The Intern Pt. 03

I swallowed felt my gut begin to tighten again as he took me in his arms and held me against him, the stubble on his jaw brushing my temple as we swayed to the music. This didn't feel like anything I understood... calm, effortless, and yet irresistibly intimate. It wasn't rushed or carefully defined or emotionally guarded. It slipped under my skin and told me all my secrets from inside. It was wonderful... and I was absolutely certain that I was going to screw it up.

I lifted my head from looking at his hand holding mine against his chest, ready to say that I had to go because I was tired... or late for something... or anything... anything that would let me get a measure of control over the situation, but then he tipped his head down and his lips brushed against mine. Kissing me softly, slowly, warm and wet, his breath shaking almost as much as I was.

Kissing usually makes me close my eyes... an almost irresistible impulse for me, but this time I couldn't stop watching Forrester bending his head and dipping to my mouth to taste it, like it was an exquisite morsel. Maybe I couldn't believe what I was seeing, or maybe I thought it would become a dream if I dared close my eyes, but I just stared as he moved his lips over my face, feeling his breath lightly fall on my skin as he did.

"So..." he said against my lips, opening his eyes and not seeming surprised at all that mine were still open and watching him. "I seem to be touching you... does this mean you no longer think I'm a stranger?" he asked, now moving his lips along the line of my jaw.

I let out a silent laugh. "Stranger than most..." I murmured. "I tell you I can't have sex with you, and now you're kissing me. For a numbers and data guy, you're completely irrational," I mused.

"Ah, the certitude of youth... I'm not irrational at all. I'm kissing you because I want to kiss you, and because you want me to kiss you," he said, returning to my lips and flicking the tip of his tongue between them with the next kiss. I sighed happily. I really did want him to kiss me. I felt like a budding flower each time one of his kisses fell down on me like a warm raindrop.

"It's so nice... kissing," I said, opening my mouth slightly for him to kiss me more deeply. "Why are you so good at kissing me?" I asked, not even understanding what I meant.

"Practice, love," he said, bending to nip my neck as my head fell back. "In my mind, I've kissed you thousands of times, since I saw you in that elevator."

I shook my head with a smile, leaning my head back against his chest, my forehead fitting into the curve of his neck. "I don't believe in love at first sight. Lust, maybe, but not love. You saw a girl in a fuzzy sweater with nice breasts and free food. I was a pipe dream in that elevator... but, you didn't have nearly enough data to be in love with me, CFO."

"Didn't I?" Forrester said, looking down at me with secret amusement in his eyes. "Well, it must be that you're in love with me, then, because kissing is never this good without someone being in love. Besides, I've given you more than enough data to be in love with me by now," he said, his eyes crinkling in silent laughter.

Oh, come on. Don't fall for that, Gillian. Don't you go for that lazy piece of bait like a starved— "That's such utter bullshit," I said, jumping at the bait and devouring it, having gone deaf to my sensible inner voice and raising my head to look into his eyes. Forrester's smile widened, pleased with his success in provoking me. "I know nothing about you except that you are an amazing cook, you garden in the city, and you play weird passphrase games with your doorman," I said.

"Is that all you've picked up?" he asked, bending to kiss me again. "You're not even trying. You're a lot more perceptive than that. Tell me... what was my undergraduate minor?" I frowned at him, searching his eyes, only to find that he was perfectly serious about the question. He took me on a swirling turn around the rooftop as I stared at his chest, trying to work out the answer. His minor wasn't in his LinkedIn profile - only his predictable Business major. I thought about his office, but there were no diplomas on the walls or other displays of achievement. His office had only framed puzzle prints of masterpieces... and then there was that sketch of the twig he drew on my namesheet at the cubicle...

"Art... you had an Art minor," I said to his chest. It seemed like a weird choice of minor for a Business major, but I was almost sure that was the answer. I lifted my eyes to his face. He had been watching my face the entire time, and I felt a tremble inside.

His eyes warmed and I felt his pride in me, as he put his lips to my forehead. "And I know that you're brilliant," he murmured. "Soon you'll figure out what kind of volunteer work Trudy got me involved in, and then you'll know how a data type of guy can believe in love at first sight."

