#hennessy.

Thus far, she had made no obvious attempt to garner his attention. Throughout Monday’s class and today’s—which was quickly winding down—Scarlett had played the part of a model student. Seated demurely while studiously taking notes, alert and attentive, and even raising her hand in bids to answer questions. True, when he allowed himself to call upon her, the slight flush that colored her cheeks was surely on his account, but she answered so confidently that it almost felt like she was daring him to correct her. 

She’d worn her hair loose today and on Monday too, instead of her customary chignon. Distracting him with thoughts of how it felt pooled in his hands, spread across the skin of his chest, and—for Christ’s sake!–brushing against his thighs when she worshipped him with her mouth. Goddammit! How the hell had she insinuated herself into his forebrain this way, and after such relatively little time? It boggled the mind. 

Hennessy was particularly aware of her scent; the combination of her shampoo, the natural aroma of her skin, combined with her light, delicate perfume. He knew that couldn’t be helped, of course, as he’d worn her scent on his skin during their many hours of sin, and it had lingered on his sheets until his cleaning woman had changed them out. Whenever Hennessy walked the aisle where Scarlett sat, it assaulted his senses, made his mouth water, and caused him just the slightest hesitation in delivery of his lecture. 

Even now, as he backed up the aisle on his way to his desk, she didn’t even react when his fingertips just grazed her arm where it rested on her desk. Scarlett before the series of sensual lessons he had granted her would have given a quiet gasp and wouldn’t have been able to tear her eyes from him. This Scarlett was gazing at the blackboard while she absentmindedly nibbled on the end of her pencil, seemingly unaware of how that action made him lick his own lips as he considered the taste and texture of her pretty, precious mouth. Hennessy realized he must do something soon to change the trajectory he was on. 

He was so immersed in his thoughts that the noon bell took him by surprise, but he quickly recovered and muttered his dismissal. Scarlett was up and out of his classroom with the rest of the students, not even granting him a moment’s acknowledgement of their wicked secret. How was this to be borne! No lover had turned the tables on him so effortlessly before, and without even trying. But what could he do about Scarlett? 

Hennessy took to his chair, mulling over his options, and each seemed less satisfactory than the previous one. His mobile buzzed with a text alert, and he grabbed his phone from the pocket of his jacket, which was draped across the back of his chair. “Well...I’ll...be...damned...” he grinned, his dexterous fingers skating across the keypad in reply. This is practically a deus ex machina, he chuckled, with timing that couldn’t be more perfect. 

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Hennessy was nursing his second scotch on the rocks, taking his drink slowly as he figured he’d be hitting the road not long after his awaited guest arrived. This wasn’t so much a bar, as a seedy, roadside dive, but considering the nature of their meetup, it suited the mood perfectly. His belly felt tight with anticipation, further piqued by the burn of the liquor as he scanned the room, satisfied to see that the other few, isolated patrons were involved in minding their own business. 

She was late, of course, a perpetual habit which he’d grown accustomed to years ago, but he expected her arrival at any moment now. And sure enough, as though he had summoned her by thought alone, his favorite tall and leggy redhead strolled through the door.

Sylvie Martin, Professor of Biology, specializing in Humans and Primates. Sylvie Caldwell nee Martin, he reminded himself as she approached and he caught the flash of her huge and rather gaudy diamond engagement ring. Interestingly, she was wearing it on her right-hand ring finger rather then her left. A portent of good things to come, as far as Hennessy was concerned. 

She wore a snug, silk dress with a Mandarin collar and a slit up one side, with a dark green, Oriental print embossed on it’s emerald green background, along with her trademark spiked heels, in matching green. Sylvie knew that color flattered her best, and she certainly was a sight for sore eyes. Once she spotted him, she moved with unflappable focus towards his booth. “Darling...Henns!” she greeted him as he rose to embrace her, allowing him the familiarity of lingering his palm against her back. No bra...all the better, he thought, breathing in Dior’s J’adore, which had always been her favorite perfume, and wondering if she had arrived sans thong as well. He’d likely discover the answer for himself soon enough. 

