" 

"I had fish," she cried, "I handpicked all thirty four of them, but they all died on me. One after the other. I don't know what happened or why, I fed them just like the kid at the pet store told me to, I kept their case clean, I bought a bunch of shitty gadgets that are supposed to neutralize their water and keep it at the right temperature, but they still died. Swelled up and floated to the top. It's like they did it to spite me," a sheen of tears varnished her eyes for a second, "the ultimate middle finger, fuck you, Jillian, we're gonna die and leave you alone." She sobbed then, of all things, burst out crying, her dainty shoulders shaking with her soft sobs, both hands cupping her nose and mouth like a pyramid. 

"Hey, hey, hey," as confident as he always was around people -especially women- he was a lost and confused naïve around crying women, "Jillian, hey." He repeated experimentally, his head feeling too heavy for his neck to support, "It's okay," he reached for her, and started stroking up and down her arms, "It's okay, shhh... Screw fish, stinky, slipper little fuckers..." his hands cupped her elbows and he pulled her to his body, wrapping his arms around her slowly, furtively, until her little shakes and whimpers were his own. 

Marc continued to stroke her hair and her back gently rocking her as she wept wetting the front of his shirt. And then it hit him, "This isn't about the fish, is it?" he asked softly against her temple planting a kiss on the side of her head, did he really do that much damage? 

"It's everything," she puled. 

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he kissed her temple again and she let him, "I didn't set out to play such a mean game, I promise." 

Her crying seemed to intensify, dammit, you made it worse, he told himself when he heard her whimper, "It's everything...it's you, it's work, it's the fish, it's Doofus, it's this city; everything." 

Doofus? Was she having some sort of emotional breakdown? He recognized the early signs for -as a result of his parents' numerous separations and breaks from each other throughout his life- he was the only one patient, and sympathetic enough to care for his manic-depressive older sister whenever she went into her dark place. The Dussants fought viciously, yelled, cursed, and threatened, then separated at least twelve times since he was a child. They never divorced, didn't even entertain the idea, which always made Marc wonder if they were deluded or a touch insane to let a solution like that elude them. Colette, his sister, became reclusive, borderline depressed, and went to extreme limits to please people and make them accept and like her, losing herself in the process. Marc, on the other hand, focused on signing on to any activity that tied him up mentally and physically, and provided an escape from whichever parent's residence he had to choose for a few months. 

He knew how to deal with his sister, how to distract her and improve her mood, but his bag of tricks was empty of wiles when it came to Jillian's episode, "I'm sorry," was all he could say again and again until she pushed at his chest to look up at his face with reddened eyes, "It's not just you," she shook her head and swallowed, "I don't cry about men, that's barren, pointless." 

He didn't want her to cry because of him, but he wanted her to cry about him. The sudden thought echoed in his mind, and he decided to file it away as a vain wish borne out of selfishness as he said, "You need a break, I understand." 

"No, you don't." she darted her tongue to wet dry lips, "Everything is spiraling out of control, all at the same time. It's been building up for months now, and you're just the cherry on top, you triggered the volcano, but it's not all you...you just..." she shook her head again and looked up with a frown emphasizing every word, "Pissed. All over me. All over everything." She had stopped crying, and the transparent lines of her tears were drying on her cheeks, "How could you do that to a person and act like nothing happened? It's a big deal. I don't know about you, but I don't lie to people just to fuck them, and I don't fuck my subordinates at work." 

"It was a mistake, I know that, I was drawn to the whole adventure sense of it, and I didn't think straight then, once I had you, I couldn't stop." There, the truth and nothing but. 

"Adventure?" she snorted sardonically, but a fresh tear ran down her right cheek, "I bet you fuck a lot of women and call it an adventure, a masquerade; lie and pretend to be someone you're not and call it fun and games." 

It was his turn to get riled up, it's true that he indulged and didn't turn down many offers from sexy women, but she was different, "You're the only one I lied to for sex. I know it sounds weird as shit, but it means you're special to me." 

She laugh/coughed, "You are one fucked up dude." Her eyes blinked fast again in an attempt to contain her tears, but silently, they trickled down her cheeks once again, "And I thought I was crazy for wanting Jack, I thought I was a mess for relying on a stranger to escape a rigid routine, but you are way, way out there, man." 

He smiled self-deprecatingly, "I guess I am," he scratched the back of his head, "I wasn't that way before you." 

She stared at him for a minute then whispered, "At first I was angry at you for taking Jack away from me," she wiped at her tears putting on that brave front he came to know so well, "but now I'm worried that you need serious help." 

Taking a step towards her, "Yes, I need you." 

She stepped back, "No, I meant professional mental help." 

"Let's try this first," he cornered her in her own home, hands clasped possessively on her hips, he glued his gaze to hers and repeated with emphasis, "I really, truly am sorry, Jillian." 

He held his breath waiting for her to slap him and call him an asshole or something, but she just roasted him with her silence for a few minutes. He was determined on winning her staring contest even if he had to stand in front of her all night and his feet fall asleep in his sneakers. 

He felt her body melt in his hands at last, and raised his right hand to her face wiping the remaining tears off of her skin. 

"How do you do that?" her voice was so low that he had to read her lips. 

"I'm crazy about you, Jillian Zahra." He confessed ignoring the question that he didn't have an answer to, and lowered his head to hers while still biding his time, relying on his studious patience. 

She looked at his lips, then up at his eyes, "You are, aren't you?" He nodded, and she dropped her eyes to his lips again, "Or you could be just plain ol' crazy," she murmured and rose to her tiptoes before he could deny her claim, and pressed her lips to his. 

That electric, galvanizing feeling of her taste brought on a series of delicious shocks that attacked him all over. The arousal he's succeeded to contain since she opened the door for him, was now in control of him, rampant, and flagrant. He slithered his left hand around her hip cupping her ass and bringing her body forward to press against his erection, and slanted his mouth over hers deepening the kiss. 

She didn't pull back or change her mind, which he was half-expecting, so he hugged her without breaking their kiss, and swiveled around so that his back was to the wall. The simple change of positions was meant as a part of his apology; it's your game now, it said. He didn't urge her to wrap her arms around his neck, or start taking off her clothes giving her the upper hand without relinquishing his control. He did, however, continue to run his hands on her sweet body feeling her softness through the thin layers of her barely-there clothes. The backs of her thighs were delicately shaped, firm, and warm leading to the treasure of her derriere that overfilled his big hands. He squeezed the full cheeks making her moan in his mouth and he licked her lips and touched his nose to hers squeezing again and lifting her up to align her crotch with his. 

He waited for her, this time it was her choice to come to him. Her passion rose with the same erratic pace his ascended with, yet he waited. His hands filled themselves with her breasts feeling the nipples harden like little pebbles against the centers of his palms, and he breathed her name. Jillian squirmed in his arms putting her bare feet on his tennis-shoes clad ones, and pushed up on tiptoes as her hands grappled onto his shoulders from the front then slid around caressing his muscled round deltoids for a better grip. She wriggled and pressed against him, her closeness forcing him to release her breasts and leave his hands free for a few confused seconds until she moved up again, pulling with her hands and arching her feet. 

Taking his cue from her, Marc palmed her ass again hefting her up in one swift move that made her giggle as the breath escaped her lungs in a loud whoosh. 

"You alright?" he settled his left forearm under her ass and she wrapped her legs around his waist. 

"Am I too heavy?" 

"Light as a feather." He kissed and nuzzled her skin and jaw. 

"You can tell me the truth, I won't take offense." 

Those graceful arms of hers finally wrapped themselves around his neck, and he printed a wet kiss on her neck, "You're heavier than you look, but still light as a kitten." 

"I should be mad at you." She threw her head back offering her elegant neck to him, and he kissed the taut skin on her throat and felt a strained movement under his lips when she swallowed. 

"I'm going to make love to you." He told her opening his mouth on her neck and sucking protractedly, the thought of leaving a hickey on her for everyone to see driving him to suck firmly. 

Her comment was drowned in a moan that he interpreted as her assent and proceeded to look around trying to guess where her bedroom was. 

"Upstairs." She croaked threading her fingers in his hair and moving his head crudely to show him the short winding staircase. He climbed it miraculously managing not to trip or fall as they both kissed and nipped at each other hungrily, not patient or wise enough to wait until they got into bed. 

He didn't want to set her down, but had to in order to flip the light switch on despite the silver blue moonlight that her blinds-less windows offered through the gossamer-thin drapes. 

"Not that one." She advised when he turned on the overhead lights, so he turned the button down again, and moved to the next one, but she had already switched on the bedside lamps whispering, "Here." Then walked back to where he stood. 

They faced each other, and he had to fist his hands at his sides to keep from reaching for her. He was hard as a rock, and his erection strained painfully against the front of his jeans, the denim fabric too constricting and unyielding. 

"Take off your clothes for me." he heard his voice rasp huskily despite his iron will, he couldn't wait after all. 

Jillian rolled her top on her torso, and slipped it over her breasts that bounced free from the jersey fabric that slid over her arms that she crossed and bent pulling the top up then flinging it over on a chair's seat. 

He made a growling sound in the back of his throat striding over to her and taking his t-shirt off in his advance as she retreated to sit on the edge of the bed. She reclined a little with the heels of her hands pressed on the mattress behind her. He hovered over her, smiling down at her upturned face his expression making her grin and touch her upper lip and teeth with the tip of her tongue and reach for his belt. 

"No." he ground out grasping her wrists, and got on his knees in front of her, "I said I was going to make love to you. Let me." 

She blinked, and he tugged her by the arms bringing her forward to kiss her sweet mouth, "I've never had you in a bed before," he whispered against her parted lips, his breath drying the moisture his tongue left on them, "I want to take my time, to kiss and taste every inch of your body, Jillian." 

He relinquished his hold on her hands to stroke the tops of her thighs, watching her breasts rise and fall with her deep breathing, and leaned forward to touch one with the tip of his nose then brush is with his lips before sitting back to look at them again. Her feet arched to assist her in lifting her butt off the bed signaling him to pull her shorts off, "Off." She whispered needlessly as he was already peeling her bottom off of her. 

The first thing his fingers encountered when they slipped under her waistband was the cotton of the underwear he thought didn't exist, then his eyes fell on the smiling face of Curious George with the word "Hello" written in white to his right with too many O's that stretched on the other side. 

"Holy shit! What the hell?" he laughed and stared at her, "Where did you find those panties?" 

"Thong." She corrected concisely biting her lips against a grin. 

Marc shook his head chuckling, "This is so wrong, I shouldn't be turned on by this, but I am." 

Wickedly, she slipped her index fingers in either leg of the thong and pulled up until the cotton crotch disappeared between the puffed lips of her pussy, "By what?" 

"Curious fucking George." He grouched, "This is the kind of shit that you do and make me come unhinged." 

"You won't kiss me then?" she beckoned him levering her hips up, and he cursed, "Take those damn panties off, I feel like a pervert wanting to fuck you with Curious George on your pussy." 

"Kinky!" she taunted, still biting her smile and wriggled her hips to slip the underwear off. The damp cotton that was stuck to her labia pulled out a clear line of moisture from her cunt, not wanting to part with her sweet heat, and he swore viciously at the wanton little show she put on with her deliberate moves, and the way she murmured, "Oh shoot, now my panties are all sticky!" 

"Damn tease," he pinched one of her nipples making her yelp and giggle slapping his hand, "What?" she teased, "It's not my fault that you made me soak my panties." 

He cupped her breasts flicking the tips with his thumbs, satisfied at the response he drew from the puckering areolas and hardened tips. His position on his knees aligned his face perfectly with her chest, and he released her breasts to place his hands back on her smooth thighs and order, "Feed your tits to me, Jill." to which she complied by sliding her hands over her ribcage until they reached her breasts, then held them and kneaded them enquiring, "Which one do you want to taste first?" 

His eyes centered on her right nipple that she pinched between her thumb and forefinger, "That one," he nodded towards it, and she placed one hand under his chin, the other squeezing her tit and rubbing the velvety top on his closed lips. 

"Delicious little toffee bites." He murmured and opened his mouth enveloping the dark pearl into the wet heat of his mouth. She sighed, her trembling hand moved to his nape and he felt her fingers toying with the edge of his hair reminding him vaguely that he needed a haircut. Banking on how sensitive her nipples were, and how she liked to have them handled roughly, Marc raked the tender nub with his teeth. Very little refinement went into his biting, and the savage ravishment made her buck and clasp his head with both hands crying out. A predatory smile stretched his lips as he nuzzled his nose along the inside turn of her breast, sliding under it where she was incredibly soft that the mere brush of his lips and nose against her made her whimper. 




Flowers for Jill Ch. 05



"The other one." Her voice was low and shaky, but he denied her determined to prolong his apology, "Not yet." His lips encased her nipple again suckling it firmly and rhythmically drawing it with his teeth and releasing it several times until her fingernails dug into his shoulders, "Please, Marc." 

The musky scent of her arousal enveloped him, with her legs parted around him and her pussy spread like a scarlet butterfly that begged to be sampled. He sat back on his heels and locked his gaze with hers, knowing that if he glanced down at her cunt, he won't be able to stop himself from unzipping his jeans and plunging into her tightness, "Now I want the other one." He demanded making her wince, "Oh God!" then eagerly oblige him by holding her breast with the nipple squeezed between her index and middle finger ready to feed it to him. 

"Good girl." He praised and claimed her nipple, nipping it sharply then laving it with his tongue to soothe the sting of his bites. 

One of her hands left his shoulder, and he expected her to stroke his hair or hold the back of his head, but it didn't. Low sloshing sounds made him release her wet throbbing nipple to look between her legs where her right hand's middle finger was swirling her pussy juice and spreading it over her hard clit. 

The sight mesmerized him for a long moment during which he felt intoxicated as if he had chugged down a lot of whiskey on an empty stomach, as an initial feeling of giddiness hit him that was followed by a heady sense of floating between reality and illusion. 

"That looks delicious." He told her, and she offered him her wet finger by smearing a dab of moisture on his lower lip. He opened his mouth and sucked the slick juice off of her, then bit the tip of her finger playfully when she pulled it away, "Open that cunt for me, Jill, I want to eat it." he declared, and didn't wait for a permission as he spread her legs wider and pushed her farther on the bed until his chest came in contact with the ridiculous ruffled bed-skirt. 

She was forced to fall on her back, and she wriggled reaching over her head for one of the overstuffed pillows then stuck it behind her to watch him pleasure her while still having her hands free to do his bidding. He smirked smugly watching how wet and ready she was for him. Her pink folds were flushed and glistening with the scented fluid that seeped out of her snug aperture begging to be licked off. But he was patient in his pursuit, he turned to the left to kiss her inner thigh and found a scarlet love bite that he had left on her a few days back. Turning to the right, he found the hickey's twin staring at him as if to say, "Kiss me again." and grinned moving his eyes to Jillian's face to meet her gaze while darting his tongue to trace the autograph he left on her intimate soft area. Around and around he circled it, before latching his lips to the same spot sucking it sharply just like he did the first time, determined to renew his claim. 

Jillian's legs bucked and shuddered, her right leg kicked up behind him then drew back settling her dainty foot against his flank. He peered down at the little toes with their nails painted a deep shade of fuchsia, trembling and slipping halfway into the waistband of his jeans, so soft against his side. "Everything about you is beautiful," he told her stroking his hand along the back of her leg and down to her ankle that he massaged gently before sliding to her foot and caressing it, "From the tips of your toes to the tips of your raven hair." He whispered reverently teasing her toes with his fingers. 

"I have big feet." She said in a strangled whisper curling her toes inwards, and upon peeking at her face again, he found her blushing. 

"They're way smaller than mine, what are you talking about?" he said tracing the arch of her foot then stroked her curled toes until she relaxed them. 

"For a woman, I mean." 

"You're a tall woman, their size makes sense." He reasoned, still puzzled at why a trivial thing like that should be such a big deal with women, "They're pretty, long and elegant. I love the pink nails, they're sexy." He commented still playing with her foot and felt her start to close her legs. Shooting her a heated stare, he hissed, "Keep your pussy lips spread for me." and proceeded to fling her legs over his shoulders holding her completely exposed and vulnerable. 

He took his time despite his yearning for the distinguished taste of her essence. Marc liked to eat pussy the same way he ate ice cream; he fed his eyes on the tasty sight before him first, watched it heatedly until it started melting for him. And just when it started to drip, he darted his tongue to collect the molten drops on his tongue, then roll the slightly salty fluid against the roof of his mouth feeling its slick texture slide and slip with his saliva, before going for another taste. And he had all the time in the world, this wasn't her office before a meeting, or a hotel room where every piece of furniture was so impersonally extravagant and looked as if it wanted to rush them then kick them out. He was in her house, in her bedroom, making love to her for the first time fully intending on giving himself to her, while taking all of her and possessing it. 

Her pink hole quivered, clenched, and oozed moisture when he kissed it. A small moan escaped her lips, and he knew that she was watching him intently while he watched her juicy peach ripen for him. He licked her again, running his tongue from the bottom of her slit over to her clitoris and around it, then went back down until he reached her anus. That dark ecstasy gripped him again, urging him to lick her asshole and illicit those wild responses doing it always drew from her. It was strange and foreign for him as he was normally a strictly pussy guy who veered away from anal play, and wasn't a big fan of the few times he ventured into experimenting it with other women in the past. But then Jillian came into the picture with her beautiful snatch that was always neatly shaved -or was it waxed to that smooth perfection- and her perpetual fresh smell that was a mixture of a spicy expensive perfume and her own feminine scent. Jillian tasted like no one else, she felt like no one else, and he wanted her more than anyone else. 

His tongue didn't wait for his command to circle her anus, and he felt her flinch and exhale, "Oh yes!" he grinned to himself watching her juice roll in steady drops down to gather at her puckered star. He darted his tongue and licked her moisture diligently before slipping the tip of his tongue into her ass and making her squirm and moan. Her left leg fell off his shoulder so he used the opportunity to test her flexibility and push her thigh even further, and was rewarded by the yielding of her long leg that opened for him. 

He alternated between dipping his tongue into her cunt and her anus, fucking both holes with studious dedication that felt more like a reward for him instead of being a favor for Jillian because he never wanted to stop. How could a woman be so addictive and taste this delicious, he didn't know, and didn't stop to guess. Everytime her trembling fingers slipped away from her pussy lips, Marc schooled her into fixing them in place again with an order chased by a sharp suck of her clit that made her cry out his name like a divine entreat for a blessing. 

His lips drew her inner folds to suck on them as he finally nudged her opening with his index finger. When he slipped the tip in, her muscles contracted and squeezed at him hungry for more, and he plunged it all the way in to fuck her in a few strokes before adding a second finger. He stopped everytime he felt her orgasm nearing her then nudged the hood of her clit with the tip of his nose once more, before diving in for another taste, and resuming his finger fucking. 

It went on for a long time, but he didn't feel the minutes ticking and falling around him like a meteor shower as his whole universe centered on her exquisite cunt that was all his for the taking. It was such a beautiful mystery to him, every delicate fold, every small line that sinuously shaped the sinful flower he feasted upon. He heard her panting, heard his own harsh breathing, and the sounds his mouth and fingers made as they pleasured her. 

"Please let me come, Marc," he heard her begging him. "Let me come" she had said tacitly reminding him that he was the one in control, and he closed his eyes for a second to place a kiss on her mound and corrected subtly, "I'll give you everything you want." He added yet a third finger stretching her tightness and licking quickly at her clit. 

It didn't take long for her to reach the pinnacle. A secret, possessive demon inside him incited him to hold off again just to get her to beg him more fervently, but he couldn't do that to her. He was done playing dirty games on her or trying to conquer her. His fingers fucked her devotedly and her scream announced her orgasm, keen and gripping as her inner muscles clenched viciously onto his hand squeezing the three thick digits he buried inside her to the knuckles. 

Marc sat back unable to tear his gaze away from the tight hole that swallowed his fingers and undulated against them. Absently, he wiped his chin and mouth against his shoulder, then ran his palm on his nose to swab the sticky moisture that mingled with his sweat and kept her fragrance clinging to his nostrils. 

Her back was arched over the pillow, head thrown back with her eyes staring at the ceiling, and her chest rising and falling with her harsh rapid breathing. Withdrawing his fingers at length, he rose to his feet noting that his right leg was on the verge of falling asleep, and kicked it discreetly before shucking his pants, boxers, and shoes in a few economical moves. 

"I can't feel my legs." She croaked weakly, and he chuckled, "I can barely feel mine, and we haven't even started yet." 

"There's more?" her heavy lidded eyes widened before she answered herself, "Of course there's more; it's you." 

He hugged her to his chest purposely scraping his crinkly chest hair against her delicate breasts, and dragged her and her pillow up on the bed until neither of them had any body parts hanging off one of the bed's edges. 

"I always have more for you." He nuzzled her neck and shoulder licking the salty drops of sweat from her skin. 

"Do you want me to suck your cock?" her fingers that were still shaking, reached for his rock hard dick and wrapped around it, barely touching around his girth. 

He shook his head, "I want your pussy tonight." But couldn't help thrusting shallowly into the sheath her hand provided, groaning as his precome lubricated her palm everytime her fingers slid over the engorged tip of his cock. 

"Shit. No more." He ground out closing his eyes and gulping a lungful of air that he expelled harshly. She squeezed his cock defiantly with a sultry whisper, "But it's so hard, it's about to burst in my hand and I want that cream." 

"If you continue to play dirty, I won't feed you any cum." He touched his nose to hers before stealing a smacking kiss from her lips, and moved to straddle her grasping her wrist and forcing her hand to cup his heavy balls, "Feel how full they are?" he pressed his thumb into the inside of her wrist and she instinctively tightened her fingers around his balls breathing, "I want it all." 

"Do what I say then." He placed another open mouthed loud kiss on her lips, "I want to fuck your little pussy, Jill." he murmured against her mouth, his tongue touching her lips when he pronounced his L's. 

