Coming Up Roses

by Staci Hart

  But he didn’t stop. He slowed, eased, but didn’t stop. The rhythm of his tongue and the pressure of his mouth tuned to the rhythm of my body, spurring the orgasm on when it would have fallen. Instead, it floated on, galloping through me, holding me captive.

  It didn’t end until he willed it, his lips in the crease of my thigh, the bend of my hip. Up he moved, and I was too tired to hold myself up. But there was no room to lay—a hutch was at my back, potted plants everywhere but the space where my ass rested and elbows planted. Fern fronds tickled my shoulder blades. I hadn’t noticed it until just then.

  His arm hooked around me, hauling me to sit with the sole intention of kissing me. I was boneless in his arms, at his mercy like a sacrificial lamb. And when he’d kissed me thoroughly, he broke away, smiling down at me.

  “Jesus, Tess,” he breathed.

  My cheeks flamed with embarrassment that I’d come like a rocket after a solid four seconds of contact with his devil mouth. Because surely those lips were a sin, and damn me to hell for wanting them like I did.

  “I … it’s been a little while,” I admitted too hastily.

  But he laughed. “Don’t bruise my ego, Tess—I just unlocked a life achievement.”

  I frowned. “Making me come so fast?”

  “Making you come at all.”

  He kissed me before I could laugh. And before either of us decided on it, we were twisted together again, breaths noisy and bodies hard.

  His especially. His impressive length found its way between my thighs again, this time with nothing but those goddamn basketball shorts between us. He wasn’t wearing underwear—I could feel the ridge of his head, thick and hard against the slick center of me.

  He’d made good on his promise. And I had a feeling he’d do it again with the aid of the steel pipe in his pants.

  Seemed I maybe owed him too, and I planned on making good on that.

  Into his shorts my hands dove like a champion swimmer, sliding down the satiny skin of his shaft, the impossibly soft hardness of him in my palm heavy, thick. I’d known he was packing, but seeing was believing. Part of me didn’t know where he was going to put all that. The rest of me didn’t care.

  I freed him, pushing his shorts off his ass.

  He stayed himself with a long, steady exhale that broke our kiss.

  “Tell me you have a condom,” I breathed, stroking him.

  He hummed, catching my lips once, his hands patting his pockets before delving inside and emptying their contents onto the table. Keys. ID. A credit card.

  And a condom.

  I gave him a look and burst out laughing. “You are such a whore.”

  But he smirked, smug and sure of himself and unruffled, as always. “Didn’t you just beg me for one of these?” He held up the packet in display before ripping it open.

  “You don’t even have a wallet, but you have a condom?”

  A shrug, his hand covering mine, gripping his base as he rolled the condom on. “I’m a minimalist, Tess. What can I say?”

  A chuckle puffed out of me, our hands working his shaft together, our lips coming together, open, then closed. And then the laughter was gone, burned away by anticipation, by the shift of his hips that nestled his crown in the rippling flesh of my body. My hand clamped his neck, holding me steady as I leaned back, ass hanging off the table, lips parted, inches apart, eyes locked. Breath heavy.

  His body rolled, slow and deliberate, and with the motion, he inched into me. Every wave brought him closer, closer, deeper, until he filled me completely and left us both breathless. And neither of us moved, his forehead pressing mine for a long moment. The pulse of his cock in me sent an echo back.

  And then he kissed me.

  Hungry was the kiss, his restraint pulled tight enough to snap, a devouring kiss.

  A retreat and a thrust.

  A gasp of pleasure-pain, thighs wide. He forced my knee higher, glancing down the line of my body as he pulled out slow, rolled his body to fill me up. Again but harder, the table jostling, the clanging of pottery. Again, he pumped his hips, brought his lips to mine. Tucked my knee into his ribs, leaned over me, pressed himself into my body, and I held on. That was all I could do—there was no pleasure I could give him he wouldn’t take for himself. But there was pleasure he could give me, and he did with single-minded focus. Every thrust, he rolled his hips, stroking me outside and in.

