Finding BathshebaChapter 28 free porn video

"Looovvverrrr ... Rise and shine, Lover..."

The quiet angelic voice seemed to permeate every nook and cranny of Jack's exhausted body. Surely it couldn't be morning yet. He grumbled, but refused to open his eyes

"Com'n, big guy. Open those beautiful green eyes of yours."

Her voice was still so tranquil and sensual. Still, Jack would prefer that it just go away. Allison had fucked him senseless the night before. Now he needed sleep. He refused to acknowledge her attempt to pull him from his slumber.

"OK. You missed your chance, buster." Her voice was still so sweet. "I'm horny and wet, but I guess I'll just take my shower by myself and become reacquainted with my fingers."

Jack heard her leave the room and a moment later, he heard the shower start.

Finally, he could go back to sleep. He was sated. He didn't need any sex that morning. If she was horny, her fingers would just have to suffice. She could just rub her tasty little snatch and bring herself off.

He was just fine to keep sleeping.

Honestly.

Dammit.

With a groan, he launched himself out of his slumber and out of the bed in one motion, tore out of the guestroom, and busted into the bathroom with a bang of the door. He threw open the shower curtain with a growl and catapulted into the steamy confines of the shower. Allison shrieked in surprise at his aggression, but then devolved into giggles as Jack playfully mauled her neck and breasts. Her hand was already lazily massaging her pussy, but when his hand replaced hers between her legs, she wrapped her slender fingers around his hard shaft.

Jack let out a groan as she began to stroke. Maybe he could become a morning person after all.

As Allison stretched for her morning run, she glanced at her partner, still largely shadowed in the faint light of the pre-dawn. She'd convinced Jack to come running with her, but it hadn't been easy. During their shower, with her hands waking his soapy body, she tried to convince him of the merits of starting the day with a run. When that didn't work, she tried getting sympathy. She'd sadly bemoaned how she'd gotten out of the habit during the previous stress-filled months, but with the prospect of trying to earn playing time on a new soccer team, she felt the sudden motivation to get back in shape.

And what better way to keep the motivation than to have a running partner. Unfortunately, Jack didn't finally agree to become her partner until she had him on the brink of orgasm, gasping and begging for her to finally finish him off. She kept him there, refusing to fulfill his request for release until he caved in.

"Oh, shit ... fine, Allison, I'll run with you," he panted, his body trembling with unfulfilled desire, his purple cock head dripping like a leaky faucet. "Just, please, finish me off!"

She squealed happily and kissed his cheek, then refocused her attention, fisting his shaft in both small hands and pumping it as fast as she could go. It took less than thirty seconds before he groaned and jerked, his body suddenly racked with an enormous contraction.

"Ooooh, fuuuuck..." he hissed as the first volley of come rocketed from his angry penis and landed in a trail just above Allison's neatly trimmed bush. A second and then third spurt followed and coated more of Allison's abdomen before being quickly washed away by the water cascading over her shoulder. The final spurts just coated her fingers as she slowed her stroking. Jack slumped against the cold tile walls, desperately trying to catch his breath.

And that led to where they were now.

"What are you grinning at?"

Jack's inquiry brought Allison back to the dim pre-dawn world. She lifted out of her stretch and looked at her lover. He had his fists on his hips and was looking down at her. He hadn't combed his wet hair and it was a shaggy mess. His t-shirt and shorts were unkempt, just like his hair. And he was still so beautiful. She just shrugged and moved into another stretch.

"So are we going to do this or what?" he grumbled. "I mean, how long does it take to loosen up?"

She looked up at him with a gleam in her eye. "Not long for me when you're around," she replied with a wink.

Jack rolled his eyes. "I still don't see the point in running without a ball in your hands. Football or basketball. Doesn't matter to me."

"Fine. Then grab your basketball. You won't be able to keep up, though." She pulled her feet up under her and bounced to standing. "OK. I'm ready."

"About time." He sighed. "I guess I'll do this without a ball. Really doesn't seem much point in having a ball if you can't score at the end of the run, anyway."

