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."