Flowers for Jill Ch. 07

Her hands shook and she felt her lower lip and chin tremble as she tried to get up but ended up knocking the mug down and spilling the remaining, now lukewarm, cocoa on the cream crochet table cover.

"Jeez, I'm sorry." She licked her lip and reached for a roll of paper towels, but he was at the table with a washcloth in the blink of an eye. He dumped the small towel on the spill and pressed his hand on it then turned to her again, "What do you want to talk about?"

She wet her lips and swallowed forgetting what she planned to say again, "I..."

"What?" he barked.

And she blurted out, "I'm in love with you."

There was a flabbergasted look in his widened eyes that meant she needed to slow down for him to absorb her confession, but once she started, she couldn't ease or take a breather, "I've loved you this entire time, and I just didn't know what it was...or didn't want to be in love, not with you of all people, so I just didn't try to explain this...this..." she waved her hands, "thing that came over me, this...thing I was feeling, and then it just burst out of me in front of Maxime right when I decided to have sex with him.

"I couldn't bring myself to touch any other man or feel any true attraction in the least for any other man since I met you, and right when I decided to make myself cross over, this came out. I told him everything." She licked her lips gazing up at his still shocked expression, "I'm in love with you, and I can't work for you anymore. It should piss me off how much I love you, it sure did in the past when I wasn't certain what it was, but it doesn't, it just makes me want to be happy. And I can't be happy unless I lose all my ties to the life I conformed myself to. I love my job, but I've made it everything in my life, and let it reign king over me to the point where I had to rearrange every single detail to fit with it. I've reached a point where I didn't enjoy the job I loved anymore, and just did it because it was all I had. Because it helped me blot out the world outside, neglect my own feelings and relationships, and exist for the purpose of executing a perfect job. It was safe because it didn't break my heart, didn't threaten to walk out on me, and wouldn't possibly say hurtful things or leave me for another. A prestigious position that waited for me, and was there for me whenever I needed to hide. But then you came into my life, and..."

She shook her head and gulped, "I stopped wanting to be just safe. My stagnant routine stopped fulfilling my needs and dominating my thoughts, it was all you, you replaced everything, made it better...and I kept walking away from you, turning away because I couldn't stand the possibility of opening up and letting you in, of giving you the heart that I've guarded for so long. I love you, and as much as I enjoy living in Chicago that has come to feel like home to me, I'm willing to move back here just to be with you. I'll do whatever it takes if you'll take me, Marc." She hadn't allowed herself to consider the possibility of a rejection from him; her love for him made her daunting and unafraid of any what if, "I'm sorry I didn't have the time to print out my resignation, but I wrote and signed it on a piece of paper. You can get someone to type it up for you if you want, my handwriting is legible, and quite good, if I may say so."

"Say that again?" his voice was a gravely low hiss.

"I wrote my resignation on a-"

"No, fuck that," he shook his head vigorously and clasped her by the elbow giving her a shake that was on the rough side, "tell me that you love me again, Jillian."

"I love you." She murmured, her eyes getting misty.

"Fuck. Again."

"I love you."

"Oh Jesus," he groaned and frowned as if in pain, "one more time, Jillian, please."

"I love you, Marc."

"God Almighty!" he crushed her lips with a brutal, bruising kiss knocking away the chair she was sitting on, and pushing her back against the kitchen counter. That's what she wanted to feel, Marc's kiss, Marc's touch. It was right, unparalleled. Her whole body responded, buzzing with a whirr of passion, a hunger for him and him only.

She cried his name, and he groaned again letting his hands squeeze hard her in several places while drinking from her lips without even giving her a chance to kiss him back.

She threaded her fingers in his damp hair canting his head to the side to get a better taste of his mouth, and he growled hefting her up the countertop and pressing his hands into her thighs hard.

They licked and bit at each other's lips like two animals sparring not lovers kissing, and he continued to push her back on the counter sliding her ass on the smooth top against some cups that contained wooden spoons, spatulas, and such. The back of her head banged against the wall cabinet over her, and he cursed viciously digging his fingers behind her knees to pull her back to his body and spread her legs.