Allison smiled and patted Jack on the shoulder. "You don't need the basketball to score at the end your run, sweetie." She waggled her eyebrows. "You just need to keep up."

With that, she started a slow warm-up jog. After about 20 feet she turned and ran backwards for a ways. Jack hadn't moved yet. "Are you just going to stand there?"

"What? I'm just giving you a head start. That way I can have a nice view during the run. Consider that my inspiration to keep going."

Allison just shook her head and couldn't help but smile. Their playful banter just seemed so natural, so loving. And in less than a day, Abigail would be back with them, and everything would just be so right.

She turned back to face forward and wiggled her hips enticingly. She heard a theatrical sigh from her lover before the faint sounds of his footfalls fell in behind her.

"Abigail?"

The brunette looked up from her notes to see a middle-aged woman standing in the entrance to the waiting room. It was 8:00, but already there were a good number of people milling about.

Abigail stood with a smile. "Fran? It's nice to meet you." She held out her hand.

The older woman smiled and grasped the proffered hand. "Likewise. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice. I hope the change in your plans wasn't too much of an imposition."

Fran motioned into the hall and Abigail fell into step beside her. "No, it wasn't a problem. I'm grateful for the opportunity to meet with you. Your somewhat cryptic comments on the phone were extremely intriguing."

Fran chuckled quietly. "Yes, well. Sorry for being so guarded. The purpose of our interview with you isn't top secret or anything, but it is a sensitive subject."

"Please, no apologies necessary."

When they reached the end of the hall, Fran surprised Abigail by stopping in front of conference room doors. The younger woman had assumed they would head down the intersecting hall towards the administrative offices where she met with Clair the previous week.

Fran turned and looked at Abigail. "Just a little information before we step into the conference room. In light of your impending departure, we felt the need to compress the interview process. Normally, I'd meet with you, then we'd bring others in as we deemed necessary. However, we felt that we could gather the necessary executive staff this morning and take care of everything at once." She smiled apologetically at Abigail. "I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable."

Abigail smiled and dismissed the concern with a gesture. The truth of the matter, however, was that she was extremely uncomfortable with this unexpected turn of events. Not that she had problems presenting to groups—executives even. However, the thought of a number of high-ranking individuals who she'd never met grilling her on a topic they felt strongly about, one she had absolutely no preparation for, was more than mildly disconcerting. Still, she took a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm herself.

Fran nodded at Abigail's dismissal and opened the door. She stood aside and motioned Abigail into the room.

The conference room was lovely. Relaxing pastel colors made the room inviting. Well chosen paintings and live plants added an elegant, yet peaceful touch. A long, massive table dominated the room. The solid cherry furnishing was surrounded by more than a dozen plush chairs, four of which were already occupied. As Abigail stepped into the room, the occupants all stood.

Immediately, Clair Barlow came around with a warm smile and clasped Abigail's hand in both of hers.

"Abigail! It's so nice to see you again," she said. Abigail felt a little more tension flow out of her with the sincerity and fervor of Clair's greeting.

"You, too, Clair. Thank you for passing my information along."

Clair leaned in with a devilish grin, and whispered conspiratorially. "Truthfully, I knew you would be a catch for Overlake, so I resolved to find away to get you back here so you could wow everyone else."

Abigail tried not to blush at the compliment. Clair pulled her over towards the others in the room. Abigail glanced over at Fran, who just had a bemused expression on her face. She took quick note of the contrasts between the two women. Clair seemed so much more warm and personable, whereas Fran seemed more formal and guarded. Clair's whole demeanor was bright and airy, and her attire and hair matched that personality. In contrast, Abigail noted the streaks of grey in Fran's hair, which was pulled back into a tight bun. She wore a charcoal gray pant suit over her tall, slender frame, and her short black heels only added length to her long legs. Her only accessory was an unassuming gold watch. Abigail noted that beneath Fran's formal exterior and lined face, she was a likely a pretty woman. Yet, there seemed to be almost a hint of sadness touching her eyes.

