Violet Among The Roses

by Cricket Starr

  But now he paused in the hallway outside the closed door, listening to the sound of water running into the bathing tub. The air that slipped through the cracks around the door carried the smell of some sweet oil that Violet must have added. It was a lovely scent, that of pine needles.

  In the instant he was taken back to his youth, running through the forests near Athens, encountering the supernatural folks that dwelled there—the satyrs, the dryads, the gods and goddesses, and sons and daughters of the same. He remembered the nymphs who’d chased him for his beauty, offering their bodies for games he hadn’t wanted to play—until now.

  In his mind he pictured the forest near the quiet pool where he’d seen his reflection, and done in by one nymph’s evil wish and Eros’s arrow, had fallen hopelessly in love with the one person he could never really have. Himself.

  He might call himself “Nick”, but he was still Narcissus, the man who loved only himself. Guilt filled him, and concern. Did he really have something to offer a wounded soul like Violet?

  For a moment he considered leaving and returning to the park, promising the goddess some other entertainment instead. It would be better not to continue if through his selfish nature he ended up hurting Violet instead of helping her.

  But no. The goddess had only given him this one opportunity to experience love. If he quit now, he’d simply find himself made of marble once more, and the goddess would never let him hear the end of it. He’d never have another chance to love Violet—she would be lost to him forever.

  From inside the door, he heard a soft sound of fabric hitting the tile floor, followed by one gentle splash, then another. He closed his eyes, imagined the reality behind the sounds, Violet undressing, removing the robe and dropping it, revealing her luscious body beneath. He imagined her naked form entering the tub, one foot then the other, then the slosh of displaced water as she slid all the way in. He heard another sound—a heartfelt sigh, almost a moan, and nearly groaned himself in sympathy.

  Violet was in the tub, naked and alone.

  A stirring within him started, overwhelming and urgent, just as it had when the goddess had touched him. He opened the boxers and glanced down to see his penis now boasted twice the size it had previously. Unconscious of what he was doing, he reached to fondle the affected part. The feeling was excruciatingly lovely and the size grew even more.

  Wow. It had been a very long time since he’d been hard there…well, he’d been hard when he was made of stone, but it hadn’t been the same thing. He’d almost forgotten what having an erection felt like.

  Nick tried the door and found it unlocked. Cautiously slipping through, he entered the steam-filled room. The view was hazy, not unlike the park when it was enveloped in an early hour fog. But this was warm, inviting, not cold and clammy.

  For a moment he pictured himself back on his pedestal, enshrouded in a fog, and the image dismayed him. It was wonderful to be able to move around, experience warmth and comfort.

  Violet had turned off the overhead lanterns in the room, the ones controlled by the little switch by the door. Near the tub a pair of fat, white, cherry-scented candles provided the only light.

  He closed the door and, moving cautiously, careful not to be seen or heard, navigated through the mist toward the bulky tub where he could hear Violet splashing.

  Her back was to him, her long brown hair piled haphazardly on the top of her head, fastened with a large golden clip, not for fashion’s sake but simply to keep it out of the water. Nick thought the effect of her brown curls so carelessly secured was more erotic than the most elaborately styled hairdo. A single pull and her hair would tumble down her back and across her shoulders.

  The nape of her neck was left bare, long, lovely, perfect for nibbling on. He longed to run his teeth and tongue down that expanse and taste the sweetness of Violet’s skin.

  She still hadn’t noticed him. Moving slowly and as quietly as he could, he approached closer, kneeling by the edge of the tub. He tapped her on the shoulder. “That looks nice. Can I join you?”

  Her abrupt turn displaced a wave of water from the tub onto him, soaking his shorts and T-shirt. The wet fabric clung to him in a most uncomfortable fashion, particularly on his engorged shaft.

  One thing about the real world—it was certainly easy to get wet! As a statue he’d stood in the rain thousands of times, and never felt it at all, and now he’d been soaked twice in just an hour. Quickly Nick slipped out of the sodden clothes and tossed them aside.