  Seconds, and another orgasm slipped over me in a whisper, then a sigh, then a moan. Then a cry as it pulled me under, as my body pulled him in, swallowed him up, flex by flex, pulse by pulse.

  I sagged, edging consciousness. He sped, fingertips dragging ruts in my thigh. A gasp. A strangled grunt, a lock of his hips for a second—one long, protracted second of weightlessness—and he came like thunder, hard and hot, wild and untamed. His body was locked, every muscle stone as he pumped, released, let go of the reins and rode away.

  He kissed me as he slowed, the kind of kiss heavy with relief and gratitude and something deeper, that unnamable sense of connection, as real as a tether, binding us together.

  Even if only for a moment.

  For that moment, there was nothing required but that kiss. No words, no demands. No desire—that we had slaked for the time. It was just the simplicity of that kiss. Of him and of me. Of the years between us and the days that had passed.

  He held my face with one hand, holding me upright with the other. Broke away to look down at me, to search my eyes. His lips tilted, the smile so desperately Luke, the one it seemed I had known for what felt like forever.

  “Did I make good on my promise?” he asked, his thumb stroking my cheek.

  A twist of my heart as I looked up at him, knowing this was my only taste, my only chance. But I’d keep him here all night, and I’d take everything he was willing to give me, giving him everything I had. For tonight.

  “It’s a start,” I said, smiling.

  And he kissed me, just like I knew he would.

  11

  EVER THE GENTLEMAN

  LUKE

  “No peeking,” I warned my mother as I helped her down the stoop.

  “Lucas Bennet, are you accusing me of cheating?” Her gnarled hands rested over her eyes, which were open and actively trying to see out from between her fingers.

  “I’ve played Monopoly with you, so yes.”

  Tess, who had her other arm, smiled at me. “You’re the picture of virtue, Mrs. Bennet.”

  “I’ve always liked you best, Tess,” she said.

  “Why, because she always agrees with you?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” Mom answered lightly.

  My siblings waited in front of the shop in a chattering pack, my father standing silently on the edge, smiling faintly. It was his resting face—eyes soft and smile only at the corners, his expression in a constant state of both amusement and amiability. It was rare that he put up a fight. But when he did—boy, look out.

  They quieted as we approached, and I moved Mom front and center on the sidewalk across from the door.

  “All right,” I said once I got her positioned. “Are you ready?”

  “I’ve been ready for two days, Lucas. Say when before I die of old age and infirmity!”

  A chuckled rolled through us.

  “Open your eyes, Mom.”

  For a moment, she didn’t move her hands, as if now that the time was upon her, she was afraid. A breath, shaky and deep, sawed in and out of her. And then she found her courage and looked.

  The shift of her face stole my breath. A softening, a flush. A widening of her eyes, the shine of tears against the crisp cerulean of her irises. Her trembling fingers pressed to her lips. Tears slid down her cheeks in plump droplets.

  She didn’t speak. This was a miracle of its own—my mother had never been at a loss for words in her life.

  Her brows drew together with a shake of her head as she took it all in. The windows, teeming with flowers. The taste of the interior, bright and white and crisp and clean. Th
e shop—her shop—transformed, made new.

  The joy and shock on her face was the most satisfying thing I had ever seen.

  Second to which was the joy on Tess’s.

  Her cheeks and nose were pink and splotched, the sweetness of her lips—lips I’d familiarized myself with last night—caught in that gentle half-smile, half-frown only achieved when crying. Those tearful, dark eyes were absorbed with my mother, who choked on a laugh doubling as a sob.

  “I … what have you done, my impossible, sweet children?”

  “It was Tess,” I said, pulling Mom into my side. “She came up with the idea.”

  Tess shook her head. “No—all of this was Luke. Without him, we wouldn’t have ever had the impetus. He made all this happen.”

  Mom laughed. “You two. You even argue when you’re complimenting each other.”

  “Come on,” I said with a smirk at Tess, who chuckled, swiping at her cheeks. “Wait until you see inside.”

