Blooming Continuation: Part 2

Blooming Continuation: Part 2

Chapter Three: Connecting

"I received your article proof today."

It was Blythe's voice. I had assumed the receptionist's announcement that she'd forwarded a call to my desk was for my lunch delivery. Though I had been subtly avoiding the events that took place with Blythe a few nights before, I knew we'd inevitably need to discuss them eventually considering our initial connection. My primary worry was that she might revoke the interview, which would leave me scrambling to create a new one at the last moment. I anxiously nibbled on the pen cap as I prepared to hear her soothing voice again and asked, "What did you think?"

"I was a little taken aback by receiving it from your editor rather than you."

"Yes, I did that ... it embarrassed me. I felt bad for leaving without saying goodbye in the morning."

"Your feelings wouldn't hurt me," she responded. I was relieved since I hadn't consciously considered her feelings as something I could influence. I couldn't imagine any of my actions causing a change in this goddess.

"I appreciate that," I said.

"To make up for it, I've planned a small gathering."

"A party?"

She hesitated momentarily. "Yes, a sort of re-launch. A chance to gather the people I love and make a few announcements about the next stage."

"Sounds interesting. Do you want me to say something there?"

"Maybe something like bringing out your admiration of my sparkling qualities."

I bit my tongue to prevent flirting in the office newsroom. Despite chatting with her, it still felt like we were alone. "I'm sure I can come up with something."

"Excellent!" Blythe seemed pleased; her voice held an air of excitement. "Sam will be delivering your invitation shortly."

"It's not necessary-"

"He's already headed your way."

"You knew I'd agree?"

"I had a hunch, given how easily you've responded to me," her voice lowered in a threatening tone, almost like sharing a secret, "- also, there are several ways I've found to make you say 'yes' repeatedly."

"I'll be there."

"Great! I'm looking forward to it."

When Blythe hung up, I was left in a crowded workplace with the familiar background of keyboards, whispered arguments, and humming printers. Ever since I started working at the Liberator, I'd missed the intimate quietness that Blythe had provided before, the silence that enveloped us as our breath merged. My emotions were longing for that environment again.

Emotionally detached, I opened my email to find a note from Blythe with the subject 'Article Notes.' When I opened it, I was greeted by one line followed by my name, with my editor, Oliver Harrison, copied. My face reddened at the reference. My body responded to the thought of the chilled surface touching me.

As perfect as my granite countertops. Approved.

I flinched, feeling myself reacting physically to the memory of Blythe exploring my lips. I made an effort to restrain my body's reaction as images of her movements flashed through my brain.

By the time I came home from work, the invitation to Blythe's party had already been slipped under my townhouse door. The invite was simple yet tasteful, while Blythe had added a personal note inside the envelope. I wondered if she'd written this for everyone or just for me. I was unsure if this made me more nervous. Intrigued. [#jealous][#erotica][#flashfiction]

In the upcoming week, I immersed myself fully in my work, focusing on planning the upcoming articles that I needed to pitch at the monthly meeting for our entire newsroom. I was hoping that this piece would be a starting point for new, larger projects that I'd been eager to explore for years, but had no support for.

The day of the party drew near, and I found myself in a mix of excitement and nerves. With Blythe's feature now in print and my work responsibilities momentarily paused, I had the opportunity to focus on the preparations for the evening ahead. It wasn't just about finding the perfect outfit - though that was definitely an essential part - but also about preparing myself for the networking and mingling that would happen at Blythe's event. I wasn't sure who from the office would attend - she'd invited everyone - and even more concerning, I didn't know who from her personal life beyond what I knew would be at the party. The group of people ranged from siblings or exes to other well-known authors and industry experts. I had to figure out a way to navigate this diverse group of people.

I spent the morning carefully selecting my outfit, considering each piece as if my entire future hinged on it. In the end, I chose a slim, deep purple dress that struck a delicate balance between professionalism and sexiness. Pairing it with high heels I could rarely wear due to their impracticality and a few carefully chosen accessories, I felt prepared for whatever the night had in store.

Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I grabbed my purse and left my house, my heart racing with anticipation. As I drove up the winding road to Blythe's house, cars were parked along the side of the road. The scale of this "small" party Blythe was hosting was becoming clear.