  She’d scooted away from him, leaving room in the tub behind her. Nick took advantage of it, entering the water as smoothly as a seal to the sea. Oh, it was heavenly sitting in such warm water! In his home in Athens he’d taken more baths in cold ponds than he’d liked, and he’d watched the gods with astonishment when they acquired hot pools around the time of the Romans. Once Aphrodite had announced her fondness of gods who bathed regularly, all inhabitants of Olympus had scrubbed themselves even when they weren’t dirty.

  Nick had never before seen the point of bathing when you were clean, but leaning back into the soothing warmth of the tub he understood and then some. This was wonderful. He closed his eyes and smiled appreciatively.

  Violet made a soft noise, catching his attention, and Nick opened his eyes to his tub-mate. Hands covering her breasts, Violet watched him, her eyes wide with…fear? No, Nick had seen fear before and she wasn’t afraid of him, exactly.

  Perhaps she felt like he did, wanted the way he wanted. He reached out a tentative hand to touch her shoulder, this time letting it rest there. The feel of her skin was heavenly. Never had he experienced anything like this. Warm water, warmer woman. Whatever it was she’d put in the water left it feeling silky smooth, with a transparent green tint. The pine smell intoxicated him nearly as much as the scent coming off Violet’s skin.

  “Nick…” Violet’s voice was tentative, unsure. Just the one word spoke volumes.

  “It’s all right,” he told her. “All I want is to touch you.”

  A funny half-smile covered her lips. “I don’t believe you. You want more than that—all men do.”

  Yes, he wanted more. But he’d take what he could get, what she was willing to give him and nothing more. At the moment she seemed willing to let him do this, so this he would do.

  His other hand joined its brother, to grasp her other shoulder, turning her toward him. He ran his fingers along the edge of her arm, to her hand, which hid her breast from his eyes.

  He tapped it. “Please, Violet. Can I see what you look like?”

  Her eyes turned downcast, shy, but she allowed him to pull her hand away, revealing the tan globe of her breast, tipped in the deepest rose. The nipple tightened under his gaze, and to him it seemed to beckon for his touch.

  He obliged at once. The softness of her breast contrasted with the nipple’s pebble, soft and hard all at once. He held the mass cupped in his hand, stroked the swollen tip with his thumb, a lovely sensation.

  Violet made a soft cry. He took his attention to her face, to see her eyes wide and her mouth open. Again he felt invited—he leaned in to slide his lips across hers, then his tongue went exploring within her mouth, to gently slip across the tip of her tongue. Their second kiss, this one as mind-blowing as the first, in the garden before the rain had come.

  So sweet, so erotic at the same time; he pulled back to gaze into her face, trying to fix it in his mind, the look of wonder and dawning passion in her eyes.

  So many statues he’d seen—goddesses and nymphs in the gardens and museums he’d occupied since being created. Made from pale marble, they were exquisite creations, features perfect, fair beyond fair.

  Here was the reality of Violet, her skin the color of warm earth, its softness that of a new-mown lawn, her pinks and reds all flower hues, her eyes the blue of the sky.

  That her nose was short and slightly hooked, that one cheek lifted a little higher than the other, that small spots marred the perfection of her skin—those didn’t matte
r. Cold, perfect marble was nothing compared to this warm, imperfect woman.

  She was a garden in herself, alive and inviting, as fertile as the soil of the park. With her there could be growth, seasons, change. Life. A man could spend a lifetime with Violet.

  And he had only two nights. For the moment he chafed at the unfairness of it all. Nick wanted Violet not just for one day, but always. He wanted life, not just for now, but the rest of his days. He’d told Aphrodite he’d be content to return to being a statue after being with Violet.

  He’d lied.

  Violet leaned forward and pressed her lips to his and all thoughts fled from the impact of her kiss, except for one. She would be his tonight and tomorrow. Up to now he’d been a callow youth, and then an object of art, and he’d never known what it was to be a man.

  Day after tomorrow he would again be a statue in a garden, but he’d at least know what he was missing. It would have to be enough.