  Mom’s arm wound around me, her other trembling hand resting on my chest as she looked up at me. “I can’t believe this,” she said. “I can’t believe you did this.”

  “Am I so unreliable that my own mother didn’t believe in me?” I joked, smirking and squeezing her shoulder.

  She swatted at me. “Oh, you know that’s not what I meant. I’m just so …” Her gaze drifted back to the windows. “I just never imagined it could be like this. Generations of women have passed this store down to their daughters, and the last person to update it was my mother. I … I wish she could have seen it. I wish she could have seen what you did.”

  Mom reached for Tess’s hand, squeezed it as they smiled at each other.

  “They were wise to have you do this, Tess. Never in my life have I seen such a beautiful display, and never could I have believed we would have something like this in our shop. You are a treasure,” she said with a sob.

  She’d said it before, and I agreed more now than ever. Tess was a chest of doubloons, waiting for an eternity under a waterfall, just waiting for someone to find her. To open her up and admire her riches. And I was the greedy pirate she’d accused me of being. I’d found her, and as far as I was concerned, that made her mine.

  “Come inside,” Tess coaxed, taking her arm. “Luke made magic.”

  We headed in, past the turquoise door, across the threshold of the shop, over the black-and-white checkered tile. Tess had set up a display of foxtails on the front table, the stems dyed neon pink and tops blonde and grainy. And all around the display were potted succulents for sale. Mom took in every detail, gasping over our old finds, wandering into the window installations, crying again when she saw the rain boots.

  She knelt, running her hands over them. “This was my mother’s. And this little one, that was mine. My grandfather’s. Your f-father’s.” The words dissolved, and for a moment, she collected herself. When she stood, it was with pride on her face and tears still in her eyes. “I am beyond words.”

  “Then that means it’s time to drink,” Kash declared just as he popped the cork of a bottle of champagne.

  The lot of us jumped and laughed. Laney provided plastic cups, and Jett popped a second. And around the bottle went until we all had a bubbling glass raised, ignoring the early hour in the spirit of celebration.

  “To all that’s old and new,” I said, smiling down at my mother. “May we be immortalized by the deeds we do and the love we give.”

  Hear, hear, we cheered before joining in silence as we drank deep from the well of beginnings and the familiarity of home.

  Chatter rose as everyone began to talk among themselves, wandering around the shop to point and nudge and smile at every corner of the space. Dad scooped Mom into a hug, whispering something in her ear that made her smile-cry again. And I took the opportunity to put myself in Tess’s space.

  She smiled at me over her champagne, taking a deliberately delicate sip as I approached.

  We’d left the shop the night before in a trail of kisses, neither of us wanting to go. I couldn’t speak to her reasons, but as for me … I wasn’t sure if that was it. If she wanted me for anything more than last night.

  A flash of fear shot through me, as it had a dozen times since last night, at the thought that it might have been the only time. That all she wanted from me was the use of my body, the blanket of my charm, the comfort of companionship for a moment, nothing more.

  But Tess was different. The things she wanted. The way her body sang to mine. Tess didn’t fling. And I didn’t want to.

  I wanted to build things for her and watch her face light up. I wanted to surprise her, wanted to give her the unexpected. I wanted to discover her, and I wanted to live in every little joy that discovery would bring. But I wanted more than just that.

  I wanted to be the man she didn’t believe me to be.

  Tess’s eyes were deep and dark, touched at the corners with mischief.

  “Well, cheers to making her cry,” I said, extending my glass for a tap.

  She obliged. “It’s all thanks to you.”

  I made an argumentative noise and took a sip. “You’re the brains. I’m just the brawn.”

  Tess made a derisive face, though it was soft with affection. “Please. You did more than me, and your ideas were even better than mine.”

  I chuckled. “Mom’s right. We even argue when we’re getting along.”

  Her face lit up when she laughed. “If we’re not insulting each other, we’re trying to out-compliment each other. It’s sick, really.”

  “Disturbing,” I agreed, stepping closer without meaning to. “Also, for the record, I never insulted you.”