Letting go of his sex, she put her hand to her mouth, savoring the taste of his precome on the pads of her fingers and the inside of her hand. Eyes locked with his, she then raised her hands above her head sinuously undulating underneath him, "Take it then." She raised her hips, lithely slipping her legs from between his and caressing his penis with one of her feet before wrapping her long gams around his waist. 

"Not yet." He stroked her thighs before pushing them down on the bed, and bent down to trail a wet line of kisses along her abdomen, between her breasts, then nibbled on her collar bones. He couldn't help but tug at one of her abused nipples with his teeth again eliciting a pained groan from her as one of her hands bespoke the pleasure his ministrations caused and clasped his skull to keep his head on her breast. 

Marc suckled her nipple before taking her hand off his head, "You're getting impatient on me." he chastised when she moaned and arched her back silently begging for more kisses on her bright red throbbing nipples. 

"You're teasing me." she pouted looking like a siren with her hair spread like a dark halo around her head, her arms stretched up and over her head to grasp the winding faded gold lines of her brass bed's headboard. The bed wasn't as big as he would've preferred, just a queen-sized antique looking deal. But the winding olive gold lines along with her thick double mattress that was covered with sheets of faded gold with bold black roses on them, gave him the feeling of floating on dark waters, emphasizing the siren image that her surrender projected. 

"You're driving me crazy." He ran his fingers on her tan skin raising goosebumps in their wake, and cruised all the way to her hands unclasping their hold on the headboard, and threading his fingers with hers instead, "I don't want a quick fuck, I want to make love to you." His voice was gravely and deep. 

"Why are you being demanding when you're supposed to be apologizing to me?" 

"Because you're trying to rush me," he printed kisses on the tender insides of her arms. 

"But your cock is so hard, and I'm so wet for it," she tantalized raising her hips to touch his raging erection with her spread cunt, "and you said you wanted my pussy, but you won't take it." 

Stumbling upon this insatiable, sensual, contradicting woman was his blessing and his doom. He fixed her with a steady stare trying to read her dark eyes, but only found twin burning pools of desire...for him. Everything else ceased to exist, breathe, or matter around them, and he gripped her roughly rolling on his back and stationing her on top of him. This time was for her, he told himself and, to her, he said "I changed my mind, I want you to take me." 

She blinked at him, bracing her hands on his wide chest, absently scratching his chest hair. Marc prompted, "Take me deep into your tight cunt. Ride me, Jillian." But she continued to look at him as if trying to gauge the level of his sanity, and he slapped her ass soundly, "Don't back out now, get on with it, you little tart." 

Shaken out of her trance, Jillian raised her body over his, but held the slick petals of her sex over his cock that he aimed at her opening with a hand grasping it by the root. 

"I let you get away with so much," she slapped his hand replacing it with her left hand on his cock giving it a few pumps, but barely touching it to her pussy, "insulting name calling," 

"Nicknames." He corrected with a roguish grin, and she went on, "Intrusive demands," 

"Just spicing things up." He interjected again, and she rubbed the tumescent, precome covered head of his cock on her slick folds, still not taking him in, "Inconvenient timing and surprise visits," he watched a huge drop of seminal fluid ooze from the slit of his cock and get rubbed against her distended clit, and groaned, "I can't help but keep my appointments." 

"Lies." She pronounced compressing his dick's tip between her fingers and meeting his gaze again. He didn't have anything to say to that last word; he was done taking a defensive stance, and focused on dealing with the situation. 

Breaking the silence, she whispered, "Why do I do that?" her hand slid down on his cock then up again, "Why do I let you get away with all those transgressions?" 

"Christ." His penis pulsed hotly, he swallowed with a dry mouth and took a breath, determined to let her set the pace this time around. 

"I'm seriously asking you, Marc, why do I let you do all that to me? I barely know you." Her dark gaze was unrelenting, and he finally stuttered, "Jesus, I don't know, but I'm damn glad you do." 

"Why did you put me on top? I don't know how to control you, you always do what you want." She went on, still stroking his glans on her swollen nether lips, back and forth, hypnotically mixing their juices together and he felt the blood drain from his head and cruise south leaving him struggling with a smart thing to say, "Just take me inside you," he ground out, "that's how you control me, Jillian." 

She knew what she was doing, the conniving tart, finally pressing his cock to her snug hole, "Like this?" she sunk deep on his rigid pole taking him all the way in one agonizing move that wrenched a primitive growl from deep within him. Hands automatically moved to her generous hips grasping them and he held her still with his cock embedded fully into her tight passage. 

His size was too much for her everytime, even when she went slowly like now, and he saw her eyes fall shut and her teeth clamp down on her lower lip holding back a sob. Gentling his touch, Marc swiped his thumbs on the taut skin that stretched over her hipbones, and raised her up tenderly, "Easy," he coaxed, but she pressed downwards halfway up his shaft making him repeat, "Easy, baby," 

"You always do what you want." She reminded him, and he eased his grip, "I'm all yours, Jill." wondering why she was so intent on not taking any gentle tenuity from him. 

Her arms went up, hands threading in her hair and holding it over her head as she fucked herself on him, tits bouncing up and down on her chest as she put on a show in that exaggerate fascinating way that she handled sex. He had wanted to make gentle love to her thinking it was the best way to translate his intentions, but she wanted to be fucked, so he fucked her moving with her and indulging both their senses. Moisture trickled from her snatch dribbling down on his balls and inner thighs, and some drops even slipped between his ass cheeks mingling with his sweat. 

A hard thrust forced her to lean forward digging the heels of her hands into the pillows on either side of his head. Her position cosseted his hunger for her breasts that dangled over his face, and he didn't stop himself from latching on to a nipple and sucking it. His earlier uncouth attentions have left the velvety peaks over sensitized and swollen, than she cried out at the mere feel of his lips on her tender nub. She made no move to stop him from ravaging her breasts again, though, and he didn't hold back biting down, rather roughly, on her nipples everytime her pussy gobbled up his dick. 

Finally satisfied with his handy work, he released her nipple and laved it briefly with the tip of his tongue apologetically soothing the throbbing point, and Jillian straightened up again fanning her hands on his wide chest settling for a second. Then she rolled her hips up on his pole, before clamping down again, her ass slapping with a raunchy smack on his balls and making him groan. Jillian leaned forward and repeated her primitive dance on his cock, and he felt the entrance of her womb everytime he delved into her. Felt the slickened soft flesh yielding to his girth and length when it swallowed his penis, gobbling it up as he stretched her tightness to the point where she had to close her eyes and press her cheek to him, "It's too much." She whispered kissing his ear and cheek messily. 

"You've taken it longer before," he encouraged stroking her back and thrusting swiftly into her, "let me guide you, I won't hurt you." 

"I can guide myself, Dussant," she moved to his lips twisting them with her mouth and delving her tongue inside to twine with his. 




Flowers for Jill Ch. 05



Falling under her spell, Marc surrendered to her touch kissing her ravenously and letting her do all the work, and was getting closer to his release when she sat up abruptly and rose to her knees releasing his cock from her twat mercilessly. 

"Jillian?" he touched her knee questioningly, but she didn't answer, preoccupied with his steely hard drenched cock. She pushed it towards his abdomen pressing her thumb against his frenulum making him groan and buck his leg haplessly capitulating to her. Somehow, staving off his own orgasm and putting himself through all that torment felt self cleansing, like he was atoning to his sins against her by biting the proverbial belt, and letting her scald him with her fiendish ministrations. 

Jillian trapped his cock between her pussy and his rigid stomach, rubbing her wet flesh along his shaft with increasing speed. Her lips parted, and her eyes fell closed, the sight of her enthralled him and urged him to keep his iron control over his own release. 

Sweat dotted her forehead, and trickled between her breasts in rivulets that ran down her flat stomach and dripped on him. His hands cupped her knees massaging him, "Come for me." he coaxed despite having his poor cock toyed with and deprived of her tight cunt hole. He stroked her legs and settled his hands on her feet caressing and squeezing them as he whispered endearments that urged her to climax. Unable to hold off, he slid his right hand around her ass spreading the cheeks and plunging a finger into her tight anal hole. 

"Oh God!" she moaned frantically grasping for him, and positioned his cock at her entrance, "I won't come without you." She was shaking all over, her face and chest flushed, her quivering pussy clasped him sucking him deep. A few thrusts later, she was screaming her orgasm and digging her fingers into his pecs. 

Marc didn't stop ramming his tool inside her even when her tender flesh contracted violently around his cock clenching it and milking it while her hot juices streamed over his sex like warm honey. Drawing out of her ass, he slathered his index and middle finger with her moisture before popping them into her tight hole again invading her pussy and ass and leaving her no secrets to hold on to. He clenched his ass and pumped up exploding unexpectedly as he felt the ghost of his fingers' touch in her ass on his cock when he stuffed her ass with the two long digits. 

It was as if his soul got squeezed out of him bluntly, ardent tremors paralyzed him as his cock shot its load deep inside her. And she wasn't done yet, bouncing fervently on him, one hand flattened in the middle of his chest, the other strumming her clit, she chanted, "Again, again, please, again..." slapping her crotch soundly on his. 

His temples pounded with a delicious ache, his eyes glazed, but he was hell bent on giving her another orgasm, wringing the last of his stalwart body's power to pummel her with his still hard cock. It was sensitive after the draining climax that overtook him, but he soldiered on feeling nothing but her all around him. 

The hand on his sweaty chest slipped, and she fell forward cupping his cheek with it and kissed him. Her hair formed a damp, dark curtain around him, and her right hand was still at work on her clit. 

"Marc, Marc, Marc," she sang his name between kisses and he answered with incoherent words that he barely heard. Curses, praises, prayers all mingled together and poured out of his mouth to get smothered and swallowed by her kisses. His fingers fucked her ass, his cock pistoned in and out of her, their sweat slickened bodies rolled on each other and he heard her cry out as her pussy clamped down on his dick. Then, out of nowhere, his balls tensed sending a bolt of pleasure through his shaft, and he came again. 

His eyes shot wide open, pupils dilated, sweat rolling off of his eyebrows to sting them and force him to blink repeatedly. "Jesus Christ!" he howled slipping out of her anus to clutch her ass cheeks with both hands and focus on the rhythmic pulsing of her cunt on his spasming cock. 

"Marc, oh God!" she trembled feverishly coming down from her climax. 

"What have you done to me?" he tried to move his leg and failed to, "I can't move." He kissed her numbly as she lay in a boneless heap of feminine treasure over him, "You came twice with the same hard on." She muttered and he smiled weakly, "Fucking awesome, eh?" 

"I didn't think that was a thing." 

"Neither did I. I thought I died for a second there." 

She made a comment, and he hummed his answer as he drifted off for a few minutes. 

Marc came awake with a start like he always did when he fell asleep against his wish. She was still sprawled on top of him, his softened cock nestled snugly inside her, and her eyes were fixed unwaveringly on him. 

"I passed out." He explained unnecessarily, but she continued to scrutinize him with that mysterious, exotic gaze. 

This time when he attempted to move, he was able to, albeit weakly. But he brought his hand to her face fingering away the damp strands of hair that stuck to her cheeks and forehead, "I'm sorry." He heard himself entreating, "Forgive me, Jillian." 

She clasped his wrist and turned her face to press a kiss on his palm, the contrast between his big white hand and her delicate face sending a pang of arousal through his abdomen and groin despite his recent fulfillment. 

She didn't answer though, sitting up and pushing his knees down when he raised them for her to rest her back on. She beckoned him to look at their still joined sexes, the lascivious sight of the stark male and female lurid cohesion mesmerizing him. Lifting up, she slowly let him pop out of her cunt, strings of their sex juices attached themselves to her pussy and his cock that flopped flaccidly on the lower part of his stomach. 

"There's so much cum," she muttered cupping herself between the legs, then presenting him with a pearly white pool of jizz on her elegant fingers, "You always leave such a mess." 

He opened his mouth to lewdly suggest she eat it like she did in the past, but she wiped it on her chest, threading her sticky fingers through his chest hair, "Jillian!" he chuckled snatching her hand, "Bad girl, no." he couldn't help but grin at her. 

She didn't heed him, though, crawling on her knees to straddle his stomach and squeezed her inner muscles with a moan releasing a dollop of cum that oozed out of her hole to settle on his abs. His smile fell from his lips for a second and he looked up at her face. She met his eyes briefly, and tugged her hand free from his grasp to spread her pussy lips open and let more of his cream trickle out. Heart beating fast, Marc watched her inch closer on her knees painting a ragged, clumsy which line of his own ejaculate along the furrow that bisected his stomach muscles. She then, slithered back to sit on his thighs, and bent forward planting a kiss on the mess she made. 

"Fuck yeah!" he hissed hoarsely, and watched her lap at the puddle of cum she deposited on his body. Her eyes fell closed, the long lashes fanning the tops of her flushed cheeks, and she licked him hungrily kissing his stomach, and nuzzling the dark blond happy trail that led to his groin. 

Jillian continued advancing on him, her mouth sampling every inch of skin it encountered, ironically doing what he wanted to do to her. She paused to swallow with her eyes glued to his every few seconds until she ate all the cum off, and presented her lips to him, still shiny with the remnants of his essence. 

Savagely, his hand shot out to grasp her by the hair and mold his lips to hers tasting himself on her, his slightly bitter, salty taste branding his taste buds and declaring the crossing of another line with her. 

"I forgive you." She whispered magnanimously, and he kissed her even harder. This time when he drifted off, she came along with him. Limbs entwined, they slept together for the first time. 

***** 

A light thud roused him from a languid stupor, and he turned his head blinking in the moonlit room, and scratching his still sticky chest. 

Jillian was leaning down to retrieve his jeans from the floor, and proceeded to fold them carefully then placed them on a long ottoman next to his boxers and neatly folded socks. She then grabbed his tee and brought it to her nose inhaling his scent, before folding it just like she did the other garments. 

"Hi." He rasped, his voice gravely and low, but she jumped nevertheless, and placed a hand on her chest, "You scared me." 

"Sorry. What time is it?" 

It was still dark, and she was dressed in a short satin robe which color he difficultly made out as turquoise that had black lace trimming on the ends of her long sleeves, and along the hemline. 

"Early." She answered, and he stared at his Movado watch, hating the brand for the first time in his life for not providing numbers on the watch's face. It was some time after 5:40 am, his squinting eyes deduced, and he cleared his throat, "Too early, it's still dark. You always wake up at this time?" 

"Only when I need to; I'm not a morning person." She made a face, "I wake up at six or six thirty." 

Laugher roared out of his throat and he pushed up on the bed scratching his chest again, "And that's not early?" 

"Not as early." She took a step towards him, then clenched her hands as if to school them against touching him, "Are you hungry?" she asked instead, and he canted his head to the side meaningfully, "Yes, come here." 

"No, for food?" she walked off to the door suddenly, as if she didn't trust herself not to jump into bed with him. 

"'M Famished," he stood up, "I need to shower first, though, I'm all sticky from last night. Can I use your bathroom?" 

She blushed, actually blushed endearingly as she pointed to a door on the far side of the room, "Certainly, it's that door right there. Unless you want to use the guest bath?" 

He shot her a glance that said, "Hell no" and she nodded comprehendingly, and strolled to the kitchen. 

The bathroom, like the rest of her loft, was a big eclectic, bohemian celebration of colors that worked together in harmony without clashing or looking gaudy. She had tens of bottles of shampoos, conditioners, and shower gels, and a dozen soaps of all sizes and shapes, that he didn't know which ones were for use, and which were mere decorations. 

Staying safe, he selected a half full bottle of coconut and lime body wash and showered hurriedly making sure he washed his hair with a shampoo that didn't make him smell like he cross-dressed in his free time. 

The smell of fresh brewing coffee flirted with his senses as the sight of Jillian in the kitchen, so early in the morning, spread a warm feeling through his chest. 

He chose to dress in jeans only, deciding in the shower to convince her to take the day off with him since it was Friday, and just spend the better part of the morning in bed with him. 

"How-" She turned to him with a pan in hand, but the sight of his naked chest and abdomen with their light furring of hair still damp from his shower, stopped her dead in her tracks. She stared at him with open hunger for a long moment, before swallowing and asking, "How do you like your eggs, Marc?" 

He looped his fingers through the handle of one of the twin cups she set on the countertop, and flashed her a smile, "You can cook?" 

"Not as expertly as Mario Batali, but not as horrendously as Rachel Ray." She watched him pour coffee into his mug, and chuckle at her, "I thought she was supposed to be good." 

"Not if you call cooking canned food with beer good, no." her eyes never left him, "I don't know how you like your coffee, either. I'm sorry I don't have creamer, and I mostly use light syrups or Stevia when I need a sweetener. I drink my coffee black...no sugar. That's why." she was gushing, it was adorable, and he smiled reaching for an errant strand of hair to tuck it behind her ear, "I'm not as badass as you, I'm afraid, I take milk in my coffee. You have any milk?" 

"Skim." She winced, and he reassured, "Perfect. And to answer your question, I like my eggs scrambled with some spinach, and ground meat if you have any." 

"There's something I want to tell you." she handed him the milk, and dug in the refrigerator before frowning, "Dammit, I'm out of eggs." 

He stood behind her nuzzling her shoulders through the soft fabric of her robe, "That's fine, I'll eat a sandwich. Relax, you're so tense." 

"I used my last two eggs with the stupid green beans yesterday, and I didn't even eat any of it." she sighed, and he peered into the fridge with her, "That right there?" he pointed at a pan with a clear lid, and she nodded. 

"Well, heat it up, I'll eat that." 

She eyed him skeptically, "You'd eat a plate of green beans for breakfast?" 

"Why not?" 

"Most guys don't even like that dish." 

"I'm not most guys," he declared taking the pan out of the refrigerator himself, "besides, green beans are just fine, what kind of idiots have you been dating, sweet cakes?" 

"No one." She swallowed, taking her gaze away from him, "Whoopty doo, go Jillian Zahra." she added caustically and poured coffee into her mug. 

"That's good; I don't have to kick some fool's miserable ass in order to go out with you." He smiled, but she shook her head, "Marc, no." her hands shook when she spread jam on the hot pieces of toast on her plate. 

He moved the pan of vegetables and steam poached eggs on the table after heating it, and she handed him a fork from a drawer, "No what?" he asked digging into the food. 

"No; this whole going out together, Marc." 

"I understand that it's complicated, but we'll make it work. We're not the first coworkers to get into a relationship." He bit into another bite savoring the hint of curry spices, and the chicken broth the beans stewed in, "This is delicious, Jill." 

She sipped her coffee in silence, then murmured, "I don't want a relationship. I don't have relationships. The only time I tried it, it didn't work out, and I was lucky enough to keep Keith as a friend after all that...ugliness was put behind us. That's his name, Keith," she cast him a quick look, "he's a close friend of mine, which is miraculous considering how complicated the whole relationship and breakup shebang was." She licked a red smudge of strawberry jam off her thumb and waved her hand, "I'm babbling, that's not what I wanted to tell you." 

So Keith must be the fireman, he deduced, but no mention of that Curt guy? "I'm okay with just seeing each other for casual sex, Jillian, but I would also like to explore this thing," he gestured a finger between them, "further. We can...get to know each other better, and spend...more time together. Ya know, do stuff..." why was he stuttering like a fool? "To get to know each other." He concluded lamely, then chased his ineloquent little speech with some hot coffee. Damn, even her coffee tasted excellent, what sort of rabbit had he fallen into with this woman? 

"Marc," she took his hand, "that's not what I wanted to talk about." 

He turned his hand closing it over hers, and ran his thumb on her small knuckles smiling, "What did you want to talk about?" 

"Remember last night-" she started and his smile turned into a lopsided grin, "Every single detail." He interrupted. 

She shook her head, "No. Remember last night when I told you that I'm upset and frustrated with everything?" at his nod, she continued, "It's been like this for months. My whole life has been the same for almost five years now, and I'm under a lot of pressure. Work, people, this city, everything...every damn thing, it's weighing down on my chest and I can't help but feel like I need an escape. Jack, you were that escape. You were my yellow paint, Marc." 

Yellow paint? "I don't know what you mean by "yellow paint" and I hope to God it's a good thing, but I can still be your escape, Jillian. I'm here for you. I want to help you out of this funk. I know I can." 

"No, Marc. I have to do this alone." The melancholy look in her eyes made him squeeze her hand, "You can go on vacation, sweetheart, get some rest. I'll extend it as long as you want. I'll take care of everything." 

She shook her head, "No, I need a fundamental change." Then she explained, "When I got home on Monday, I was out of my mind with rage and frustration. Everything that's been building for the past few months just crashed down on me after I found out who you were," he cringed in guilt, but she went on, "I considered a number of offers that I've gotten from other companies, I won't lie, I was ready to leave and there's always someone out there trying to add me to their team, but it didn't feel right to just up and leave Élsi. I tossed around ideas, and what-if's because I didn't want to step foot in that building ever again. I didn't want to work for you, period." 

A pained look crossed his eyes, and he whispered, "I'm sorry." 

"You said your apologies and got your pardon, no need to repeat it." she printed a gentle, airy kiss on his hand and continued, "I'm not angry with you anymore. Somehow, the shitty prank you pulled on me helped me open my eyes to what I wanted to do in order to get out of my funk, as you called it." 

"Can I lend a helping hand?" he offered hopefully, and if he were still a kid, he would've had his fingers crossed in a reverent prayer. 

"Yes, I need a big favor from you." 

He gave her a sanguine smile, "Anything." 

"Don't promise just yet." She implored, but he assured her, "Anything, Jillian, I mean it." 

She shut her eyes briefly then began, "I couldn't sleep last night because I was thinking. I tossed and turned, and saw how peaceful you looked in your sleep, and I realized that I don't want to leave the company, that I can't bear to leave it after everything that's it's been to me." his smile widened when her gaze bore into his, the still rising sun pouring its first rays through the kitchen windows rendering the lone overhead light that she turned on useless. She was exquisite in her hesitation, in her soft pleading with him and the contrite looks she cast him when she was talking. 

