"Let's pick some flowers," he said, "for the table at dinner and the bedroom later."
The old timeline of April showers bringing May flowers had been pushed back this year, probably climate change, he thought. It was May showers that brought June flowers. Everywhere.
He grabbed the pruning shears, took her hand, and they browsed the garden, gathering masses of blooms. White hydrangea. Blue hydrangea. White hydrangea flecked with blue. Some red zinnia. The first brilliantly yellow sunflowers of the season. A huge maroon lily, a dark star. A few large leaves, spotted with yellow, for background. A giant white calla lily, the yellow pistil erect in the middle, yes, like a cock in a pristine pussy.
Three fragrant, red roses. "Be careful of the thorns," he told her. "They're so beautiful. I love the scent. But there's always the chance of being pricked." He chuckled a little, just enough to make her uncomfortable.
Once inside, he arranged the flowers in four vases, working with her, the roses in one by themselves. That was unusual. She paused, but didn't say anything.
Dinner was light for the heat of the day by the light of candles on the screen porch, the ceiling fan lazily offering relief, something out of a more formal past.
His looks throughout were unnerving. She knew those cocked-head, half-smiles. She knew they meant he'd formed a plan and was enjoying the anticipation. She knew that below the table he was hard, straining against his pants, putting off taking her fast and hard.
His desire made her imagine. His his control and his patience only turned up the heat as they shared bite after bite. By their after-dinner drink, her nipples were hard and she could feel the dampness in her panties.
Thankfully, he didn't make her wait.
Sit here, he said, I'll call for you when I'm ready.
She sat on the porch, the fan creaking overhead, a light breeze picking up after sunset, the candles flickering, alone with her thoughts. He took charge. Always. She wanted it that way. She'd come to trust him. She'd tried things with him she'd only imagined, things she'd fantasized about for years, but never had the courage to explore. Now, she did. They did. Again and again.
An entire universe of experiences opened for her.
Submission. Bondage. Spanking. Biting. Exhibitionism. Public sex. Toys, all sorts of toys.
Minutes passed. He did love anticipation.
Then he appeared in the doorway, offering his hand.
She took it. He slid a hand into the dark hair that curled atop her shoulders, pulled her to him, and kissed her long and hard. So hard. The beginning ritual.
When they reached the bedroom, he opened the door for her, ever the gentleman (who was not always gentle). What she saw were candles, so many candles, flames flickering, casting shadows. So romantic. And flowers. Even more than they'd gathered.
She took a breath.