  “That’s true,” she admitted, her eyes flashing down to the golden bubbles in her cup. “I’m sorry for that, Luke. I’ve been cruel.”

  “Well, I did forget I’d kissed you for ten years.”

  A chuckle, but she didn’t meet my eyes. “It was just a kiss, and it was forever ago.”

  “It wasn’t just a kiss, and I shouldn’t have forgotten.”

  “I just … I’m sorry for judging you unduly. I shouldn’t have assumed so much.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s the general consensus that I’m a shameless flirt and an irresponsible slacker. You aren’t the first one to be wrong, and you certainly won’t be the last.”

  The joke, the one I always told, the one with the kernel of truth I usually ignored. Easier to own it than to fight it, I figured.

  But something made her look up at me with earnest intentions lining her face. “I was wrong. I was wrong about a lot of things.”

  I smirked against the squeeze of my ribcage . “So does this mean it’s your turn to make it up to me?”

  She rolled her eyes as she laughed. “You’re impossible, do you know that?”

  “I do, and is that a yes?”

  An arch look colored her face, followed by a flash of indecision. “Luke, I don’t think we should—”

  But before she finished, I leaned in, not wanting to hear the rest of that sentence. I brought my lips to her ear, my breath moving her hair in puffs when I whispered, “Because if you really want to make it up to me, I’ll be in the back of storage in ten minutes. The spot where I saved your life.”

  Her breath was shallow, her pulse fluttering in the soft dip behind her jaw. I wanted to kiss that spot, to feel the heat of her skin under my lips. But not in front of my mother. God knew what sort of proposal she’d make if she knew.

  No, for now, Tess was all mine, if she’d have me.

  I leaned back, taking a moment to soak in the surprise and desire on her face before I turned and walked away, leaving her stunned behind me.

  My heart tha-dumped as I ambled through the store, wondering if she’d meet me. Wondering what she’d say. Wondering if I would kiss her again or get rejected.

  I brushed the thought away and hugged Mom again, kissed her cheek, modestly batted away her praise. Because the truth was, without Tess, none of this would be what it was.
I had ideas, sure. But what I didn’t always have was the motivation to follow it through.

  Tess, I found, was the greatest motivator of all.

  My siblings congratulated me even though they’d all seen the shop at various stages of production. I had to admit, the full effect was staggering. As I stood, admiring the shine installment, I noted the faces on the other side of the window as people stopped, smiling into the shop.

  It was going to work. I knew it would.

  It had to.

  I glanced at the clock on the wall behind the register, noting the time. Everyone had begun to disperse. Mom and Laney headed back to the worktables where Ivy had been hard at it for hours. Dad and Kash wound their way toward the greenhouse. Jett and Marcus chatted behind the register, talking about point of sale and conversion rates and a bunch of other nonsense that sounded like noise. And I caught Tess’s eye as she moved pots around on the display table without purpose.

  “Tick-tock,” I said, smiling sideways at her to cover my uncertainty as I passed.

  I somehow avoided being stopped, everyone engaged in their own conversations. Mom, Laney, and Ivy bent over a vase of zinnias. Dad and Kash talking about the pH levels of the yarrow beds. And silently, casually, inconspicuously, I walked down to storage.

  The building was dark, and I was greeted by the smell of earth and old wood, the sharp scent of fertilizer and mulch, the sweetness of a hundred years of memories and age and familiarity. And I leaned back against the shelves next to the ladder where I’d caught Tess.

  Had it only been a few days ago? It seemed like years. Too much had changed for it to have only been days. Days ago, I’d been convinced she hated me. Hours ago, I’d had her body at my disposal. And if I’d learned anything from last night, it was that a taste wouldn’t be enough.

  Not when it came to Tess.

  I couldn’t understand why. Because it was true—she had been shitty to me and for no other reason than she thought I was impervious to pain. Which was fair enough … that was armor I wore quite often and with great purpose. Maybe it was that I’d won her over, and that battle had been hard-fought.