Clair took up the task of making introductions. She steered Abigail over to the first man, a stocky man with a full head of grey hair. His expression was warm and personable. "Abigail, this is our CEO, Donald Barlow. And yes, before you ask, Donald is my husband."

He took Abigail's hand in both his, almost perfectly mimicking his wife's handshake. "Welcome back, Abigail. It's nice to finally meet you."

Clair motioned to a short, round woman across the table. "This is Madeline DuBois, our Vice President of Patient & Care Services." As Abigail shook hands across the table, Clair indicated the tall, wiry man standing next to Madeline. "And this is Dr. Ross Purdue, Vice President of Professional Services, and technically my boss."

He leaned over and shook Abigail's hand with a smile. "I may be one spot above Clair on the org chart, but I'm smart enough to know not to tell her what to do."

The humor brought a quiet chuckle from Madeline. Donald piped up. "Me, too, Ross. Me, too."

That brought laughter from everyone, including Abigail. Clair elbowed her husband playfully. Fran stepped forward and motioned to the chair at the head of the table.

"We are fairly informal in that we typically refer to each other by first name, and we would like you to feel comfortable enough to do the same. Now, we've reserved the hot chair for you, Abigail."

Abigail took her place, with Fran and Clair in the chairs immediately on either side of her.

Everyone was quiet for a few moments as they situated themselves, pulling out sheaves of paper, opening notebooks and getting comfortable. Abigail felt the tension begin to mount again. She hoped they were more comfortable than she was.

Fran glanced around at the executives and after some unspoken communication, she turned to Abigail. "I'll direct the interview, but my associates will likely interject questions and comments as we go. It'll be my job to corral them in and steer the dialog." Some low chuckling passed among them. "Abigail, I'd like to ask you a series of questions before we get into the details of why you are here today. Please think before you answer, and feel free to ask for clarification. Are you ready?"

Abigail nodded.

"What would you consider your ideal patient experience at a hospital?"

Now there was a broad topic. Abigail leaned back a little in her chair and thought. She pushed out any "what are they looking for" thinking and just focused on the question. After a few moments, she formed her response.

"Well, first and foremost would be level of care. I'd want the doctors and other medical personnel to be intelligent, knowledgeable and experienced. I'd need the peace of mind to know that my health was in expert hands."

She glanced around as she spoke. Madeline and Ross were writing in their notebooks. Clair nodded with a smile, and Donald sat motionless, his face neutral.

Abigail continued. "There are other issues, though, that can't be overlooked. I'd want efficiency and promptness, not having to wait around for hours after being told that I was being taken to radiology or the lab. I want an attentive nursing staff, quick to respond to my immediate needs. I'd hope that they'd be personable and reassuring, that'd they'd go out of their way to make my experience more comfortable. While I'd want the doctors to be experts and experienced, I also wouldn't want them to be condescending. Bedside manner is important to me. Treat me like I'm intelligent. Treat me like I'm a person and not just a malady.

"Oh, and treat my friends and family with respect, as well. Having a loved one in the hospital can be traumatic for everyone. I'd want to know that they were being treated well, that they had the resources and services to make their time in the hospital better. Make these things free of charge, otherwise there is a decreased likelihood the family will make use of them."

"What types of resources and services are you talking about?" Madeline asked.

"Well, maybe a resource center, a place where family members can go and get books or magazines or watch TV. Give them access to computers and the Internet. Maybe set up a couple of rooms that will give them some privacy, with desks or comfortable reading chairs or even small beds to rest. You could have a staff person present at the center to act as sort of family resource coordinator, giving them information on accommodations, dining, and other community services. You could even give them access to a washer and dryer, a microwave, a coffee maker, and other small appliances."

Abigail took a breath and tried to collect her thoughts again. They were filling her head at such a rapid pace that she was afraid things didn't sound coherent.