"Tell me," he hissed nudging her cheek with his nose to turn her head and kiss the side of her face.

"I love you."

"Damn right, you do!" he grumbled, "And you came back for me, no stipulations, no loopholes this time, Jill."

"No stipulations." She cradled his cheeks with both hands to hold his face in front of hers for him to see how earnest she was.

"Don't laugh at me, Jillian, don't fucking laugh at me when I'm dying here."

She's never known him to be one who needed such repetitive confirmation over the same subject, "I'm not laughing at you, I love you."

"I'll be fucked if I let you walk out on me again," he unsnapped her jeans and wrestled them down her hips. She pushed the heels of her hands against the countertop to lift her butt up as he pulled the denim down, "I've watched you leaving me way too many times, and I'm hanging on to a thread of sanity here, I'll chain you to my bed and keep you here if you as much as breathed a word about going away. Not anymore, not after knowing that I'm not the only one in love here."

He yanked at her jeans gauchely, and she stilled, "You love me?"

"You don't know it yet?" he stripped the tight denim off her legs, "Are you questioning me just because you want me to say it back, or do you truly not know how much I fucking love you, Jillian Zahra?"

Her silence was his answer, and he stood in front of her holding her jeans in one hand and raking the other through his hair, "Are you shitting me? After everything I've told you, everything that I shared with you. I laid myself bare to you again and again, and you still don't know how desperately and miserably in love with you I am? I fucking love you, Jillian. I've loved you from the very start, somewhere when my addiction to you turned into an obsession and I couldn't think straight without getting my fix; you."

"Why didn't you tell me before?" she mumbled.

Shaking his head resignedly, he explained, "I wanted to tell you after I brought you home with me. That's why I came to see you on my birthday; I had this big plan worked up in my head, and I thought I had it in the bag. I didn't intend to drag you to that janitor closet for oral, I wanted to talk to you instead, but it happened, and I went back to my hotel in hopes of regrouping, but you followed me and we...celebrated for a while." He smiled wistfully for a second before adding, "Then it all went to hell." his finished with a grave expression.

"How long have you known?" she needed to know.

He inhaled and shrugged, "Subconsciously, I've known all along." He shucked his sweatshirt off, "But I knew for sure after you asked me to let you transfer. I kept thinking about you living eight hundred miles away from me, and finding someone that makes you happy -something I failed in doing- and it broke me. That morning was one of the worst of my life."

She cupped his cheek reveling in the contrast between his scratchy scruff and the soft skin under it, "I'm so sorry."

"That's all behind us," he closed his eyes leaning into her touch, "You're here now. Mine."

"I hurt, too."

"Shhh, you're with me now."

"Yours."

His eyelids lifted up revealing the twin blue orbs of his beautiful eyes, "For always."

She plucked at his ears and jaw line whispering words of love that blended into each other and came out unintelligible. But he understood them, for he answered with a humming of his own as he nipped at her earlobe and the side of her neck. His hands rolled her t-shirt up gracelessly claiming her as his with warm squeezes along her torso. She wriggled out of the top helping him pull it off, and arched her back for him to release the back hooks of her bra. It was her first time not wearing a matching set of fancy underwear with him, and settling for a comfortable beige balconette bra, and seamless black panties that didn't show through her jeans. And as much as she liked putting a show, an extravaganza of perfect fashion and orchestrated dirty banter before sex; this was exactly what she needed right there and then. The familiarity they handled each other with substituted for the deluxe porn star treatment she often awarded him with.

His hands covered her breasts molding and reshaping them while his mouth latched on to a tender spot between her neck and shoulder. He didn't just kiss and nip her skin, he ravaged her as if he needed solid proof that she was there with him, a mark for the both of them to see afterwards and remember the promise they made to each other.

The granite under her ass was slightly cold on her skin when she wiggled out of her panties, and goosebumps rose on her skin as her hard nipples grew even stiffer. Poking against his hands, they registered the slightly rough texture of his palms, the way every print was prominent on the inside of his big hands, and she whimpered clawing at his shoulder blades aimlessly.

"Uncomfortable?" he checked rolling her left nipple between his thumb and forefinger and inspected his handy work.