"I...I did some research while you were sleeping," she carried on, "I know that we're changing a lot of people all around the company, and a lot of key managers are being put on notice and whatnot, and...I found something for me." before he stopped to question whether she was using him to get a promotion or not, she went on, "I want to transfer to the Chicago office. There's a vacant position in their management team that's a lot like what I'm doing now, so I'm not trying to blackmail you into promoting me or anything." She smiled gently, "Actually, it pays a little less than what I'm making now, but I don't mind that, and I'm not asking for any special concessions." 

It took him a moment to digest her request, "You want to move." 

"Yes." 

"To Chicago." 

"Yes." 

He paused for a second as a theatrical voice in his head chanted mockingly What's The Worst That Could Happen? And a melee of memories attacked him, his parents forcing him to choose whom to stay with, having to rush Colette to the hospital after breakdown and overdose on her happy pills, being trapped underneath his car in the middle of nowhere, the odious fight with his dad after which they didn't speak for years, and more, and more. What's The Worst That Could Happen? This was it. This was the worst that could happen. 

He pulled his hand free of hers and got up, "You need to think further about this, Jillian." 

"I did all the thinking I need, I promise, this is what I want." 

"Don't ask this of me, Jillian, I can't." he swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in his throat and shook his head vehemently. 




Flowers for Jill Ch. 05



"I'm not asking for much, please, Marc," she stood before him eyes glazed with tears that threatened to spill, "I don't even want you to match my current salary." 

"So you want me to dock your pay for sleeping with me? What hole in hell do you think I crawled out of?" he roared slapping her marble countertop soundly, and setting her tears free. Congratulations, Dussant, you made her cry not once, not twice, but three times in less than twenty four hours, his brain mocked, gold fucking star. 

"Jesus, Jillian don't cry," he took her in his arms, and she whispered, "Please, Marc, I need this; I'm going crazy here, I need this. I'll stay and help for a few weeks, and I'll get a good replacement for me so you won't be left with an empty chair. Please Marc." 

"I don't want you to leave me." he cupped her chin lifting her face to his and kissed her desperately trying to show her how much she was asking of him. 

She stepped away from him, "There's nothing further than what happened last night between us, no this," she signaled her hand between them like he did earlier, "I can't go back to that office knowing what you and I did there. If you don't care about my other reasons, care for this, for my self-respect. The part of me that I wanted to keep for myself was suddenly exposed to none other than my boss, and that makes me feel like a lowly whore who sleeps with her manager for merits. And that's something that I'll never stoop to. Considering our situation, what I'm suggesting is the best way to resolve it. Please, Marc, for me. I'm begging you." 

He pronounced a vicious curse turning away from her. A few minutes passed, and he heard her erratic soft inhales and knew that she was trying not to cry, "I'll do it just because I don't want you crying because of me," he turned to meet her gaze, "Just because I don't want you looking at me like I'm the worst asshole out there." Because he didn't want to be like Curt Hallward who broke her heart and made her feel less than she was. But he didn't add that part; he left the kitchen swiftly to don his clothes and left her apartment without even risking a look at her.



Flowers for Jill Ch. 06



Author's Note: 

I'm sorry about the long delay. I was busy most of the time, and when I wasn't, I procrastinated, but I didn't do it because I was trying to be a naughty tease; I had good reason. 

Like I mentioned, after this story expanded and lengthened, it got more personal. I found it a bit difficult to get back to it without invoking a set of feelings and memories and such, buuuuut here's Chapter Six. It's a very long one, which I hope makes up for the wait, and doesn't disappoint. 

I'll start working on Chapter Seven as soon as I post this. 

Keep the emails and comments coming, I love feedback more than I want to admit! ;) 

- Ginger 

***** 

Jillian felt like she was in a classroom daydreaming and not paying attention to the lecturer. She snuck a peak at a woman seated at a round table with a large group of people celebrating a birthday and saw her stealing glances at her phone, and furtively typing a text with one finger. A smile stretched Jillian's lips when she assessed the other people's faces around that table, and she snorted lightly at the matching stern expressions on everyone's face. 

"That has got to be the most serious birthday crowd I've ever seen!" she couldn't help but point out to her date, Max, who swiveled stealthily in his chair to look at them, "Are you allowed to hold a funeral at a restaurant?" he turned back to her with a half smile/half frown on his face, and she burst out laughing inordinately from a combination of the stray thoughts she's had all evening, and the birthday scene. Her outburst drew a few curious glances from nearby tables, and painted a toothy grin on Max's face, "You're giddy tonight, but you haven't even touched that wine." He indicated her glass of red wine, and she flushed confessing, "I'm scatter brained." 

"Nevertheless, It's a nice change," he sat back in his chair, rearranging the napkin in his lap, "I was beginning to think you don't like spending time with me." 

He was attractive, very attractive, with his tan skin, dark brown hair, and hazel green eyes; that whole tall, dark, and handsome cliché. But he was also good company with his ability to delve into conversations and introduce new subjects whenever the current talking matter grew stale. She suspected that his knack for entertaining colloquy was one of the reasons why he has recently been promoted to senior editor for the fitness magazine he worked for. 

"Am I that terrible to be around? I'm sorry," she moved the food on her plate with her fork, "I must've lost my social skills somewhere between here and New York." She joked about her recent trip home. 

"You actually seem happier after your visit." He commented and took a sip of his wine focusing his eyes on her, "Very distracted, but happy." 

"Happy is a big word in the business world, but I might be." 

She didn't feel that way; she felt...flighty and dazed after going back for a conference at Élsi Dussant and a visit with her parents. It's been five months since Marc granted her wish, five months since that pivotal morning in her old loft. The strangest, most whimsical months of her life during which she felt like she had torn down a number of walls inside, a big edifice that had marked her personality and behavior for far too long, and was rebuilding her life the way she wanted it to. She was more relaxed now, yet more contemplative, more open to get out there and live, yet still had a protective shell around herself. 

After refusing to date for a long time, she finally convinced herself to say yes to Max's offer, and went out with him a couple of times before tonight, yet found her brain reminding her to relax and have fun throughout most of the time spent with him. He was the classic gentleman, taking her to the opera on their first date, which was challenging since she was an opera lover, but couldn't unbend her knotted nerves during the whole show. He took her to a comedy movie on the second date, the complete opposite from their first one, but she was so unfocused, she missed half of the film as her mind strayed towards New York and Élsi Dussant's offices there. Has he left his office yet? Is he putting in another long day? Was he...seeing someone now? Marc, Marc, Marc, everywhere she looked, everytime she tried to silence the noise in her head to think about a project or remember something. Marc. 

She got to see him on her visit, but they never talked directly to each other that day. They were both so busy with someone around them at various times, and her constricting time schedule forced her to leave to see her parents as soon as the meeting's proceedings were adjourned. 

Their emails and phone conversations where a different thing all together though. It seemed that he relied heavily on her judgment in a lot of topics; hence he delegated a lot of things to her keeping her in contact with him on an almost daily basis. As casual and business-related as their communications were, she still got to learn more about him, and they still managed to keep that unspoken line of mysterious connection between them unsevered. His work ethic flabbergasted her, and his unusual approach to management has proved to be quite the success as their sales percentages had a shocking ascent since he presumed his position. She was comfortable in the current place she was in, mentally and physically, yet there was something, some darn thing that poked her intrusively whispering Marc's name in her ears and recalling his image, his voice, and his smell when she least expected to think of him. 

Steering her thoughts away from Marc was a new talent that she has been working on developing, and she exercised it to focus on Max once more as he was talking about...something, "We make these people more famous by just talking about them, even when we hate them," he was saying, and she nodded thinking to herself that Max was a popular name for dogs according to an article she read online a while ago. 

"It's the excessive focus on these people everywhere you turn," he went on, as she repeated in her head "Maximus, Maximus, Maximus," and had to stifle a laugh. 

"I so agree with you!" she said to cover her borderline indelicate behavior, and he shrugged, "I wish the public would, too. We're having to use more actors and singers or even reality celebrities on our covers instead of athletes and bodybuilders, and it rubs me the wrong way that we're stealing good opportunities from people who do it for a living just to plaster a face that sells faster on the covers." He rarely talked about his work, and when he did, he wasn't annoying about it, something that she envied him for since she almost always gushed about work which was still the axis of her life. Work was her excuse to talk with Marc, the justification she pleaded for thinking about him. and when she called him on a late work night -the hour difference making it really late where he was- work was a very valid reason to claim, even when their conversation swayed in an informal direction, and they discussed something else for a few stolen moments. 

"How's your food?" Max touched her hand gently stealing her from her reverie. 

"Delicious!" she answered moving things around in the dish again. She'd ordered an ostrich egg salad that had a very colorful variety of vegetables -fresh and grilled- in it, "Too much though, I don't think I'll be able to finish it." she smiled and forced herself to meet his gaze. He was good looking, considerable, and intelligent, so why was she not feeling this? Why was her mind running away and her body shutting off? 

"How's your salmon?" 

"Just the way I like it," he beamed, "seared to perfection without losing any taste. Want a bite?" 

She glanced at his dish then raised her eyes to his mouth. That sensual mouth with the lips curving up in a small smile, and a vision of a masculine pair of smirking lips filled her head. Lips that weren't blatantly full like Max's, but were slightly on the thin side with a beautifully curved cupid's bow...Lips that moved almost exaggeratedly when their owner talked or pulled a face or even when he was deep in thought. 

"No, but thanks!" she missed watching Marc's lips lead the expressions on his face, "I'm not big on fish." She pleaded with an apologetic smile, "You can try mine, though." 

"I believe I will! I've never had ostrich egg before!" he took her up on her offer, and she watched his mouth close on a forkful of egg, radicchio, and a strip of grilled yellow pepper that he cut after removing a slice of tomato and a piece of lettuce, "Mmmm..." his eyebrows lowered in astonishment and he closed his eyes for a second, "Um ummm." He nodded then met her gaze, "I didn't know what to expect, but it's actually good!" his tongue darted to lick off a drop of the spicy vinaigrette that was drizzled on the dish, and the sight of his tongue on those lips suddenly reminded her that -at some point or another- he was going to kiss her...that it would most likely be later that night since this was their third date, and they haven't even kissed yet.  

An alien wave of sudden panic washed through her, and she felt herself flushing when he pressed his lips to his wine glass again for another sip. She couldn't give another guy what she's already given Marc, what he's already marked and signed as his. She blinked rapidly pushing the thoughts away, she couldn't continue to feel like Dussant's odalisque no matter how marvelous that whirlwind of an affair was. 

"I need to go to the ladies room." She put on her best affable face, and scraped her chair back without waiting for him to say anything, "I'll be right back." 

She bumped into a woman in the corridor, and gave her a tight smile and a mumbled apology while trying not to look like she was running away from the dining room. Her taupe Sue Wong dress that seemed so appropriate for a classy date, now felt too sexy, too constricting. She ran her hands on the intricate soutache braiding that looped all over the dress and tried to breathe, but the neckline presented her breasts too delectably everytime she drew some air into her lungs. Was that what he was seeing all evening? It all felt so wrong, so perfidious like she was cheating on Marc. 

"Get. A. Grip." She hissed at her reflection feeling piteous in her inane little struggle to have a normal sex life. She had survived on casual sexual encounters since college, and it was time to end that and have something real, and Maxime Kasper was the perfect candidate for the boyfriend position she's had vacant for so long. 

Wetting her hands, she shook them lightly then touched them to her face cooling her feverish skin, and giggled nervously whispering to herself, "You're acting like a virgin!" 

A woman emerged from one of the stalls and cast repetitive curious glances in Jillian's directions while she washed her hands. Jillian nodded at her, and proceeded to dig in her evening clutch for a handkerchief to blot the few drops of water from her face without ruining her makeup, but she found her cell phone instead, the softly blinking light indicating that she had a new email. 

Knowing that it was probably work-related, she schooled herself to ignore it and finish what she was doing before going back to her date, but the promise of a line from Marc was too tempting, and she succumbed shamefully; 

"Crazy idea, but I think we should combine both stores into one catalogue. Maybe have the models model the clothes while seated on/using the home items from Élsi Home. WDYT? - Marc" 

Her hands trembled as she read the email a second and a third time then checked the received time that revealed it was sent less than half an hour ago. He was putting in another late night working on their project. A ragged breath left her mouth, and the woman -who was now drying her hands- gave her another weird look. She didn't even heed the other woman as her heartbeat raced over how seriously he'd embraced her idea, and how he didn't hesitate to honor it. 

A few weeks after her move, she had shot him an email suggesting they add a furniture and decorative items section to their stores. Ever the ambitious businessman, Marc leapt at the suggestion, but countered with his preference to keep their fashion boutiques to deal strictly with clothing and accessories without turning into a department store. 

"Are you talking about a separate home store?" she exclaimed in the phone holding the pear she was eating halfway to her mouth. 

"Why not?" His voice had answered on the other line declaring the birth of Élsi Home. He even went as far as deciding to open the first store in Chicago since it was her baby, and gave her a lot of freedom in choosing a team to implement the initial creation plans after he got the board to approve the expansion project. She recruited a group of people with his help, and the project was afoot in no time. 

"It would make for a very thick catalogue, but I like the idea; reminds people to buy stuff for their house when they're browsing for clothes." Her fingers rapidly typed a reply. She hesitated for a moment then added, "You're working late, get some rest." Then hit the send tab. 

She took a few deep breaths then washed her face again, a few seconds after she walked out the door, her email alert beeped again, and she crept back into the restroom pulling up her email app to read: 

"I've decided to call it a day hours ago. I was just brainstorming over dinner. And are you telling me what to do now, Boss Lady? :P" 

A goofy smile stretched her lips as she typed, "A lil bit. ;)" and hit send then clutched her phone to her chest and took another breath. At this rate, she was going to pass out from hyperventilating. Decisively, she set her phone alarm to ring in twelve minutes before walking back to the dining room feeling like a total bitch. 

Max was looking out the window they were seated next to with a dreamy look in his eyes. They glittered when he moved them to her as she approached the table, and ran up from her knees to settle on her chest for a fleeing second, then met hers making her feel too naked in her dress. 

"I drank too much coffee this afternoon." She lied in justification of her bathroom run, hoping that he never discovers her hatred for using public toilets in the future. 

"I'm not a coffee guy, I'm afraid," he had waited for her to come back to resume eating, and she felt like an even bigger bitch watching him grab his knife and fork again with easy elegance, "I drink Earl Grey tea almost obsessively though." 

"I drink my coffee black and sugarless." She commented absently, and he wrinkled his nose, "I can't even stand the smell of coffee," then he chuckled, "I drink my Earl Grey with honey." 

She thought of that morning in her kitchen when Marc poured milk to fill almost a third of his cup and drank coffee with her before walking out without a backward glance. He was so furious; seething, and when he called her back that evening to list his terms to transfer her, he was still boiling with anger. He yelled at her, and she let him, feeling strangely deserving of his reprimand. She didn't object to his request to keep her until they found a replacement since it was her intent all along, but she didn't agree with him as he went on and on about what a big mistake she was making, and how rash her decision was. He hovered over her during her last week, making her go to the office she'd began to dislike, and scowling at her from across the room as she did a number of presentations to introduce him to Élsi, and answered the questions he barked at her. 

He was ruggedly sweet though, something about the gruff way he handled the transition was kind, and generous; the ultimate hard candy with a soft center. Feeling uncomfortable, she voiced little objections that he silenced when he told her that her salary won't be compromised despite the fact that -considering how desperate she felt at the time- she didn't mind taking a small pay cut. 

She wanted to break the ice after her move, so she sent him a set of monogrammed fountain pens, but didn't have the guts to call him. She promised herself she'd do it for about five or six days, until he picked up the phone and started talking about the district managers' quarterly training course like they haven't fought or argued, or even had that steamy affair at all. 

"This snow never ceases to fascinate me," Max's voice drifted to her ears and she focused her gaze on his profile as he was looking out the window into the snowy night, "I guess I'll always be a Californian at heart." 

Grasping at some of the details he's told her about himself, she asked, "Will you go back home to celebrate Christmas with your son next week?" 

He smiled, "No, he likes to celebrate it here, and my ex lets him." 

"That's sweet of her." She picked up her fork, her appetite completely lost by now. 

"Not really, she gets him on his birthday, and I can't always free some time to fly over and see him, so I end up mailing his gift." 

Since she didn't feel like eating the rest of her salad, she picked up her wine glass and sampled it before asking, "How long have you lived here?" 

Looking up, he took a deep breath, "Let's see, I moved here when I was twenty-seven, so nine years." He met her eyes again, and again she felt that ludicrous sense of guilt wash over her and wanted to cover up, "Isabel hated it. We got married here, though, but she filed for divorce and moved back three years after and took Caleb with her. I didn't really miss her much, which I guess makes me a bad husband, but...we've fallen out of love somewhere down the line. She was being constantly negative while I was trying to find a solid footing with my career. The only thing that kills me is the fact that my son lives so far away from me, and I don't get to spend as much time with him as I'd like to." 

She felt sorry for him, he was such a nice guy, "But you do your best, and that counts, believe me." she felt very base, very mean for dragging him into her emotional mess. Sure, he was the one who asked her out repeatedly, but she could've continued saying no, instead of using him as a Guinea Pig to re-launch her dating life. 

"It bothers me because my dad was always around when I was growing up, and I wanted to the same for my kid. He had just been born, and I wanted to be with him while he grew up." 

"Do you plan on having any more children?" she quickly added, "In the future I mean." 

He shrugged, "I don't know, depends. Do you? Plan on having any of your own, that is?" 

An image of a blue eyed Dussant baby flashed in her mind, and she shook her head fast, "I don't know," she swallowed nervously, "I've never really given it much thought." It was the truth. 

He took her hand in his again, and murmured, "I think that you should consider it; you're a very beautiful woman and you'd make beautiful babies." 

A high pitched nervous laugh escaped her mouth, and she had to cover it, "Jeez, Maxime, thank you...I guess." 

"Maxime," he smiled, "I like how you say my name." he was running his thumb over the back of her hand when her phone alarm went off, and she jumped in her chair, withdrawing her hand and splashing some of her wine on the table cloth, "Gosh, I'm sorry," she mumbled, "that's my phone. I forgot to put it on silent mode." 

"You're fine, I never silence mine." He offered. 

With a series of economical maneuvers, she managed to turn off her alarm and set the phone on silent just in case someone does call her, then she put it to her ear faking a conversation with a lot of "No's" and "Oh God, I'm sorry." 




Flowers for Jill Ch. 06



"Everything okay?" Max asked with a slight frown, and she covered the phone's bottom microphone, committing to her little act, "My neighbor is having an asthma attack and her inhaler isn't helping." She talked in the phone again, "Can you drive to the emergency room? Do you have someone to take you?" she bit her lower lip and frowned, "No, no, don't risk it, I'm coming over." She flashed him a penitent look and mouthed "I'm sorry." To which he nodded "It's alright." 

"No, no, Tamara," she used her real neighbor's name, who did in fact have asthma, "just lie down and wait for me, I'm coming over." 

Aaand scene, her conscience scolded as she pretended to conclude the call. 

"I'm guessing she's not alright." He said and she nodded, "She's had one of these a short time after I moved into my condo, but she used her inhaler and rested and was okay after that, but," she slid her chair back and folded her napkin, "she's having hot flashes. I'll have to drive her to the hospital, I'm so sorry." 

"That's alright," he touched his napkin to his mouth and signaled for the check, "Do you need me to come with you?" 

"I don't want to put you out like that," she put on her best contrite face feeling like an evil Disney queen, "We'll have to pause this date and resume it on another day." She promised with no clear idea whether she can keep her word or not. 

"Definitely." 

Their waiter arrived, and Max reached inside his jacket for his wallet, but she grasped his wrist almost knocking over his wine glass and righting it with her other hand, "I'm getting the check this time." 

"No way, forget it." he shook his head resolutely, but she insisted, "Please, Max, you always treat and I feel like a burden, let me, please." 

"I like to treat my dates, don't sweat it, Jillian," he kissed her hand and she had to exercise a herculean effort not to flinch in guilt, "it's what gentlemen do." 

He winked, but she closed her eyes and shook her head, "Please Maxime, let me treat, you haven't even finished your food yet, and it's all my fault, please." 

It took a little pleading, but he let her eventually grumbling on the way out, "I feel like I had my balls cut off." 

She punched him on the arm jokingly, "Don't overreact; your...balls are perfectly intact." 

He chuckled grasping her hand again and putting his lips to her knuckles, "I have a really inappropriate reply to that, but I'm keeping it to myself." 

"Why?" the single worded question came out naturally, but she wished she'd watched her mouth better. 

His gaze pinned her, mossy green in the middle with a halo of gold around it, "I don't want to shock a lady with my dirty mind." 

Jillian almost snorted in laughter at his comment, not only was he the epitome of the buttoned-down clean-cut type, but he thought she was a prim and proper lady, too, "I think I can handle a couple of dirty jokes." 

"Yeah?" they stopped walking when they reached her car, and she wished to heaven and hell he'd release her hand, "If they're told intelligently." She said wanting so badly to reach inside her clutch for her keys already. 

"You're full of surprises aren't you?" he squeezed her hand briefly. 

Buddy, you have noooo idea! "I don't know about that," like Santa's gift sack, "it depends on what you're used to, I guess." 

"I'd like to get used to you." He murmured leaning towards her, and she stealthily dropped her purse and he was forced to release her hand. She dropped to her knees and he followed suit, "I'm sorry," she mumbled, "I'm such a klutz." 

He chuckled reaching for her clutch, but she snatched it up first, "It sucks that we had to cut our date short," he helped her up, and she nodded, "I'm sorry." 

"You're fine," he repeated, "it's just that I'm going to be busy next week with Christmas and Caleb coming over so we won't be able to see each other until afterwards." 

"It's okay, I have a lot of things to do as well." She slipped her keys out of the bag, "I guess I have to rush to Tamara's." 

"Sure, be careful driving. I'll call you." 

"You too. Goodnight." 

Traffic was that bitchy roommate in a college dorm that was impossible to get rid of or ignore. Patience frayed, she must've pressed the elevator button twenty times standing in her building's lobby when she got home, and one of her neighbors walked up behind her saying "If the down arrow is red, it means the elevator is coming down, you don't need to press it more than once, it doesn't make any difference." 

