Once and Floral

by Kris T. Bethke

  “I’ll take care of it. Head on out. See you in an hour.” I patted her shoulder as I swept by her, and didn’t miss her sigh of relief.

  When I walked into the showroom, I somehow wasn’t surprised to see Monroe. What was worrying was the almost panic on his face.

  “I need flowers,” he blurted, striding toward me.

  I couldn’t help but laugh, and hoped that my humor would help him calm down. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. What can I get for you?”

  “I need something that says ‘I’m sorry.’”

  I didn’t know who he needed to apologize to, but that didn’t matter. And when the little sinister voice in the back of my head reminded me of his ex, I firmly pushed it away. He’d either tell me or he wouldn’t, and it wasn’t my place to push. Instead, I smiled wider and said, “No problem. What are you looking for? What kind of flowers?”

  “I don’t know.” Monroe shook his head, stepped closer, then backed up. He was usually so confident that this display of nerves was unsettling. “Can you just make something that you would like as apology flowers?”

  “I can do that,” I assured him, heading for the fridge. Then I tossed over my shoulder, “Does this person have a vase?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Okay, then. Give me a minute.” I knew exactly what I wanted. Yellow roses, yellow and white Gerber daisies, a bit of greenery and a hint of baby’s breath to round everything out. It didn’t take me long to cut and arrange the bouquet to my satisfaction. Then I tied it with a yellow ribbon and reached for the cellophane.

  “Don’t need that,” Monroe muttered, striding over.

  “Okay then.” I handed him the bouquet and he smiled.

  “This is beautiful. It looks like you.”

  I smiled, pleased, then headed to the register to ring him up. I was desperate to know who they were for, but I literally bit my tongue to keep from asking. I gave Monroe the “friends and family” discount, ran his card, then handed it back with the receipt.

  Monroe stuffed the items into his pocket, his gaze boring into mine. A grin spread across his face and he held out the bouquet to me.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I gasped in surprise, then started laughing. “Monroe!”

  “Take them and my sincere apology.” He leaned against the counter so he was in my space. “I’m sorry about the other night. How things ended and that I didn’t get your number. I’m sorry it’s taken me two days to get over here and see you again.”

  I took the bouquet because he was so damn earnest and charming, then inhaled deeply because I did love the scent of roses. “You could have called the shop, you know,” I teased, but when his face fell, I was quick to reassure him. “There’s no need to apologize. We hadn’t planned anything. We never talked about what would happen next. I wasn’t expecting anything.”

  His eyes went wide, then he narrowed them. “I thought I made my intentions clear. If I made you think I wasn’t serious about dating you—”

  “No, no.” I didn’t want him thinking that for one more second. “Not at all. I just meant that we hadn’t talked about it, so it’s not like you broke your word. I thought we’d meet up again eventually and figure it all out.”

  “Oh.” He blew out a breath. “Well, good. Because I am serious. I want to date you.” He cocked his head to the side, and the grin he gave me was downright wicked. “And fuck you, to be bluntly honest. But dating, that’s the big thing.”

  I sucked in a breath, and Monroe’s gaze heated. Without invitation, he strode around the counter. He held out a hand, and I placed my palm in his. With a controlled yank, he had me pressed up against him, and I squeaked as the flowers caught between us. Monroe laughed, and took them from me to gently set them on the counter.

  “I want to get to know you, West. I want to know what your favorite color is. Your favorite food. I want to know what makes you tick, what makes you laugh, what makes you sad. I want to meet your friends and family, and have you meet mine.” He kissed my cheek, then my nose, then under my left eye. I trembled at his gentle touch. “It’s been a long time since I felt this kind of instant attraction to someone, and I want nothing more than to find out where it leads. I want you. All of you.”

  “Yes,” I breathed. Then gave a shaky laugh and bumped my nose against his jaw. He had the citrusy smell I loved, better than any flower. I inhaled deeply. “Yes. Me, too. All of that.”

  “Best news I’ve heard in months,” he murmured, then he kissed me.

  It hadn’t been just the magic of the wedding. My nerves sparked and sizzled, my blood rushed, and I wrapped myself around him to kiss him back with everything I had. Monroe’s kisses were sheer perfection. The exact right amount of pressure and dominance, without completely taking over. I gave back everything he gave to me, even as I clawed at his back and his hair, needing him closer.