  She ran her hand across his chest, lightly caressing his flat nipples, and a shocking sensation spread from that touch, arrowing outwards, then downwards, settling in his groin, in his engorged penis. He hadn’t realized nipples were so sensitive, or that touching them could affect other parts of him.

  Would it work the same on Violet? She’d certainly made noise when he touched her breast before. He tried it again, and was rewarded by the same sound.

  Oh yes, she liked it.

  He was about to stroke her again when she moved her mouth to his chest and licked one of his nipples, and the result was like a tiny explosion going off in his mind. When the mental smoke cleared he was gasping for breath and staring into a pair of totally amused blue eyes.

  “Like that?”

  He managed to answer. “Oh. Yes.”

  The amusement turned speculative. “You meant that before…about the goddess…and that…” her voice trailed off.

  “And that?”

  “And that you haven’t done anything like this before.”

  “I was cursed because I refused a nymph who had friends in high places, and died before I ever learned what she’d wanted from me. No, I’ve never been with a woman. The goddess offered me a special tutor, but I told her I wanted you instead.”

  Violet’s eyebrows leapt for her hairline. “A special tutor?”

  Heat invaded his cheeks at her obvious shock. Perhaps he shouldn’t have told her. “A nymph, trained in these things. In the experience of love. But I didn’t want her.” He gazed deeply into her eyes. “I wanted you.”

  Her gaze dropped away and her hand continued to explore his chest. “No hair. I suppose they didn’t model any.” Her eyes glanced down. “Not much there either.”

  Nick licked his lips at her speculative glance. “I was wondering. It feels good when I touch it…”

  She blushed. “You were wondering how it would feel if I did the same? Perhaps we should find out.”

  He could feel his cheeks heat, but embarrassment fled when her fingers laced themselves along the now painfully hard shaft poking out of him.

  A mischievous expression filled her eyes and smile. “Don’t worry about it, Nick. This is perfectly normal.” Another glance down. She laughed. “Well, maybe a bit more than normal.”

  Normal or not, he’d never felt anything like the play of her hand on him. Slick from the oil-laced water, she stroked him until his mind was aflame and hands clutched the edges of the tub. More, more. Pressure built behind his eyes and deep within his gut.

  She continued to touch him, sliding her hand back and forth, teasing the tip that ached every time she backed off.

  Oh, yes…like that. And more like that. Again.

  Her soft chuckle told him he’d spoken aloud, but he didn’t care. She could laugh at him all she wanted, just so long as she kept this up.

  Her hand moved like she was milking a goat. Perhaps she was in some sense…such talented fingers. He’d have to compliment her on them later. When he had his senses back.

  Then it began, that intense feeling again. It wasn’t like anything he’d felt before. Too strong. Too overwhelming.

  He was going to die. That was it. Alive for just a few hours, and now she was going to kill him, just with the touch of her hand. A shame, really. But as she stroked him, caressed him, never had he been so willing to give up his life. His stomach clutched, back arched, he moved within her hand, thrusting to keep up the pressure.

  Was this pain? No, not pain. Pleasure.

  Pulsations began in the organ under her hand and then there was another explosion within his brain, like the one when she’d licked his nipple, but longer and more intense. Long shudders shook him, over and over again, as his organ throbbed under her fingers. He thrust once more and groaned aloud.

  Then it was over. He blinked and saw the mischief-laden smile on Violet’s face. He gasped and took in a deep pine-scented breath. In the aftermath, deep sensations still rippling through his nerves, his surprise shook him.

  He wasn’t dead after all.

  He looked down, and with a final caress Violet released him, his shaft softening. A milky substance stained the water between them. A hesitant laugh rippled from her as she stared into his astonished face. “Are you okay?”

  His confused emotions finally found one to settle on, curiosity. “What did you do?”

  Her laugh was nervous. “In the trade, I believe it’s called a hand job.”

  “What I experienced…”

  She bit her lip; inwardly he groaned, wanting to bite it himself. Only the idea of getting an answer to his question kept him from dragging her to him and nibbling her lips himself.

