Blooming

CHAPTER FIVE: THE ULTIMATUM

Monday morning, I woke up with the full knowledge of what was to come; Bridgette had sent me a text that seethed behind a thin veil of professionalism. 'Daisy, I hope you understand that I have an obligation to my own integrity to bring this to Oliver. I couldn't be part of compromising the ethics of our workplace. Toodles!'

Toodles.

She said 'toodles.'

When I washed my hair and exfoliated my skin, it felt like I was sending my career down the drain along with the grime I'd accumulated over the weekend. I'd spent both of my days off rotting in bed with takeout and movies, ignoring my phone and repeatedly groaning at the many injustices of the world -- even though I knew this entire situation was my own fault. Several voicemails from Blythe -- she didn't text -- sat in my inbox. I hadn't mustered the strength to listen to them yet.

After parking my car in the employee lot, I walked into the office in a black skirt and black blouse, figuring that a mourning outfit was appropriate given the circumstances. It felt like everyone was looking at me and exchanging biting whispers like I was in middle school again, feeling two feet tall after getting caught doodling my crush -- a girl -- in the middle of class.

As I settled into my desk, trying to ignore the dark cloud of anxiety that seemed to follow me like a shadow, my desk phone lit up with an incoming call. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I saw line one blinking red. The line that meant an incoming call from the upstairs offices. Oliver, or worse. I took a deep breath and answered it. "Daisy Prince."

"Good morning," Oliver's voice came through the line, sounding unusually formal compared to our normal repartee. Fuck.

"Morning, Oliver," I replied, trying to keep my tone steady despite the nerves that churned in my stomach.

"I need to see you in my office," Oliver said, his tone crystal clear. "Right away."

"Of course."

I hung up the phone and made my way to Oliver's office, my heart pounding in my chest. As I entered the room, Oliver looked up from his desk, his expression unreadable. He'd always been a friendly mentor. We'd bonded over our shared experience as queer people in this industry and he'd always pushed me to be my best. Shame rose in my cheeks. It felt like I'd betrayed everything he'd worked to teach me over the years.

"Go ahead and have a seat," Oliver said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. His graying brows were knitted together. Oliver sighed, running a hand over his bald head -- old habits die hard -- before fixing me with a stern gaze. Tone grave, he said, "I'll cut right to the chase, Daisy. Bridgette informed me about what happened at the party."

My heart plummeted at his words, the full weight of the situation crashing down on me like a ton of bricks. My mind raced as I tried to come up with any words to defend myself, but there was nothing I could stammer out. It was what it was. And it was a mess.

"I don't need an explanation or a defense or anything from you. What I need is for you to understand the seriousness of the situation," he said, his voice firm, and I nodded. "Sleeping with an interview subject is completely unacceptable. This reflects incredibly poorly on not only you as a journalist but on Ms. Sloan and on our publication."

I felt a surge of panic rising within me, the reality of the situation sinking in with brutal clarity. I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, "I understand. Completely and totally."

Oliver nodded. "Good. Because I'm afraid I have to be blunt here. You're a talented reporter and writer, an asset around the office, and a valuable part of your team. But standards are standards and rules are rules. We have them to protect ourselves. If you want to salvage your career, you need to end whatever is going on between you and Ms. Sloan. Effective immediately."

Even though I knew it was coming, it was a punch to the gut, and my tensed muscles only made the blow bruise harder. My voice catching in my throat, I tried to offer up some compromise, "But, I could-"

"There are no buts," Oliver said, his tone unwavering. "This is non-negotiable. If you refuse to comply, I'll have no choice but to bring this to the board. And they're going to recommend I demote you at the very least. Frankly, you're lucky Bridgette brought this to me and not the EIC, much less some tabloid like I'm sure she was foaming at the mouth to do."

As the weight of Oliver's ultimatum settled over me like a suffocating blanket, I felt hopeless. Looking down at my shoes, I said, "Consider it done."

"Good." Oliver stood up and moved toward the office door. With his hand on the latch, ready to dismiss me, his expression softened and he said, "Look, this is a hiccup, or at least it can be if you bounce back. You're young. It's not like this was a married governor or something. It's not like you were coerced or manipulated. In fact, in another life, I could see the two of you in a great relationship. I mean, the similarities are obvious." Realizing he wasn't helping, Oliver sighed and said, "I'm sorry this is how things are, but I have no doubt you'll make the right choices moving forward."