  I yanked away my mouth, panting, then grabbed his hand and dragged him to the backroom. I had to shove aside some boxes so I could close the door that I never shut, but as soon as I did, I shoved him against it, pinned his hips to the wood with my hands, and dropped to my knees.

  “Dammit.” Monroe grabbed my face, forcing my attention to his when all I wanted to do was open his jeans and get my mouth on his dick. “I came here to take you to lunch. To get to know you! Not have a quickie in your office.”

  “We can do both,” I promised. I’d been on simmer for days, ever since the wedding, and the moment he touched me I’d boiled over. I needed him, needed this. But I paused. “Unless you don’t want to?”

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “Of course I want to. I’ve jerked off eight times thinking about this. And other things.” He gave me a seductive grin, full of all sorts of promises I had no doubt he’d be able to deliver. “I was trying to do things right!”

  I snorted a laugh, an indelicate sound that wasn’t sexy in the least. “What’s right? Who cares? I want to suck your cock, and have you come down my throat. And then we can go to lunch and get to know each other better.”

  Monroe tore open his fly so fast, I was surprised the button didn’t fly off and the zipper stayed intact. “I will never deny you anything you want.”

  There was more promise there than I could unpack at the moment. Not when I was so hungry for him. I knew he was talking about more than just sex, but that would be for later. After this.

  I pulled down his boxers, revealing his hard, red cock. It was thick and wide, and my mouth watered. I loved sucking dick. Absolutely loved it. It was maybe my favorite thing about sex. And Monroe was perfect, more than a mouthful, but not by much. He’d feel so good, stretching my lips. He’d feel good elsewhere, too, but again, that was for later.

  I let the saliva pool in my mouth so everything would be good and wet, then swallowed him in one go. He was a little too big and I almost gagged, but I managed to resist. I set to work, using every trick I knew. I licked and laved, kissed and nipped. Sucked hard when I pulled back, and rubbed my tongue along the underside when I went down. Monroe groaned and gasped, murmured praise and my name and a few well placed “fucks.” I was good, and I knew it. And I wanted Monroe to feel every little thing.

  But I also didn’t want it to be over too fast, so when I felt him get harder on my tongue, I squeezed the base of his cock and pulled off with a little lick. Monroe was panting and swearing, but I could see the moment when the urgency passed.

  And then I dove back in.

  Over and over, I brought him to the edge, then stopped him from spilling. He cursed at me, but all it did was make me grin around his cock and do it again. Finally, he gripped my hair, tightly but not pulling, and I raised my gaze to his with his cock in my mouth and saliva dripping down my chin.

  “Dammit, West. I need to come.”

  I winked, sucked hard, then let him push to the back of my throat and kept him there while I swallowed. He shouted and came and I pulled back only when my eyes started to water and the edges of my vision dimmed. The last splas
h landed on my painfully swollen lips, and I reached up to wipe it away, but Monroe practically fell on top of me, pushing me to the floor and kissing me senseless.

  I grinned sloppily at him, and he just stared down at me and breathed.

  “Holy shit. You can do that any time.”

  I laughed. “You’re welcome.”

  “Jesus, I can’t remember the last time I came like that.” He wiped a shaky hand over his brow. “Give me a minute and I’ll return the favor.”

  “Nope. We’re going to lunch, remember?” I had to laugh at his confused look. I leaned in and whispered, “Here’s a secret about me. I like being hard. I like the anticipation to build. I like being turned on for a long time, until I feel like I’m about to explode.”

  His gaze went impossibly darker. “You shouldn’t have told me that. I will absolutely use that against you.”

  “Oh, I certainly hope so.”

  Monroe blew out a long breath, then pushed himself up. He awkwardly rolled over and wiggled to lean against the door because he hadn’t bothered to straighten and pull up his pants. He sat there, cock hanging out, breathing hard. Then he held out a hand, and when I took it, he tugged me until I was settled into his lap. I didn’t exactly fit, but neither of us cared.

  He gripped me possessively, and I settled into his embrace. When his hand landed on my crotch, I widened my thighs. He rubbed downward, his fingers caressing my taint, then back up to settle on my bulge. And he just held me in his hand. As though he was silently reminding us both I was hard, and I was going to stay that way. I loved it.

  “Where do you want to go to lunch?”

  I barked out a laugh at his nonchalant tone. That he was so easily accepting of my one kink made my insides warm. There’d been men in my past who just couldn’t understand it, and even a few who thought I was playing some sort of game. And not the good kind of game, but rather trying to get something or play hard to get. But Monroe understood and he was going with it.