"That's just the superficial things that would make a family comfortable. Many folks are emotionally fragile as they watch their loved ones struggle with health. You could make social workers or psychologists available for sessions—again free of charge—to help these families cope with the emotional burdens they carry. You can have the family resource coordinator act as liaison for scheduling these appointments. Also, make an ombudsman available to field and handle patient and family complaints and concerns. This person needs to be independent of the hospital so that they are immune to internal politics and free to act on the best interest of the aggrieved party.

"Let's see ... an environment that is cognizant of a family's spiritual needs would be essential, I would imagine. Not only welcoming and facilitating visits from an individual's spiritual leader, but also providing onsite clergy to provide encouragement, a listening ear, prayer and whatever else a person needs to ease their spiritual tension. Providing some kind of a private sanctuary for folks would be a nice gesture."

Abigail paused to take another breath and once again glanced around the room. Clair had a huge smile on her face. Donald's expression remained neutral. Madeline and Ross continued to frantically take notes. Fran's expression, however, almost made Abigail laugh. Had the mood in the room been different, she would have. Her jaw hung open, her eyes focused intensely on Abigail. Abigail couldn't tell if it was because she was appalled or impressed with Abigail's comment. Fran blinked a couple of times and seemed to remember her role. She cleared her throat and looked down at her paper.

"Um, yes, well." She flipped to her second page. "You've covered a lot of my follow-up questions." She continued to scan the page. "Oh, here's one."

Donald interrupted. "Abigail, I think it's time to tell you what we are looking for here,"

Abigail turned and looked at him as he leaned forward with both hands on the table. His neutral expression was now one of intensity.

"You see, Abigail, our institution has always prided itself on bringing in the best medical professionals we can. Our doctors and service professionals routinely rate among the highest in the nation with regards to knowledge and ability. They are well respected within both the medical and academic circles. We also go to great pains to keep our facilities and equipment cutting edge, as well as keeping our staff trained to handle the newest technologies."

Abigail glanced around the table again. Everyone had their eyes focused on their leader. She turned back to him as he continued.

"However, somewhere along the way we seem to have forgotten one of the most important aspects to medical care, and that is patient satisfaction. Somewhere along the way, we adopted the mentality that as long as the patient is physically better when they leave, that is all that matters. Yet, not once in your comments did you mention that you cared about updated technology. And you only really glossed over that you wanted the doctors and staff to be good at what they do. You treated that as a given. What you really focused on was how the patient and their family FEEL. Not physically necessarily, but emotionally. Like they wanted to be treated as a person who has feelings and emotions and ... and intelligence.

"We seem to have lost sight of this. We've had a string of incidents that were public relations nightmares at best and potential lawsuits at worst. However, what's even more important is they showed a lack of regard for our patients' feelings and even bordered on neglect.

"Because of this, our Board of Directors has asked us to make rectifying this issue a major priority. And that's why you are here."

Fran spoke next. "Abigail, we are creating a new position for our institution. Assistant Director for Quality Assurance and Patient Satisfaction. We knew some high level responsibilities of this position, but we hadn't yet formulated all for which this person would be responsible. We had anticipated waiting until we fleshed out more details before beginning our interview process."

Clair reached over and patted Abigail's hand. "Then you came in for your interview with me and brought in a set of skills and a philosophy that really seemed to mesh with our view of what was needed. Your answer to Fran's additional question really answers a lot of what we envision this person would do."

Donald sighed. "I need to impress on you how important this is to us, young lady. We don't want to hand this over to just anyone. However, you impressed my wife, and from the reactions of those in this room, you've impressed them, as well. I know I'm impressed. Now, I can tell from Ross's fidgeting that he has some questions. Ross?"

Abigail was in a daze. As Ross gathered his thoughts, she tried to reign in the adrenaline that was pumping through her. She'd worked up quite a head of steam as she spoke, and then Donald's unexpected words of praise really caught her off guard. She prayed that the rest of the interview would go as well as the first part apparently had. She turned her attention to Ross and readied her mind.

Sharon raised her hand to knock on the office door, but froze before her knuckles could contact the wood. She lowered her trembling arm and took a step back. She could hear the faint sound of a hymn playing over the church's speaker system, something their pastor had insisted be installed as a way to invite the Lord's spirit into the building.