Embarrassed, she nodded "Bad habit." 

Saving the best for last, she stumbled into her condo taking her shoes off, and slipping out of her dress as she crossed her living room to the bedroom to throw the dress on a chair. Then she pulled out her phone to check her email only to find no further emails from him. 

Exhaling in disappointment, she heaved herself on the bed taking her hair pins off and dumping them on the bedside table. She twisted on her side and scrolled through her emails going rereading them at random then closing her eyes to remember every detail of his face, his body, and the timbre of his voice. About a month after they started developing Élsi Home, they were going through budgeting plans and future purchasing estimates when he suddenly said, "This would be so much easier if you were here." 

The grace period of silence she tried to shield herself with provided no good reply so she just breathed, "Marc, no." 

"It would also be a lot easier if you weren't so stubborn." He had added, but then changed the subject gallantly saving her from having to explain her reasoning again. 

One of the emails was concluded with: 

"The taste of that green beans dish you made is still under my tongue; so I ordered some for lunch today, but it tasted like baboon butt. Guess you're the only one who cooks them the way I like." 

And just like that, like every other lonely night, she slipped her underwear off, then reached for her curved, petal-ridged vibrator that she kept faithfully in her bedside table drawer. Having a Christmas Carol that she heard being sung outside of her building stuck in her head wasn't the best backdrop to what she was about to do. So she turned on her swanky smart radio that she used to listen to an out of state alternative rock station's morning show while getting ready for work, and fumbled with the remote controller to set it on one of her custom stations. A song with a steady beat that she's been hearing a lot lately came on, and she turned the volume down just enough to provide background noise as the singer bleated about being a different breed and A.D.D. 

Setting the vibe next to her hip, she closed her eyes and pictured Marc's face with his knowing smirk that didn't hide his lascivious intent. A ragged breath tore out of her lungs deflating them, and she stretched her legs to their full length on the bed, bent her knees to pull them up then extended them again several times messing up the sheets. 

Restless body on fire, she undulated on the sheets seeking a coolness that was almost as impersonal as the chill outside...needing a coating as frigid as the snowflakes stuck on her balcony window to cloak the part of her that kept generating feelings for Marc and invoking memories of him. Blasted memories that weren't always carnal, but rather bland or too normal to think of when a woman planned to turn herself on. She thought of him twiddling the nubs on her stove to heat up her leftover veggies. He was dressed in green rinse Diesel jeans that hung a bit low on his trim hips displaying twin dimples at the small of his back. She thought of him grumbling about the district managers' declining workshop attendance over the phone, defending his favorite team on her sofa a few months back, joking about how close Jack Winters was to Jack Frost on one of their first meetings. 

Her hands found her breasts and kneaded them as she remembered how he carefully packed the things she wanted to take from her office, his big fingers surprisingly graceful as they wrapped bubble-wrap and packing tissue around her glass figurines, the way he told her he picked onions out of his food when they worked/talked on the phone over lunch. She sighed again getting into the groove, and cupped the side of her breasts, pressed her fingers against her nipples, and squeezed hard. 

"Sweet Jesus and friends, I'm going crossed eyed reading this variance report!" he'd once said, and she smiled remembering how she choked on her coffee and sputtered laughing when he said it. His voice had blared through her desk phone that was constantly on speaker when he called, and when she went home and got a call from him, her cell phone gladly provided her with the same service making it easy to carry on doing a chore while talking to him as if he were in the room with her. 

She pinched her nipples and tweaked them remembering how roughly he went on her breasts, twisted the little nubs while moving her hands in circles and thinking of his mouth on them. Her hands slithered lower stroking her torso that was covered with a light sheen of sweat despite the fact that she had her thermostat set on a reasonable 71 degrees. And again, she turned her head towards her floor-to-ceiling balcony windows watching the snowflakes cling to each other as they stuck to her glass. She massaged her mound then stroked her palm over her pussy lips up and down provoking her sex, grounding the heel of her hand over her clit and drawing tight circles that urged more moisture to seep from her cunt. 

Again and again she rubbed those magical circles until her nether lips were swollen and glazed with her slippery juices. Arching her feet, she dragged them apart spreading her legs slowly as Chris Isaac's Baby Did a Bad, Bad Thing, came on the radio and her eyes fell closed and her right middle finger sneaked over her clitoris' hood flicking it. She flicked again, her left hand pinching her pussy lips closed over the single digit that manipulated her clit. She was so wet, but so empty, the constant slick rubbing her fingers gave her clit wasn't enough, so she blindly reached for her vibrator and clutched it with burning fingers. The rigid silicone lover was ultra smooth with creative ridges that gave that extra nudge when she needed it, but it wasn't Marc's cock. It didn't throb in her hands hotly, it didn't jerk and tremble when she squeezed it. Nevertheless, she turned it on using all its facets to their full capacity. The round tip didn't seep delicious, slick moisture, but it abraded her softness as best as it could when she stroked her pussy with it coating it with her wetness. 

She wriggled it into her wet heat alternating between rubbing the head one her soaked folds, and running the entire length along her slit until the purple vibe glistened with a sheen of pussy juice. Ever so slowly, she inserted the toy into her tight snatch, deliberately stretching herself and wishing she wasn't the one controlling the pace and angle...wishing she was being fucked by a man with a bag of creative tricks and unexpected shifts in style and positions...the vibe went in deeper, buzzing lightly and creating a delicious little tremolo of noise and vibration until she plunged it all the way in. 

Marc was so much bigger, thick and long unlike the poor substitute for flesh that she had, but she was inventive due to the lonely months she had spent trying to replace him. Her right hand twisted the vibrator as she fucked herself with it, in and out, twisting and turning it to feel the cleverly placed ridges along the slightly curved fuck toy. Sloshing sounds filled her ears with a voice on the radio singing about...submarines? Wait, no, she knew that song. She liked that song, but what was it? The buzzing of the sex toy's two motors made it impossible to concentrate. The tip's motor nuzzled her g-spot and she rubbed it over it again and again with her right hand manning the toy. Her left hand cupped and levered her breast up, and she brought her head lower to suckle on her own nipple. 

The pumping sped up as her tongue lashed her nipple faster, and she canted her hips up angling herself on tiptoes and making the vibe stroke her clit with every in and out pull and shove. It wasn't fast enough, not deep enough...she carried on, grinding her hips up and down to meet the purple lover while sucking sharply on her nipple. The song in the radio changed rhythm, growing more intense, raw just like her emotions and she whimpered edging closer and closer to her release. 

This would be so much easier if you were here, her brain conjured his voice as the guitar solo in the song fought with the noise of her sex toy, and she felt herself climbing, reaching for the pinnacle. More, more, she grunted with every thrust feeling her sweat trickle down the length of her legs. 

"Oh God!" she moaned and exploded, releasing her breast to grasp on to the sheets then distraughtly threw her hand up to clasp the bars of her headboard, "Yes, oh God, yes, aaaahhh..." she keened stilling the vibrator in her pussy with the oscillating head pressed flush against her g-spot. Shards of light, darkness, and noise assaulted her senses as she fell into the numbing void of completion. 

Her inner muscles squeezed the unresponsive toy repeatedly, fiercely milking it for what it couldn't give her, until her convulsions dulled down to lank little throbs, and she pulled the toy out of her cunt with a pop. 

She ached to be kissed, to be coddled and teased verbally after such a satisfying orgasm, but that was a greedy thought; she'd gone solo for so long that it shouldn't bother her now that she didn't have someone to cuddle with after sex. 

Damn it, Marc, why did you have to ruin this for me? She cursed him crawling out of bed, and limping to the bathroom on shaky legs. She was okay alone, truly, no one told her what to do or how to do it. She set her own pace, and didn't have to answer to anyone after she left work, being single rocks, doesn't it? Isn't that what everyone posts on social networks these days, and every pop singer crooned about then ended up selling millions or records? 

With newfound self control, Jillian showered and went to sleep without re-checking her phone for emails from Marc Dussant. 

***** 

Finding a strategic location for the first Élsi Home proved to be a bigger challenge than Jillian had expected. So when she finally settled on a place earlier in November, and drew the contracts and signed them, she felt it necessary to celebrate...she bought a couple of budgerigars instead, a blue male that she named Ramsey, and a green female that she called Sylvia. The two buggers were noisy, but cute, and not that difficult to take care of. 

She still lamented the fact that she lost Kimmy, the cat with the bum eye from the pet store near her flat in New York. Right before leaving, she headed back to the store, fully intending to adopt the sweet calico, but was told that she'd finally been adopted three or four days before Jillian went to claim her. She convinced herself that it was a sign that she had to leave New York without many emotional ties, or mementos that marked and emphasized the development of her tryst with Marc, or anything that reminded her of Curt the Doofus. 

She stuck her finger in the cage and wiggled it until Ramsey hopped closer and started to nibble on it, while she talked with her contractor on the phone, "A bunch of people from home office are coming today, and we're taking you and the engineer for lunch, but I was thinking it would be nice to get the workers some food, too since tomorrow's Christmas, and they're putting in all those extra hours, and all." 

"That's so nice of you Ms. Zakhra." He said, and she corrected, "It's pronounced Za Rä, and you're welcome." This wasn't the first time she had to correct the way he -and a number of other people- said her last name, and she never got used to it. 

"We're having an office Christmas party tonight, and you're welcome to come and bring a guest. I can get you tickets." She mentioned, "It's a beautiful private Gold Coast venue, your wife would love it." 

"Whoa, the Gold Coast? Fancy!" he exclaimed, "Will the big honchos from New York be there?" 

She had talked to Marc the previous day about the Christmas party, mentioning how it was the first time she attends an office party that she wasn't part of planning, then casually asked him what his plans were, feeling for a pulse, looking to see if he was seeing someone. 

"I don't know," his reply was, "they're having a party here, but I don't know if I'll be able to attend. I'm not too excited about it, to tell you the truth." 

Shaking off yesterday's conversation, and Marc's non-answer answer, she told her contractor, "A few will fly over, actually, Ms. Helga Bloom, Jason Flac," she rattled a few names then identified them to him. 

"I'll definitely come then, and I'm sure the missus would be excited to attend." 

They discussed the off days he and his crew are getting while she ate her breakfast, until the doorbell chimed, and she bid him goodbye promising to come to the site later in the afternoon. 

A delivery boy stood at her doorstep holding a big pot of Venus Slipper orchids, "Are you Ms. Zakhra?" he asked, and she automatically corrected, "Zahra." 

"Cool. These are for you." He handed her the flowerpot, and she studied it feeling a little astounded then placed it on the ground next to the door, "Who sent these?" 

He was digging in his cross-body bag for a pen, "I don't know," he shrugged, "but there's a card." 

She looked at the flowers again, but he reached into his bag, "Right here, miss." 

Impatient, she snatched the white envelop that was classically sealed with wax, and tore into it to find a simple cream colored card with embossed gold edging. Opening it, she read: 

"A rare flower that reminds me of a rare woman who works like a boss, argues like the world is on fire, and fucks like a porn star." - Marc 

The black ink stood out on the light background. She knew his handwriting, and this was definitely written by him. He was straight to the point, and didn't bother to rhyme. A flush tinged her cheeks as she lifted her eyes to the florist delivery boy, "Was the gentleman who bought these in the shop today?" 

He shrugged, "I don't know, I only take orders and deliver them." 

She flipped the card open again rereading the loaded lines that were definitely inappropriate especially coming from a manager, then she flinched remembering the delivery guy, "I'm sorry, I'll go get your tip." 

"Actually, your boyfriend included the tip on the bill, I just need your signature here." He presented her with a delivery receipt that she signed hurriedly, "He's not my boyfriend." 

"Oh..." 

Mind scattered, she stuttered "Jeez, what's today?" 

"The twenty-fourth." 

"Thanks." 

"So like, were are you from, if you don't mind me asking?" 

She put the date on the receipt and threw the guy an incredulous stare, "New York." 

"No, like originally." 

"New York." She said once more in annoyance. Her exotic looks drove people to be intrusive more often than not, but she hadn't heard the "where are you from?" line in quite a while now. 

"Sweet. You're really hot." 

"Thanks. Have a good day." She handed him his clipboard and reached for her flowers, but he interjected, "If you're not seeing anybody, I'm totally-" 

"Have a good day, kid." She felt the need to add kid at the end before clicking the door shut. 

Intrusive annoying person eliminated, she stood holding the flowerpot for a minute before setting it on the table with trembling hands, and opened the card again. He hadn't said anything remotely sexual to her since that morning in her house, so this was decidedly a surprise that threw her in for a loop. Was he in Chicago? How did she feel about that? How should she feel about it? 




Flowers for Jill Ch. 06



Nothing. She should feel nothing about it, and stop obsessing about that man. 

Treading into her bedroom and eyeing the trim Tahari pants suit she planned to wear for the day, she decided against the outfit and picked a snake print sweater dress instead. A pair of knee-length black boots and a gray great coat completed the look. The dress was a slightly short for work, and maybe a tad too sexy, but she convinced herself that the reason why she wore it was to show him how happy and together she was in her new position. 

Time lagged all morning in the office, but she still managed to float in indecision throughout the whole morning until it was time to go to the site. 

"Where are my New York people?" she asked André, the coordinator, who pointed indicating the cars outside the building, "Outside." 

The trip to the store location took forever and a day in the crazy Christmas Eve traffic that was already hindered by the snowfall. She couldn't see through the tinted windows of the other two black Escalades, but was almost certain he was in one of them. 

"Jillian! Jillian!" she heard Helga's voice and tried to focus on not slipping in the snow as she found a path to the site. 

"I was wondering where you guys were." She told the older woman who was maneuvering her way over with the same care Jillian used. 

"The plane landed late last night, and it took a long time to get to the hotel from the airport then get to your offices." 

"You're here, though, and that's what matters, right?" Jillian smiled, "So who else is with you?" 

"Oh, Stella, Howie, Jason and his wife, and that shrew from casting you like so much. Foster decided to stay in the hotel because he's saving his energy for tonight's party or whatever." She rolled her eyes, "So show me around, I want to see what you wanted to do so much that you had to leave me with that fishwife of a replacement you picked." 

"Hey, Riley will take serious offense to being called a fishwife, and he's completely competent, thank you very much!" the cheerful smile she put on felt like a grimace as disappointment sunk its talons in the back of her neck and carried her off. She tried to convince herself that she wasn't deflated or dejected that he didn't make the trip to Chi Town, but one could only lie to oneself so much. 

She led the team with the help of the contractor, and they were later met by the engineer who suggested they all go somewhere warm to look at the project plan he had on his computer, and see how the completed building should be like. 

Sometime during lunch Helga, who was seated on Jillian's right, leaned forward and murmured, "He said he was going out of town." 

Her heart raced, and the look in the old woman's eyes told her exactly whom she meant, "To Montréal?" she curled her hands in her lap and waited. 

"I don't know, he didn't say, but he wasn't on the plane with us." 

"Oh..." she swallowed and reached for her food again, "I'm sure he wants to see his parents." 

"They're in Belize." 

Thoughts of Marc having a hot island affair with another woman formed a lump in her throat, "Nice." 

"You gutted that man when you left, you know that?" her companion reached for her red wine and took a sip, then contemplatively swallowed it before continuing, "He's so wired up, and snappy." 

Blinking, she recalled the amiable conversations they've had almost daily whether they emailed or phoned each other, "He sounds okay to me, we talk all the time." 

"Why of course, because he's talking to you." The shrewd older woman threw her a knowing fleeting glance to which Jillian took a defensive stance, "I think you have the wrong idea about him, and you don't know what you're talking about."  

Fighting a smile, Helga exclaimed, "What? He's mad he lost one of his best team members, and now he's stuck with us, and what's his face, that Adam Glambert/Lambert wanna-be." Then she winked, "He's so tense these days." 

Covering Helga's glass with a napkin, Jillian declared, "You've had enough wine this afternoon, Ms. Bloom." making Helga burst out laughing. 

Like a little girl, though, Jillian spent the rest of her day on the golden wings of a hopeful dove. There was a possibility he was here in town, what with the orchids and everything, and she couldn't help but be anxious and excited to see him. 

She floated through the office building where Élsi Dussant occupied two floors, and managed to work uninterrupted for about an hour before she decided to go home and rest for the party since almost everyone else has already left, or was off for the holidays. 

She ran to the elevator, then halted her step and doubled back to Élsi and ran to the studio's fitting room. She was intent on finding something, and it took her a while and some rifling through the rolling clothes racks to find it hidden in the back and still zipped up in a garment bag despite being fitted on a fabric mannequin. It was perfect, a golden beaded gown with a front slash and infinite little details that shimmered and curved to fit and flatter the body. 

She had initially decided on wearing a red St. John gown that she had splurged on when she normally got great deals with her employee discount, but the fancy red number faded in comparison to the golden dress that she had handpicked to be featured on the catalogue's Christmas edition cover. They ended up having to choose another dress because of the holiday theme in which they wanted to include a whole family picture, and the golden gown seemed too ostentatious even for a glamorous Christmas at home. 

She stripped it off the mannequin, then carefully folded and zipped it back into the garment bag, before walking out the door with a smile on her face. Her phone message tone beeped, and the pulled it out of her purse reading a Christmas greeting from Mia, who was still disgruntled about Jillian's relocation. Typing a reply, she stumbled on her heels walking out of the elevator, and righted herself giggling in embarrassment and wishing to God no one saw her almost fall. 

But of course, her luck liked to dangle her into unexpected situations like a puppet, "Jillian!" a familiar deep voice rang from the foyer when she tucked her cell phone back in its small pocket, "That's my friend Jillian, let's go say hi." 

"Max!" she exclaimed digging her left heel in the carpet, and cursing under her breath as her pulse escalated. 

He was dressed casually in black chinos, an off-white sweater, and a Fendi scarf she recognized to be a brand new runway piece. He looked like he could be featured on the cover of Italian Vogue with his bronze tan that made the green in his eyes stand out even from a distance. His smile was picturesque and symmetrical, very unlike Marc's roguish grin that was loaded with lewd innuendo, and promised carnal exploits at his hands. 

"My son Caleb," he introduced the mini-me whose hand he was holding, "and this is Jillian. What do we say, buddy?" 

"How do you do? Merry Christmath!" the kid gave her a grin that emphasized his two missing upper baby teeth. 

Getting on her knees, she laid the dress carefully on the ground and extended her hand, "How do you do, sir!" he giggled, and she asked, "How old are you?" 

"Theven!" he declared proudly, and his father corrected, "Six and a half, big guy." 

"Thikf and a half!" he agreed, and she smiled commenting, "Wow, you're the man of the house, aren't you, captain?" 

He glanced at his father then back at her, "I'm not captain, I'm a pirate!" 

"Why yes; a pirate captain." 

"No, I'm a pirate." He insisted, and she went around it, "My bad, I thought you were the captain of all the pirates." 

"Yeth!" he nodded his head and turned to his dad again, "I'm the pirate captain, daddy!" he was adorable in his excitement as he asked her, "Do you have a puppy? I have a puppy, hith name ith Monthter, but he had to thtay with mommy." 

"I don't have a puppy, but I have two budgies." At the boy's puzzled look, she explained, "Parakeets." And his father said, "They're like little parrots, buddy." 

"Oh, oh! Do they talk?" 

"No." she pouted, "They just chirp." And before the kid went on again, she straightened, and grasped her dress carefully, folding it in half and cradling it in her arms, "So what are you two pirates doing here?" she asked of Max whose eyes openly admired her in that way that made her feel like the village seductress coming to corrupt the wholesome townsmen. 

"He wanted to see where Daddy works, and I couldn't say no." 

The kid went on about how they went ice skating on a building the day before, and she glanced questioningly at Max who explained, "John Hancock center. It was really small though, and there were too many kids. Not the right time to go, I'm afraid." 

"I thkated in the thky!" the boy declared before he went on about his skating skills, and how his mother won't take him to the mall to skate back in California because she didn't know how to. 

"Don't tell me you worked today." He murmured, and she answered, "I had to go to the building site with a bunch of people from home office, but I'm leaving now." 

"Workaholic! No one should work on Christmas Eve. Do you have any plans for tonight?" 

"Company party." She didn't elaborate, and didn't invite him. And again, she felt guilty for not being able to respond to the way he reacted whenever she was around. 

"Formal? Sounds boring. You should come with us; we're going to a traditional family Christmas at a buddy's grandmother's house, so you know it's the real deal!" 

"Stuffed turkey, glazed ham, tons of creamy pies, and real eggnog?" she asked with a smile, and he nodded repeating, "The real deal. And you can wear your ugliest reindeer sweater, and smuggle some brandy to lace the eggnog everytime an older aunt starts ranting about something." 

"And what do I do with my limited edition princess gown?" she indicated the garment she held so dearly in her arms. 

"Save it for a date...with me?" he grinned bobbing his head a couple of times, "Something fancy?" 

"I promised them I'd go. I'm very important, you know." she joked. 

He waved his hand, "Sorry, I didn't mean to come off pushy." 

He wasn't; he was polite, and agreeable, again making her question why her heart and mind were so fixated on that incorrigible, larger than life Canadian that she couldn't have, "You're not pushy; you're sweet." She told him and made to leave, "You two have a wonderful Holiday. It was nice meeting you, Caleb." 

"I'll see you before New Year's?" he asked expectantly, and she nodded noncommittally, "Fingers crossed." Before excusing herself and walking off. 

She paused and made half a turn, curiosity motivating her to cast one last glance at him only to see him holding his son up and pointing at the elevator's little number screen. 

"She's pretty." She heard the boy remark, and faintly heard Maxime say, "The prettiest." Then he turned his head to her and waved with a smile. 

"Oh God, I'm Cruella de Vil." She whined under her breath, and waved back regretting her capricious moment of nosiness. 