Wait. Did he just say he loved me? Not exactly, but... close. His face wasn't lying... and none of this felt like a put-on act to pressure me. Love? Why? How could he possibly? I became uneasy. I distrusted people who said they loved me if I couldn't clearly see their motivations. If this wasn't just a sex thing for Forrester... if I wasn't just a young attractive consenting body for him to enjoy... I was in trouble. I was in trouble, because I didn't have a lot else to offer.

I opened my mouth again to give a lame excuse to leave, but then we swayed and my head was suddenly zooming backward toward the rooftop. I cried out and clung to him, trembling, but then I realized that his arms were holding me securely and that there was nothing about the movement that was out of his control. I was suspended in midair, helpless, but completely safe because he held me. "I'm dipping you," he murmured against my temple. "You're okay... I've got you. It won't hurt to fall for me a little bit..."

I closed my eyes and bit my lips at the corny line. It was awful, and it was wonderful, and I just couldn't bring myself to give him a hard time about it. He raised me out of the dip and I sighed contentedly, still clinging to him. I opened my eyes to see his brown eyes watching me closely. "Wow..." he whispered.

"What?" I asked, letting my eyes wander through his.

"You just let a line like that slide... you must really be in love with me," he said, laughing silently as he bent down and kissed me again before I could answer.

*** *** ***

Sherwood, Gillian: I DID IT!!

Forrester, Gregory: I never doubted you would. Not for a minute. What are we talking about?

Sherwood, Gillian: >:-( You know what I'm talking about. The thing I've been trying to do.

Forrester, Gregory: You hung the toilet paper roll properly? My god, I thought it would never happen.

Sherwood, Gillian: It's supposed to hang down in the front, but that's not what I'm talking about and you know it.

Forrester, Gregory: You threw away the nearly empty carton of Sesame Chicken instead of putting it back in the fridge to sadistically get my hopes up and then crush my spirit? Will wonders never cease?

Sherwood, Gillian: That was one time, for Pete's sake! You know, you're not as cute as you think you are.

Forrester, Gregory: I know. I'm cuter, but I'm trying to be humble for my girlfriend's sake.

Sherwood, Gillian: Fine. If you don't care about what I'm able to do now that I couldn't do three weeks ago, I won't bother telling you about it.

Forrester, Gregory: Well, why don't you come up here and show me, then...

I grinned and locked my laptop screen and smelled the cherry blossoms on the branch at my desk, before telling my manager that I was taking a quick break on my way to the elevators. At the C-level floor, I went to Trudy's desk and sat down in the waiting area. "Again?" she asked, looking at me over her glasses with an utter lack of amusement.

"Talk to the boss. I'm just following orders," I replied, breezily. Actually, I could have just walked into Greg's office, but it was so much more fun to make Trudy announce me.

"Mm hm..." she grunted, tapping on her computer.

Greg stuck his head outside his door to the waiting area where I was sitting. "I have a few minutes for you now, Ms. Sherwood," he said. Trudy snorted. I got the feeling she wasn't fooled by Greg's pathetic attempts to hide our work-inappropriate relationship. To be fair, it was really hard to invent plausible excuses for the unpaid intern to meet with the CFO on a daily basis, sometimes more frequently.

I followed Greg into his office and as he closed and locked the door, I let my panties fall to the floor under my dress and kicked them aside. I sat down on one of the leather chairs and scooted my bottom down to the edge, spreading my legs wide and hooking my knees over the arms of the chair. Greg dropped to his knees and spread my lower lips with a heated look on his face. "Hello, beautiful," he crooned. "I've been thinking about you all day... is that a new perfume?"

"Oh my god... stop talking to my pussy," I groaned, chuckling.

"Don't listen to her... she doesn't understand our love," he said, kissing my labia softly.

After meeting with the doctor and having her confirm Greg's suspicions about vaginismus, I had begun a course of therapy to calm down the muscles in my vagina. My first therapy challenge was to be able to get my own finger into myself and have my body be okay with it rather than closing up like a bomb shelter. After that, I could begin using a set of dialators of increasing size that would gradually get me used to having something inside me that wouldn't trigger my vaginal version of PTSD.

Greg had insisted on assisting in my therapy by saying encouraging, supportive things to my vagina to boost its self-esteem. Weirdo. The thing is, if I didn't know better, I'd say his home-spun therapy was helping. My therapy sessions with Greg were less painful and certainly more lubricated than those I tried on my own. Plus, it was kind of cute. Not that I'd ever admit it.