"Thanks, Oliver. I really appreciate it." I stood up, avoiding looking at him, and walked through the open door. "I'll see you at the pitch meeting this afternoon."

"Just remember what I always say."

I rolled my eyes and recited one of his many contradictory affirmations: "Keep your chin up and your head down."

And I walked back to my desk in the open newsroom.

Caught between my career and my heart, I knew that whatever decision I made would shape the course of my future. I knew, logically, that I hadn't known Blythe very long. This was a new thing, not even a 'relationship' yet. The objective part of myself that I'd been honing for years told me it was an obvious choice, easy to make.

But.

And it felt like a pretty significant 'but.'

When I thought about Blythe, spring colors bloomed throughout me. The frozen landscape melted into an aquamarine Tahitian oasis. Warm and soft and Just meeting her eyes felt more intimate than any relationship I'd been in before. It didn't feel like a couple of random hookups. It felt...big. Like potential. Like it might be worth whatever it took to keep her close to me as long as I could.

Fuck.

After the end-of-day pitch meeting, I slipped into my car and dialed her number -- which went to a landline, by the way.

Blythe answered on the second ring. "Daisy?"

"How'd you know it was me?"

Her voice came across as a little embarrassed as she replied, "Only three people have my number; one of them doesn't like phone calls and the other works here."

"Fair enough." I swallowed hard. "Anyway, ah, I had my scolding with Oliver today. I thought I'd come up there and talk to you about it, if that's alright."

"It's always alright."

"Okay. I'll be there soon."

As I navigated the winding roads leading to Blythe's secluded mountain home, my mind raced with conflicting thoughts and emotions. The weight of Oliver's ultimatum hung heavy over me, a constant reminder of the impossible choice I faced. But amidst the turmoil, there was a glimmer of hope, a flicker of warmth that I couldn't ignore. When I finally arrived at Blythe's house, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the snow-covered landscape.

Blythe was waiting for me outside at the bottom of the steps, her expression a mix of concern and anticipation as I approached. Without a word, she pulled me into a tight embrace, the strength of her arms offering a sense of security that I desperately needed in that moment. I buried my face against her shoulder, drawing in a deep breath as her familiar citrusy scent enveloped me, grounding me in the present. Her body assured mine that I didn't have to face anything alone unless I wanted to.

"Daisy," she murmured, her voice soft and soothing against my ear. "I'm so sorry about everything."

I shook my head. "It's not your fault, Blythe. None of this is."

We stood there in silence for a moment, clinging to each other as if our lives depended on it. And in that moment, I knew with a certainty that defied logic that I couldn't walk away from her, no matter the consequences. I don't know how else to explain it, honestly. It was intuitive. I knew that I needed her the same way I knew that stepping into the sun could mean a perfect golden afternoon or a week of painful peeling sunburn.

Pulling back slightly, I met Blythe's gaze, my heart pounding in my chest. I whispered, the words tumbling out before I could stop them, "I can't lose you, Blythe. I know you're going to say it's not sensible, and I should do what I have to for my career and-"

Blythe's eyes softened, a tender smile growing at the corners of her lips. Her thumb brushed over my cheek. I leaned into her touch. She asked, "You haven't listened to any of my voicemails, have you?"

My brows furrowed. "No, why?"

"Play one."

I fumbled my phone out of my coat pocket, unlocked it, and pressed play on her most recent voicemail.

"Daisy, I understand if you need to end this, I really do, and I'll respect your decision if that's what it comes down to." There was a long, shaky pause. I looked up at Blythe and she gave me a pointed look. The recording continued. "But don't. Don't end it. I know there are risks, and I know it's ridiculous, but I'm willing to take those risks if you are. If it means I get to be with you even one more time, even just to say goodbye. I need you as much as I needed these past years without anyone by my side." Blythe pulled in a breath as unexpected tears bit at my eyes, looking up at the real woman right in front of me. "And I just...I couldn't let you make your decision without knowing how I feel."

I wiped at my cheeks, feeling silly and romantic and like a teenager again all at once, and let out a laugh. "Should I listen to the rest of them?"