She pushed her still socked foot against the door of the counter settling better on its top, "Na uh." Her panties hung from her right ankle, and she shook her foot dropping the little piece of fabric on the floor, "Let's get your pants off." Her hands found his button fly and began to work on it, but he grasped her wrists.

"Not yet."

"What do you have in mind?" she traced the outside of his leg with her foot.

"I don't know, I just wanna kiss you for a while." He brought her breasts up mashing them together and started to lick and kiss the sensitive tips.

And she wanted to kiss him, too...she wanted to kiss him and fuck him and love him at the same time. She wanted to hold him inside her and absorb every thought and sensation he felt as hers.

While he gnawed on her nipple torturing it into a throbbing knot of desire, she attempted to reach for his waistband again, but he growled something that was muffled by her tit in his mouth, and pinned her hands behind her ass, "Quit it." he paused to order before switching to the other breast, but she couldn't stop, even with her roaming hands held still by the wrist by one of his. She wriggled forward with the help of her feet that tapped against his calves and the back of his thighs with every slide to the edge of the counter.

Her parted legs hid no secrets. They could both smell her fragrant arousal which leaked in chubby, slippery drops that tricked between her ass cheeks and onto the sleek lapidus granite surface and spread in messy lines when she drew closer to him.

Holding his hips with her thighs, Jillian pressed her pussy to the front of his pants and moaned. Marc drew as much of her breast as he could in his mouth, and the gulping, suckling sounds he emitted made rubbing her spread cunt against his corrugated button-fly even sweeter. Her juices stained the faded blue denim, the spreading moisture making every wild stroke even headier. She knew she didn't have to wait long to come over his angry erection that tented the front of his jeans.

"Sit still, I don't wanna shoot in my fucking pants." He reproved stepping back, but she tightened her hold on him, her ass slithering on the slick pussy juice drops on the counter until she half-hung off the edge and almost fell had it not been for his hands releasing hers and clasping her hips.

"Be still." He readjusted her position.

"I want you."

"And you don't think I feel the same way?" he made a rude gesture to indicate the hard ridge of his cock visible against his pants. It was obscenely big, and she knew it felt painful to confine all that behind his jeans.

"I want you to make me come, then get on my knees and take your dick down my throat, Marc, just the way I like...just like old times."

"Just that way I love," his fingers pressed into her soft skin sliding back and forth over the artery behind her knees.

"Will you let me?" she murmured seductively giving him a coy look that she knew he couldn't resist.

"You wanna come? You wanna fucking come, you little tart?" his husky voice rumbled, and he yanked a drawer open then slammed it shut and moved on to the dish washer, bending his body to the side to reach for it. Upon opening it, the fresh smell of dish detergent wafted to her nose, and she watched him draw out the top basket with its washed burden.

"What are you doing?" she stroked his flank, his hard oblique muscles that looked perfect stretched out tautly.

He almost tripped when she touched him, and shot her a disciplinary glare that did nothing to curb her devious little hands teasing activities. Crawling around his waist, her fingers dipped into his jeans from behind to cup his ass, delighted when she didn't encounter boxers on the way; he had planned to have sex with her even before she admitted her feelings for him.

"I love you so much, Marc." She repeated it just because she knew he needed to hear it, and he straightened up and returned it in between kisses.

"And I," kiss, "Love," kiss, "You," kiss, "Sweetheart," kiss.

Something hard pressed on the top of her thigh when he put his hand on her thigh, and she pulled back licking his saliva from her lips and asked, "What's that?"

He gave her his naughty smirk that she'd missed so much and crouched on the ground adjusting her legs behind his shoulders, "You wanted to come, didn't you?"

"...yes?"

"I'm here to serve," He presented her with a silver spoon blowing on the convex back of its bowl then wiped the fogged surface against the inside of her thigh.

"Marc?" her eyebrows drew together as she couldn't possibly imagine what he wanted to do with a freaking spoon!

She stared at it trying to figure out what's so special about it and what he could possibly do with it in their current situation. Sure it was a nice silver dinner spoon with a cylinder handle that had a textured knot, but what could-her speculating halted when he abraded the edge of the spoon's bowl over the hood of her clit. Her left leg spasmed, and she clutched the edge of the counter, "Good God, Marc!"

