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.