Other than the quiet music, there was no other sound in the building. Sharon knew Pastor Donathon was on the premises somewhere; his car was parked in its usual spot. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Stepping up to the door again, she raised her trembling hand. Once again she froze just before her fist could announce her presence. Tears started to well in her eyes. She couldn't go through with this. It was just too much. Almost like "confessing" everything would really cement what a failure she was as a wife, a mother, and a Christian.

She wasn't ready yet. She quickly backed away again. Pulling her purse strap higher on her shoulder, she turned and began to make her escape. She was practically running by the time she reached the door of the sanctuary that would expel her from the building. Her hand reached the handle.

"Mrs. Garner??"

She froze, unable to move forward or turn to face the man who had just called her name. A few tears rolled down her cheeks, but still she remained stationary. She felt Pastor Donathon's presence close behind her now.

"Sharon." His voice was quiet and soothing.

He gently laid a hand on her arm, which startled her for just a moment. However, his tenderness was compelling, and she finally turned around to look into his wizened face. His smile was warm and inviting. Almost grandfatherly.

"Sharon, I'm so glad to see you. I was feeling a tad lonely. Would you be willing to sit with me for a spell and talk? I have fresh tea brewing."

Her lip trembled as she searched his friendly eyes. He held out his arm for her and she timidly placed her hand inside the crook of his elbow. He patted her hand with his free hand and together they strode slowly back to his office.

Fran Crosby stood in the hallway and watched the young brunette until she turned down the adjoining corridor. For the first time in a long time, she felt hope. Abigail Williams was almost a godsend. She knew that the executive team would need to discuss things before making a decision, but that was just a formality. She could tell by looking at the faces of the other participants in the interview that they were just as impressed as she was with the engaging young woman.

Fran turned and headed back to the conference room. Abigail would be a wonderful addition. Her personality, skills and ideas would not only ease the strain the current patient concerns placed on her department, but would likely allow the executive team and Board to move onto other important issues.

On a more personal front, Fran also silently hoped that Abigail would be able to take a great deal of emotional burden off of Fran's shoulders, which would allow her to deal with the issues in her personal life. She pushed the thoughts of her partner and her treatments from her mind, once again trying to compartmentalize her life. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the conference room and prepared to argue for the best possible job offer for the sharp and intelligent young woman that just left their presence, an offer that would be too good for her to turn down.

Sharon took a small sip from the steaming cup of tea and carefully set it down on the table beside her. Bill Donathon had a way of taking the anxiety of people. His light-hearted chit-chat had gradually put Sharon's nerves at ease, and she had almost forgotten why she had come to his office.

For the first time in the 20 minutes she had visited with the pastor, he finally sat back quietly and gave her an appraising look.

"Now, Sharon. You've let me just prattle on about this and that for nearly half an hour. I'm sure you didn't come here just to visit and let an old man talk your ear off."

Sharon began to fidget. She could feel herself becoming weighed down again by the press of emotions.

Bill leaned forward with a warm smile and patted her on her arm. "Please, I can see from your whole demeanor that there is something that you are struggling with." He took a deep breath. "I hate to see one of my flock hurting."

Now that she was here, now that the door had been opened, Sharon didn't know how to step through. What was it she wanted? Was she here to confess? Get advice? Blow off steam? What?

"Is this about Allison?" he asked quietly.

Sharon felt the tears begin to burn her eyes. She tried to fight them, but the harder she tried, the more intent they were on flowing. Eventually, the law of gravity won, and the tears streamed down her face. She buried her face in her hands as she was overcome with anguish, months worth of shock, fear, anger, shame, guilt, depression and a myriad other emotions exploding forth at that moment. No sound came from her, but her body shook and rocked with her uncontrollable emotion.

It took only a moment for Bill to react, quickly moving to sit beside her and wrapping her in his arms. He held her tightly, quietly soothing her, giving her permission to let it all out.