He dragged the spoon lower grazing her slick inner lips with it as his mouth descended on the knot of nerves that made her clit, and gave it a sharp suck that made her cry out. The feel of the solid material on her sex was foreign to her, and she grew even wetter realizing that -as a table utensil that he'd just took out of his dishwasher- he'd eaten with it before. And knowing him, she surmised that he would definitely eat with it again, and make a point of silently pointing out that he was using the spoon.

"My God, Marc, you're such a pervert!" She let out a strangled chuckle pushing his damp hair away from his forehead.

He made a show of twirling his tongue around her clit before answering with a lopsided grin, "Right?"

She smacked the side of his head playfully, and he rewarded her with a lick along her slit and a small kiss on the throbbing pearl of her clitoris, "I eat pussy like a gentleman." He pressed the back of the spoon on her opening letting it slide inside a little then put it to his mouth extending his tongue to lick off her juice before popping it in his mouth with a wink.

"Good lord, I'm in love with a sexual deviant!" she settled the arches of her feet on the balls of his shoulders, "And he's everything I've ever wanted."

He stilled lifting his eyes to hers to pin her with a soulful look, "You have no idea how many times I've dreamt of you saying these things to me." his declamatory tone would've sounded smug had his voice not shook passionately with every word, "The more I loved you when you're away, the more pathetic I got, and the angrier I got with myself-" he stopped himself by clearing his throat and closing his eyes.

His pupils moved under his lids as he shook his head looking for the right words to say, and she raked her fingers through his hair pushing his head back and urging him to look at her, "Make me come for you, Marc," knowing that a lewd approach would take his mind off the terrible past few weeks, she pressed on with a salacious voice, "I haven't had an orgasm since the last time you fucked me," it was the truth, "I couldn't even touch myself and be done with it when I couldn't make it come close to how you make me feel."

"Christ!" he pressed his face into the inside of her thigh, his hot breath leaving a dewy mist on her skin, "I'm sorry." He whispered, took a small bite of her skin, then placed a moist kiss on the spot

And she didn't want to ask him what his apology was for because she had an idea what it was about; other women he's slept with during their separation. He'd told her on the phone that he indulged in sex to get her off his mind, and she didn't want to think about past indiscretions.

"Love me, Marc." She catered to his hot points, and he pressed a kiss to her thigh declaring, "I do love you."

"Show me." she incited, and throw her head back with a moan when she felt him push the detailed handle of the spoon into her hole.

The silver stem wasn't thick, a little thicker than a wide retractable pen, but her soft tissues were tender from neglect, and the handle went in scraping her softness and evoking a hundred little sensations and one that she felt all the way to her toes. The heaviness of the silverware also contributed to driving her crazy with need as he twirled it around in her moisture stretching her deliberately.

He plunged it all the way inside her cunt holding the bowl of the spoon with his thumb and bent forefinger, swirling the pad of his thumb on the clear, slick moisture that trickled from her sex onto his hands.

"I want you to see this." He pinched her clit with his other hand to get her attention, and she jerked in her seat and directed her hazy gaze between her thighs.

"Tightest pussy I've ever had," he murmured letting go of the spoon.

Her pussy clenched and released instinctively, but the spoon stayed lodged inside her snug sheath. She wiggled her ass awkwardly and closed her inner tissues around the utensil feeling its intricate knot ridges before relaxing her muscles. The spoon slipped a tiny bit out, but stayed inside her.

"It's been a while since I..." she attempted to explain with a hoarse voice, but he grinned, "You're always tight, sweetcakes," he pulled the spoon out of her, a clear messy layer of her sex juice coated the handle, and he put it in his mouth licking it off, "the tightest." He added tapping the handle's knot on her clit and making her jump.

Marc traced the tip of the handle on her sensitized inner lips in random circles spreading her moisture around, and licking it off the spoon every few seconds. She couldn't take her eyes off the lurid play at her sex, the mess he made of her juices spreading her feminine nectar over her puffy nether lips, her inner thighs, and the delta of her pubic mound.