“Sylvie, you dazzle me as always,” he proclaimed, kissing her cheek, “And honestly, the island hasn’t been the same since you decamped.” Hennessy motioned to the cocktail waitress to bring the round of drinks he’d preordered for them; a dirty martini for Sylvie and another tumbler of scotch for himself. He waited for his guest to slide into the booth and then joined her, not at all hesitant to press his thigh against hers. “So tell me, darling- what brings you back to us now? Business...or pleasure? 

“Hennzy,” she smirked, tracing the rim of her glass before eyeing him sideways, “A little bit of business, as I finally found a buyer for my old place.” Sylvie turned to him and ran the same finger along his cheekbone. “And as for pleasure, well...” she sighed and batted her eyes, “...I was counting on you for that.” 

“Moi,” he exclaimed, feigning shock, “I thought those days were done! I mean, what would Gerald say?” 

“That he married an insatiable tart,” she huffed, then took a deep swallow of her martini, “And that a leopard can’t change her spots, no matter how much luxury you lavish upon her...” 

“Ahhhhh, my poor, dear Sylvie,” he tutted, biting his lip against a smirk of his own. Hennessy had been certain when she’d left the University without giving even a week’s notice, and had barely bid farewell to even her closest friends as she pursued the 50-something tech mogul that had feted her through a whirlwind courtship---following him to his home base in the States---that she would be back one day. In the finest gold digger tradition, they had married within a month. Hennessy hoped now, as he had when he first read her text announcing the news, that she’d been smart enough to get a generous prenup. “I’ll be only too glad to help, of course,” he patted her hand in mock consolation, knowing that her heart had never truly been invested in that relationship, “Just tell me what you need, darling.” 

Sylvie laughed slyly, confirming what he had expected from the moment he had gotten her text this afternoon, “Well, we could start with a night full of shameless shagging.” Leaning into him, she murmured in his ear, “You know that you were always my favorite fuck buddy for that, Henns.” She tugged his earlobe between her teeth as she pulled away, and his prick twitched with the need she had awoken. “Please don’t say no, darling,” she pouted as she eyed him hungrily, “It’s been ages since I’ve been properly railed.” 

Why the hell not, he thought, astounded that the universe had hand delivered the perfect answer to his dilemma. She’s the most delectable, effortless and no-strings-attached distraction that I ever could have asked for. Hennessy grabbed his glass and downed the remaining liquid in a single, hearty swallow. “What the fuck are we waiting for,” he growled, “Which will it be, darling- your place or mine?”

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As Sylvie had arrived by Uber, they took took the Spitfire back to her hotel. Never one to stand on ceremony, she didn’t even wait two minutes before she snaked her hand across his thigh. “Mmmmm...good old Hennessy,” she purred, “And your...mmmmm...incomparable...dedicated...always delicious cock...” 

He shifted slightly, instinctively thrusting his pelvis up to maximize her access, even while warning her, “Christ, woman---let me get us there in one piece first...”

“I can’t help it, baby,” she whined, “I’ve missed this...missed you...sooooo verrrrry much.” 

Hennessy turned her way just enough to note the naked lust in every line of her gorgeous features. There’s never been anything subtle about her, he recalled, as a moue of distaste whispered at the back of his mind; but sometimes a man wants subtlety. Sometimes he wants a woman who’s soft and pliable, and...aching to follow his lead.

He gave a rough shake of his head, banishing that very uncharacteristic course of thought, and pressed his foot down harder on the gas pedal. Sylvie threw back her head at the sudden acceleration, laughing hard and taking that as a sign of his eagerness. “Oh, Henns, you know I’ve always adored when you go fast!” She gave the bulge in his trousers a hearty squeeze. 

He grunted back, then plucked her questing hand from his crotch and raised it enough to give it a half-hearted kiss. “Not in everything, Sylvie,” he reminded her, his eyes remaining squarely on the road ahead, “And never when it’s crucial to go slow.” 