  “What you did…um…well…you ejaculated.” She pointed to the dispersing film. “What you felt is called an orgasm.”

  It had been so long…he barely remembered his youth, and how his body had worked. He pointed to the water. “I produced that.” She nodded. In the fading aftermath of the “orgasm” his mind began to function once more. Memories, facts, things he’d listened to while positioned near the park bench where couples had indulged in various activities. Activities overheard, but not seen.

  His finger stirred the water. “This is called semen. It produces babies.”

  “Under the right circumstances, yes.”

  His gaze fixed on her. “Will you have my baby?”

  Violet’s eyes widened and she threw herself out of the tub, water splashing into Nick’s eyes, stinging them as he wiped it away.

  “I hadn’t even thought of that.” Worried she gazed at the water. “We’ll need protection.” She grabbed her heavy robe from the floor and fled the bathroom.

  Her sudden departure left him alone, and without her company the cooling water was no longer so nice to sit in. Nick rose and helped himself to a large towel from a nearby rack, using it to remove the water from his body.

  As he wrapped himself, he considered her words and actions. She’d initiated what they’d done, the “hand job” as she’d labeled it. He remembered hearing that phrase before and the muffled groans that had followed. Now he knew what the groaning was about.

  But her jumping from the tub worried him. She’d acted as if she didn’t want any of his fluid on her and he remembered that too, how the female of a couple would say something about protection and not wanting to get pregnant. Violet had mentioned protection—clearly Violet didn’t want to have his baby.

  He hadn’t considered that what he’d wanted to learn might produce a child. Part of him reveled in the idea, that something of him might persist after he was gone, a piece of humanity with his seed in it. Nick imagined Violet, his Violet, a garden bearing his fruit.

  But she’d made it clear she didn’t want that, and she’d allow him to plant no new life tonight. Despondent again, he leaned against the wall.

  He’d been promised love, or at least passion during this time. The goddess hadn’t promised more than that, and it was useless to ask for anything else. He wouldn’t get it; he was lucky he had this.

  From t
he corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the clearing bathroom mirrors. He stared at himself, the dark curly hair hanging nearly to his shoulders, the deep brown eyes surrounded by heavy lashes, long straight nose, perfect lips. Perfect lips in a perfect face, he thought bitterly. For a moment he remembered that other day he’d seen his reflection, only to fall madly in love with it.

  A foolish young man, falling in love with himself, not realizing the face that haunted him was his own. Now another face obsessed him, Violet’s, and he would do anything to be able to view her sweet visage for the rest of eternity.

  Chapter Four

  In her bedroom, once again dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, this one decorated with roses instead of daisies, Violet searched the emptiness of Gary’s closet for more clothes likely to fit Nick.

  There wasn’t much left. Gary had been coming into the house while she was gone, out at job interviews or other errands, removing small bits of his existence from her life with every visit. She kept meaning to demand he remove everything so she could ask for his key, but hadn’t quite gotten up the nerve to do so.

  Besides, as long as some of his belongings remained, it hadn’t seemed like he was truly gone for all time. Still, it had become something of a trial over the past week, coming in from a fruitless interview for a job she was over-qualified for, only to find herself searching her home to discover what he’d removed this time.

  Today it had been the bentwood rocker they’d purchased together six months ago. When they’d bought it, she’d imagined using it for nursing a newborn baby and rocking her child to sleep in it.

  The note he’d left claimed that he’d helped pay for it, so it should go with him. Truth was, he’d paid barely a third of the price, and had never liked it in the first place. He’d only taken it because he’d known how much she loved it. That had been the blow that had driven her to the park this evening, to commiserate with her favorite statue—only to find he’d come to life.

  It was true—Nick was really Narcissus, the marble man from the fountain. The look of pure astonishment when she’d touched him in the bath was evidence of that. No way could he have faked that response. For a man to have never known pleasure before—and she’d shown him a pleasure he’d never known, she was sure of that—his explanation, crazy as it sounded, was the only one that made any sense.