When I arrived, there was a parking spot waiting for me, making me feel special. After getting out of my car and walking up to the front door, I was once more struck by the home's grandeur and beauty. The soft glow of lights from the windows cast a warm, inviting light over the snow-covered landscape.

Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I walked up the stairs and opened the front door as instructed on my invitation. Inside, the home I'd found comfort in just a few days earlier had been completely transformed into a social venue that rivaled any downtown event space. I'd arrived later than planned due to a combination of cautious driving and social anxiety. Hoping that my relationship - or was it just friendship? - with Blythe would help me navigate the evening, I entered.

I couldn't even see Blythe through the wall-to-wall crowd, so I made my way over to the previously unused bar. Tonight, there was a bartender mixing and pouring drinks with ease. As I approached, I noticed a few familiar faces. I silently thanked the universe for their presence, even though one of them was Bridgette Royce, the same woman who had attended the same graduation as me and always seemed to be one step ahead of me with her immaculate smile, biting wit, and well-crafted criticism.

"Hi, Bridgette," I said, trying to sound casual as I joined her and Oliver at the bar.

Bridgette turned to face me, her perfectly groomed eyebrows raised in surprise. "Oh, look who decided to show up," she remarked, her voice filled with subtle disdain.

I returned a polite smile anyway. "I couldn't miss this party of Blythe's."

"And your big night," Oliver chimed in, offering me a supportive smile. "Congratulations on your first major feature, Daisy. You did an incredible job."

"Absolutely." Bridgette's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "You were so lucky to get that call from her. It's not like you were offering something unique. Who wouldn't want to be seen chatting with the literary elite?"

I forced a laugh, trying to maintain an even tone. "Yup. I'm very grateful for the opportunity."

Before Bridgette could respond, the bartender, a cheerful young man, interjected. I silently thanked him for the assistance. "What can I make for you?"

While the bartender filled my glass, I couldn't help but feel out of place in the extravagant atmosphere despite attending my share of elite fundraisers and swanky events. But as I savored the flavorful and tangy wine and glanced around the room, my eyes swept over to Blythe. Her presence was impossible to ignore, even among the hectic crowd. It appeared as if she sought me out, or maybe I allowed myself to hope that she'd been looking for me too, because her gaze instantly connected with mine.

Blythe winked at me.

I exhaled deeply.

Oliver grabbed my arm before I could make my way to Blythe. His voice cheerful and slightly drunk, he said loudly enough for Bridgette to hear, "You see, I've been wanting to talk with you about that piece of yours in this issue. It's causing quite a stir."

My heartbeat quickened at the recognition, the anticipation brewing within me. "Oh?"

"The upper echelons are pleased with the response so far," he explained. "They're considering expanding your contract, even thinking about providing you with your own column in the literary section. Book reviews, author features, those sorts of things."

Excitement flooded me as I learned of this news, leaping inside me. "That's fantastic, Oliver. I..." I couldn't think of what to say.

"Say yes, my dear," Oliver encouraged, his tone brimming with optimism. "You've got a knack for this, and it's long overdue that you receive the proper recognition."

The praise sent a wave of joy rushing through me as I flashed a confident grin. "Thank you, Oliver. I can't wait to talk more about this."

"Droop in at my office on Monday morning, before the presentation, and let's discuss your plans for the remaining quarter," Oliver suggested. He patted my arm. "Now, go have fun at the party - you've earned it."

I looked back at Blythe, who had moved closer to me. Her feet wore elegant white and red Louboutin heels, and her attire consisted of a fitted blazer with a deep V across her chest beyond which I couldn't see any clothing. An elegant gold chain caressed her low breasts. She radiated sex appeal in a classy way, one that others struggled to achieve. Her strikingly red lips were coated in a deep maroon hue, and her short, slicked-back hair completed her confident appearance.

Blythe spoke to Oliver. "Can I borrow her for a while? I've got a lot of people to introduce her to."

Oliver laughed and said, "You take as long as you like, but remember to give her back."

Blythe laughed in her charming manner and answered, "No promises."

She whisked me away into the captivating assembly. As we navigated our way through the group, she introduced me to an awe-inspiring variety of individuals - acclaimed authors whose books I'd only ever seen on covers, each one now a living, breathing person who exchanged friendly banter with Blythe. The space was also filled with artists whose works adorned the walls of renowned galleries, and their enthusiasm for their craft was evident. Friends and acquaintances shared close bonds with Blythe as they chatted animatedly and laughed heartily, revealing the enduring camaraderie forged over years of shared moments.

