Flowers for Jill Ch. 02

"We need to talk." She whispered out of nowhere when she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"About what?" he added a third finger and curled them to rub her G-Spot.

Distracted with renewed arousal, she gulped, "I don't know...but...oh God!"

"You taste like cum, you should be ashamed of yourself." He teased, a smirk twisting his beautiful lips to the side.

"It's your fault," she started to say something witty, then gasped as his palm brushed her clitoris.

"Not really, you're the one who went at my cock like a thirsty little tart." He covered her right breast with his hand and kneaded audaciously, timing his squeezes with his fingers' thrusts. Lubricious, slick sounds accompanied his finger fucking, and she laid her head back on his shoulder, loosening her muscles, and letting him hold and pleasure her like she belonged to him. This is the last time we do this, she promised herself, I'm revamping my life as of tomorrow...no, the second he walks out the door. But he was so warm, and big, and delicious, and a part of her refused to think that this would be it. It; with a capital I. That part was the one that melted in his arms, the one that bubbled and flared and erupted with his fingers deep inside her cunt. That was the part guilty of chanting his name incoherently as his fingers continued to fuck her through her orgasm, then clean her pussy off his fingers when he put them to her lips wordlessly.

She propped her arms against the door holding herself when he released her to pull his pants up. The rustling of fabric behind her made her deduce that he was getting dressed. No second fuck? She wondered, and was answered when he picked her up, bridegroom-style, and laid her gently on the plush stretch sofa in her den.

"I forgot something." He said against her lips when he kissed her, and she scrambled up folding her legs underneath her as she watched him step outside for a moment.

In an instinctive, yet unneeded gesture of self-preservation, she crossed her arms on her breasts, and the sight she provided him brought a gentle smile to his lips when he walked in, disheveled and devastatingly raffish even with his shirt untucked, his tie draped carelessly around his shirt collar, and his suit jacket creased. This is the last time. She promised and warned herself at the same time, unsure of whether she liked that or not.

"These are for you." He placed a medium-sized, clear crystal vase of soft pink daffodils and stark white narcissus on the Brazilian cherry hardwood floor in front of the couch, then bent to give her a lingering kiss on the lips, "They made me think of you." He murmured, and she eyed the pretty flowers then touched his cheek, her other arm still valiantly yet unsuccessfully trying to cover her breasts, "Because they're beautiful, and you're beautiful." He added.

He straightened and looked around, "You'll have to give me a tour of the place next time I'm here."

"Marc, ther-"

"We're still doing Monday at the hotel," he interrupted pointing a finger at her in and wagging it comically, "don't be late, now, young lady."

He winked and left closing the door solidly behind him before she could reply.