She cried for her broken family, for her fallen daughters, and for her affectionless marriage. She cried for her moments of depraved weakness, both the lust that refused to relinquish its hold, as well the cowardice she showed in standing up for her children. She cried for the years of experience, wicked or not, she felt she missed living in the sheltered bubble that was her life. She cried for the confusion she now felt, torn apart by happiness for her daughters' found love and sadness for their apparent immorality.

"Sharon, Sharon, Sharon," Bill whispered when her quivering body began to still. "My sweet sister. So much emotion. So much sadness you've kept bottled up for so long. I'm here for you. We'll work through things together."

Sharon took a deep, ragged breath. "What have I done, Mr. Donathon? What have I done?"

"There, there now. We'll get to all that in a minute. You just gather your wits about you. Nothing that has happened, either by you or your daughters, changes your Father's love. You are his daughter, and divine by nature, Sharon. Believe me when I say that He and his angels cry WITH you, not BECAUSE of you."

That sentiment set Sharon off on another quiet round of crying. Was that true? Did God love her regardless of her actions or her thoughts? How could he, when she couldn't even stomach herself. Words she'd been taught her whole life came quickly into her mind: 'God's love is unconditional.' She felt a small bit of peace fill her.

Bill nudged her gently and she glanced up to see his hand extended towards her, offering her a tissue box.

"Thank you," she whispered as she withdrew three or four tissues. With one she quietly blew her nose. With another, she dabbed her burning eyes. She took another deep breath and finally found the courage to look into Bill's concerned eyes. "I'm sorry to hit you with so much emotion, especially without warning."

He smiled warmly at her. "Nonsense, Sharon. It is why I serve."

He was gently rubbing her back, which calmed Sharon even more. She pushed back against his hand to increase the pressure. Something in her demeanor obviously prompted him to act.

"Do you feel like you are ready to talk, Sharon?"

Right at that moment, she felt so completely humbled and vulnerable. She knew it was now or never. She looked down at her hands, now twisting the tissues nervously in her lap.

"Are you aware of what's happened to my Allison?"

"Only what the child has told me."

"Have you not heard the rumors?"

Bill chuckled. "Sharon, I hear more rumors than you can imagine. I rarely follow up on that which I hear except to implore my parishioners to come to me in their time of greatest need. I find that rumors are often grossly exaggerated at best and false at worst." He continued to gentle rub her back. "Why don't you tell me whatever you need? Don't worry about what I may or may not know."

Sharon nodded. "I ... I don't even know where to start, Mr. Donathon."

"Sharon, we've been friends for more than two decades," Bill interrupted. "You can call me Bill."

She smiled. "Thank you, Bill." She took a deep breath. "I'm afraid that what I'm feeling is so convoluted and deeply engrained in me that it won't make any sense."

"Just start wherever. We can organize the thoughts and feelings later."

"My youngest daughter—Allison—has entered into a relationship with her oldest sister and her husband." Sharon shuddered as she pushed the sentence out, and she felt a sudden relief settle over her. There, she thought. I've said it.

"This alarms you." Bill said it as a statement, not a question. Sharon looked at him sideways. His warm expression remained unchanged.

"Well, yes. I mean, wouldn't it alarm you as a parent?"

"Sharon, that's a very good question, one I'm sure we'll get to at some point. But right now, I don't want to influence you one way or another. I only want to listen. I may ask a question from time to time, but I want to hear you talk this through. Once we've exhausted your thoughts on the issues, we can look at it all objectively and I can give counsel as needed. Is that OK?"

Sharon hesitated a second, then nodded again. "Alarm might not be the right word. It concerns me. I worry about my children, about their happiness and well-being."

"Does Allison seem happy in her unique relationship with Abigail and Jack?"

Sharon tried to picture her daughter over the last few months, and it was hard to see a great deal of happiness. However, most of the unhappiness came once Ted entered the equation. The few times Sharon was sure that Allison had been with Jack or Abigail—times that she shamefully remembered she had allowed to happen—Allison did seem happier. "I ... I think, well, she appears to be happy."