“Hmmmmm...right. I’d forgotten that sometimes a devil like you can show the patience of a saint,” she trilled, taking back her hand and laying it next to the gear shift, “So I suppose I’d better follow your example---for the time being.” 

“You best believe it, Syl...” Much to his chagrin, Hennessy was beginning to remember the slew of things about his friend-with-benefits that used to get on his nerves, and always ended with them going their separate ways for months at a time. Until one or the other of them had an itch for the kind of raw, filthy sex that had been their perpetual default setting. Of course, that was exactly what he was in need of now. At least once we begin, he reckoned, she’ll just shut up and put her mouth to better use than stating the obvious. 

She stayed fairly silent for the rest of the trip, likely having picked up the vibe that he wasn’t in the mood for trifling. Sylvie did grab his hand when they exited the car---pulling him along from the parking lot and through the airy lobby, and then into the elevator up to her suite. As soon as the doors slid shut, she had draped her arms around his neck, pressed her body to his as tightly as she could, and captured his mouth with a relentless, probing kiss. Hennessy had answered her advance by cupping her bottom in both hands---finding that ‘yes’ was the answer to his earlier speculation that she might be completely bare under her dress. 

He was thinking what a cliche this was, and that he wished she was making their liaison at least a bit challenging. Worse still, Hennessy was finding himself more than a little sorry for Sylvie, wondering just how miserable she must have been since the fresh bloom of her hasty marriage had faded away. That she’d fooled herself into thinking she could endure a union that had no true spark, and that Caldwell’s money would be enough to make her happy with a man who clearly didn’t understand or appreciate her true nature. 

But as she swiped her keycard to grant them entry to her rooms, Hennessy reminded himself that he wasn’t here to be her therapist or confessor. He wasn’t going to ask about what problems she was having---be they marital or otherwise---and he hoped that Sylvie wouldn’t try to tell. They each had pressing needs to fulfill, and as far as he was concerned, this was simply a palate cleanser. A chance to put some distance between himself and the threat that he was developing an obsession for the most unlikely of candidates. 

Once across the threshold, Sylvie headed towards the bar cart, where sat a sealed bottle of Glenlivit  12-Year, alongside a covered ice bucket. The sight immediately sobered him, as though the universe wanted to remind him of the very memories he was trying to blot out. It’s just coincidence, he tried to convince himself; besides which, Sylvie knows what I like. Of course she’d have that waiting for us, on the presumption that we’d end up here tonight. Hennessy didn’t say a word as she poured out for the both of them---moving to her side instead, to take the tumbler she offered him and set it back down on the bar.

Perplexed, she started to ask why, but he shook his head and then took her face in his hands, to land a needy kiss upon her willing mouth. All that he wanted now was to be in the moment; to spare no thoughts for the past several days, nor any for the future beyond what would happen in the confines of these rooms. 

Ensnared in hungry, almost violent kisses to begin with, their hands plucking at one another’s clothing, they ended up on the sofa with Sylvie straddling his hips, bending low to slather his skin, his nipples, the contours of his ribs, with further hot, impatient kisses. Hennessy was well aware where she was leading, and he thrust both hands into her flame-red tresses, gradually guiding her down to her inevitable destination. She slid her body further down so that she could undo his trousers and nuzzle his erection through his briefs. 

He groaned at the scrumptious sensation, watching her intently, and she looked up at him with a knowing smile. “Bet I still give the best head on the island, Hennzy,” she proclaimed, then wet her lips and smacked them hard. 

“I’ll be the judge of that, Syl,” he countered, laying his head back while tightening his fingers in her hair, “Talk is cheap. Just fucking show me. Right fucking now...” 

She tugged his clothing far enough down to give herself full access to his works. And good god, yes, she hadn’t lost a trick; her tongue was as silky and as talented as he remembered. Her fingers knew just what he liked. Her mouth welcomed him greedily, and it all felt bloody fantastic. 

