She tried not to giggle. It was too frivolous. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“I want to hear the words.”
She reached down and gripped his cock, squeezing it through the thin barrier of latex. “This is another kinky power game, right?”
“Yes,” he said baldly.
She writhed beneath his weight, arching until she could press the thick bulb of his penis against her own slick opening, and with some breathless wiggling, forced him inside, until her inner lips clasped him. He felt huge. “Please,” she whispered. “Put your cock into me.”
He stared into her eyes, shifted his weight, pressed deeper.
She gasped, bit her lip. “Oh, boy. You really are enormous.”
“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low, strangled. “I’ll go slow.”
He did. She’d braced herself for pain, but he barely moved, just hovered over her, rocking gently, kissing her with all his incredible skill, melting her. Caressing her clit with his thumb.
His kisses were a language some deep part of her understood. Something deep inside him, pleading and coaxing at something inside her. Begging her to soften, bend, and melt for him. Demanding.
He made her come again, deep and hard and wrenching, and when she opened her eyes and remembered who she was, his cock was seated deep inside her. Huge and throbbing. She could barely move.
Even then, he was in no hurry. He rolled her onto her side, draping her leg over his, and they kissed, embraced, hips pulsing together. Slowly, lazily rocking. Time stretched, warped, and created a magic universe around them. The room with its flickering leaf shadow was a verdant bower. Colors unnaturally strong. The sleeping bag was the splayed petals of some voluptuous, sexual flower, and the two of them writhed and undulated inside its glowing, silky depths. Lost.
At some point, she realized with some surprise that she was not uncomfortable at all anymore. Her body had re-formed itself around him. He was easing in and out of her, in slow, maddening thrusts, with a skillful swivel and slide that stroked every wonderful throbbing hot spot inside her. She jerked and shuddered with each plunge.
He was so attentive, so sensitive. Feeling his way. His passionate attention unlocked every closed, fearful place inside her and sparked an endless string of delicious explosions. They were fused, a single moving, surging glow. She could not stop the shimmer of tears in her eyes, slipping out, tickling her face. He kept tirelessly kissing them away.
It took her a lazily long and delicious forever to convince him to let himself come, too. To persuade him that he would not hurt her or scare her if he picked up the pace. She finally clawed him into action, inciting, demanding. Sinking her nails into his butt, pulling him deeper.
He finally gathered her up tightly against him, and gave it to her harder than she would ever have dreamed she would want it, but she did want it. She was transformed. No walls inside her to painfully slam against. He’d gotten past her walls. She was all softness, eagerness.
He could do as he wanted with her. She loved it all, his fierceness, his strength, his vigor, his size, jarring her, ramming into her, energy gathering, and his hoarse shout, that hot blaze of energy, pumping…
She loved…him.
The terrifying thought reverberated through her as the blast wave of their mutual climax wiped them out. When she opened her eyes, they lay side by side, limp and damp and spent. Arms and legs entwined.
He gazed into her face, touched her cheek with the tip of his finger. “I can’t believe how soft your skin is,” he said quietly.
She grabbed his hand, and kissed it impulsively, her realization shining inside her. Part pleasure, part a keen, stabbing pain.
It wanted so badly to be shared. But she couldn’t.
She snuggled up to him, hiding her face against his chest, and they stayed that way until the rays of the afternoon sun began to lengthen and turn warm gold. Finally, he brushed her hair off her face.
“Want to go and plant that Eranthis hyemalis with me?” he asked.
She was taken aback. “Right now?”
“I don’t know how much of a chance they have to root now, but we could give it a shot,” he said. “What the hell, right? I’d hate to see them just wither away without even giving it a try. Doesn’t seem right.”
She thought about that for a moment. What an ironic choice of words. And he had no clue. She could tell from his face. He was just talking about flowers. His mind was hardwired that way. Completely straightforward. Calling a flower a flower.
She didn’t know how much of a chance the two of them had to root. Not much, maybe. But she was going to give it a shot, by God.
She sat up. “Yes,” she said, reaching for her skirt. “Let’s go plant those little guys right this very minute. They deserve a shot.”
This thing of theirs was not going to wither away for lack of trying. It was just too damn beautiful and rare for such a sad and stupid end.
Chapter
7
Jack patted the earth down after setting out the last seedling and rose to his feet. “There you go,” he said. “Now we just watch, and hope.”
Vivi’s smile made him feel so strange and good. Charged with energy that crackled and glowed like a bonfire.
“Would you show me your other flowers?” she asked, hesitantly. “Margaret told me they were beautiful.”
“Sure.” He brushed earth off his hands, looked at them. He wanted to hold her hand, but it didn’t seem right, with all that dirt.
She resolved his dilemma by grabbing his hand herself.
They set out toward the river, through a clearing on the hillside that glowed with wildflowers lit from the side by the setting sun so that they glowed, dancing and flickering like flames. She hardly seemed real, wafting next to him, in that floating skirt. Something from a dream. So pretty, she hurt his eyes, bright hair streaming, cheeks so pink, lips so red. Eyes that glowing gray. Already, he felt the hot tingle of a brand-new boner coming on.
They hadn’t bothered to shower, just pulled on the minimum of clothing. Vivi seemed urgent about planting, as if something bad would happen if they lost any time. He’d seen no reason not to indulge her.
He kept looking at her, ogling, marveling. It was official. His brain had melted. He’d never even dreamed of sex like that.
After they’d gotten past the scary stuff, of course. His free hand clenched at the thought of her evil ex. How a man could hurt any woman was beyond him, let alone one like Vivi. So beautiful and scrappy and strong. She’d probably scared the shit out of the bastard. Given him a huge inferiority complex so that the dickhead felt compelled to use the one pathetic advantage he had—his greater size. Classic. Not that it was an excuse. He would pay. Jack intended to see to the matter personally.
Vivi stared up at the trees, the rays of sunlight slanting through them. Jack gazed at the perfect curve of her arched neck, the angle of her jaw. Then they stepped out of the pine thicket, into another world.
The floor of the little valley was covered with spires, buds, blossoms of wildly contrasting colors. Edna yelped and readied herself to plunge into a bank of Kniphofia. Vivi caught her collar and held her fast. “No, girl. You stay right here. Sit!”
A branch snapped in the forest, and Edna twisted out of Vivi’s grasp and bounded off into the woods to investigate.
“Come out into the field,” he offered. “I’ll show you around.”
He led her out into the field, between the beds, and pointed. “These are Kniphofia, otherwise known as red hot pokers. The Lilium auratum on the other side are almost ready. Down there are Oriental poppies, and Anthoxanthum odoratum, which is a type of ornamental grass. There’s some Centaurea cyanus and Stachys byzantina on that rise over there. Bachelor’s buttons and lamb’s ears, in common English. And see those white and blue ones? Campanula aurita. Bellflowers. And columbine, at the far end.”