"No, no," she said quickly, jokingly taking my phone, "those are a bunch of tipsy tirades about your bitch coworker and how seen I felt by your article and about just how fucking beautiful your ass is."

I rolled my eyes and giggled. "You haven't even gotten a good look at it yet."

"Well, let's change that." She leaned down and kissed me, her hands traversing down the back of my coat to my butt, where they eagerly grabbed. "Let's call it make-up sex."

I kissed her, too, and teasingly argued, "But we didn't get into a fight."

"Not with each other, maybe."

"Whatever gets me laid, I guess."

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. "You're such a smart-ass."

CHAPTER SIX: PILLOW TALK

Blythe led me up the stairs to the primary bedroom, which I hadn't seen before but had definitely imagined. Inside, it was a harmonious blend of serene design and personalized touches, exuding an air of warmth and comfort that immediately put me at ease. Soft pastel hues adorned the walls, while rich jewel tones accented the furnishings, creating a space that was both soothing and homey but also an artistic feast for the eyes. In the corner, yet another wood fireplace crackled. I realized that meant she'd lit the fire. She knew we'd be coming up here. I smiled a bit at the thought.

The entire house was maximalist, yes, but this space felt more intentional and less a hodgepodge museum of an entire life's collections. The things in here were the ones so personal to Blythe that she didn't want them displayed. Along one wall, a vintage vanity sat with its ornate details and array of mostly vintage beauty products neatly arranged atop its surface. Framed photographs adorned the walls, capturing cherished moments and memories that filled the room with nostalgia. The art in here featured Blythe with friends and family, her awards, first prints of her book covers.

Personal, not decorative. A cozy seating area nestled in a corner by the fireplace, complete with overstuffed armchairs and soft throw blankets, provided the perfect spot for intimate conversations and quiet reflections.

At the center of the room stood a magnificent canopy bed, bigger than king-sized, its sheer cream-colored curtains billowing gently. The entire home always had its own sort of breeze, laid out in a way where air moved around freely. Like it was alive, breathing right alongside us. The bed was covered in plush pillows and sumptuous silken linens, inviting us to sink into its embrace and lose ourselves in its luxurious comfort.

After a moment of taking it in, Blythe pulled me close to her and kissed me. This time, we didn't have to rush and there was no secrecy to it. We both knew it was taboo, still, but we didn't care. Our lips were a tempest, an elemental force that swept us both into each other in a powerful shared yearning. When our tongues found one another, the intensity reverberated through the rest of my body.

Blythe started to undress me, unbuttoning my shirt and slipping it over my shoulders. As she went for my skirt, though, I pressed my finger to her lips as she began to lean down, ready to push me back and ravish me. "No, it's my turn. You've gotten me off twice before, which I think means I owe you."

She kissed my finger and laughed. "Making you cum wasn't exactly a chore."

"Well, then I'll admit that I'm just dying to eat your pussy, to be honest."

"That's better."

I shoved her playfully. "Just take your fucking clothes off already."

"Make me."

I teased, "So lazy."

Then I bridged the step between us. No matter how much I wanted to just pounce on her, rip her clothes off, and devour her, I knew not to. She didn't have to say outright this would be her first time having someone else get her off since her divorce; I'd gathered that much through the interview and our other encounters. I wanted to give her what she needed, yes, but I also wanted to show her how sexy she was, how much I desired her, and how much effort I'd put in to make sure she knew those things.

So I undressed her with care. I lifted the hem of her sweater up over her head, folded it, and placed it on the chair closest to the bed. Then my fingers went to the silver button of her loose-fitting jeans, slowly pulling the zipper down next, and slipped beneath the waistband. I tugged them down her legs and, as I knelt down, my lips trailed just behind my hands. I planted kisses along her hips, the outside of her thigh, and her calf. As she stepped out of the pants, her skin was bristled with goosebumps, the anticipation crackling in the air between us.

Standing there in a matching nude bra and underwear, sporty but feminine, Blythe seemed younger and more innocent than I'd seen her. Gone was the confident, mature, experienced woman I'd been with before. Now, she was mine to take, a bundle of nerves to unwind with precision and care. When I unhooked her bra and let it drop down to the floor, her eyes smoldered.

