Flowers for Jill Ch. 05

"See, we're already off to a good start!"

She rolled her eyes again, "How's that? We've just disagreed on something...again."

"Actually, no; I don't like decaf."

"Right. Whatever." She shrugged, but didn't kick him to the curb, choosing to reseat herself on the sofa, reclaiming her book, "There's a bowl of nuts on the kitchen table," she pointed at her elevated kitchen area that looked like a bohéme café with its quaint furniture and cozy accent pieces, "help yourself or whatever, I don't care." She waved her hand then started leafing through the book for the place she stopped at.

"Thanks." He strolled across her living room, not really interested in mixed nuts, but curious about her house. Books seemed to occupy the majority of her living room and parts of her kitchen with an eclectic collection of bookcases with various designs and sizes. Some shelves divided their space between books and antiques, candles, or decorative pieces, while others filled with books or devoted themselves to display something else. She had a nice collection of paintings, lots of prints, mostly Van Gogh's and Monet's.

The high Andalusian style high dining table was surrounded by wooden stools with midrise backs, and no arm rests. He reached for the nuts bowl on it and his eyes fell on a crystal ashtray that contained her keys, a hair pin, and one of his sugarless Kerr's chocolate mints.

Eschewing the nuts, he snatched the hard candy and smiled when he sat across from her on the couch holding the mint between his index and middle fingers, "Another thing we have in common. I love these things!" he popped the mint in his mouth, the familiar weight resting on his tongue, and the fresh taste tickling his taste buds instantaneously.

"Actually, that's yours; you dropped it in my office. I was curious about it because I haven't seen this brand before, but then again, I'm not a candy connoisseur."

"It's Canadian."

She continued to stare at him, scrutinizing him with those piercing dark eyes before dropping her gaze to his chest, "Your team stinks."

He peered at his gray t-shirt that said Property of Montréal Canadiens under the team's logo, and raised his eyebrow at her, "Um, Stanley Cup Playoffs? Conference finals? One of the last standing four teams? It was just a couple of months back, sweet cakes, don't you remember?"

"The Rangers beat you in all games, fool!"

He didn't know whether to be excited about her talking to him -sarcastic and scoffing as she was- or about the fact that she obviously watched hockey, "Oh, so that's how it is, you're a Rangers' fan."

She pushed off the couch, clearly too distracted to finish her book, "No, Penguins and Avalanche."

Choking on his mint, he coughed out, "Penguins?" then he cleared his throat, "Oh c'mon, I liked it more when I thought you liked the Rangers. You are from New York after all."

"So?" she raised a shoulder then bent over moving things on the coffee table, "I like Sidney Crosby." She said, and it took him a moment to register as he stared at her derriere pushed up in the air, her tiny shorts riding up and over the full cheeks. His eyes detected no panty lines which sent a rush of blood to his groin; there was only one thin layer of clothing between his hands and her delectable body.

She straightened, and he shook his head, "Wait, Crosby? Cry baby, dive everytime, Crosby?"

"Captain Crosby." She corrected walking off to a sideboard table and yanking open one of the drawers, "Best in the world, thank you very much." Then she added under her breath, "Where the hell is that bookmark?"

"I'm going to forgive you for that transgression, but you'll have to be more open minded about forgiving me, too." He knew he pushed it when she turned to face him jabbing a finger in his chest and snapping, "Forgive you for being a lying bastard who tricked me to get some sex and entertainment on my expense?"

Both hands held in front of him, he backed off, "Okay, alright, I'm closing the subject. I'm sorry...again. I find myself apologizing a lot lately."

"Maybe you shouldn't do stuff that force you into a position where you have to apologize. Ever thought of that, Mr. Dussant?"

"I'm closing the subject," he repeated, and pointed at the big, fancy aquarium by her window, "Nice aquarium. Why is it empty?"

She half-twirled to cast a long look at the glass case, "It's not empty." she whispered.

"I need to get my eyes checked, eh?" he grinned closing the distance between him and the aquarium and bending with his hands braced on his knees to pay closer attention, only to find that it was in fact empty. He glanced back at her in question, and she pointed at a big rock on the bottom, "That's my pet rock, Walker." Her eyes glazed as she said, "Get it? Rock? Walker?"

He frowned, "Why don't you buy some fish for it?"

