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?