The Language of Flowers

"God, yes..." she sighed.

His tongue crept from his mouth agonisingly slowly. He glanced up to catch her eyes with a devious glint, then withdrew it again. She hiccupped with a spike of indignant laughter, rocked back and ground roughly on his cock. He spasmed and cried out. His cry flurried into laughter, as she slammed her hand over his mouth to hush him.

"Sh, you!" she hissed.

His grey eyes burned gold. He retorted muffled into her palm. "Then don't shock me!"

He licked her palm. She whipped her hand away and gripped his hair and twisted. He sucked harshly through his teeth and chuckled darkly.

"Then don't tease me," she hissed.

"Please," he husked, "You want me to tease you."

Dangerous pleasures.

"I want you to pleasure me," she corrected, her breath skimming over the words.

His narrow chest rose and fell, like he was pinned down in a gale. His eyes flickered between her gaze and her nipple. "Fuck, I want that too," he groaned, "Come back?"

"Will you tease me again?"

"I'll be good."

"Say please."

"Please." He pouted at her, then licked his teeth.

Her shoulders shimmied. She flung herself forward and he caught her nipple between his teeth and rolled it in a soft bite that unravelled the muscles in her back and legs. He sucked her tender, then flailed his tongue over her, whisking the sensation higher and hotter. It built and burst across her skin. She mewled like a kitten and swallowed hard to keep herself quiet. Her pulse pounded sonorously in her clit. She jerked back and hastily yanked down her other strap, unveiling both her breasts, one cool and tingling from his mouth, one warmed in the sun. She swung back over him and he made a sound like a hungry puppy and attacked her breasts with his mouth; sucking, nibbling, licking, nuzzling. His tongue serpentined around her nipples, turning them hazelnut-hard. He took them into the heat of his mouth and rushed her with need. She wriggled her shoulder blades like a prowling lynx. That tongue was wicked, it made her forget where she was, cast everything from her mind except the simmering pathways it left on her flesh. When the pleasure peaked, almost painful in her clit and seizing her with shivers, she pulled away. She caught her breath, blushing at the pucker of his mouth as he followed her instinctively. He writhed under her, the ivy rustling around his trussed hands.

"That mouth can't be trusted," Anna panted.

"It can," he whined, "Cross my heart, let me show you."

He smiled and bucked and her breasts bounced.

She pinched his cheek. "No, you naughty thing."

She snatched a gleaming, red apple from her side and stuffed it into his mouth. He coughed and snuffled and wrinkled his nose at her with a delicious, sulky glare. She poked her tongue between her teeth and fidgeted on his cock, feeling him swell and squirm and chafe on her thighs. The apple bulged comically out of his mouth. She leaned down and took a bite from it, coming nose to nose with him and smiling at his blush. The juice from the incision of her teeth trickled down the glossy fruit, onto his cheek and down over his jaw, glistening on him. She crunched and swallowed, then ducked and lightly licked the droplets from him, lengthening her tongue on the dip beneath his jaw, dragging it slowly around the trail of sweet juice. He growled in his throat. She nipped his earlobe.

She sat up straight and let her gaze amble down his stretched body. He looked like a captured cheetah, long and drawn, almost fragile, but with a tense strength, a pent-up energy. Holding him down made her feel powerful and a little nervous. She brushed his hair from his brow. She curled her hands over his arms, his biceps rising from the tug of the ivy. She fit her palms to the mounds and massaged them, indulging in the firmness, the give of dense muscle. She ran her hands down his form and pushed his top up slowly, unveiling his torso, the sun sinking copper into his skin, pooling in the dip below his sternum. His skin was smooth and radiated warmth. Her fingers wandered over the details of him: a mole just below his ribs, a fine, white appendectomy scar, the flow of desert colour from dusky to pale where his tan faded, his dark bronze nipples, the delicate trail of hair just peeking from where his waistline had dropped.

"You are pretty," she hummed in satisfaction.

He mumbled something through the apple and his eyes glittered.

She bit her lip.

Dangerous pleasures.

***

Jess' flesh was an orchestra of desire. He didn't look at the treasures she'd laid beside him, he wanted to be surprised. He was flowing in this dream and whatever this sprite of a woman wanted to do, he wanted it too. He blinked blearily up at her. Sunlight drizzled her breasts, still uncovered, her nipples pointed and reddened, the sight of them deepening his hunger. Her hair was tangled, it shone like jelly sweets. She relaxed in her seat, her belly bunching a little under her dress, her thighs and her ass soft and snug around him. Sweet apple juice leaked over his tongue and tingled in his throat, the aroma mingling with the memory of lavender and orange. His jaw ached pleasantly. He made a quiet sound of bliss.

