Jillian moves away and stands between Gus's knees. With both arms she pulls the loose shirt from her body, then steps out of the billowing pants. Incongruously, the fine hair over her pubis is pale gold and Gus realizes that her dark hair is probably dyed. The firelight paints itself on the curves of Jillian's hip, shoulder, thigh. Gus reaches out with both hands to reel her in.

She straddles his lap and unbuttons his shirt. Together they awkwardly wrestle his arms from the sleeves. Gus greedily hugs Jillian to his chest. She presses her breasts against him and drapes her head across his shoulder, calm and silent. It's only when Gus places his flat palm against the small of her back that she rouses again, rocking back on her heels to study him.

Jillian pulls his wire-rimmed glasses from his face, and stretches to place them delicately on the side table. As she does, Gus can't resist grasping the warm flesh of her ass in his hands. She shrieks and laughs at this sudden movement, rights herself and grinds her cunt into the zipper of his jeans. He exhales, hard.

"Yeah," she says, to nobody in particular.

Jillian's mouth devours his in a flood of kisses as her hands tangle in his hair. Gus reaches between her thighs, his movements tentative once more, and unbuttons the top of his jeans. Jillian slides back long enough for him to unzip them. Gus turns his hand over and touches his fingertips to her slit, open and wet, and quickly finds her swollen nub. He draws slow circles around it, Jillian moaning with each one.