Flowers for Jill

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.