I was surprised to find that, even after a decade of isolation, Blythe garnered this level of admiration and attention. It seemed that all of them genuinely wanted to reconnect with her. At each introduction, I found myself immersed in a captivating world where creativity and intellect thrived, the air crackling with animated conversations and engaging discourse. Blythe deftly led me from one group to the next with poise and grace.

Once everyone seemed content with their food, Blythe took to the top of the stairs and clinked a knife against her glass, earning everyone's attention. "To begin, allow me to express my heartfelt gratitude to each and every one of you who made it here tonight. I understand it's somewhat of a trek if you're not accustomed to it," she said. "Now, let's raise our glasses to..." She pointed hers in my direction. "To Daisy Prince," she continued, "the journalist who finally let me share my story with. Daisy, I can't wait to see where this adventure takes you in the near future. Cheers!"

"You're not going to get away without making a proper toast first," I cut in, flashing her a grin. My heart was racing as I took the short steps towards her, my confidence boosted by the wine and her kind words. "I'm Daisy, and I'd like us all to toast Blythe in the process. I've never been so amazed by the genuine and effortless confidence of an interviewee. Blythe is embracing her role as the legendary storyteller we know and love, while simultaneously transforming into a whole new person than she's been before. To Blythe!"

Their voices echoed mine in repetition, their glasses clinking together in unison. Blythe tightened her embrace, her citrusy perfume enveloping me, leaving me craving to sink deeper into her. I resisted the impulse to let my hand trace the arch of her back or kiss her exposed neck; instead, I broke away from her, her breath sending chills down my spine.

CHAPTER FOUR: THE LITTLE DEATH

After the toast, I had to exchange handshakes, & even engage in small talk, with pretty much every person Blythe hadn't yet presented me to, grinning through congratulatory remarks & personal anecdotes about writing, Blythe, The Liberator, or countless trite topics that were utterly meaningless. My little purse was running low on space for business cards, and my mind was reeling with too many 'Let's connect someday!' phrases without sounding disingenuous. Finally, I felt her touch on my arm again, this time more urgent. She gently whispered by my ear, "Have you had enough yet?"

I nodded fervently as her fingers traced my waist, leading me upstairs. Outside on the balcony, Blythe's comfortable silence enveloped us both, a familiar oasis of solitude. Through a door that seamlessly blended in, it was a hidden nook. Blythe's sanctuary seemed to be built upon increasingly shielded spaces.

The cool mountain air rejuvenated me after breathing in the warm, claustrophobic vibes of the party for hours. Nonetheless, I exhaled curtly & exclaimed, "It sure does get cold up here at night, doesn't it?"

"Allow me to heat you back up," Blythe offered. She removed my wine glass & placed it on the railing. Wrapping her arms around my waist, she snuggled her chin into the crook of my neck & shoulder. She confided, "You look simply stunning tonight. You beautiful in your professional garb, but..."

She inhaled audibly & drew her palms over my waist to my hips to my stomach and back again. Breathing deeply, I melted in her embrace. My fingers found hers & held them steady. We faced the low river valley, contrasting sharply with the jagged mountain range at the front of the house, for an extended time. I craved her presence; I also found solace in her hug.

"You know...", she mused in a quiet tone, her voice attractive, "I almost wouldn't have kissed you just now if not for the lipstick. I thought it was a smart idea at the time, but now it seems like such a foolish decision."

To maintain my composure, I inhaled slowly & replied, "I'm starting to feel the same way."

"I was so anxious that you might not." She chuckled at her own insecurities, shaking her head. "But when I caught sight of you, the feeling arose instantly. We've been desiring each other."

I traced my first two fingers along the glittering chain dangling from her stomach, savoring the first touches of her lightly freckled, pale skin. "You're perfect."

Avoiding pressing my lips too hard against her skin or smudging my lipstick, I flicked my tongue over one of her nipples, just enough to dampen it, then blew a jet of freezing air onto her. The sheer bliss that overtook my brain when Blythe Sloan practically ground against me for more, was addictive. I smirked and looked up at her while I rolled her other nipple between my thumb and forefinger. "So not so intimidating when you're craving me, huh?"