"Do you mind? I need to get back to my deliveries," I said, nudging one of his hands out of my way.

"We'll talk later..." he whispered to my clit, and sat back on his heels.

I reached down and began to slip my middle finger into my opening when he pulled my hand away. "What are you doing? You can't just barge in there like an army of Huns! Have some respect! Show some finesse! No wonder she likes me better. Your therapist said you have to do the flower exercise first, remember?"

"I just did them 15 minutes ago! My muscles are still warmed up from the earlier—" I began arguing, then gave up because Greg was looking at me like a disappointed puppy. He loved watching me do the "flower exercise." Laughing, I closed my eyes and began gently touching my labia and clenching and releasing the muscles of my vaginal floor like a flower opening and closing its petals. Kegel exercises... after all my vaginal muscles' over-use from the painful spasms, Kegel exercises were the last thing I expected the therapist would make me do, but they were supposed to remind my body that those vaginal muscles could do voluntary movements under my control, and relax when I told them to, as well.

Greg watched greedily, his mouth slightly open. "I hope you appreciate the superhuman effort I'm putting into your therapy," he said, caressing my buttocks as I clenched and released my vaginal floor muscles inches away from his face.

"Yes... I'm certain the Vatican will have you beatified when they hear about it, Saint Gregory. I'll be sure to write them a detailed account of your sufferings," I responded drolly, slipping my finger into my wet, pulsing opening.

"You would mock the patron saint of vaginal orgasms?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, but still watching me slowly take my finger inside myself.

My hand cupped my pussy as my finger bottomed out and I breathed in relief, because my muscles were still relaxed and comfortable with the sensation. After my vagina being a human panic room for so long, it felt like a miracle to be so... normal. Well, if "normal" was fingering yourself in your boss' office while he watched almost drooling. "See? I did it!" I gasped, tears coming to my eyes at the bizarre accomplishment.

"How are you feeling? Does it hurt?" he asked.

"There's a little tightness on one side, but that's it," I said, tears rolling down the sides of my face. "I can start using the dilators, now. Soon, the therapist will start with the myofascial release, and before you know it... oh my god... Greg..." I gasped, feeling him push my palm gently to the side and take my clit into his mouth. He suckled on it with soft lips, rubbing it gently with his tongue. "Ohhhhhh fuck..." I moaned, quivering under his touch. He took his finger and caressed my wet slit, then went lower to my anus and slowly rubbed his fingertip inside me.

I lurched up in the chair wide-eyed and lost it almost immediately. I clapped my hand over my mouth just in time to muffle the wail that came out of me as I peaked, feeling the muscles in my vagina clenching down strongly on my finger and miraculously releasing again and again. I began laughing and sobbing at the same time and Greg pulled me into his lap and held me, his breath warming the top of my head. "Congratulations Scully," he laughed, calling me by my namesake's X-files character, his pet nickname for me.

"Thanks, Skinner," I giggled.

"Hey, Skinner's the old guy! You said I could be Mulder," he protested.

"No chance. Besides, Mitch Pileggi is sexier," I said, nuzzling his neck.

"Mmm... thank God for daddy complexes," he said, smiling into my hair.

*** *** ***

"I can't believe you said I have a 'daddy complex,'" I said under my breath, glancing over at Greg as he pulled the escargot out of its shell. We were having dinner at this French place in celebration of my therapy progress. The restaurant location was kept in its original Art-Deco style, but in a twist, the owner had devised a way to put sheer curtains around each booth from giant rings suspended from the ceiling. The effect was intimate and slightly naughty.

Greg just smiled at my comment and held the snail out to me on the tiny seafood fork. I curled up against him and opened my mouth, allowing him to enjoy the view as he fed me the buttery crustacean. As I chewed, instead of feasting on the sight of my breasts barely contained in the cream-colored, cowl-neck, satin slip dress that he'd bought for me to wear that night, Greg turned his wrist slightly and glanced at his watch, still smiling. What was that about? Was he timing something again? Or did he do it just to bug me? Of course, I was bugged. He was checking his watch on our date and I still couldn't believe he thought I had daddy issues, or something. "You didn't really mean it, did you." I pressed.

"Didn't I?" he asked, reaching out for my champagne and holding it for me to sip.