She tipped off him. His face crumpled at her and he grumbled around the apple. She held his eye, as she tucked her hands under her skirt and pulled her panties down, a neat triangle of translucent lilac lace. She slipped them over her feet, hooked on her index. He spotted a tiny, heart-shaped patch of wetness on the gusset. He gulped. His eyes shot wide. His heart hammered. His cock pushed against his zip. He craned to peek under her skirt, but there was too much mocking shadow. She moved to pocket them, but he made a pleading moan and shuffled helplessly. She arched an eyebrow and crawled to hover her face over his.

"What's up, Sunshine Boy?" Her whisper was smug and sultry.

He mumbled uselessly around the apple, biting down on it needily so a trickle of juice and saliva escaped the corner of his mouth. He nodded at the panties hanging from her hooked finger then looked back at her with round eyes. She licked her lip. She took the apple from his mouth. He swallowed a bite and gasped and immediately snapped his jaws at her panties, sunlight sieving through the lace. She nuzzled his nose and nipped it, as he bit her chin. She purred and crammed the panties into his mouth. He moaned roughly as her floral musk coated his tongue. She sowed tormenting kisses over his neck, as he supped on her stain.

Images and questions cascaded through his mind: kissing her feet, rolling over and over in the grass, taking her from behind like a piston, drowning in her as she rode his face, sinking under her and being covered in her mouth, her hands stealing around his ass. What did she sound like when she came? How many fingers could he fit inside of her? How wet was she? Could she hold him down if he struggled? What would she feel like on his cock?

She tugged the panties from his clamped teeth and pocketed them, her pretty face glowing with mirth.

"You like that taste?" she taunted, her face still close.

"Fuck, yes," he breathed, gulping the air and the scent of her, "I want the real thing."

He kissed her throat deeply, longingly. She moaned softly and it vibrated on his lips.

"Good things come to those who wait," she chuckled.

"You're a good thing." His voice turned sly between laps on her jugular. "You gonna come for me?"

"You gonna make me?" She pecked his lips.

Images cascaded again. Her arousal still lingered in his mouth.

"Use me for it." He whispered it almost like a pledge.

She sighed and fell into kissing him. Their kiss was cloying and agile, their mouths moving eagerly in tandem, tongues grazing each other. When she pulled from him and straightened up, it dragged a whimper from his throat. She crunched into the apple, bounced her shoulders, and stoppered his mouth with it again.

She crept down his body, teasing his torso with her tongue, turning him into a mixing pot of feeling and tantalisation. Her chin bumped the button of his jeans. His throat closed. She caught his eye again. She slowly unfastened his jeans and peeled them open, like maize leaves. He saw her eyes flash hungrily at the dark stain on his briefs and the way he was straining the fabric. He ached brutally. His pulse galloped. He listened out for the sound of footsteps or chatter, but his senses were too muddled to tell if they were safe. He wondered distantly how much it mattered to him if they were caught, was he really going to stop this for a "just in case"?Obviously fucking not.

He took a sharp breath through his nose, as she released his cock, tugging his jeans and underwear down just enough to cup his balls and knead the hard shaft. He shuddered and bunched the ivy in his hands, tension and collapse cycling through his muscles. Her hands may be delicate, but they were strong. She felt around his shape and ridges and the glistening head, her touch confident and thorough, squeezing and sending tight pulses through him. He melted into the pleasure, moaning deep and moving in the grass to feel her touch in even more sublime detail. He wanted to watch her face, the soft, pleased gaze as she worked him leisurely. But his vision blurred in the light and the heat haze and the overlapping waves of satisfaction and desperation.

She lifted her hands from him and he burned for more. He went searingly hot as she slipped her fingers into her mouth and sucked his dew from them, smiling at the salt. She slid forward, braced astride him, with her hands either side of his body. She bobbed down and licked his nipple and her own dusted the tip of his cock. He snuffled weakly around the apple. She grinned like an imp.

She rocked back and settled her bare pussy to his cock.

"Mmmph! Fck!" he gasped and growled, suddenly thankful for the dripping gag soaking his tongue in sweetness.