Yet something was missing. Something elementary, but vital enough that despite how great it was, he felt a sort of cool detachment. That he was experiencing a purely mechanical act, carried out by rote, devoid of...joy. Stripped of warmth and any connection beyond the physical. Sylvie was dedicated alright, relentlessly sucking and taking him deep, caressing his bollocks and teasing them with her manicured nails, groaning as she worked him---and yet, Hennessy didn’t feel any nearer to his climax. And shockingly, he didn’t care if he came or not. 

Without intending to, his fingers went slack in her hair, although Sylvia didn’t seem to notice. He squeezed his eyes tighter, aghast at the sudden notion of losing his erection before she was finished with him. Desperately, he searched his mind for images to help him stave off a humiliation he had never experienced before. His heart jumping ahead, supplying the answer which he couldn’t deny.

Scarlett. 

His soft, compliant, delectable Scarlett. 

Hennessy drew a sudden gasp---Sylvie would take it for a gasp of pleasure---as the images flooded his mind. Scarlett kneeling before him in the sand, woefully inexperienced and skittish, but bravely following his first demand of her. In his study, sliding onto the floor from his lap, eager to please him, to taste him, but turning shy in the aftermath, at the relish she had taken in their shared sin. His Scarlett. The pure dedication in her eyes as she looked up at him before she began, and the small, sweet sounds she gave over as she generously loved him---which always felt like proof of her devotion. The astonishing beauty of her head and hands adoring him, reflected in the mirror above his bed. And then how she clung to him afterwards, leaving trails of soft, loving kisses on his thighs. 

“Yes...yes...mmmmm...that’s my girl,” he murmured, beginning to thrust himself into Sylvie’s mouth. “My darling, little lamb,” he panted, repeatedly hitting the back of Sylvie’s throat, as he imagined it was Scarlett doing the deed, with her pretty, pouty mouth. Her tender, loving tongue. “Fuck...oh fuck, that’s good baby,” he groaned, the need to explode into his orgasm building and building all through his pelvis and his loins, as it hit him that when Scarlett did him, each moment of bliss she gave him arose from her generous and loving heart. “Mine...mine...” he cried out, arching his body off the sofa cushions, grunting with each hard pump of his hips and tugging hard on Sylvie’s hair. “...mine...my jo...” he sighed as he finished, the euphoria and warmth spreading through his veins, mercifully allowing him to forget for a little while that he’d been forced to fantasize in order to reach his to satisfaction.

Sylvie propped herself above him, her lipstick smeared, her mouth and chin slick with her saliva and his semen, and looking very pleased with herself. “God, how I’ve missed that, Henns! Just like old times,” she laughed, “But what’s with this little lamb shit? Where the hell did that come from?”

Hennessy had no problem fibbing his way through that faux pas. His mouth dropped open as though he was shocked and he huffed cynically, “Honestly, Syl? I have no fucking clue...” 

She narrowed her eyes and frowned slightly as she looked for the lie on his face. “Alright then- but don’t do it again. If you’re going to call me by a pet name, I’d rather it weren’t a farm animal.” 

“Got it,” he winked, “Let’s forget it ever happened.” 

“Forgotten already,” she told him, then brushed a quick kiss on his mouth, before clambering off of him. The top of Sylvie’s dress was bunched around her waist, but she didn’t seem to care as she headed to refill her glass and fetch his. This time, when she offered him the scotch, he took it and immediately swallowed half ot it---for he knew he couldn’t avoid what was coming next. 

“So, Henns...”Her voice had taken on a pouty, singsong quality, “Not to be gauche, but you owe me one now...” 

Christ! Was she always like this, he wondered; and was I just blinded by the sex? 

”...well, at least one,” she added, “Although I know you’re good for...many more.” She tossed back the rest of her scotch, gave a shake of her head as the burn went down, then wagged her head in the direction of the bedroom. “How about we crack on, as you Brits like to say?” 

“Righto.” Hennessy finished his drink and stood up, resigned to the unsavory outcome he’d wrought for himself. Knowing that he was obliged to a small degree---the wheels in his head busy spinning as he searched for a way to extricate himself with his dignity intact, before he was quite literally in too deep.