I ran my fingers through her hair for a moment, just looking at how beautiful she was, before one of my hands went to the back of her head and the other to her waist.

Tugging her head to the side by her hair elicited a surprised, aroused gasp from Blythe. My lips went to her neck. I dragged my mouth up and down the side, stopping to kiss and suck each time I felt her breath quicken.

Finally, I pushed her back on the bed and straddled her hips. For a second, I reveled in the surprised, turned-on expression that illuminated her angular features. Then I pinned her arms above her head and kissed her hard, biting her lower lip and letting myself fall into every desire I'd been ignoring for the last couple of weeks. My lips grazed along her jaw, her ears, her neck. I tasted her skin.

Blythe's body responded to me effortlessly. I took her nipple in my mouth and her back arched to give me better access. I gripped her hip and she writhed to dig my fingers in further. Each movement brought out a delicious response. Her nipple was a perfect size for me to suck on to my heart's content, circle my tongue around, and bite ever so slightly until she groaned with newfound pleasure. I memorized the way every motion made her react.

When I moved lower down, Blythe unconsciously spread her legs, needy for my attention. While my hands went from grasping her hips to spreading her legs further, I sucked hard on her inner thigh. Hard enough to leave a mark. The sharp, breathy moan that she drew in was the reward I craved. I left a path of reddish blooms down each of her thighs before I even thought about letting myself look at her uncovered pussy, knowing that if I did, I'd have no choice but to spend the rest of my day there.

Once I'd spent so much time igniting the rest of her nerves that Blythe was squirming for me, I finally looked at her cunt -- and my own responded with wet, hot, pulsing desire. Her pubic hair was as black as the raven hair on her head, kept in a neat bush but shaved further down. That dark hair with an appetizingly pink pussy, literally glistening with wetness at her entrance. Her engorged clit beckoned to me from underneath its hood.

I grabbed her underneath her knees and pulled her to the edge of the bed so I could kneel below her on the floor. I drew my first two fingers along her slit, enticed as it opened for me and I was able to slowly thrust my fingers inside with ease. Blythe groaned, savoring the fullness of my fingers as her cunt gripped them. I curled my fingers forward and smirked at the way her mouth fell open in a perfect 'O' of delight. I fingered her like that, ignoring her desperate clit, for a minute, my eyes closed as I luxuriated in the warmth of her cunt.

Then, unable to resist for a moment longer, I leaned in to add my mouth to my fingers, her legs balanced on my shoulders. Tasting Blythe for the first time was like sipping sunshine. I'd been living in a gray winter but she was morning dew on fresh-cut grass, the ripest peach fresh off the tree, smooth and lingering honey. My tongue found her swollen clit easily.

For a moment, I let myself be selfish in my exploration of Blythe's gorgeous pussy, just licking and sucking without intention. But Blythe's groaning, urging moans made me remember why I was really there. I spent a moment working through different techniques to figure out what would get her there and, more importantly, what would drag out her pleasure until she was begging for release.

So I settled into the rhythm of eating her out the way she deserved. My fingers worked her walls, massaging her insides with firm, confident strokes. At the same time, I sucked gently on her clit, my tongue applying pulsing pressure in unrelenting waves. I kept a constant pace that ever-so-gradually sped up as I made sure not to rush and not to lag. Her thighs twitched and, as she climbed closer, she began to grind her hips back and forth to control the thrusting of my fingers. I matched her pace and intensity until sweat beaded on my forehead, our fever pitch reaching a crescendo.

Blythe had been relatively quiet aside from breathy moans, but, in the few seconds before she came, she seemed to find her voice. My name sounded nothing short of divine coming from her mouth. And then her pussy was clenching down on my fingers and a new flood of milder, sweeter juices flowed around them. I lapped at her cunt as she came hard on my mouth, her voice, amplified by ecstasy, ringing through the echoey house.

When the ripples of her orgasm subsided, Blythe sat up and greedily pulled me toward herself. Our lips met again, sharing the taste of her, and our breaths were heavy as they mingled, gradually slowing. Blythe pulled back a few inches, a sly smile painted on her lips, and laughed as her eyes searched my face. "You are just...exactly what I've been needing, aren't you?"

I kissed each of her cheeks and replied, "If all you need is to be adored, count me in."