"I had fish," she cried, "I handpicked all thirty four of them, but they all died on me. One after the other. I don't know what happened or why, I fed them just like the kid at the pet store told me to, I kept their case clean, I bought a bunch of shitty gadgets that are supposed to neutralize their water and keep it at the right temperature, but they still died. Swelled up and floated to the top. It's like they did it to spite me," a sheen of tears varnished her eyes for a second, "the ultimate middle finger, fuck you, Jillian, we're gonna die and leave you alone." She sobbed then, of all things, burst out crying, her dainty shoulders shaking with her soft sobs, both hands cupping her nose and mouth like a pyramid.

"Hey, hey, hey," as confident as he always was around people -especially women- he was a lost and confused naïve around crying women, "Jillian, hey." He repeated experimentally, his head feeling too heavy for his neck to support, "It's okay," he reached for her, and started stroking up and down her arms, "It's okay, shhh... Screw fish, stinky, slipper little fuckers..." his hands cupped her elbows and he pulled her to his body, wrapping his arms around her slowly, furtively, until her little shakes and whimpers were his own.

Marc continued to stroke her hair and her back gently rocking her as she wept wetting the front of his shirt. And then it hit him, "This isn't about the fish, is it?" he asked softly against her temple planting a kiss on the side of her head, did he really do that much damage?

"It's everything," she puled.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he kissed her temple again and she let him, "I didn't set out to play such a mean game, I promise."

Her crying seemed to intensify, dammit, you made it worse, he told himself when he heard her whimper, "It's everything...it's you, it's work, it's the fish, it's Doofus, it's this city; everything."

Doofus? Was she having some sort of emotional breakdown? He recognized the early signs for -as a result of his parents' numerous separations and breaks from each other throughout his life- he was the only one patient, and sympathetic enough to care for his manic-depressive older sister whenever she went into her dark place. The Dussants fought viciously, yelled, cursed, and threatened, then separated at least twelve times since he was a child. They never divorced, didn't even entertain the idea, which always made Marc wonder if they were deluded or a touch insane to let a solution like that elude them. Colette, his sister, became reclusive, borderline depressed, and went to extreme limits to please people and make them accept and like her, losing herself in the process. Marc, on the other hand, focused on signing on to any activity that tied him up mentally and physically, and provided an escape from whichever parent's residence he had to choose for a few months.

He knew how to deal with his sister, how to distract her and improve her mood, but his bag of tricks was empty of wiles when it came to Jillian's episode, "I'm sorry," was all he could say again and again until she pushed at his chest to look up at his face with reddened eyes, "It's not just you," she shook her head and swallowed, "I don't cry about men, that's barren, pointless."

He didn't want her to cry because of him, but he wanted her to cry about him. The sudden thought echoed in his mind, and he decided to file it away as a vain wish borne out of selfishness as he said, "You need a break, I understand."

"No, you don't." she darted her tongue to wet dry lips, "Everything is spiraling out of control, all at the same time. It's been building up for months now, and you're just the cherry on top, you triggered the volcano, but it's not all you...you just..." she shook her head again and looked up with a frown emphasizing every word, "Pissed. All over me. All over everything." She had stopped crying, and the transparent lines of her tears were drying on her cheeks, "How could you do that to a person and act like nothing happened? It's a big deal. I don't know about you, but I don't lie to people just to fuck them, and I don't fuck my subordinates at work."

"It was a mistake, I know that, I was drawn to the whole adventure sense of it, and I didn't think straight then, once I had you, I couldn't stop." There, the truth and nothing but.

"Adventure?" she snorted sardonically, but a fresh tear ran down her right cheek, "I bet you fuck a lot of women and call it an adventure, a masquerade; lie and pretend to be someone you're not and call it fun and games."

It was his turn to get riled up, it's true that he indulged and didn't turn down many offers from sexy women, but she was different, "You're the only one I lied to for sex. I know it sounds weird as shit, but it means you're special to me."

She laugh/coughed, "You are one fucked up dude." Her eyes blinked fast again in an attempt to contain her tears, but silently, they trickled down her cheeks once again, "And I thought I was crazy for wanting Jack, I thought I was a mess for relying on a stranger to escape a rigid routine, but you are way, way out there, man."