On the drive home, the stop-and-go traffic provided her with some time and clarity to think some things over. The possibility of Marc being in Chicago was very likely, and running into him in a more relaxed, party atmosphere would give them more than a few opportunities to talk privately about...what? She glanced at the dress hanging halfway from the passenger's seat's grab handle with the bottom part laid on the cushion. She wanted to get his attention, to look pretty for him which was normal since she -like most people- liked positive attention, but she'd been working overtime to get him out of her mind. She didn't want seeing him to reboot her system, and start her from ground zero after the progress she made, and the semi-successful dates she had with Max. 

Sure, she wasn't ready to go to bed with the other guy yet, but she needed time. Her emotions were still frayed, and she'd spent a long time dealing with everything alone, and relying on herself without labeling her situation "lonely". She wasn't sure she wanted a relationship, yet she wasn't sure she wanted to explore the whole "lonely" thing that she'd recently discovered herself to be. 

It was odd how different her predilection for Marc was from the fixation she used to have on Curt. She loved Curt from afar for a long time, thought of him so much that there were times when she forgot how he looked. She made a fool of herself seeking him out, and learning where he was or what he liked and trying to be compatible with him just to get his attention. With Marc it was just...simple. Complicated in ways, yet simple where they both clashed and twined into each other, knowing exactly what the other needed and giving it to them. Any lingering juvenile feelings she had for Curt were completely erased by Marc, even when she didn't know his name. Nameless Jack Winters treated her like a woman; he was gentle when needed but not mild. He didn't treat her like a gauzy doll that could be torn and ruined with the slightest pressure, but he still treated her like she was precious...like he needed her to complete him. He was feral and rough, but not brutal or hurtful. Marc was...a man, in the way that men should be, when Curt was an eternal egotistical teenager. Her whole crush on him, and the years she wasted pining for him seemed so ridiculously squandered on something that she didn't want after all. 

Something told her, that had she not uprooted herself and made her big move, she wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. She wouldn't have been able to recognize the signs of weakness that were weighing her down, and keeping her constantly afraid to explore something just because she got rejected trying it once. 

She couldn't nap before the party, so she flipped through the channels trying to find something worth watching on TV, but nothing grabbed her attention. Jillian didn't normally have the time or mood for television, but when she wanted to watch something, trashy shows or crime documentaries both caught her attention, and horrified her in different manners but completely equal measures. 

She settled on a rerun of Will & Grace and drank some green tea listening to her birds chirp loudly everytime Karen with her screechy voice was on. Growing bored with the episode that she'd already seen a few times before, she wandered into her closet in search of a pair of shoes to go with the gown. As inspiration struck, she decided to go talk to her infamous neighbor Tamara, and see if she'd do her hair since she owned a ritzy hair salon uptown. 

"Have you tried on the dress yet?" Tamara, the extortionist who wanted a 30 percent discount to do her hair, asked holding a Chi curling iron in her left hand and plugging it with her right. 

"No. Shit." Jillian's expression fell, "I have another dress, but I really wanted this one." 

"Okay, then go put it on." 

"I'll have to do my makeup first." 

Tamara unplugged the iron, "I'll wait. Do you have anything to eat?" 

"I always have food, help yourself in the kitchen." 

Jillian didn't normally put a lot of makeup on sticking with simple basics that didn't consume time, and didn't make her look like someone else. But she took her time applying fabulous golden and bronze eye shadows to create a smoky gold look then signed it with winged black eyeliner and her signature mascara that enhanced her lashes' length until their tips almost touched her eyebrows. 

"Red or gold lipstick?" she barged into the kitchen finding Tamara eating raw cookie dough, and laughed, "Girl, that takes only ten minutes to bake, you could've popped it in the oven, I wouldn't have minded." 

"Shew, who has the time for that?" the other woman popped another white chocolate and macadamia nut square into her mouth, "It tastes better this way." 

"The lazy way?" 

"You got it." she gave her a messy smile, "Red lipstick. You have a little pinup, classic look going on." 

Her little hair appointment turned out to be fun despite the torture her neighbor put her poor tresses to. Jillian hadn't had quality girl time with a girlfriend in a long time. Even when she and her best friend Simone visited, they did other things. Somewhere in the midst of turning into adults, they had stopped wasting their time gabbing and twaddling about things that didn't change anything in the world, but made them laugh. Spencer had filled that part for her back in New York, but he also had his own life, and was claimed by adulthood that limited his opportunities to kill time by doing nonsensical yet enjoyable things. 

Tamara, on the other hand, seemed to lead her entire life with the concept of relaxed diversion from strict routines. She operated on a laidback tempo that was powered by senses, and didn't bother over-think or stress about every small detail. What Jillian initially thought was a mere lazy streak, turned out to be a very fulfilling way of life that kept her neighbor's head mostly clear of worry, and made her a quirky, memorable character. 

"Time to go try that dress on for a fit." She told Jillian who was questioning whether it would fit or not. She wore a size 2 in dresses, but she had curves, especially around her hips. She didn't want to squeeze her bottom into a tight dress and fear a possible rip all evening. 

"If it doesn't fit, I'll kill myself." She joked morbidly, unzipping the short concealed zipper in the back. 

"You can still wear that red dress," Tamara offered honestly, without sugarcoating it by offering a little pep talk. Jillian liked that in people. When she complained about something, or expressed her discomfort from something, it wasn't to get a lie in the shape of a compliment; it was to find a solution or an alternative. 

Her companion left her to change into a tiny gold thong, and she decide on eschewing a bra since the dress had a tight bodice that was held from the back by crisscrossing beaded ribbons. 

"It's go time, motherfucker." She hissed at the dress, and stepped into it wondering if it would've been smarter to throw it over her head instead. She closed her eyes and gyrated her hips wiggling the dress up until she got it all the way on. It fit like a glove...a custom made glove, and she let out a long exhale of relief. Zipping it, she turned around watching herself from all angles thanks to the trio of mirrors that made her diva vanity corner in her closet. A bit snug around her derriere, but perfect in the way it displayed her hourglass figure. 

She stared at her reflection for a long minute, the red lip-stain in deep lust, the perfectly curled hair, the gold material that complimented her olive complexion, and a slow smile stretched her lips. She felt...beautiful, like the way she fantasized about looking like when she was a little girl; this was exactly how she wanted to look. 

"It fits!" she declared loudly turning her head to the side, but not taking her eyes off of the mirror. Marc had better be there to see her at her best! 

She saw Tamara's reflection as she walked into the room, "Whoa!" the other woman was eating another piece of cookie dough, but she paused mid-bite and spit it in her hand, "I'd have to starve myself for eight months to look like that!" 

Chuckling, Jillian answered "You wouldn't look like this because I eat. That's the secret, small healthy snacks throughout the day, and regular exercise." 

The other woman shook her head making a face, "And you have ass and tits, too, it's not fair. Tell me again why you don't have a boyfriend?" 

Flinching, she busied herself rifling through one of her jewelry boxes, "I'm a workaholic, remember? I live vicariously through my parakeets' sex life." She added with a strained phony laugh then thought of Max and mentioned, "Besides, I went out with someone just a few days ago; it's not like my social life is a barren desert or anything." 




Flowers for Jill Ch. 07



Author's Note: 

First things first, I'm soooo sorry about the long wait. I feel terrible about slacking off like this, but I've had some of the busiest months at work, add hockey season and traveling to that, and you have a verrry busy girl. I meant to finish this earlier, but I had to go to D.C. for the Winter Classic and spent some time there. If you were at the game and you ran across a tall, slim brunette in a Toews t-shirt, then you probably ran across me, and you should've said hi. :P 

Anyhow, this is the last chapter of this story. I promised the readers who took the time to email me and make me feel super special to finish and post it before February, and I kept my promise! 

I hope you enjoy it! 

Let me know if you want me to work on future projects. 

Ginger 

***** 

"How can you hate something if you've never tried it?" Jillian added for emphasis, "If you refuse to try it?" 

"Jillian, no." Simone, Jillian's best friend, focused her golden gaze on her, "I'm not playing food bully with you." 

Swallowing a gulp of her lemon water, Jillian said, "It's not just about food -even though food is the most fitting thing for this theory; you take a bite, and that's it! Tried it, judge it!" 

The other woman sat back in her chair, "How do you feel about cannibalism?" 

Catching her friend's drift, Jillian argued "It's not the same thing, humans aren't food." 

"I saw a documentary about cannibalism once, and they said humans taste just like chicken." 

She snorted, "They always say that 'oh it tastes like chicken', but it never does. If it's not chicken then it doesn't taste like chicken. I've tried a lot of weird ass food that I was told tasted like chicken, but it never did." 

"Well, I'm not eating any asparagus," her friend insisted, "Even its name is yucky; it sounds like Asperger's, and I have a rule against food that sounds like mental disorders or diseases." 

Tamara, the third musketeer at their table started to laugh, "Ass burgers!" 

"No, it's Asperger's." Simone corrected as Jillian started talking again, "That's ridiculous, you have to keep an open mind. I can't believe you won't try it." 

"Stop pressuring me. I don't. Want. To." 

"Oh, just shut up. The both of you!" Tamara cried plucking a stem of grilled asparagus from the serving plate, and dripped it in Jillian's half-boiled egg before biting the tip off, "Here, nothing to it, Simone." 

"You're daring me to try it, is that it?" Simone reached for the plate and Jillian shook her head, "No, never mind." 

"Oh, screw it." the woman said repeating the same dipping routine Tamara did then tasted the asparagus. 

The three women were loud, their mere conversation bordered on causing a scene, but that didn't bother them. The day was surprisingly nice for early February in Chicago. No snow hindered the traffic, and the sun was generous with its warm rays; hence the three friends decided to luxuriate in taking advantage of the opportunity and hang out together all day Friday. In the low forties, it was actually warm enough for them to sit outside the restaurant, and they did Simone's appetizer sampler idea where they ordered a variety of appetizers to share. 

Simone chewed thoughtfully, and the other two stared at her expectantly until she declared, "It's not bad." 

"See? No need to call me a bully." 

Under her breath, the hairstylist murmured, "Even when you're being bitchy?" 

In agreement, Simone observed, "You're not yourself lately." And Tamara backed up the claim, "Yeah, J.Z. what's up?" 

She laughed, "J.Z.?" 

"Don't change the subject, ever since you and that guy from the party broke up, you've been...discombobulated." 

Simone almost shrieked, "A guy? Wait, wait, hold up, what guy?" 

Speaking simultaneously, Jillian and Tamara said in turn "No one." And "Her boss." 

"I didn't know you were dating anyone, not to mention your boss." Simone was from the Cayman Islands, and had a light melodious Caribbean accent that she didn't always remember to hide, "I thought we were clóser dan dis." 

She was being reprimanded by her best friend, that should've got her to defend her situation, but Jillian merely shook her head frowning and trying not to cry. Tamara, on the other hand, was already on her phone pulling out Élsi Dussant's instagram account and scrolling for pictures from the Christmas party. 

"This yummy hunk o' man meat!" She presented Simone with a picture in which Marc had his arm around Jillian's waist and was saying something that had her complete attention. 

She couldn't remember what it was, and wished she could conjure the conversation that must've been important enough to distract them from the obtrusive camera guy. 

"That's your boss? He's gorgeous!" Simone was attuned to Jillian's moods, and had the tact that Tamara lacked. Hence, after her loud exclamation, she caught herself and enquired softly, "What happened with him?" 

Jillian blinked then swallowed "He wants to see other people, and it's all my fault." 

"The jerk! How could he blame this on you?" 

But he wasn't a jerk; he made his intentions clear and offered her an option while giving her complete freedom to decide. 

"No, no, it's not like that," she shook her head resolutely, "he's the sweetest, most considerate guy I know, and I just...I don't have the guts to..." she looked away, eyes falling on a lanky guy across the street who was struggling to hold on to the handful of birthday balloons and large bag he was holding and press the walk button. "To try to keep everything together while diving in for a chance to...cross." Fearing that what she said only made sense in her own head, she added, "Once I find my comfort zone, it's hard for me to leave it, and he wants me to do just that." She didn't mention that he suggested she speak with someone about her anxiety which she tried to deny. 

The man across the street lost one of his balloons, its string slipped out of his fingers and the bright pink heart went up, up flying in a squiggly line. The guy gave it a quick glance, before crossing with a grimace and a snort. 

"It takes sacrifice." She found herself saying before she turned to look at her companions' bewildered expressions. She then glanced up at the soaring balloon then dropped her gaze to the guy that lost it who was looking up too, and had started to laugh. 

Clearing her throat, she turned back to her food, "I don't wanna talk about it." but it was a fib, because somewhere deep inside her, she did want to discuss it with someone. To touch up on the things she's scared of, and why she always found a safe corner and backed herself into it until she couldn't bear the monotony of her choice, and just forced herself to pretend it's fine. And what would she do if she went back? She signed a twelve-month lease for her apartment here, and her old position was already filled by her competent protégé Ryan -whom Helga called Adam Lambert. 

After a period of silence, she said out of nowhere, "I mean, I can break the lease -there's a fine or something that I'd have to pay- I can probably find another apartment in New York, but my job situation-" she caught herself as a wild plan started to plant its seeds in her head, and she waved a hand dismissively, "Never mind, I'm just thinking out loud." 

After lunch, she declined a ride home from Tamara deciding to walk and window-shop since she didn't have a particular thing to do. That's why she didn't take off-days, because she never really made plans beyond a meal, a game, or some sort of musical event. She didn't need to buy anything, not really, any purchase she'd make would be born of boredom and thus, a waste of money, so she just looked at things with slight interest. 

Indecisiveness plagued her as she stared unseeingly at a Valentine's Day store display. She was so scared of talking to someone about her problems and inner struggles. That mental hurdle that slowed her down like a ball and chain that she had to drag behind her everywhere she went. When did it get that bad? She asked herself meeting the glassy eyes of a smiling plush bear with a huge heart in its lap, and realized that it's been building and growing unnoticed -or more like ignored by her until Marc wormed his way into her mind and heart breaking her inner dams and releasing the floods that swept her. 

The details of that last night with him were tattooed on the walls of her memory. The finality of their situation made him infinitely amorous, desperate even in a way that mirrored everything she was feeling then. 

They barely talked, choosing to communicate their affection and need for each other physically. No words uttered, she took his hand and guided him to the bed pushing him down then prompting him to pull back as she crawled closer until his back hit the headboard. 

He was hard, the velvety skin stretched tight over his straining solid erection, but she wanted him harder, thicker, and pulsing in her hand. Wrapping her fingers around his dick, she stroked him, giving his beautiful cock a number of tight tugs and pumps that made his breath come out in short fast gasps. She didn't want to stop; the feeling was addictive, the sight hypnotic. They both watched her dainty fingers manipulate the thick shaft rolling his foreskin up and down the steely hardness, and she felt her pussy cream at the mere feel of his cock in her hand. 

He mumbled something unintelligible and she tightened her hold on him sliding his foreskin up and around the head until it formed a little cup where his copious precome gathered like clear syrup. Wanting -needing a taste, she inched her body backwards then leaned down pressing her pursed lips to the slick tip and just moved her head in a circle smearing his precome on her mouth. Looking up, she met his gaze and pulled his foreskin down before taking his engorged glans in her mouth without breaking eye-contact. 

Marc cupped her cheek with his right hand. His fingers fanned over her ear and into her damp hair as his thumb stroked her cheekbone absently. She sucked sharply, her lips making a lewd wet noise on his cock, and his thumb stilled for a minute pressing under her eye before he seemed to notice what he was doing and went back to caressing her. 

She wasn't the devious sort, otherwise she would've used this to press what he would be missing once he got back to New York, but she did give him everything just like she always had and always will. Jillian focused her attention on the tip of his dick, licking around it and suckling it, and slurping every drop of pre-ejaculate he gave her waiting tongue while keeping her gaze trained on his face. She pulled back to kiss his frenulum and lap at the sensitive bundle of nerves making him moan before swiping her mouth over his leaking tip again. 

His fingers tightened in her hair urging her to take his cock in her mouth, but she wanted him in her dripping pussy so she rose slowly, clear lines of precome stretching between his penis and her lips that she had to cant her chin forward breaking the two thin strands on her skin. The slippery, slightly salty fluid dripped between her breasts, and she took his hand from her face, kissed the palm then pressed it to the left side of her chest as if to say, I keep you right here. 

He smeared his essence on her twirling it around one of her nipples while she straddled his hips and grasped his cock by the root. His erection was so rigid, the tip a dark angry shade of reddish purple, the balm to her sex's moist swollen folds. He inched his hips up indicating his impatience, but she hummed soothingly while rubbing the mushroom head along her slit. Her clit was engorged and throbbing, and it sent a jolt of electricity along her legs everytime his cock touched the distended nub making her squeeze her eyes shut letting out ragged, choppy exhales that matched his. 

"Please." She heard him whisper difficultly, and when she opened her eyes to look at him she thought she imagined it as his expression was the same -tormented and on edge, but the same. Her thumb pressed under the head of his cock, and his eyes shot open to meet hers, "Jill..." he breathed, and she couldn't keep him hanging. 

Spreading her legs farther apart, they both looked at the parted petals of her sex, dark pink and glistening with her juices and his. She parted them with the head of his cock before sinking low and popping the tumescent tip into her cunt. They both groaned, and she felt his left thigh jerk and shudder under her as he schooled it still. She felt his heartbeats pulsing wildly along his thick veined shaft as she impaled herself on him, and took her sweet time, letting his girth stretch her softness inch by agonizing inch. 

She wanted to tell him how good her felt inside her, how right it was for them to be together, and how they fit perfectly, then beg him to consider her proposal, but didn't want to ruin the moment. She couldn't risk poking the matter, the beast in the room and rousing it bringing forth another argument, so she just showed him. Taking him all the way inside her, the deepest of penetration, she squeezed her cunt around his dick rhythmically in long pussy kisses that made his hips jerk and sent his hands to the tops of her thighs holding them and digging his long fingers in them. 

Yet, she wanted him wilder, out of his mind. Spreading her thighs wider still, she burrowed closer to him, his hairy thighs scraping against the inside of her soft ones, his pubic hair rubbing against her bald pussy. He mumbled something again, and swallowed banging his head back against the headboard in frustration before slapping her on the ass to urge her to move. The look he gave her was pained, and she grinned at him teasingly, leaning forward to kiss his lips, her movement sliding her pussy up over his cock. He was quick to tighten his hold on her thighs and press her down ramming his cock deep inside her and eliciting a cry from her that he was quick to muffle with moist kisses. 

His hands slithered around her thighs to hold her by the ass cheeks spreading them and digging the tips of his fingers in that sensitive area around her anus. Up and down he moved her, fucking his cock with her pussy like she was his personal sex toy, only she was responsive and feisty instead of placid and passive. She let him use her body and enjoyed it as much as he did, biting back as she sucked at his lower lip bruising it, and tweaking his flat nipples until he groaned and writhed, his back sliding a little lower on the headboard. 

Somewhere in the room, the automatic air freshener went off sending a Christmassy scent through the air to fill the room, and she pulled back a little looking at his face. His golden hair was damp and looking silvery blonde in the dim light that escaped the half-open bathroom door and the combination of streetlights and moonlight that streamed through the big window. She plunged her fingers in it, combing through it as she whispered, "My Christmas Dussant." and kissed him on the lips, on both cheeks, on his eyes, then his forehead. 

"Oh, baby." He ground out, and she hugged his head to her chest rising on her knees. 

"Nutcrackers, reindeer, hot cocoa, and Marc." She rubbed her right breast against his mouth enticingly, touching the nipple to his lips then withdrawing when he opened his mouth to suckle it, "Santa Claus, wrapped gifts, snow dusted wreathes, and Marc." She pressed her thumbs on his cheeks prompting him to open his mouth and stuffed her pebble-hard nipple in it, "Candy canes, decorated trees, snow angels, and Marc..."she moaned throwing her head back when he started to suck on her tit, "My Marc." She heard her voice declare before she could stop herself. 

His mouth stilled momentarily as his fingers squeezed her ass almost painfully, and she had to wriggle her hips to get him to ease his grasp on her. He was hers though. She knew it as she rolled her head on her shoulders and studied him through half-lidded eyes. His lips parted around her nipple and pressed into her puckered areola, sucking and licking the velvety nub as his eyes moved under his closed lids that squeezed tighter everytime he suckled harder. The alarms in her head -those vexing flashes of reality that popped out of nowhere during the most inconvenient of times- bugged her about how he was the perfect guy for her, and how she was going to have to find a substitute since she was losing him after that night. No one compares, no one's as good as he is. The nagging voice of wisdom in her head prodded her, and she swore she was going to make every second count, every sound, every touch worth their -hopefully temporary- farewell. 

She placed her hands on the headboard over his head and followed the movement of his hands, slamming her pussy down on him everytime he urged her down. When he moved his mouth to her other breast, she started to move faster, her body smacking against his in loud slaps that sounded like moist little spanks. Slack, slurk, slack, their sweaty thighs smacked and clapped together while his teeth tugged at her nipple digging into it when she moved up or slammed down in her frenzied fuck dance. 

And it was just like Marc to slide his fingers along her pussy lips from behind, pressing the wet folds that spread around his thick penis. She cried out an "Oh God!" and he started to massage them slithering his fingers back and forth aided by her slick juice that lubricated his ministrations. 

Just like the first time she learned his name, it was stuck on her lips, a mantra that she repeated ceaselessly and incoherently each time his cock stroked inside her and bumped the entrance of her cervix. 

Fingers massaging her labia, cock sliding in and out of her, and mouth suckling alternately on her nipples, she was so close to exploding in a massive orgasm and dissolving into a pile of need all over him. But she didn't want to come so early, she wanted an agonizing buildup until they both could climax together. Sliding up, she dug her fingers into the headboard keeping only the tip of his cock in her cunt, her tightness holding and squeezing the large spongy head. He murmured something and tugged her nipple with his teeth rather harshly, and she cried out jerking which caused his teeth to clamp tighter onto her breast. 

"I need a minute, Marc." She entreated sitting back on his dick and wiggling her hips slightly to feel his cum-laden balls against her ass. 

"And I need you." He kissed her throbbing tormented nipple then spread wet kisses along the inside curve of her breast over to the second one, and encased her other nipple in his mouth rolling it with his tongue and teeth, "I need all of you, Jill." 