He really thought I had a "daddy complex" then? What the hell? "That's... that's just ridiculous. Gross! I never wanted to... with my own father? Ew!"

"Well, I never suggested that, now, did I?" he replied, dabbing the linen napkin gently on my lips, then patting it on my nose to tease me.

"And it's not like I'm some helpless little girl type that needs to be taken care of..." I grumbled. I was tougher than hell. He had no idea of what I'd lived through. I had always danced around the subject of my childhood, and thankfully he never pushed me to talk about it, seeming to know that I needed more time for what would probably be a deeply troubling conversation. I snuggled up closer to him because I felt a little cold and sighed in happiness when he draped his arm over me.

"Certainly not," Greg agreed, toying with one of the curls I had pinned into my updo, and stroking my face gently. I felt his heartbeat as I rested my head against his chest, almost letting it lull me to sleep. With his other hand, he took one of the crudites from a plate and held it to my lips. I wrinkled my nose and shook my head, pointing to the escargot that I wanted more of, instead.

"Come on, now, you have to eat your vegetables, too," he chided, putting the radish rose to my lips again. I sulked and looked up at him plaintively, hoping for a reprieve, but with no luck. He even pressed his lips together in disapproval at my delay. I felt a little ashamed, so I leaned forward and took a tiny nibble of the radish, quickly looking up to see if it made him happy. He raised one eyebrow and I shrank down, chagrined. He wasn't impressed. I wanted him to be proud of me, so I screwed up my courage and took the whole radish in my mouth, crunching into it and trying to look happy and grateful. I hated radishes, however pretty they looked. Oh, but then Greg's brown eyes were shining warmly on me, and he bent down and kissed my chewing mouth. Then, even if I did have radish in my mouth, my pussy was hot, throbbing and slippery. I was such a lucky girl.

I swallowed the awful root and showed him my empty mouth, then pointed at the escargot. Greg laughed and kissed my nose, before feeding me the rest of the escargot after carefully coaxing them out of their shells. Afterward, I sighed happily, replete. Then, I petted his chest, "Well, if none of those things are true, I don't know where you came up with 'daddy complex.' You were just teasing me again... right?" I asked, running my finger down the pattern in his pretty tie.

"I'm sure you're right, Princess..." he murmured, the fine lines crinkling around his eyes again as he looked down at me, amused with the thoughts and plans he kept secret from me in his mind. He tipped my chin up and kissed me. "You look very pretty tonight. Do you like your new dress?" he asked.

I nodded, smoothing it over my legs as I leaned against him. The candlelight made the satin fabric shimmer like liquid over my body, brushing my skin in its silky caress. "I love it. Thank you so much... you take such good care of me," I sighed, and closed my eyes happily. I felt his body move slightly, and when I opened my eyes again, there was a small box on the table in front of me, tied with a red ribbon. I looked up at Greg, "What's that?" I asked.

"Hm... the contents seem to be obscured from our view. If only there was a way to find out," he said, drolly, as I grabbed the box excitedly and untied the ribbon.

As I lifted the lid, I caught a flash of the item and gasped, closing the box again quickly and glancing around to see if anyone was looking at us. My cheeks were on fire, but I still opened the box again just a crack to look at my present. The base was beautifully molded like a rose in bloom, and the entire thing was gracefully made from rose-colored glass. I looked up at him, excited and embarrassed and so, so happy. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are when you blush?" he asked me, making me blush even more.

"I love it," I whispered in his ear. "I can't wait."

"Well then, why don't you try it on..." he suggested.

My eyes went wide and I bit my lips, but I still nodded. I put the present in my handbag and began to slide out of the booth to go to the restroom, but Greg's arm tightened around me, not letting me leave. Confused, I looked up at him again for an explanation, but enigmatically, he just smiled and offered none. Then, the smile slowly melted off my face as I realized what he wanted. He wanted me to try it on in the booth.

See, ever since we danced that first night on the rooftop, Greg and I had been exploring different ways that we could be intimate. We had given each other pleasure in a number of fulfilling ways, but I still wanted more of him. I wanted to feel him thrusting inside me, our bodies churning together, building to a peak and then bursting. I needed to feel him come. Greg had never even tried anal play before, though, and he had been hesitant. He didn't want to hurt me. He didn't want to trigger my condition, or set back my therapy progress.