He smiled self-deprecatingly, "I guess I am," he scratched the back of his head, "I wasn't that way before you."

She stared at him for a minute then whispered, "At first I was angry at you for taking Jack away from me," she wiped at her tears putting on that brave front he came to know so well, "but now I'm worried that you need serious help."

Taking a step towards her, "Yes, I need you."

She stepped back, "No, I meant professional mental help."

"Let's try this first," he cornered her in her own home, hands clasped possessively on her hips, he glued his gaze to hers and repeated with emphasis, "I really, truly am sorry, Jillian."

He held his breath waiting for her to slap him and call him an asshole or something, but she just roasted him with her silence for a few minutes. He was determined on winning her staring contest even if he had to stand in front of her all night and his feet fall asleep in his sneakers.

He felt her body melt in his hands at last, and raised his right hand to her face wiping the remaining tears off of her skin.

"How do you do that?" her voice was so low that he had to read her lips.

"I'm crazy about you, Jillian Zahra." He confessed ignoring the question that he didn't have an answer to, and lowered his head to hers while still biding his time, relying on his studious patience.

She looked at his lips, then up at his eyes, "You are, aren't you?" He nodded, and she dropped her eyes to his lips again, "Or you could be just plain ol' crazy," she murmured and rose to her tiptoes before he could deny her claim, and pressed her lips to his.

That electric, galvanizing feeling of her taste brought on a series of delicious shocks that attacked him all over. The arousal he's succeeded to contain since she opened the door for him, was now in control of him, rampant, and flagrant. He slithered his left hand around her hip cupping her ass and bringing her body forward to press against his erection, and slanted his mouth over hers deepening the kiss.

She didn't pull back or change her mind, which he was half-expecting, so he hugged her without breaking their kiss, and swiveled around so that his back was to the wall. The simple change of positions was meant as a part of his apology; it's your game now, it said. He didn't urge her to wrap her arms around his neck, or start taking off her clothes giving her the upper hand without relinquishing his control. He did, however, continue to run his hands on her sweet body feeling her softness through the thin layers of her barely-there clothes. The backs of her thighs were delicately shaped, firm, and warm leading to the treasure of her derriere that overfilled his big hands. He squeezed the full cheeks making her moan in his mouth and he licked her lips and touched his nose to hers squeezing again and lifting her up to align her crotch with his.

He waited for her, this time it was her choice to come to him. Her passion rose with the same erratic pace his ascended with, yet he waited. His hands filled themselves with her breasts feeling the nipples harden like little pebbles against the centers of his palms, and he breathed her name. Jillian squirmed in his arms putting her bare feet on his tennis-shoes clad ones, and pushed up on tiptoes as her hands grappled onto his shoulders from the front then slid around caressing his muscled round deltoids for a better grip. She wriggled and pressed against him, her closeness forcing him to release her breasts and leave his hands free for a few confused seconds until she moved up again, pulling with her hands and arching her feet.

Taking his cue from her, Marc palmed her ass again hefting her up in one swift move that made her giggle as the breath escaped her lungs in a loud whoosh.

"You alright?" he settled his left forearm under her ass and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Am I too heavy?"

"Light as a feather." He kissed and nuzzled her skin and jaw.

"You can tell me the truth, I won't take offense."

Those graceful arms of hers finally wrapped themselves around his neck, and he printed a wet kiss on her neck, "You're heavier than you look, but still light as a kitten."

"I should be mad at you." She threw her head back offering her elegant neck to him, and he kissed the taut skin on her throat and felt a strained movement under his lips when she swallowed.

"I'm going to make love to you." He told her opening his mouth on her neck and sucking protractedly, the thought of leaving a hickey on her for everyone to see driving him to suck firmly.

Her comment was drowned in a moan that he interpreted as her assent and proceeded to look around trying to guess where her bedroom was.

"Upstairs." She croaked threading her fingers in his hair and moving his head crudely to show him the short winding staircase. He climbed it miraculously managing not to trip or fall as they both kissed and nipped at each other hungrily, not patient or wise enough to wait until they got into bed.

He didn't want to set her down, but had to in order to flip the light switch on despite the silver blue moonlight that her blinds-less windows offered through the gossamer-thin drapes.