"You already have me." she whispered holding his head with both hands and stroking his thick hair, "Never doubt that." 

He didn't fuck her though, with his cock seated to the hilt in her sex, he reached for her asshole and inserted his middle finger into the tight opening. Despite it being slathered with her juices, his finger still felt big, the delicious invasion that she's come to anticipate and crave made her head roll back on her shoulders. 

He was slow and deliberate, even more so than earlier that night, his ministrations making her pussy soak his cock with yet more moisture. He pulled his finger out to gather some of her wetness onto the tip then circled her anus with it, pressing the puckered star and relaxing her before sliding in again. 

The next time he inserted his middle finger it was joined by his index, liberally lubricated with her essence, gentle yet relentless. The sensation was too much when his fingers stopped, second-knuckle deep, and just stretched her back hole for a few seconds. She whimpered and he wriggled them in response. 




Flowers for Jill Ch. 07



"Oh Go-uuhhh..." her words morphed into a moan when he pulled out. She didn't know if she was relieved or disappointed to feel a sudden emptiness in a place that she was never used to getting filled. 

His left hand grabbed her ass cheek and pulled it open while he spat on his right then returned to her ass. And it occurred to her that he was preparing her for...she couldn't complete the thought when he nudged her anus with three fingers this time, and paused at the entrance with just his fingertips moving in small circles that stretched and relaxed her tightness. 

"Relax for me." he ordered in a silky voice, and she gulped, stupefied for a moment as she hung between reality and the mischievousness of her desires. His fingers dug in her ass cheeks prompting her, and she blinked focusing on him, and staring straight into his eyes. 

"That's it," he encouraged, his fingers slipping deeper and deeper, aided by his saliva and her cunt juice, "open up for me, baby." 

It hurt, but he was patient and diligent in his pursuit, keeping his throbbing hard dick lodged deep in her pussy and laving her nipples with his tongue everytime she whimpered a little protest. The strange pain began to mix with pleasure that grew and grew until it encompassed the aches and was the dominant feeling that coursed through her making her want more. 

His fingers started moving faster, and she wanted to move against him, but he held her in place everytime she wriggled up. He finally slipped his fingers out and gave her rear a smack urging her to her knees, "Up, up, up." 

Determined to bite back, she squeezed her pussy tighter around his cock on the upward slide and watched his eyes blink faster in sheer torment until his hardness was released and flopped flagrantly between them. It was begging for attention, coated with her clear musk from the weeping tip to the dark golden hairs that surrounded the thick base. 

Wrapping his fingers around the shaft he demanded, "Spit on it." 

Jillian met his eyes for a second then stared down at his penis and swallowed. He stroked it a couple of times, "Do it, Jill." and she found herself complying, a long line of saliva dropped from between her kiss-swollen lips and slithered over the engorged head and down the broad shaft. 

"Again." he commanded, and she moistened her lips and spat once more, almost missing the head. 

Gesturing with his head to the attaché case on the nightstand, he said "Open that suitcase for me." 

She had to contort her body and lean to the side to flap the bag open and was greeted with a heap of stacked papers and files, the top ones carried his signature green correction pen that slashed and added numbers and words everywhere. 

She started to ask "What am I looking at?" when he said, "The mesh pocket." 

It took her a moment of staring, but she finally comprehended that she was looking at a black tube of lube. He didn't press her or hurry her, giving her all the time in the world to say no and steer their sex play into a different direction. But she wanted him, she wanted this, and she wasn't going to back out or deny herself the chance of giving him something of her that no one else was privileged to take before. 

Armed with the lubricant, she loomed over him again, but failed to find the courage to proceed. 

"Open it." he supplied, and she cranked the top open and stared at the aluminum seal which indicated that he bought it just for her, that he came to Chicago with the goal of stamping her, yet in another place. 

Jillian wanted to tease him with a comment like "You're a dirty bastard." Or something, but she was too wired to crack a joke or try to lighten the sultry, sex infused air that surrounded them. Somehow it felt sacred to her, this interaction, this exchange between them was so intimate, so personal that it felt like the inviolable bond between them was not to be disturbed by silly remarks. 

Before he asked her to, she turned the bottle upside down and squirted the clear jell on his erection after scratching the seal off. They both watched his hand stroke up and down his length warming the gel until his fingers stopped under the crown and gave it a squeeze coaxing more pre-come to ooze from the tiny slit. 

"Come closer." He murmured in a husky voice, and she inched towards him, still on her knees. She knew what was about to come, and faced it with both trepidation and anticipation. 

"Relax for me." he repeated, and she nodded muttering something unintelligible as his slick cock came in contact with her anus. 

He held his dick with his right hand and ran his left up and down the back of her thigh to assuage her reticence. Closing her eyes, she focused on the feel of him probing her back entrance, flirting with her tightness and lathering the puckered hole with their combined moisture, the lube, and her saliva. 

"Marc?" she heard herself whispering, and he replied "I want all of you, Jillian." 

She swallowed and nodded keeping her eyes closed. 

"It's gonna be a tight fit," he rasped, "but you can take me. I want you to open your eyes and look at me while I'm going in." he tapped the rosette until she met his gaze and clung to it then he pushed experimentally in. 

His cock was barely in, but she felt the slow invasion everywhere. It was ironic how an act so crude and lewd could feel so delicate, but Marc made it feel right. His beautiful eyes had an intent look that communicated how deeply he cared about making this -the final physical barrier between them- as perfect and as exquisite as everything else their bodies translated to one another. 

He slipped deeper in, the fat head spreading the tight ring to its limit, and she took a deep breath; he's done this before with his fingers, he's even finger fucked her ass with a touch of roughness -she can take this. She bit her lower lip taking him millimeter by millimeter as he advanced at a snail-pace helping her adjust to him. There wasn't a lot of pain, just an alien sensation that was a mixture of slight discomfort and wanton satisfaction. She wanted more, yet she wanted him to halt his possession. She felt this intense urge to just slam her hips down and take him all in, yet was leery about what's coming next. 

The moment the whole head popped into her ass, she felt a sharp twinge of pain and her eyes fell closed as her teeth clamped down on her lower lip with bruising force. She didn't realize that she was whimpering until she heard his voice shushing her and cajoling her with soft words, "Easy, baby, relax for me. You're too nervous, too tight, open up for me, sweetheart. Let me take your beautiful tight ass, baby." 

Again, he managed to turn something so uncouth into love words; talking about fucking her ass shouldn't sound like a love poem, yet it did to her. Right there under his gentle yet possessive touch, sweat rolling off her lithe body and dripping onto his as the hours raced closer to Christmas morning. She paused over him and drank his words like brandy-laced eggnog; thick with decadence, smooth, and wicked in a way that did funny things to her insides. 

"I've wanted to bury my cock into that pretty little ass for a long time now," he moved further in, "and I know you've thought of me there, telling you what a beautiful cum slut you are, fucking you raw, and filling your snug ass with cum. Relax and take me, Jill, take all of me just like I'm taking you." 

Her trembling hands moved between his shoulders and wide chest, never quite settling on a location, and she nodded again wishing he'd keep talking to her like that. 

Her little anus burned as it opened further with his advancement, and she felt the sting down to her toes, prying her loose, it was so intense she wanted to sob. 

"More..." she whispered and tentatively moved her hips lower, but she was too fast and her movement caused him to thrust more than half of his dick inside her making her cry out and shut her eyes again. 

"Shhh..." he adulated her pulling his cock out of her ass and sliding it against her juicy pussy, flicking her clit with it several times to rekindle her passion, "You're so impatient." 

"I want..." she swallowed and looked into his eyes, "I want..." 

"What do you want, tart?" he tapped his dick against her clitoris making her jerk and buck slightly. 

"I don't know." she shook her head digging her fingers into his chest and feeling the crinkly hairs under her nails as she pushed into his sweat slickened skin. 

"Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you. Anything." 

"I want...you." She touched her nose to his breathing in his breaths, "I want Marc." 

He canted his chin up to kiss her briefly on the lips, "Do you want me in your ass again, baby? I'll stop if you ask me to." 

"I don't even know why you stopped." She licked her lips touching his in the process. 

That drew a chuckle out of him, it developed into a strained gruff laugh, "Jesus Christ, Jill!" 

"What?" she teased with a weak, lopsided grin regaining her sass. 

"I'm trying to make love to you here." 

"You're trying to fuck my ass, Marc!" 

"Potato, potah-to." 

It was her turn to laugh and kiss his lips, "You're ornery." She whispered into his mouth and sucked his lower lip between hers. Her asshole was hot and throbbing, and she felt the lube around the flesh ring and inside her too keenly. 

"You insult me then shut me up with kisses, who's ornery now?" he smiled against her mouth and kissed her back. 

"You ate an employee's pussy at a Christmas party, Mr. Dussant, you tell me." 

"It's a badge I wear with pride!" he grinned then sobered up a moment later, "Do you want to try again?" 

She started to nod, but ended up taking a gulp of air. Trying again, she murmured, "Yes." She clenched her anus experimentally as if to check if he can fit his penis in there again. 

"I don't want to hurt you." He positioned his cock at her asshole again after swiping it along her wet slit. 

"You won't." she reassured him and spread her legs as wide as they permitted in her position straddling his hips. The cotton sheets clung to her legs and knees, damp with the remnants of the shower water and her perspiration. 

His glans caught at her entrance again and he squeezed in, the feeling more familiar now -still challenging with his girth- but she was ready for it. 

"Take me as slow as you want," he placed his left hand on her waist, his thumb resting over her hipbone, "don't hurt yourself, I'm not in a hurry, I want every moment of this to go on forever." 

His right hand's thumb was slick with lube and the feel of it rubbing and sliding against her clit made her legs tremble as a lascivious heat coursed through them. 

She met his eyes and started to lower herself on his cock as he encouraged her to continue. He was big, hot, and thick, but she glided with deliberation adjusting to the alien fullness of the penetration with every inch her ass swallowed. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't the imposing, painful obtrusion she was led to believe it would be. His patience and gentleness played a big role in making her body adapt to his, and the expert way he manipulated her sex pearl with was making her dizzy with arousal. 

Her right hand slid from his shoulder and she felt his hard nipple on her palm and rubbed it with the heel of her hand as her ass took the last inch of his penis and she found herself seated in his lap impaled on his cock. 

They both groaned and looked down at their joining point. Marc had a better view though, their positions providing each of them with a different advantage. 

"You feel so good." He praised pinching her clit and pulling it from her cunt lips to send a shocking torrent of desire through her. 

"I can't believe I'm doing this." She said as she slid her ass up then sat down again giving their anal fucking a test run. 

"Me neither, I've never pegged you for a naughty girl, Ms. Zahra." There was a playful smirk on his face as he canted his head to the side and studied her. 

She giggled, "Shut up, you big Canadian oaf!" 

"All these insults on my birthday, thank you very much." 

Her face softened and she leaned forward, her movement sliding half of his cock out of her. They both sighed as she kissed his lips, "Happy Birthday, Marc." 

"Very happy." He mumbled thrusting his hips up slowly then pulling down creating a leisurely rhythm as she continued to kiss him. 

"I love your beard." She whispered cupping his cheek with one hand while the other one stayed splayed on his chest, fingers combed through his chest hair as her palm sat over his heart absorbing its steady pulse. 

"I love your lips, your voice, your pussy, your ass, your neurotic work emails, your weird jokes, your tits, your OCD, your eyes..." he trailed off squeezing his eyes shut as she started to fuck her ass faster with his dick, gliding up and down smoothly now. 

She wanted to list the things she loved about him, but her tongue felt thick as her emotions took over making her inarticulate and threatening to spill out in rambling babble if she even attempted to say them. Instead, she showed him with her body. The fit was still snug, he was too thick, too huge for her virgin ass that was on fire that was kept ablaze with every stroke in or out of her tunnel, but the discomfort and the slight pain mixed with all that wicked pleasure made her want to go for more. It made her want to push her limits expanding them to dimensions she never thought she'd reach. 

Sitting up, she grasped her own derriere with both hands spreading the cheeks open and continued to fuck herself on him with zeal. Her pussy begged for the attention of his fingers that strayed to her waist again, it felt too empty against the fullness of her ass yet it throbbed as if she were about to orgasm. 

It kept building to no avail, she wanted desperately to touch her clit or have him strum the pebble-hard center to release her. Building, building, building...her ears buzzed, and she whimpered bouncing on him and basking in the delicious aching stretch his cock gave her ass. 

Her frenzied quest for orgasm was driving Marc to lunacy. His brows furrowed and his eyes squinted and he finally growled like a wild animal, tightened his hold on her waist and threw her on her back pulling his cock from her ass. Getting to his knees, he grasped her feet by the ankles and rested them against his shoulders then blindly patted the bed for the lube unable to take his eyes off of her. 

Wrenching the top off indelicately, he squirted more than a generous amount of the cool gel all over her ass that it started to glide down along her crack to drip on the bed sheet. Guiding his cock to her well lubricated anus, he warmed the gel by swirling it around with his glans dipping the flared head in then popping it out with a wet sucking noise. 

"Marc...more..." she entreated writhing. Liquid fire ran under her skin and seeped out of the pores, she needed more of him, everything he had to give. 

"You want my cock in your ass, Jill?" he tapped the shrinking rosette of her ass with his cock. 

"God, yes, all of it. Don't make me beg." 

"I won't." eager to possess her again, he surged into her ass again after pushing her left leg forward indicating for her to hold it bent against her chest. 

He fucked her ass with a bit of roughness, his prior delicate flirtation now transforming into a desperate quest to claim release. She cried out and begged him to touch her clit, "I need to come, Marc, please, God, please!" and he answered her pleas by thrusting two fingers into her sopping cunt and fingering her without slowing down on her ass. 

His thumb brushed her clit with his movements, his other hand tightened around her ankle when her legs trembled and slipped lower. It was too much, yet it was exactly what she needed -what they both needed. 

Overfilled and completely possessed by this man, she grasped her breasts and tweaked her nipples pinching them until they hurt, but the sensation didn't take away from the focus of his claiming, the myriad of dark pleasure and voluptuous pain mingled, mixed, and danced around until she couldn't even close her eyes and just had to keep her gaze locked with his. 

"Come, Jillian," he rasped savagely, "come with my dick all the way in your ass, and my fingers fucking your cunt, come all over me," 

Marc pistoned in and out of her, balls slapping against her ass cheeks and fingers curling up to stimulate her g-spot while his thumb rubbed her clitoris, and she screamed her orgasm almost kicking him off of her. 

Her ass contracted in tune with her pussy, spasming and clenching his tool in a way that felt like multiple orgasms hitting her all at once. It was the single most bizarre climax she's ever had. Every point in her body screamed and shattered, and her brain lost its grasp on everything but the pleasure that invaded her and drowned her. 

Her wild released triggered his, and he rammed himself deep into her ass and shuddered blasting a hot stream of cum into her. His lips trembled, and his eyes shot open looking everywhere. He stared at the ceiling groaning ear-scorching curses before dropping his gaze to her and staring at her with eyes glassy with fulfillment. 

They were both breathing harshly as they came down from the euphoria that encompassed them. She wanted to lower her legs that felt cramped and bloodless, but couldn't even bring herself to wriggle her toes. His fingers stilled in her pussy, and his cock was still lodged in her ass surrounded by the cream he deposited in there. 

"God Almighty!" he exclaimed at length and pressed his fingers into her ankle, "Can you move?" 

She moaned and failed to form words so she conceded with a headshake. 

"I don't think I can either...wait..." he ran his tongue on his lips and cleared his voice, "try to relax." Slipping his fingers free from her pussy with a smooching pop, he pulled his hand away slowly dragging a clear line of cunt juice across her inner thigh and along her leg. He settled his hand on her other ankle and smoothed her legs down. 

Jillian winced at the movement, but felt relieved when her numb feet hit the soft sheets. He was still crammed deep into her ass, and had to pull out tenderly so as not to hurt her. 

The second his cock left her, she felt a warm stream of cum dribble from her spasming hole as it closed up again. It felt raw with use, and he must've known that because he massaged it sympathetically with his thumb soothing her used hole by spreading his jizz on it. 

"I can't believe I just did that." She croaked weakly as he hefted his body next to hers. 

"I can't believe I waited this long to deflower that sweet ass of yours." He straightened his legs and they came in contact with hers. 

"I've wondered what it would be like since you started fingering my..." she bit her words feeling a sudden, out of place timidity. 

He smirked arrogantly kissing her shoulder, "Have you fantasized about me pumping your ass full of semen?" 

"Jeez, you're so boorish!" she slapped his chest fighting a giggle, "At least try to restrain your filthy mouth on Christmas Day, is that too much to ask?" 

"What's the use? We've been up all night, Santa won't come if you're awake, you know." 

She slipped her legs between his tangling her smooth limbs with his hairy, muscled ones, "I must've been a good girl this year, though, I got exactly what I wanted." 

"Oh baby, you're on the X-Rated Naughty list, that's why they sent me to deliver your gift." He stroked her feet with his burrowing them under the pillows as they lied chatting with their heads on the wrong side of the bed. 

"I beg to differ; Santa sent me everything on my list." 

He chuckled and pressed his lips to her cheek nuzzling her skin and kissing her tiredly. 




Flowers for Jill Ch. 07



"Thanks for my birthday gift." He murmured at length. 

There was a stretch of silence before she asked, "Marc, are you still awake?" 

"Umm..." his voice was hoarse and sleepy, "You okay, baby? I didn't hurt you, did I?" he was struggling to stay awake and be considerate and attentive. 

Aside from a pulsating, anomalous sensation that she wantonly basked in, she was fine, "I'm okay." 

She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than surrender to the slumber that beckoned her, but she had to say this, "I know we haven't talked about this before, and it might sound fractional and late, but I want you to know that I'm on the pill."  

She felt him stir into attention, and continued, "I mean, you came inside me several times in the past, and I just wanted you to know that I'm protected...and clean." 

Propping himself on his elbow he looked at her with dilated eyes that were forced to focus, "I've never doubted that you're clean, Jillian. As to the...other thing...the protection...I...that first time I took your pussy I wasn't sure, but I completely forgot about the condom -more like, didn't plan for things to progress that far, then reckoned that you were protected so I never bothered with one afterwards. I mean, you didn't say anything so I just...guessed. That's not the reason why I wanted to come in your ass though...or on your tits or in your mouth, I just...I wanted to take you everywhere." 

She touched his cheek with her finger tips drawing imaginary circles in the bristly beard, "You can't just assume that a woman is on birth control, Marc, some women like to trap men into marriage by having an unplanned baby. Not all women are like that, but there are people with low self-esteem out there who do desperate things. Men do it to women, too. When I worked for the city I ran across a lot of cases where one partner practically fooled the other one into a relationship with unplanned pregnancy, guys poking holes into condoms and women lying about contraceptions. You have to be careful." 

He clasped her hand in his and printed tiny kisses on her fingers, "I know that, and I promise, I don't go around having unprotected sex with women, you're just different...special." He smiled, "Did you think I was trying to trick you into getting pregnant?" 

Flushing, she averted her gaze, "No, I was just trying to get that whole protection speech out of the way." 

"Better late than never?" he observed with amusement. 

"I guess." She felt silly to the roots of her hair. 

"For what it's worth, I'm clean, too. Routine checkups and everything, clean bill of health, scouts honor." 

"You were never a boy scout!" she argued with a small smile, and he shrugged, "Well, I could've been. How hard could it be?" 

They settled down again, and she laid her head against his chest and armpit as her gathered her to him. 

She was just about to sleep when he said, "I wouldn't have minded if you got pregnant by me." he hastily added, "I didn't set out to do it, but if you'd wanted it, it wouldn't have been a bad thing. I don't feel that way about other women that's why I always pack my own condoms when I'm with someone else." 

His statement choked her with an influx of emotions that rose to her throat. She had succeeded in pushing away thoughts of him with other women almost all night until he said that. She now faced the fact that he was going back to New York to resume his life and she was expected to live hers...separate from each other. 

Instead of bringing up the subject of a long distant relationship again to rouse a barren suggestion and create another argument, she feigned sleep until it claimed her tired mind. 

***** 

By the time she got home, the events of that night had been played in perfect detail in her head yet again, and she sagged against a chair throwing herself in it and trying to banish the distracting memory. 

Her gloomy mood shadowed her for a few days, but she managed to cheer herself up with positive thoughts convinced that she can turn him around and bring him to his senses if she tried. 

February the 12th was their anniversary -if what they had qualified for one. Jillian didn't know if he was going to remember or not, but she had a wild wish that he'd remember and call. She didn't want to push it and hope for a surprise visit from him, but she was ready to drop everything and go to him if he even vaguely suggested it. 

Her work day ended without even an email from him. 

Deciding to give him time to get home from work and decompress, she got her grocery shopping out of the way, and loaded the laundry in the machine. Calling herself a good housewife, she didn't order in and negate the whole point of buying groceries, and set her butt in the kitchen to cook quinoa and vegetables. She even went the extra mile and made a salad and juiced a mango. 

By 7:15 she had despaired of getting that call, yet, halfway through her dinner, she turned the volume down on the hockey game she was watching and picked up the phone. 

"I'm reaching out for him, is what I'm doing." She told her birds who didn't really show any emotions unless she had food for them. 

His phone rang and rang then right before it went to voice mail. He picked up, his voice breathy and distant, "Hullaw?" 

That was out of character. He normally said "Dussant speaking." 

"Marc, it's Jill." she used the nickname because it was a part of the bond they had. 

"Yeah, oh, hey Jillian." Do you need something?" 

He didn't remember. Moreover, he was obviously in the middle of doing something completely unrelated to her. 

"I just..." She flat-lined. 

"Is it work? Can you email it to me?" he sounded impatient. There was some rustling and shuffling on his end of the line. Did she hear glasses clanking? Was he eating? 

"I'm sorry, are you having dinner?" 

He paused, "I ah...no." laconic, still in a hurry to hang up it seemed. 

"Can you talk?" her fingers were gripping the phone too tightly against the tremors that ran along them. Silly. 