"You have an attitude now, do you?" Blythe teased, before pulling me upwards, turning me around, and pressing me against the wooden wall with a single seamless motion that stole my breath. With one hand on the wall on either side of my head, pinning me back with her body, she murmured, "Be careful, Daisy."

And then Blythe raised my dress over my thighs and up to my waist. I'd opted for an itsy-bitsy thong beneath the dress' fabric, and she pushed the practically nonexistent thong aside with two middle fingers. She pressed her forehead to mine as her fingers went to my clit. An underlying rumble of primal desire hummed from her throat when she found me already drenched. Her gaze scrutinized each and every aspect of my face, as if she was learning it by heart for a later exam. "You're at your finest when you're lust-filled."

I couldn't respond, too captivated by her fingers as they slid beyond my clit and delved between my lips. My wetness flowed across her fingers, and Blythe's fingers returned to my clit and circled it with pounding self-confidence. Nobody had discovered the way to touch me so swiftly. She paid attention to every fluttering eyelash, every twitch of my lower lip, and every strangled cry.

She purred, "Imagine walking around from now on in these drenched panties, knowing it's my fault."

My cunt contracted and Blythe chuckled at the hard physical evidence of her impact on me. While her fingers stimulated my clit, urging me toward orgasm, her other hand ducked beneath my dress and up toward my strapless bra. She shockingly tore it down to reach my nipple, which she instantaneously started massaging. A lightning rod blasted through my body the moment she touched me in the area, and a feverish, unmuffled moan spilled from my lips. I immediately cupped my mouth with my hand, bringing a provoking smile to Blythe's face.

Still pinching my nipple, she remarked, "We'll have to try something like this in earnest somewhere other than here so you can scream as loud as you want."

I tried to converse while struggling to stay quiet, "We certainly can-"

She twisted my nipple cruelly hard enough to wipe away every shred of coherent thought. Blythe was manning the totality of me. Each inch of my body burned with her influence. Her fingers sped up on my clit. My toes curled in my shoes while my head tilted back against the wall, inhaling the cool night air.

This time, Blythe let nary a letdown or jest when she felt me edging closer. Instead, she just maintained the same pace without a hitch. Not speeding up, not slowing down. Just methodically circling my clit. My body reacted as she wanted it to, tightening and responding to her every order.

She leant in near my ear and commanded, "Let go."

My clit did just that and the whole of her fingers coaxed me into this climax. I succumbed, swept into a delirious flurry of colors and fire and release. For a brief second I realized why the French called orgasms 'a small death' because my mind solely focused on the indescribable pleasure of humping the fingers of this woman who'd managed to dismantle my emotional barriers in a flash."

Afterward, Blythe raised her dripping fingers to my wide-open mouth. When they touched the back of my throat, I enclosed them between my lips and sucked my slickness from her skin as she watched with unbridled fascination. The way Blythe appraised me sent a shock through my nerves. All I wanted was to make her experience the same euphoria, but I realized our cursory time - maybe it was already over. People would start to inquire about our absence, irrespective of the excuse she'd concocted.

Blythe replaced the button on her blazer, though a thin trail of my lipstick marked her finger. She snickered, "Whoops. Maybe you could...you know- help me out here?"

I nodded, giggled a bit, and assisted her. "Here"

The sound of someone approaching interrupted us in our special, private zone. We hastily tried to make ourselves look presentable so we didn't appear as if we had just... Well, be in that position. However, within seconds, Bridgette had already opened the door, shouting, "Daisy, Oliver was looking for you."

I experienced some kind of out-of-body feeling where I could observe myself and Blythe together. I saw myself: hair a mess, dress up midway up my leg, red and breathing heavily. Blythe: sweat dripping from her hairline, blazer looking disheveled, her fingers wet. We were caught red-handed.

Oops.

Bridgette rushed back inside, embarrassment evident on her cheeks, and I didn't feel like running after her. Blythe rushed off to the bathroom, while I returned downstairs.

Fortunately, Bridgette was socializing with the crowd rather than using a microphone to inform everyone of my indiscretions. However, her smug look at me when I re-entered told me she wasn't going to drop the issue just to be nice. She had a score to settle, and it seemed it would only be a matter of time before she took her revenge.

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