She nestled her furrow to him and her heat, her incredible heat, flooded his nerves. His abdomen filled with fire, his tip pounded painfully. She smothered him in her slickness, sliding to settle so he was buried deep in her folds. He set his teeth hard around the apple and shut his eyes tight, to stay quiet, to stay bound, to hold himself back from bucking and begging and rolling and driving her into the earth. He wanted whatever she was planning. He sank into the swell of desire and breathed in the rhythm of the buzz of bees and fleshy friction.

He eased his eyes open and focused them on her. Want surged again. Her head tossed back, sunlight pouring over her like mead, gilding her arms and thighs. One hand pressed to his stomach and crushed him into the dirt, one cupped her breast and rolled her pomegranate nipple between finger and thumb. She rocked on him in a gentle, rowboat rhythm. Her sighs eddied into the air. She looked like a priestess having a vision. She hummed long and low and rolled her head back down, bunching her hands into her hair, like she was gathering cherries. Her eyes were alight and ravenous as she looked at him. He became a flaring wick.

Jesus, burn me up, Beautiful.

She smiled and let her hair tumble around her face. She reached down and held up a large flower, the colour of sunset, its petals a many-layered ruffle of rosy clementine, like rolled tissue paper. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Ranunculus," she said.

He snorted. "That is a horrible word," he tried to say around the apple.

"It is cute, isn't it?"

He rolled his eyes playfully and shivered with pleasure as she clawed his chest and slid deeper.

She dangled the flower over him and brushed it on his skin. "It means 'you are radiant with charms.'"

He winked.

She giggled and twizzled the flower. It flurried its puff of petals on his nipple, stiffening it to a pip. She danced it down his torso, bringing his already thrumming skin wildly alive. As she dusted away from a little patch of sensitivity, she pinched or scratched it and it stung deep in his flesh. He rolled his spine, his cock pumping and his thighs tensing furiously to stay in control. She tickled his neck, over his kidneys, his belly button, his nipples, his flank. His breath came short, stifled even more by the apple, it made him high. She lifted the flower and he almost didn't feel it leave, traces of the petals kiss and peppercorns of pain still skipping over his skin.

She glanced at him with spice. The ivy tightened on his wrists. His stomach flipped. His eyes drifted to the spray of dragon tree spines just in the edges of his vision.

You are near a snare.

Lucky me.

She took the apple from his mouth. He heaved in a fresh, fragrant breath and rotated his jaw, soothing the ache. He munched down the bite of fruit and cleared his throat.

"You trust my mouth now?" he husked.

"Not one bit." Her mouth twisted adorably. "But you said when I sat down that you'd speak poetry to me." She reached between her spread thighs and flicked the tip of his cock, jolting him. "So, speak."

He dropped his head back in the grass and laughed. He nodded to rest on his bicep and smiled like a fool up at her. She shone as if the summer light was coming from within her. Her dress spilled about her, trailing flowers across her belly and pelvis, somehow more salacious than if she was naked, making her look messy, slutty, on the edge of welcome ruin. The angle grew her thighs, turning her slight figure powerful and weighty. Her cheeks glimmered pink and the bright periwinkle of her eyes stunned him. Her hair avalanched over her shoulders, impressive, regal. She brought the apple to her mouth and took a large, gluttonous bite with her proud teeth, leaving her lips gleaming.

"You look like a fertility goddess." He said it without thinking, and cringed immediately.

But she smiled. She stroked his cheek. She poked his nose lightly and he snorted and snapped for her finger. She whipped it back, grinning.

"Keep going."

He pressed his lips together, then released them with another gust of instinct. "I could pray to you, make wishes to you. I wouldn't even need you to grant them, just being able to meet you within them would be enough."

Her roguish face softened. She let him kiss her fingertips.

"Kissing you is rebirth."

She cupped his face.

"My whole body feels hypnotised. You're a vision and a bounty and a smite."

She ground softly on his cock.

"And you're bloody cute and fucking delicious."

They both laughed and she tweaked his earlobe and he licked the inside of her wrist.

She pinched another bunch of leaves from her stash and held them to his nose. Cold spice made him light-headed.

"Peppermint," she cooed, "'Warmth'."

He rolled his hips to summon heat between them. She crumbled the peppermint leaves in her fingertips and pressed the green fibres into his nipples, massaging them. The mint permeated his skin, pricking and nibbling him.