"Is it about work?" he repeated. 

She didn't care if it made her sound desperate or clingy, she opened her mouth to remind him what day it was, but a woman's voice bled through the line, "Oh c'mon, Marc! You said you won't work tonight! Meg is pouring the margaritas, get off the phoooone!" 

"Just a second, Sheila." His voice sounded muffled like he was pressing the phone against his chest. 

"No seconds!" 

"One second, sweetie." He cajoled the woman. 

It sounded like they were joined by a second woman as Jillian heard a different unclear voice and managed to pick up fragmented sections of what she was saying, "My panties," and "We'll do body shots on-" and "Hella fun." 

Heart thudding, Jillian pronounced, "Am I interrupting something?" 

Simultaneously, Marc and the first woman -Sheila?- said "This isn't a good time, Jillian." And "She can join if she's game. I'm game! Meg?" 

Marc cursed and grumbled, "Jesus. Can you hang back a sec?" 

"Noooo, no secoooonds!" Sheila whined. 

"I'm sorry I bothered you, it was nothing." Jillian murmured and hung up. She was so bewildered she felt she might hurl any minute. 

Tears stung her eyes and she blinked rapidly staring at the phone in her hand. As if by magic, it started to ring, and she had to focus her eyes and jumpstart her shocked brain to comprehend the name on the screen; Marc calling her back. 

Taking a deep breath, she tried to fake a smile hoping it would make her voice sound pleasant and unaffected, "Yes?" 

"Jillian..." he started and took a long breath, "I..." 

"It's alright, I see that you're busy." It was killing her to talk to him pretending to be unperturbed. She was burning inside, "I didn't want to interrupt...anything." 

"Jillian, you must-" 

But she did interrupt him, "It was nothing I can't take care of." Like always, she had herself and herself only. 

"Would you let me speak?" he cried, and one of the women with him called his name. He snapped at her, "I said give me a second, for fuck's sake!" 

Jillian heard a door slam before Marc came back on the line, "We agreed to see other people." 

"I know. I didn't say anything." 

"You can't make me feel guilty for living my life, Jillian, you didn't want to give me one hundred percent and we agreed to go on living our lives." 

She caught her reflection in the stark white ice rink on the TV screen for two seconds before the cameraman zoomed in on Eric Staal who was arguing with a linesman. The television was muted and he didn't have a mic, but she could almost hear the player yelling, and imagined shouting in the phone at Marc just like the athlete was doing on her screen. 

"I didn't say anything, Marc." She repeated collectedly, "I just had a question and automatically thought of calling you." Good, she sounded balanced, "I certainly didn't insinuate that you should feel guilty," her frayed nerves started to take over, "you can fuck whomever you want. I don't care if you have a threesome every single night of the week. I have my own life, Mr. Dussant, so you can feel perfectly comfortable going back to your orgy!" she tapped her phone screen ending the call then turned her cell off. 

She hadn't meant for that explosion at the end to blast out of her mind. She felt mortified, but, strangely enough, she didn't feel any remorse for going off like that. 

Her eyes found the television again. The Hurricanes' captain was in the penalty box, and The Ducks were dominating with the power-play advantage. Her dinner sat neglected on the table, no longer an appetizing feast. 

"Oh God!" she whimpered, her lower lip trembling and her eyes stinging. Her legs felt too weak to stand on, so she sat down and turned the TV off staring at the dark screen for a long time. 

She wasn't going to cry. Not this time. 

Armed with resolve despite her desolation, she stashed the food leftovers in the fridge and threw away anything that wouldn't survive overnight. She then grabbed her car keys and left to the office. 

There wasn't much that she hadn't finished doing during the day, and what little she wanted to busy herself with couldn't snap her mind from its distracted state. She just sat there breathing in and out, and making out a melody of the sounds around her; her breathing, the ticking desk and wall clocks, the whoosh of the thermostat kicking in and out, and the tapping of the drizzling freezing rain against the windows. 

She brought herself back to reality with a blink and a jerk. Still wallowing in daydreams and unfit to look intelligently at any of the printouts on her desk, she pulled out her old email address and started going through old messages. Forgotten funny conversations, university assignments, online orders...all useless now. 

The cursor stopped on an email that contained some modeling shots the magazine decided not to use, but she got from the photographer because she liked them. It was like looking at a different person. She was a different woman now; heavily altered from who she was at that time, yet still very much the same. Still stubborn, goal oriented, and boasting that paradox of self-confidence that went along with a fistful of discordant insecurities. 

She stared at a picture of herself that Keith took of her during their time together. She wore underwear that she had designed and sewn during her creative era when she dabbled with modeling. Her muses had been hyper in the period of her life, and had rioted in her head making her fill three sketch pads with lingerie designs. She executed two or three projects before her breakup with Keith then just filed everything away dismissing it as a distraction. 

The portfolios were still tucked in her closet, along with her old modeling files, sewing patterns, measured designs, and a variety of detailed drawings. 

After a cup of coffee that was dark as tar and equally thick, and bitter as her mood, Jillian shifted her mind towards work and buried herself in it until midmorning. 

She left when she concluded the last of a series of quick meetings with some department heads. Clad in skinny cargo jeans and a Marilyn Manson t-shirt, she didn't even look like a customer who shops at Élsi's exclusive boutiques, not to mention a manager for the company, but she carried it well. Boss Lady never relents. 

A few steps out of the elevator put her in front o Max who was fumbling with his phone and frowning. 

"Morning!" she smiled. 

His head snapped up and he mirrored her smile, "We need to stop meeting like this!" 

"We do!" on a whim, or maybe a spark of spontaneity, she suggested, "I think we should meet for dinner instead, at...say, my apartment maybe?" 

It was easy, now that the words were out she couldn't take them back, and all she had to do was look at him expectantly. 

"Oh..." he lowered his eyebrows again for a second while a grin pulled at the corners of his mouth, "It's long due, isn't it?" 

She couldn't admit to him that she'd been avoiding him -was avoiding him, but won't be any longer- "I just haven't seen you in a long time." 

Nodding, he gave her a rueful look, "My life's been hectic, Jillian. Work then more work on top of work. I had to travel a lot, too, spent two weeks in Italy and about a week in Greece. I only got back two nights ago." 

"You poor thing, Italy and Greece? What torture! How dare they send you to Godforsaken places like that?!" she razzed him and he started to laugh, "I did only work related stuff, well, mostly." 

"I see that, your tan look better than ever, it must've been hell!" 

Scratching his cheekbone, he winced, "I'm still jetlagged. Anything? Sympathy?" 

It shouldn't have taken any convincing for her to reach for his arm and establish contact with a brief touch, but it did, and it was silly. As handsome as she found him to be, she should've been eager to touch him, not reluctant. 

Her touch made him smile, "Tonight?" 

"Why not?" 

"Where do you want to go?" 

She told herself that it wasn't payback, that she wasn't using Maxime to prove that she can move on. That she wanted him for him and not because Marc was doing his own thing and binging on sex back home. 

"I was thinking you should come to my house. I'll cook." 

She wanted to kiss him, didn't she? Those perfectly sculpted lips beckoned her, glistening as he moistened them with his tongue and smiled again accepting her invitation. 

Yes, she wanted to press her mouth to his, her body against his, sliding her golden skin against his sun-bronzed perfection. She was going to banish all hesitation, all thoughts of Marc away when she gave herself to Max, and by God, she will enjoy it! 

Their plans shot to hell later that afternoon though, he called to postpone as his ex-wife dropped off his son unannounced, and he welcomed the chance to see his little boy. 

"I can see about a babysitter if you want me t-" he started halfheartedly, but she interjected, "No, you need time with your son, it's okay." 

She reassured herself that it was disappointment she felt and not a touch of relief at the halting of their date plans. 

"I've missed him so much." He breathed. 

Yet, she had to move forward, had to make an effort, "I have two tickets to The Blackhawks game on the 18th. I can scramble a third one and all three of us can go." 

It sounded like he was grinning, "I'm not really a hockey fan, but I'll go with you. Caleb flies back to California on Monday morning; his mom just wanted Valentine's weekend free." 

Her hand absently ran over her neck and around it to massage her nape, "I can set up some snacks and a light dinner if you want to bring him over tomorrow night. I'd love to spend time with the both of you." she meant it; Max was a magnificent parent, and a sweet man. He was a step in the right direction, no more self-imposed road blocks. 

"You're very considerate. Have I ever told you how amazingly wonderful you are, Jillian?" his voice shook slightly, and it made her feel precious...special. 

***** 

She loved kids, and they loved her back, so preparing an evening that included a little boy wasn't difficult. She baked a strawberry shortcake, and cooked a dinner entirely comprised of finger food that would be both filling and fun to eat. 

Not knowing how hyper Caleb was, or how he behaved in other people's homes, she opted to stay on the safe side and move any breakable antique pieces or crystal figurines off the coffee table, or the accessible surfaces and arrange them on the higher shelves of her book displays, and out of the kid's reach. 

It was almost seven o'clock, and she hit the record button on her machine to record The Avalanche game she was bound to miss when her dinner guests arrived. As if on cue, the doorbell rang as soon as she set the time taking in account the possibility of overtime. 

"Greetings, greetings!" Maxime boomed holding a box of chocolates as his son held a large bouquet of red roses. 

"For you!" the boy, who's permanent teeth had came out since the last time she saw him, said smiling up at her. 

"Oh, you shouldn't have!" she accepted the flowers, and felt like steering her thoughts away from all the floral gifts Marc had given her in the past was like driving a semi truck on slushy snow. 

"Happy Valentine!" the father said when she met his eyes. 

"I completely forgot what day it was!" She blushed dropping her gaze to the big, elaborate box of chocolate he presented her with. 

"I'm glad you invited us, I didn't want to be dateless on Valentine's Day." 

"Hey! You're the Christhmath lady!" Caleb exclaimed wanting the attention back on him. 

Chuckling, she dropped to a squat in front of him, "And you're the pirate captain, aren't you?" 

Shaking his head he declared, "I'm Ironman!" and drew her gaze to his Marvel t-shirt. 

"Ironman is his flavor of the month." His dad clarified scratching the back of his head and still holding the box of chocolate braced against his chest with his other hand. 

"That's cool! I like Ironman, too!" turning to the kid again she asked, "How's your puppy, Monster?" 

"You know my puppy?" his eyes lit up and he yanked at his father's pants leg, "Chrithmath Lady knowth Monthter!" his light lisp was less noticeable now that his upper teeth grew out, but still there. 

"Christmas Lady, I though get new business cards with my new title now." She smiled leading them to the living room. 

Unlike her old loft, this one had a living room that extended to include a dining area two steps lower and overlooking Lake Michigan. Her kitchen was completely separated. 

"I gotta say, you got a great place here, Christmas Lady." Max whistled stuffing both hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels. 

"Thanks. Hardly anyone visits me here." She shrugged lamenting the fact that only Simone and Tamara come to her house regularly. 

"Most of your friends still live in New York City." He stated factually, but she shook her head, "No, not really, I'm just not your typical social butterfly; I don't get close to a lot of people." She set the chocolate on the dinner table, "I like people from afar, I guess, because I like being around people in public places, at work, anywhere actually, I just...don't bring a lot of people into..." she searched for the words to explain it, and he supplemented, "Your personal space is sacred to you." 

"Yes, yes!" she nodded enthusiastically, "I just don't welcome outside interference into my personal business; so I have a strict screening process, if you will." 

Noticing the keen look in his eyes that made them seem more green than hazel, she changed the subject swiftly, "I wanted us to have a fun meal, so I made a bunch of stuff that are quick to eat and easy to handle. I don't have any video games, but I have board games, cards, and classic Looney Tunes DVDs that we can all watch." 




Flowers for Jill Ch. 07



Max's hand was warm and felt too big when he cupped her shoulder, "I appreciate it, it really means a lot to me." his thumb swiped back and forth, his touch reassuring through the light wool fabric of her knit sweater. 

Laughing nervously, she glanced at him from under her lashes as she arranged the flowers in a vase, "You like board games that much, Maxime?" 

Her comment made him laugh and tighten his fingers around the ball of her shoulder before sliding his hand to her elbow where the sleeves bunched up in the roll she put them in. Direct skin contact. 

"For welcoming me and Caleb into your home; your sanctuary, Jillian." 

"Oh." She met his eyes, and for the first time felt a stirring in her tummy. It wasn't the combustible dynamite desire that Marc ignited, but it was warm and definite, sudden yet familiar while still being exciting. 

"You're welcome." She mumbled keeping her eyes on his. 

She had to kiss him. The urge came out of the blue, nudging her forward, and prompting her to cant her head up and part her lips in a soft inhale. 

And he knew. He just knew that she was ready. He'd waited for her to come to him, she saw it in his eyes; his consideration, hesitation, his deep attraction, and the manners that kept him in check. 

While Marc went for what he wanted, rash and intrepid, Max waited for it to come to him as he bided his time and seduces with subtlety and courtesy. Marc's seduction came like the molten lava of an erupted volcano that encompassed and overtook everything in its way, no limits, no barriers, no excuses. Max gave her the time and space that Marc didn't, and she was thankful for that. She must be, isn't that how it should be? 

Unfortunately for Jillian, it was too late for a crash course in relationship Dos & Don'ts. Her brain chastised her to stop comparing the two men, and she obeyed the minute his full, sensuous lips pressed against hers. She banished Marc's suggestion that she might suffer from some degree of anxiety that made her stick to an extreme of either stagnant safe routines, or flighty impetuousness. Dropping him as the Model Man to hold against every potential partner, she followed his advice and stopped over thinking things and just surrendered to the novel feeling of experimenting without any expectations. 

Max's mouth had a pleasant spicy taste of cinnamon gum, and she reveled in exploring his taste, his touch, and his warmth. Taking his cue from her, Max sent his hands to clasp her waist getting bolder as his kiss grew more intimate. She wore leggings and a sexy slouchy sweater for comfort, and his fingers crept under the hem of the sweater to caress her skin. It didn't take long after that for the heat to seep into her and spread under her skin and along her limbs. Their teeth clanked against one another's and she rotated to the side, twisting her lips for a better fit against his when he was about to pull back shyly. 

Sex was a messy business. Not just the act itself, but everything that came with it including foreplay. Savagely graceful, if that was a thing, elemental and base. You didn't pause to cater for timidity or any awkwardness you might feel; the sudden halting of a groove chases the momentum away. Jillian knew when to slow down and resume with a different strategy without pulling to a complete stop, and she communicated it to Maxime with every touch, every brush of her breasts against his, and every swipe her tongue took of his mouth and lips. Her attitude either shocked or thrilled him...maybe both, for his hands stilled for a moment as he seemed uncertain before groaning and taking her lips just the way she offered them. 

Needing air, she pulled back momentarily and caught the aroused look in the mossy pools of his eyes that encouraged her to give him a little saucy smile before brushing her lips against his chin and the corner of his mouth until settling on his lips and canting her face to the right this time. She had a hand cupping the back of his head as she tasted him from every angle. Her fingeres threaded in the curling waves at his nape as her other hand settled on his chest and contracted on the flannel of his shirt when a little voice crept into her ears. 

Pulling back, she swallowed and focused her gaze on little Caleb who was tugging on his dad's pants leg again with a wrinkled nose and an adorable expression on his innocent face, "Dad! Gross!" 

With an embarrassed laugh, Max pulled back wiping his mouth with a shaky thumb, "Grownup stuff, buddy, you're not supposed to watch." 

Jillian thought that she must be shameless because she didn't even blush peering back at Maxime as he tucked his shirttail back in his jeans and tugged at the legs. A bulge had started to form at the crotch of his pants after a mere kiss and a few caresses, and she had to fight the urge to smile smugly. 

There were two reasons for her to smile; his prompt arousal after touching her, and her overcoming her hesitation with him. She was ready to share herself with him. It didn't take a miracle worker to get her to take that step, no lightning bolts struck her on her way home, no burning bushes appeared in her kitchen, and she didn't hear a chorus singing Hallelujah either. The realization made her admit that she still preferred Marc, but had to be realistic. The hurdle, the lump in her throat that she couldn't swallow when she loved Curt wouldn't stay lodged in her esophagus; Marc had made it go away. And even when a different kind of pain, a desperate yearning lingered inside her after everything that's happened with him, Marc still helped her unearth her resilience and ability to adapt and change...to live her life when the world around her went up in flames. 

Sure, she was thinking of him again while chatting with her guests and offering them some snacks in her den, but she wasn't lamenting what could have been or speculating on whom he might be bedding that night. 

"No sir, not me." she hummed an extension of her thoughts. 

"What was that?" Max asked her and she realized that she'd said that out loud. 

"Nothing," she shook her head changing the direction of her thoughts and the conversation, "I have a bunch of fun activities planned, but I can pop a cartoon video as background...um...TV, you know, background!" 

Max chuckled at her klutzy little declaration as his son chirped, "The Kings are playing tonight!" and hopped to the console to snatch the remote. 

Tsking, his dad frowned, "Is that the behavior of a gentleman at a friend's house?" then to her, he shrugged, "Hockey is another new flavor of the month for him -or has been since The Kings won The Stanley Cup last summer." 

"That's absolutely fine," she smiled, "I was watching The Avalanche game, but The Kings are fine with me." 

Max obviously struggled to focus on the game as he made a dozen excuses to touch her with liberal familiarity, now that the ice hadn't just gotten broken, but was completely melted by their steamy kiss earlier. At one point, he had his fingers laced with hers and compressed her hand slightly to get her attention and whisper, "You taste better than I imagined." 

Burrowing closer to him on the sofa, she murmured, "Does that mean you had dirty fantasies about me?" 

"You'd be shocked to know just how dirty they are!" he wiggled his eyebrows, and she had to fight the urge to say, "I wouldn't bet on it." as her mind recalled the nature of the activities she and Marc had crammed into their various sexual marathons. And no, she wasn't thinking about Marc again, and it wasn't difficult to keep him locked outside of her head everytime the commentators mentioned the results from The Canadiens' game earlier that night. 

"I read somewhere that hockey was supposed to be organized chaos, but so far all I see is chaos, I'm not following anything," Max griped as his son started to cheer, "What's icing?" 

She started to explain it to him when her cell phone started to ring, and she excused herself, "I won't be long, I'll just see who it is, and get us some gelato from the kitchen while I'm at it." 

Her sure steps faltered when she slipped the phone from its cover to see Marc's name on her screen. She picked up the phone without a "yes" or a "hello". 

"Jillian?" Was all he said and silence followed for a good half minute. 

"Yeah?" she glanced back at her date and his son as they both pointed at the screen, the man asking questions and the boy explaining the happenings to him. Max looked up and smiled at her, and she gave him a shaky smile before entering the kitchen. She was being ridiculous, there was no reason for her to be nervous. 

"I'm kind of busy right now, what can I do for you?" she opened her freezer and stared unseeingly at the ice cream tubs. 

"You watching the game?" he ventured in a smooth voice that was too low to be his characteristic tone, "I heard your TV earlier." 

"I have some people over." She placed the three containers of ice cream on her table and went looking for her tall ice cream glasses. 

"Oh..." he cleared his throat, "Are you on a date?" 

"Marc!" she began and shook her head not knowing how to proceed, "Marc," she repeated lamely. 

"About the other night, I...I...you have to understand...it wasn't...I've missed you, and..." 

Her hand stilled on the counter door as she squeezed her eyes shut trying not to lash out on him again after supposedly putting that whole mess behind her. 

"Marc, it's okay, I was being difficult and I had no right to intrude on your life or speak to you like that." She told herself that she meant it. 

"No, Jillian, it's me, of course you have the right to be-" 

She interrupted, "Be nothing. It doesn't affect or bother me, believe me. We had an agreement, and as long as I'm in Chicago -which is where I'm staying- we lead separate lives. It took me a while to digest that thought, I guess, but now I'm completely okay with it. You don't need to worry. I hope I didn't ruin your evening." 

"All my evenings get ruined when you're not with me." 

Her legs started to shake, and she wanted to sit down badly, but she shook her head again as if he was looking at her, "Please don't." 

"For almost two months now, I've tried to drown the sense of loss and desperation by forcing myself to indulge into pleasure, but it's not working, Jillian, I'm failing miserably, and you need to know that. I need you to know it." 

"Why? Why? Why?" she repeated waving her hand and not knowing how to proceed with the question. 

"Because you're not doing anything towards solving the issues you have. You know you can ask me for help, I'm here for you. I'll listen, offer advice, and even help you find someone to talk to-" 

"A shrink? I'm not crazy, Marc." 

"I didn't say you were, we all have our down moments and need to talk to someone." 

"Talk to a professional." She gave up looking for the glasses and set a trio of ramekins on the table. 

"Yeah, a professional, what's wrong with that?" he reasoned. 

"Nothing, only I don't need to, I'm perfectly fine -mentally, professionally, and now socially, I assure you." 

"You miss me." he took another shot from a different direction making her halt speechlessly. 

"I know you do, because I miss you, and I want you to be happy, you know that. We always end up arguing about something, and I know I'm not the most accommodating, easiest man in the world, but I also know that it's not impossible to work things out with me, you just don't want to because you're incredibly stubborn, and so set in your ways. We always end up arguing because you're afraid that-" 

But he was accommodating and sensitive to her needs. She interrupted him when alarms started to ring in her head warning her that he might be right, "We always end up arguing, yes, maybe because we just need to stay away from each other." She didn't mean it, and it sounded like nails being dragged across a blackboard even to her ears. 

He uttered a foul curse then said forcefully, "I'll pretend you didn't just say that." 

"Pretend whatever you want, buddy boy, in the meantime, I have guests I need to tend to." She couldn't tell him that she was spending the evening with a man, despite the fact that things wouldn't progress beyond kissing and petting with Caleb being there. 

Yet, he didn't relent confirming it, "You're on a date." He said, "Okay, I can respect that, but whoever he is, you don't want to be with that bozo," He decided on a low blow, "he's not the one you want to take into your pussy, your mouth, your ass, Jill, but me. I bet I've been on your mind all evening. I bet you compared him to me ever since he stepped foot in your house, and that he came out lacking. You won't admit it to me, but I know I'm right." 

