The Florist Ch. 02: Weinotia

"Please don't be angry." She squeezed me again. It tickled even as it aroused. The truth was that my anger faded very quickly, but I certainly did not want her knowing it. If she thought she could alter my mood too easily it might not be to my benefit.

As I slipped from her she finally looked into my eyes. Her gaze seemed demure, seemed to seek approval. Her head tilted to one side and her lips brushed against my own.

"May I freshen myself?"

"Of course. There," I gestured.

She was gone for a short time and returned with a warm washcloth. Weinotia knelt and cleansed me. The contrast of the initial heat that faded in the cooler air focused my mind. She folded the cloth and laid it on the side table. With trembling fingers she undid the buttons on my shirt and slid the garment over my shoulders until it caught on my arms. Her kisses grew hungry.

I tasted her mouth and let my tongue explore. Her breasts pressed into my chest and I felt her stiffened nipples brushing my skin.

She left my mouth and I felt her tasting the skin of my shoulder. I stroked her wavy hair as she descended along my ribs, trailing kisses all the way. She nipped at the skin of my stomach as her hand caressed between my thighs. She hummed her approval when I stirred against her palm.

"Ohh!" I could not help but moan as she cupped my sensitive tip.

"Mm, you like that, dear Kelline?"

"Oh, yesss. Mmm, you are naturally adept."

Weinotia emitted a low, throaty laugh. "'Naturally adept?' Do you always sound so formal?"

"I was just being proper, though you may make me forget my mann—mmm, my manners. My goodness, that feels very nice indeed."

"And this?" With that she held me to her lips and began to lower her mouth onto me. My hips thrust toward her as if they thought for themselves. I cannot be sure, but I believe I may have groaned.

In one of my more lucid moments, I reminded her, "This night is for you—I should—"

She slipped me from between her lips, but her hand maintained the same intoxicating and infuriating rhythm. It was becoming difficult to think.

"You should let me have my way, then. I want this." She devoured me once more.

I lay back with as masculine a whimper as I could manage, closed my eyes and played with her hair. Her mouth and hands kept on performing their magic and I knew my ultimate response would soon follow . . . .

But the very next instant the fire of her mouth left me. My eyes flashed open in surprise.

Weinotia stood. In a fluid movement she turned away from me, straddled my thighs, lowered herself. She licked her palm, cupped my tip to wet me then guided me to her. She settled with a long moaning sigh of pleasure. My legs flexed on their own as I slipped into her depths once again.

For the next several pounding heartbeats I watch the rippling of her back, thighs and bottom. She braced her hands on my knees and moved with rhythmic purposed, driving herself toward fulfillment even as she covered me in her musk.

My hands rested on her hips and pressed her onto me a little longer each time I reached the depths of her. She had to have noticed my swelling, the hardening of my length, the tautness of my legs.

No, I had to remind myself, this is her first time. She may not realize—

"Oh, Kelline, you feel—oh!— so hard, inside, mmm, I, I think, oh, oooh!"

Weinotia curled forward and her body convulsed once, then again. A flood like lava covered my thighs. Her moans grew continuous and her hips ground onto me. That proved too much for my feeble resolve. I thrust upward to impale my beautiful lover as my own convulsions began.

Her nails dug into my legs, the pain edged with pleasure. I recognized just how consuming her peak must be, but the thought was a fleeting one as my mind numbed in our ecstasy.

Weinotia's quaking slowed to trembles and shudders. When her body quieted she rose shakily until I slid from her. She turned and looked at me with brimming eyes, joined me on the couch and nestled into my side. I wrapped an arm around her and held her to my warmth.

"Thank you, Kelline," she murmured. "It was everything I wished it would be."

I kissed the top of her head and her springy hair tickled my nose. I smiled.

"Was that, 'vigorous,' enough for you, Weinotia?"

She looked up at me with a straight face and teasing eyes. "Was that vigorous enough for you, Kelline?"

"Oh, yes, milady. I'm just thankful for oatwort, or I might be spent for the night."

She put a hand on my chest and pushed a short distance away. "You mean you are not?"

"Now just a moment, before you get any ideas—"

But it was too late. Weinotia was already on her feet and pulling me along.

"You asked earlier—stand up, Kelline—you asked earlier, so yes—stand up I said—about in your bed."

She dragged me towards the hall.

"Weinotia, stop!"

The hurt expression she wore made it very difficult to withhold my laughter.

"Kelline, have I—?"

"This way. That hallway goes to the pantry cellar."

We laughed our way into my bed.

Once there, however, there was nothing laughable about Weinotia's lovemaking. She possessed a natural talent, an insatiable curiosity, and an unflagging passion. And she participated—actively. The fact that she was not even leaning let me indulge my own little fantasy that perhaps, for one night, could I?

It was the last thought I had as I fell asleep, nestled against Weinotia and lulled by her deep-slumber breathing.

It was the fantasy of, Good night, my love . . .

* * * * * * *

I awoke to the sound of an arboreal tussle between what sounded like enormous billbirds. It made me jump. They possessed such volume that I thought for a moment they must be in the room. I worried that it might wake Weinotia, but when I looked to her side of the bed it was empty.

I sighed, and thought, Her side of the bed? What is wrong with you? Last night was for her, she received what she desired, and she left. That is not unusual. Stop being so self-indulgent.

Nonetheless, I sighed again before I rose and made my way to the toilet. I opened the door, and received the second start in quick succession.

"Wha—?"

"Ah!" Weinotia cried, as startled as I was. She sloshed water out of the tub in her fright. "Kelline, don't you knock?"

"I thought you left." My gaze landed on her glistening breasts. Whether from the scare, or the cooler air, or the playful lapping of bathwater they began to respond.

Weinotia covered herself with her hands. "Don't look at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like that. Like someone who hasn't eaten in several all-bells."

"Then stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Look at my eyes."

Her gaze rose by a good three remin.

"Hello," I told her with a smirk. But she was right about the hungered look—I had seen it in her face so recently, first for the food and, later, as we joined.

She blushed at being caught. Then sloughing all remorse she murmured, "It is nice to be noticed, though."

I followed her stare and saw myself responding to her submerged nudity.

It was my turn to blush.

"So, I still excite you?"

"No, that's the oatwort—"

Her splashing was remarkably well aimed.

* * * * * * *

I took her again, in the tub. We got the water as close to unbearable hot as we could stand, then I showed her the gentler side of lovemaking. The soft delicacy of movement, exploration, and worship of a lover's body let Weinotia experience a different facet of joining that seemed to appeal to her very much. Twice.

Afterwards I dried her off and wrapped her in the fluffiest robe I own. I made her breakfast and pampered her, catered to her, spoiled her. And I fooled myself that it was all part of my professional duty.

She pecked my cheek, hugged me with longing, and left my doorstep by the ten-three bell.

The heat that her lips kindled on my skin lasted well into the evening.

But the emptiness of my home began as soon as the lock clicked into place.