"It feels cold," he murmured, squirming a little under her touch.

"Wait," she instructed softly.

The icy snick on his tender skin warmed under her fingers. It trickled through his muscles and his pores, then smouldered, sharp, almost stinging.

"Oh..." His voice spectred into the air and his eyes fluttered.

"See?" she pinched him lightly. He shivered.

She rubbed the mint into his body, the air between them teeming with its crisp, daggering, cleansing scent. His already sensitised skin sparked. Each touch scent a quiver through him. He bit his lip harshly to keep from moaning desperately to the sky. She bent down and brushed her lips on his. He felt her wetness trickle over his shaft and the ache at his core collided with the thrill in his flesh.

She plucked from her treasure trove. She held up a rose, flourishing petals the colour of ripe peaches, its long, dark stem sprouting keen thorns.

"'Fascination'," she said.

His eyes went wide. He drank in the lethal look of the orange rose.

"Apt," he breathed, "What are you going to do with it?" He already knew.

She floated her hand forward for him to kiss. She bobbed the petals to his lips, he drifted in the smell of sugar.

"Tell me if it hurts too much," she commanded gently.

His face glowed hot, grass tickled the small of his back. He nodded.

She held the rose like a conductor's baton and laid it to his enlivened skin. In a fluid, careful motion, she drew the stem across his chest, the thorns snagging and scraping along the sticky smears of mint.

"Was that alright?" she asked.

He nodded, his tongue restless in his mouth, his chest billowing and chasing the thorns. "Harder."

She pressed. It was like being held in the jaws of a tiger. Teeth sank into him and he froze, suspended, playing dead, delightfully alive. She dragged the thorns again. The tease stole up his back and he writhed in the grass, struggling in his bonds. The tingles of lavender and petals and pinches and mint had layered threads over his body, over and over in a rainbow weft of sensations. Now the thorns wove them together, stitched them into a tapestry of stinging and caressing and trembling that covered him, encased him, silenced the world outside of his begging body. The pain was musical, harmonising with every other clamorous feeling and rising above them in a deep, dominant strain. She drew the rose across him like a violin bow, and he sighed and moaned and whimpered to her playing. His mind emptied. His thoughts and his will and his sense of place and time dissolved into that resonant note.

Fascination.

***

Anna battled between concentrating on her hands and pouring away into a puddle of lust as his cock throbbed and thickened in her slick folds and he came apart exquisitely beneath her. She clenched her pelvic floor and let the pleasure surge up her core, as she slid on his supple swell. His eyes closed and his breathing slowed, slowed, slowed. She'd think he was falling into a coma, but for the ribbons of worshipful noises slipping from between his lips. His brow crinkled sweetly and he ground deliciously against her, as he squirmed and twisted under her seat. His torso was a gorgeous mess. Spots of mint oil winked, green shreds trailing between them, threads of fine burgundy thorn-scratches blooming red in their wake. His nipples darkened and pointed sharp. His chest bobbed up and down, as if on a calm river. His thick, disarranged hair was littered with grass. He was beautiful in his savage surrender, returning to nature like a thrown away bouquet.

She twizzled the rose stem down the length of his torso. A bolt of bliss popped in her pussy, as she passed his belly button and he bucked nervously. She laid down the rose, like a pagan laying down her sacrificial knife. She felt warm. She felt powerful. She felt like being generous.

You look like a fertility goddess.

She cupped his cheek. He sighed dreamily, eyes still closed, turned his face into her palm and kissed it over and over in hurried, clumsy want. She craved the feeling of him eating out of her hand. She plucked a raspberry from a small, glossy heap by her knee and tucked it between his teeth. He hooked it with his tongue.

"Let me taste you?" he muttered, his eyes half-closed and glassy.

She ruffled his hair. "Let me eat first."

She gathered the raspberries and placed them delicately over his torso; crowning his nipples, sitting sweetly in his belly button, adorning his sternum and the shallow wells between his ribs, half-ringing the head of his cock peeking from her pussy. He looked like he was encrusted with rubies. He looked like a Victoria sponge.

"But I'm so hungry, Goddess," he crooned, pouting at her with a twinkle in his eye, "Do you let your followers go hungry?"

Butterflies flurried in her belly. She beamed down at his pleading, teasing expression. "Of course not, my sunshine boy."