"Not that one." She advised when he turned on the overhead lights, so he turned the button down again, and moved to the next one, but she had already switched on the bedside lamps whispering, "Here." Then walked back to where he stood.

They faced each other, and he had to fist his hands at his sides to keep from reaching for her. He was hard as a rock, and his erection strained painfully against the front of his jeans, the denim fabric too constricting and unyielding.

"Take off your clothes for me." he heard his voice rasp huskily despite his iron will, he couldn't wait after all.

Jillian rolled her top on her torso, and slipped it over her breasts that bounced free from the jersey fabric that slid over her arms that she crossed and bent pulling the top up then flinging it over on a chair's seat.

He made a growling sound in the back of his throat striding over to her and taking his t-shirt off in his advance as she retreated to sit on the edge of the bed. She reclined a little with the heels of her hands pressed on the mattress behind her. He hovered over her, smiling down at her upturned face his expression making her grin and touch her upper lip and teeth with the tip of her tongue and reach for his belt.

"No." he ground out grasping her wrists, and got on his knees in front of her, "I said I was going to make love to you. Let me."

She blinked, and he tugged her by the arms bringing her forward to kiss her sweet mouth, "I've never had you in a bed before," he whispered against her parted lips, his breath drying the moisture his tongue left on them, "I want to take my time, to kiss and taste every inch of your body, Jillian."

He relinquished his hold on her hands to stroke the tops of her thighs, watching her breasts rise and fall with her deep breathing, and leaned forward to touch one with the tip of his nose then brush is with his lips before sitting back to look at them again. Her feet arched to assist her in lifting her butt off the bed signaling him to pull her shorts off, "Off." She whispered needlessly as he was already peeling her bottom off of her.

The first thing his fingers encountered when they slipped under her waistband was the cotton of the underwear he thought didn't exist, then his eyes fell on the smiling face of Curious George with the word "Hello" written in white to his right with too many O's that stretched on the other side.

"Holy shit! What the hell?" he laughed and stared at her, "Where did you find those panties?"

"Thong." She corrected concisely biting her lips against a grin.

Marc shook his head chuckling, "This is so wrong, I shouldn't be turned on by this, but I am."

Wickedly, she slipped her index fingers in either leg of the thong and pulled up until the cotton crotch disappeared between the puffed lips of her pussy, "By what?"

"Curious fucking George." He grouched, "This is the kind of shit that you do and make me come unhinged."

"You won't kiss me then?" she beckoned him levering her hips up, and he cursed, "Take those damn panties off, I feel like a pervert wanting to fuck you with Curious George on your pussy."

"Kinky!" she taunted, still biting her smile and wriggled her hips to slip the underwear off. The damp cotton that was stuck to her labia pulled out a clear line of moisture from her cunt, not wanting to part with her sweet heat, and he swore viciously at the wanton little show she put on with her deliberate moves, and the way she murmured, "Oh shoot, now my panties are all sticky!"

"Damn tease," he pinched one of her nipples making her yelp and giggle slapping his hand, "What?" she teased, "It's not my fault that you made me soak my panties."

He cupped her breasts flicking the tips with his thumbs, satisfied at the response he drew from the puckering areolas and hardened tips. His position on his knees aligned his face perfectly with her chest, and he released her breasts to place his hands back on her smooth thighs and order, "Feed your tits to me, Jill." to which she complied by sliding her hands over her ribcage until they reached her breasts, then held them and kneaded them enquiring, "Which one do you want to taste first?"

His eyes centered on her right nipple that she pinched between her thumb and forefinger, "That one," he nodded towards it, and she placed one hand under his chin, the other squeezing her tit and rubbing the velvety top on his closed lips.

"Delicious little toffee bites." He murmured and opened his mouth enveloping the dark pearl into the wet heat of his mouth. She sighed, her trembling hand moved to his nape and he felt her fingers toying with the edge of his hair reminding him vaguely that he needed a haircut. Banking on how sensitive her nipples were, and how she liked to have them handled roughly, Marc raked the tender nub with his teeth. Very little refinement went into his biting, and the savage ravishment made her buck and clasp his head with both hands crying out. A predatory smile stretched his lips as he nuzzled his nose along the inside turn of her breast, sliding under it where she was incredibly soft that the mere brush of his lips and nose against her made her whimper.