This was a more abrasive side of Marc that she wasn't acquainted with. Sure, he's always been persistent and used crafty tactics to get her to bend to his will, but this was just blatant and insolent. He must've been running out of patience. 

Instead of an angry reply that put him in his place, she took a deep breath and a small lick of strawberry gelato then said, "I think you're the one with anxiety, not me, and you probably suffer from delusions brought on by your narcissism." 

She could just see him smirking triumphantly when he countered silkily, "You haven't fucked him yet, have you? I bet you haven't even kissed him." 

"That's when you're wrong, Dussant," she started to embellish a little story when Max knocked on the kitchen door which she left slightly open, then poked his head in, "Can I help with something?" 

Not what's taking so long, he wasn't a pushy, arrogant smartass like the man on her phone. 

"It's just work," she scrunched her nose and signaled the phone, "My boss back in New York has me mistaken for an IT tech." 

"IT tech, huh?" Marc chuckled in her ear as Max nodded sympathetically, "Everyone in my office treats me like I should be some sort of computer wizard." 

"Does he know I'm the reason why you're not fucking him?" Marc taunted, and she felt her cheeks flush with fury and an unnamed sensation that she shouldn't dwell upon. 

Hoping to shut him up, she scrambled for a generic answer, "The fastest solution would be to press Control, ALT, and Delete and close the tasks that are lagging if you don't want to reboot and risk losing your work." 

"Does he know that he's just a poor attempt at a rebound?" 

Maxime started scooping the ice cream into the ramekins and she had to take a step back pretending to look in the pantry for something because Marc's voice grew intentionally louder, "Does he know I'm the reason he's never gonna get a taste of that pussy? Does he know that you won't touch him because you want me and no one else? Does he know where I've been? How I've taken you everywhere until-" 

Flustered, she managed to construct a candy coated retort and delivered it in a false saccharine tone, "Mr. Dussant, your problem sounds serious, I suggest you call someone in town to help you. Try Sheila, or Meg, they should be readily available. You might even need them both to try to tend to it since your situation seems to be grave." 

His voice lost the wily teasing taking on a penitent tone, "I meant to explain to you about that-" 

But her small victory had her on a roll, and a stroke of genius made her ask Maxime without taking the phone away from her mouth, "Does Caleb like sprinkles?" 

"He probably does, I know I do! Let me check for you." Max opened the door and called out for his son. 

She knew she scored big when Marc let out a short gasp and stuttered, "Two guys, Jillian? That's how you get back at me? Two fucking guys?" 

"You can look up some numbers in the phonebook, too, if you need a pro to help you." She went on, smiling at her use of the word "pro". 

"Jillian, this isn't you, you need to stop before it's too late." 

Her moment in the sun was short lived, though, cut short when Caleb came sprinted into the kitchen chanting, "Daddy! Daddy! The Kings scored!" 

"That would be a 'yes' to the sprinkles!" Maxime grinned. 

It took Marc a moment, but he started to chuckle and it turned into loud laughter that made her slide the volume down on her phone, "It's a kid? He brought his kid over on a date?" 

Max gave his son a bowl of gelato, then grabbed the remaining two toasting them to her with a smile and signaled that he'd wait for her in the living room before following the boy back out. 

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Dussant, I'm celebrating Valentine's Day with my boyfriend and his son. I don't think I can be of much help to you tonight." as an after though, she added, "Or any other night, considering that we live in two different states." 

"You were the one who told me that what's between us is more than just good sex, and that we're great together," he insisted, "You were the one who told me she didn't want another man, and didn't do what you did on your knees for any other man but me, Jillian. I want you to open up, to stop being so afraid of believing that you deserve a good relationship, I want you to be brave, Jillian. I want you to be truly brave for yourself." 

She started to shake her head vehemently sinking into a well of denial, "It was different back then," she watched the door to make sure Maxime and his son weren't coming back, and couldn't overhear her, "Whatever it was, I don't want it anymore." Then hung up and turned her phone off before he could say anything else. For a lie that big, she thought that something should fall from the sky to smite her for her dishonesty. 

The phone call was a guaranteed mood ruiner, Jillian surmised with a sinking feeling as she joined Max back on the sofa. He had to remind her to pick up her ice cream bowl in which the three sweet balls were melting and mixing into each other. She knew he was privy to the subtle negative shift in her mood, but he kept his observations to himself, and gentled his tone with her. 

Burrowing closer to him, she whispered in his ear, "I'm inviting you to a more private dinner here after Caleb goes back to his mother." She was trying, God knows she was trying. 

"Where do I RSVP?" he smiled softly dropping his eyes to her lips. 

"Right here." She replied pressing her mouth to his. 

But the moment was gone. The earlier success shrunk back and regressed to that uncertain feeling that made her wish she was miles away with a certain ornery blue-eyed Canadian, or just alone...working. She even felt a huge sense of relief when Max and Caleb left after the boy dozed off with his face pressed against her coffee table. 

There were two voice mails from Marc on her phone when she turned it on in the morning, but she deleted both messages without even listening to them. No use chewing the same bite over and over again when she just needed to swallow it and be done with it. 

Her date with Max on Monday night didn't sound as promising as she built it in her mind to be after all. But she went all in wearing a spaghetti strap, brushed silk Alexander Wang dress that looked more like a shift than an outer garment, and told herself she wasn't trying too hard. She didn't bother with a strapless bra or a background music pick for the dinner she didn't bother cooking, dragging out the evening might make her balk and end the date just like every one of their previous ones. 

He was a few minutes early, and armed with another bouquet of generic date red roses, but she smiled and expressed how she loved them before putting them in a vase on top of a sideboard across the room from the roses he brought her on Valentine. 

"Something smells really good." He said following her into the kitchen when she went in for the screw-pull wine opener she forgot to set on the table with the chilled wine bottle and glasses. He must've been nervous because it was clear there wasn't anything cooking on either the stove or in the oven, and the only thing he was smelling was her potting spicy herbs, and the coffee she ground earlier that day. 




Flowers for Jill Ch. 07



"I...didn't cook." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

"Yeah, I can see." He grinned flushing slightly. 

"I thought that...that we might..." she shrugged looking for a subtle way to say it, but caught his eyes on her chest and stole a peek at the silky material that stuck and hugged the full globes of her breasts outlining her nipples. 

"I'd rather...you know, than eat." He met her eyes momentarily before dropping his gaze to her breasts once more. 

With Marc, she would have slipped the straps off her shoulders one by one seductively, so why did her hands protest and freeze rigidly when she wanted to do that exact thing now? The answer was simple, because Marc wouldn't refer to sex by "you know". And he'd probably say something like "Then we'll have to fuck for dinner" or "I came here to eat your sweet peach anyway" prodding her to bite back saucily. She needed that push when she hesitated like she was doing now, she needed a nudge in the right direction. The space that Max gave her did absolutely nothing for her. Fuck consideration, come here and get me, she thought looking at him, how did he expect to feast on a fruit that he wouldn't pluck from the tree? 

Stifling a sigh, she walked past him exiting the kitchen and he followed her wordlessly until she offered him some wine, "Can you help me open the bottle?" she didn't want her shaking hands to embarrass her, but his had a worse tremor. 

"Can I just kiss you instead?" he asked at last, and she licked her lips nodding her assent. 

She was so nervous that she barely felt his kisses, and instead of feeling slick dew moistening her pussy lips, her eyes started to grow misty, and she blinked repeatedly feeling so perturbed and restive. She was so agitated that she wanted to slap his hands or push him away when he started to take her dress off, but she commanded her instincts to stay put while the silky material slid down her body to pool around her ankles leaving her feeling exposed and jumpy in a pair of frilly panties and nothing else. 

In an uncharacteristic show of timidity, she rushed to cover her breasts with her hands, and hoped he thought she was trying to be seductive instead of convince herself to accept his touch by listing the reasons why sleeping with him didn't count as rebound sex. 

"You look gorgeous, Jillian." He whispered trailing his fingers gently from her shoulders to her elbows, caressing her arms until he reached her hands and started to peel her fingers away from her breasts. 

She prayed she didn't feel as stiff to him as she imagined she was. He pressed his lips in a kiss on her right palm, then the left before setting her hands on his shoulders. 

She licked her lips finding herself staring at the tip of his nose when she couldn't meet his eyes. A wild laugh threatened to burst out of her when she contemplated how she was acting more bashfully now than she did the very first time she had sex at seventeen. She barely recognized this modest reticent woman as herself; she never shied away from sex, never said no to a much needed exchange of pleasure even when the man she was with was just a temporary solution, a place filler for the one she really wanted. 

"Touch me." he breathed onto her skin distributing small kisses around her temple and cheek bone, and slowly dragged her closer to him until she was pressed against the front of his fully clothed body. 

The cable knit sweater he wore felt pleasant against her nipples, and gave her a little boost that had her spider-crawling her fingers up his shoulders to wind around his neck. 

He kissed her lips again, letting his hands roam the small of her back and cup her buttocks in his first display of boldness. It felt good, and she didn't want him to do all the work, she didn't want to take him inside her when she wasn't fully ready and end up faking an orgasm. So she stepped out of her shoes losing the three inches they added to her height just to feel his sweater brush her nipples again bringing them to attention. She then broke the kiss and rolled her head to the side offering her neck for him to taste. 

Thankfully, Maxime wasn't a dolt who needed more than a hint to follow the smooth flow, and caught on by placing a wet kiss under her ear. Their slow progress helped her regain her spunk -or a watered down version of her usual sassiness- and she cupped his head leading him to kiss all the places that normally set her off. 

He was so quiet during moments where a lascivious remark would've been preferable, and his laconic attitude discouraged any sexy comment she might've made. Besides, she figured that a lewd suggestion would be out of place since she's been diffident since they started. 

Max pulled back licking his lips and giving her one of his cover-boy smiles and peeled his sweater off. He was lean and fit, like the models on the pages of the fitness magazine he edited. Groomed to perfection, there wasn't a hair on his chest nor a trail of hair down his midsection. And she compromised that though she preferred a man with a little hair on his body, she was completely turned off by overly hair guys, and would rather run her hands on a smooth body than that of a bear with hair covering every inch of his skin. 

When he took her hands in his and placed them on his chest, she smiled up at him while thinking that she can suggest he stop shaving his chest in the future. Yes, the future. She told herself, you have a future with this guy. And she let her fingers explore the contours of his well defined body until she reached his waistband. 

"Unbuckle my belt?" he entreated in a low, husky voice. 

Dismissing how unsure of himself he sounded, and how it was really unexpected from a guy as handsome as he, she focused on how good his taste in clothing was and how his Lacoste belt was from their newest collection. And as safe as it was to go with a Vince sweater and pants by the same designer, he knew how to put the outfit together and look casual yet dressy at the same time. 

"You have good fashion sense." She praised running the pad of her thumb around the embossed button of his corduroys. 

"I'm ready, I came prepared for the fashion police." He joked. 

She hated that show where a bunch of idiots judged people by how they dressed when they themselves needed a serious wardrobe advice, and some manners, but she smiled nevertheless, "The only way you can be completely safe is if you don't risk wearing anything at all." 

He coughed and laughed at the same time, "Wow, yeah, okay!" he ran his hand through his hair flushing slightly, "Care to help with that?" 

She touched her upper lip with the tip of her tongue, "Like this?" and slipped his pants button loose. 

Taking a swift inhale, he nodded closing his eyes. It took him a moment to find his voice and whisper a strangled, "Keep going." 

His zipper wasn't easy to slide down with his bulging penis pushing the front of boxers against it, and she had to slip her fingers inside his trousers to open it, brushing against his caged erection in the process. He took another harsh pull of air into his lungs and exhaled it in a long, "God yes." And finally embraced the brazen route their encounter needed, and carried her, with her ass cupped in both his hands and covered the distance from their standing spot to the couch in a few steps. 

Jillian braced herself against him, holding on and finding a comfortable position as he sat her astride him and held her in place with his hands spanning her ribcage. Her nipples were extra sensitive and touching them always gave her a rush of pleasure, but he merely caressed the undersides of her breasts with his thumbs. 

Turning slightly to offer her right breast, she cleared her throat "Kiss me here." she beseeched, anxious for a little stimulation. 

He glanced at her face then her breast before touching his lips to the poking tip and circling it with a closed mouth. His full lips were made to suckle a woman's breast, and she braced the heels of her hands on the couch's back behind him throwing her head back to savor the sensation. 

The longer he teased, the harder her nails dug into the fabric of the sofa, he wasn't satisfied until she moaned deep in her throat, and he finally opened his mouth encasing his nipple into the hot recess. He sucked at her alternating between slow deep pulls and short licks, and her mood started to shift acceptably. 

As she relaxed, Jillian seated herself lower on him, but the feel on his erection against her crotch made her want to jump up. They were both wearing their underwear still, and he pulled his pants lower but not completely off, yet she felt the need for a little more time to adjust. Thankfully, he switched to her other breast when she placed her right hand on his chest in a subtle suggestion, and she had a hard time stifling a laugh when her mind cruelly suggested that his chest was so smooth her hand would've slid off of it had he been a little sweaty. 

To mask her laughter, she moaned, "This feels good, Max." and he pulled back smiling at her. 

"Everything about your body feels good, Jillian." 

Their eyes met, and his smile didn't falter. He stroked the small of her back and slipped the tips of his fingers into her panties for a second before moving to the front and pressing his index finger along the seam of her crotch. Her toes curled painfully, and she blinked against the urge to jerk away. What was wrong with her? 

He stole a finger inside the leg of her panties and traced her bare labia, and she swallowed closing her eyes. He must've thought she was enjoying it, because he cooed "Mmmm..." and moved his other hand to pull the crotch of her panties to the side allowing himself better access. 

She opened her eyes and watched his hand, tan and perfect, caress her pussy and felt his middle finger flirt with her tight opening. What are you doing? Her mind rebuked, and she jumped up, "I can't. I can't." she found herself babbling, "I can't," she snatched the closes thing she could get her hands on, a knit throw from a chair, and held it against her chest, "I'm in love with someone else!" 

Her words shocked her more than they did him, and he just sat there with a wide-eyed stare while she came close to hyperventilating with the quick shallow breaths she took. What did she just told him? Love? Marc? Sure she had an intoxicating, extraordinary connection with him, but she didn't love him, did she? 

She drew in a shaky breath covering the side of her face with her left hand, "Oh my God, Oh my God! Oh goodness, no!" 

Max was still silent, and she couldn't decide if it was a good or a bad thing since she was coming apart in a bemusing show of frayed nerves. 

"Jesus, I love him. I love him? Oh hell, I love him. I love him. That's why..." she ventured a peek at Max who pulled his pants up adjusting them around his waist. She didn't dare look at his lap and his arousal that she had so callously walked -jumped away from. 

"I'm so sorry." She apologized feeling the pressure of hot tears tickle the inside of her lower eyelids. 

"I'm confused," He said at length, and his voice had a touch of unaccommodating anger, "I thought you said you haven't dated anyone else in years." 

"I didn't lie; I haven't had a boyfriend in years." 

He shot up from his seat, "Then who, pray tell, is this other guy you're spazzing about?" 

Taking an instinctive step back, she swallowed, "I'm not even supposed to...he's..." she wrapped the throw around her torso clumsily still fighting tears, "He and I aren't...we weren't supposed to...it just...we weren't even supposed to..." 

Sensing her loss of words, he supplied with a frown, "Was it the guy that called the other day? The dude you told me was your boss? Were you covering with the oldest excuse in the book? Oh, it's just work." He scoffed. 

Jillian rushed to explain, "No, that guy was -is my boss, I didn't lie about that." 

Snatching his sweater from the floor, he shook it impatiently, "Then who is this other guy?" 

She gulped, "My boss." 

"Yeah, I got that part, you didn't lie about your boss calling, who's the oth—Oooh..." comprehension dawned, and he froze midsentence blinking at her, "You're sleeping with your boss?" 

Her eyes were blurry with unshed tears, she could barely see him, and she nodded then shook her head, but he went on, "Is that why you left New York?" his tone grew softer gaining an understanding quality, and she nodded. 

He took a couple of steps in her direction, then remembered he was shirtless, and pulled his sweater on before enquiring, "Were you trying to end it? Was he...?" he shook his head, "I don't understand, I mean, why did you leave if you're in love with the guy?" 

She wiped at her eye, "It's complicated." 

"Did he make you leave? Was he the one who put an end to things? I don't understand," he repeated once more, "I mean he called you yesterday, so he obviously still wants something. I don't understand." 

"I'm not asking you to understand," she shook her head, "all I want is to beg for your forgiveness. I didn't mean to drag you into my personal mess. This is my own hell to dwell in." the second she finished talking, the gates of tears opened, and she was left with twin rivers running down her cheeks, "I love him, and now I can't stay and work for him anymore." 

Her weeping must've disconcerted him, because his face fell, and he murmured her name, but she shook her head again, "I'm sorry." 

"Claptrap!" he held her by the shoulders digging his fingers firmly into her skin when she shrunk back, "I'm not gonna walk out on you now, not when you obviously need someone. Is this guy trying to blackmail you? Use you? Why did he call? You were so upset after talking to him. Is he threatening to fire you? Talk to me, Jillian, I can see that you're not the kind of woman that gets herself in a tight situation by choice." 

He was taking it in stride, and she mentally applauded him for his standup attitude, but shook her head, "It's very complicated. And you're right, I didn't walk into it by choice, but I didn't stop it either, and I'm paying for it now." 

Presuming, he said, "If there's no hope for anything with this guy then why do you agonize over him? I'm here, and I want you. You can open up to me." 

Eyes wide and bleary with tears, she faced him, "That's where you don't understand the situation." 

"Then make me understand it, daggammit!" He used substitute curse words eve when he was angry and serious, and Jillian didn't know why it ticked her off so much. 

"It's a long story." She started but he pushed her down on a chair and sat on the coffee table in front of her. 

"I have time." 

Abbreviating as much as possible, she recited the synopsis of her ongoing saga with Marc omitting all the private sexual information, and Marc's threesome from the other day. But she recounted the Christmas meeting -sans sex details- to press the fact that Max had every right to be angry, and can leave without a backward glance. 

And he did latch on to that fact, "You saw him while we were dating?" 

She nodded wiping the remnants of mascara from under her eyes, and he asked hesitantly, "Were you intimate with him?" 

We fucked like nymphs, "That's what I'm trying to tell you; I spent the night in his hotel room." 

He looked at her in that way where his eyes stare at each one of hers in turn like strict teachers do to little children trying to intimidate them, and succeeding, "What made you decide to, you know, with me now?" 

When she didn't answer, he added, "I know we didn't get far, but I know you intended for us to." 

Since truth was the best policy and all that jazz, she shrugged, "I've been trying to move on since before my Christmas...relapse, and since we parted ways, he and I that is, I thought I can do it. I wanted to do it. I didn't mean for you to be put in a situation like this." 

"So what's going to happen now?" 

Silence stretched, and she wanted to tell him that she wished she knew, but kept her words since she managed to stop crying. 

"You're going to talk to someone about your anxiety?" 

She didn't like that he brought it up, too, and cleared her throat, but couldn't come up with an answer so she shook her head instead. 

"You want me to leave." It wasn't a question. 

"I'm sorry." 

"It's okay." He rubbed his hands on his thighs, then scowled and licked the side of his mouth, "Actually, it's not okay, but I think I understand now. Finally." 

Another apology would've been lame, so she merely stood up thinking that he was about to rise, too. It felt awkward when he remained seated and looked up at her taking in her barely concealed body. It appeared as if she wanted to kick him out when she meant to usher him out nicely. 

"It's a shame." He murmured getting to his feet at length without taking his eyes off her. 

Never really losing her bravado, she challenged, "Do you want me to apologize again?" she was growing weary of having to explain herself. 

His eyes softened as he touched her cheek briefly, "What I meant was, it's a shame you don't want to be my lady; I'd tread you like a princess." 

"You need a relationship, not a project, Maxime." 

"Huh," he snorted then laughed ruefully, "You think you can make me un-want you by calling yourself a project?" 

A fresh tear escape the corner of her eye, and she blotted it with the edge of the throw as he said, "That's what you truly think of yourself, isn't it?" he looked up exhaling and fisted his hands squeezing them closed a few times before he stuffed them in his pockets, "It might help to talk to someone, because you're a wonderful woman, and you shouldn't be putting yourself through all this mental strain for nothing." 

"I just might do that, Max, thanks." 

As she escorted him to the door, barefooted and half naked, she realized that she didn't just say that to make him stop and leave. She actually meant it. For once in her life, her job wasn't filling the void inside of her, a void that stretched open and gaped at her with a dark toothy inside that she didn't know how to fill. The strong woman who knew how to take care of herself and everyone in her employ has been reduced to a weepy mass of emotions and couldn't stand her ground anymore. 

Instead of the crisp white Moscato she'd picked for her date, she grabbed a bottle of 2008 Malbec that she's been saving for a special occasion a few years down the road since she liked her wine a good eight or ten years old, and headed to the bathroom. Halting her step, she realized that if she attacked that bottle, she'd drink the whole thing, and not wanting to turn into an alcoholic, she went back to the kitchen and poured herself a generous glass. Sure it was three quarters full, but it was still one glass. 

She took a small sip savoring the smooth marriage of sweet, tangy, and bitterness of the grape in her wine and strolled to the bathroom. Her bedroom's free-standing mirror caught her reflection and threw it in her face; she looked like a nightmare. Her hair looked limp and frizzy at the ends, her makeup smudged face was sallow, and the throw she still held like a shapeless strapless dress made her look like a hobo. 

Another sip of wine had her releasing the tucked end of the blanket, and she stood still staring at her naked reflection. Well, she wasn't naked yet. She stepped out of her panties without taking her eyes off her reflection, and straightened again meeting her own eyes in the mirror. 

"I'm sorry I let you down." She addressed the woman in her mirror with a clear voice that rang against the walls of her room, "I love him, and I walked away because I'm afraid, and I'm sorry it hurt you."