Fran Lee - Jillian’s Job

“I hate you.” She breathed wearily.

“No, you don’t.” His chin rested on the top of her head, and she could feel it when he kissed her tousled hair.

“I want to hate you,” she amended as a shiver of reaction ran along her nerves at the touch of lean fingers slipping inside the neckline of her blouse to trace over the swell of her breast.

“We have half an hour before we arrive. Will that be enough time to convince you that you don’t hate me?” His lips caressed the nerve at the base of her ear, and she whimpered.

“Stop kissing me.”

“Okay,” he whispered huskily, and instead, he licked the vein that ran from her throat to her collarbone.

“Oooh,” she moaned, and shoved at his head without much effect. “I don’t want you touching me.”

Her voice sounded oddly breathless, despite her words. And every thought of rejecting his touch left her as he ran his mouth from her collarbone to her lips and took her mouth with a ferocity that stunned her. Every inch of her skin ached to be touched. Every private place in her body yearned to be invaded. And as his hands slipped under her blouse, and into her waistband, she melted into his kiss, unable to refuse him anything.

Mike wanted nothing more than to strip her bare and lick every inch of delicious skin within reach, but he knew that there was not enough time to do her justice. Amazed by his own need to taste Jill, he slid her blouse away from her breasts and licked and nipped them through the lace and satin of her bra. He dragged one satin-tipped nipple into his mouth and she groaned with pleasure as he slipped his hand farther into her slacks until his fingertips found the wet jewel he sought. His thoughts deserted him completely as he drove two long fingers deep into her hot, tight pussy, and massaged the sweet spot he knew would bring her to climax.

She arched into his hand as he used his tongue to simulate what his fingers were doing, and she sucked his tongue deep as she splintered into a shuddering, trembling orgasm that almost made him come in his slacks. He continued to fuck her sweet pussy with his fingers until she whispered raggedly, “Oh God, Mike. You’re killing me.”

He stopped moving his hand. Had she actually just called him by his name? He gave her clit a long, loving caress as he drew his wet fingers out of her and gently fondled her nub and labia, teasing until she gave a strangled cry and convulsed once again in a gasping, moaning climax.

“Are you sure you still hate me?” He reached up and gently tugged the ivory stick from her loosened hair, letting it fall in glorious tumbled curls around her flushed face.

“Yes…no…I don’t know!” Her sighing breath warmed his throat, and he chuckled as he drew his hand out of her slacks and wiped his glistening fingers with his pristine pocket handkerchief. He grinned at her pink face as he slowly inhaled her scent from the hanky before tucking it back into his breast pocket.

“How about helping me out, Furie?” His lips caressed her forehead, and she swallowed hard, then unzipped his slacks and tugged his swollen, thick cock free of his silk boxers and the fly of his slacks. “Sweet Jesus!” he groaned, and watched his wife slide to the floor of the rear seat and take him into her hot mouth without a moment’s hesitation. “Oh, you beautiful thing, you…” He ran his fingers through her thick curls, and closed his eyes as she devoured his shaft, her tongue licking the thick vein on the underside as she sucked him hard and deep.

Oh yeah, he had no intention of letting her go-ever.

Jill was shocked at herself. All it took to make her forget everything was a great orgasm. And the man could give her orgasms by the bushel. And he seemed to love doing it. As she zipped his slacks back up, and glanced in embarrassment up into his dark blue gaze, she wondered if she had always been a closet nympho, or if he brought that out in her. He smiled and pulled his hanky out of his pocket, and gently dabbed the side of her mouth to mop up a bit of cum that hadn’t managed to go down her throat. And for just that moment, the tender look in his gaze almost undid her resolve to walk away from him. He was looking at her as if he cared for her.

“I must look a total mess,” she breathed as she sank back onto the luxuriant leather of the seat and tucked her blouse back into her slacks.

“You look good enough to eat.”

“Oh please. Stop. You don’t need to pretend until we’re in front of my family.” Her voice shook. “I have to admit, Michael Furie, you are enough to drive a female insane with delight, but we both know you only married me to keep me from quitting my job, so keep the sweet nothings to a minimum.”

The quiet smile curving his decadent mouth was almost enough to make her forget her resolve to keep him at arm’s length for the rest of their time at her parents’ home. The limo was slowing and turning, and she chewed her lower lip to control its shaking. “Please…just please don’t start anything up with my brothers. I don’t want you torn to pieces. After all, you have to support me.”

“I won’t start anything. Unless they force me to finish something, there will be no violence.” His voice was amused.

“This isn’t funny. I’m freaking out here. My family has always detested you for the way you have treated me over the past few years…”

“You mean, I have mistreated you by paying you double what you would have earned elsewhere? By letting you have free run of my corporate holdings and my personal jet and making certain that your health insurance and dental insurance was the best money could buy?” His brows lifted questioningly.

Her face hot, she glared at him. “No…I mean, the way you call me at 3:00 a.m. to tell me you need me to get out of bed and go rescue you from some piranha in a hotel room by pretending to be your wife…” She gritted her teeth. “Or how you simply ‘forget’ that I have a birthday party scheduled and demand my presence in Aspen to rescue your sorry ass from a sweetie you referred to as ‘Miss Fashion Model Barbie’…”

His deep laugh was the last straw for her shredded nerves. Her hand shot out and should have connected smartly with his smiling mouth…except all of a sudden she was flat on the leather seat, her arms held firmly behind her back, and his narrowed gaze pinning her. He shook his head slowly, those sapphire eyes sparkling with dangerous intent. “Oh no…no slapping or biting, darling. You can scream and yell at me later, but we don’t want to spoil your birthday party with a cat fight, do we?”

“Oh…you…” she spluttered helplessly.

“I always knew there was a hellcat inside that cool, unflappable exterior, darling…but save it for later, where we can both enjoy taming it.”

“Stop calling me that,” she hissed as he pulled her back into a sitting position as the limo came to a halt.

“Calling you what? Darling? Isn’t that what a newlywed husband calls his wife?” His eyes crackled with enjoyment.

“I don’t believe you, Michael Furie! You are the most…the most…” she sputtered, then instantly composed her features as the driver pulled the door open, and she saw her father and mother standing on the porch of their home, waiting nervously. “I’ll tell you what I think of you later,” she hissed as she smoothed her hair and pasted on a happy smile as she slid from the leather seat and hurried up the steps to hug her parents.

Jill couldn’t believe it. The bastard had her parents and three of her brothers totally snowed. She watched in frustrated silence as Mike Furie wound her family around those long fingers like so much putty. Jim was young enough to be easily impressed by talk of the recording studio that her hubby/boss owned and used. Six of his gold and platinum albums had been recorded there. Just another of her hubby/boss’s many facets.