  If I hadn’t already thought he was worth dating, that would have sealed the deal.

  “I’m easy,” I said, and Monroe chuckled at my unintentional double entendre. I ignored that. “Whatever you’re feeling like.”

  “Then I think we hit Swansie’s for lunch. And then you come to my house for dinner after work.” Monroe slid me off his lap, stood, righted his pants, then helped me up. “And give me your number. Because I’m going to have to check in all afternoon to make sure you’re still hard for me.”

  I moaned, which turned into a whine when he reached out and patted my bulge. Thank god I was wearing jeans so it was mostly contained, or else I wouldn’t have been able to go out in public.

  As though he was reading my mind, Monroe added, “And stop home for some sweatpants on your way to me. Because I want to see this—” another caress to my cock “—in all his pretty glory before we finally let you come.”

  It was going to be a long afternoon. And I was going to love every second of it.

  Chapter 6

  The phone ringing at noon had become an expected treat. I answered with a smile, knowing I’d hear Monroe’s warm voice through the speaker.

  “Hey, baby. What ‘cha doin’?”

  I loved it when he called me that. I loved it even more when he put that wicked lilt in his voice he knew got me hard. Three months of lunchtime phone calls, of dinners out, and nights in bed. Of weekends spent cuddling on the couch or hiking or at the zoo. The sound of his voice still got to me and I fervently hoped that never changed.

  “Arranging flowers. Wedding tomorrow. What’re you doing?”

  “Crunching numbers,” he responded.

  I huffed a breath. “Sounds boring.”

  Monroe laughed, and that, too, was a sound that never failed to burrow inside me, making me feel warm and fuzzy. He had the best laugh. The very best laugh. Rich and deep and so sincere it sounded like it came up from his toes. He let it out freely and often. Monroe was a truly happy man, and he didn’t hesitate to share his joy.

  “To you, maybe. To me? Not so much. I love making numbers make sense. Math is fun!”

  I made a gagging noise just to hear him laugh some more. When I’d learned he was an accountant by day, and only a stealth baker for certain special occasions, I’d been shocked. I’d always pictured accountants as stodgy and boring. Monroe was anything but.

  He had a wicked sense of humor, and he loved to make people laugh. Charming as hell, open, honest, and thoughtful. He’d proved it to me time and again. Like when he brought me food every time I had a late night or a big order. Or when he surprised me with a picnic at Elise’s pond when I told him how much I loved it there.

  When he introduced me to his parents as his boyfriend after only a week of dating, I’d been surprised. I’d thought he was moving too fast. But he’d just shrugged and smiled, stating that’s who I was and where he wanted things to go, but that he was open to negotiation if I needed that. He even told me about his relationship with Amanda and why it had ended, even though they’d been talking about marriage at one point.

  I’d never had a problem with him talking to her at the wedding, even though we’d been mid-kiss when we’d been interrupted. But I couldn’t deny that tiny bit of relief when Monroe had explained why she wanted to see him. It seemed she’d met someone new, it was serious, and they were engaged. She wanted to be the one to tell him instead of him hearing it through the town gossip grapevine. She didn’t want Monroe to be hurt, and she hoped he could be happy for her.

  He was. He even pointed her in my direction for the floral arrangements.

  “West?”

  I jerked back to the present, not realizing I’d wandered, and the squeak I let out made him laugh. I used to be self-conscious about the strange sounds I made, but with Monroe, I knew I never had to censor myself.

  “I wasn’t listening,” I admitted sheepishly.

  “I know.” His tone was full of warmth and affection. “Because I was saying that my parents invited us to dinner this weekend, on account of how my dad wants to play you in chess again.”

  I groaned, drawing it out, and Monroe positively cackled.

  “It’s not funny. He doesn’t want to ‘play’ me. He wants to beat my ass and gloat about it.”

  “Yep, he sure does,” Monroe said, laughter still in his voice. “But how do you expect to get better if you don’t practice?”

  “Shut up,” I muttered, but I was smiling.

  “You love me,” he teased.

  “That’s what you say.”

  “That’s what I know.”

  I didn’t respond to that. I never did. This exchange had been happening more frequently over the past couple of weeks, and I deflected every chance I got. Because it was too soon for that sort of talk. We’d been together for only three months. No way it could be love yet.

  But deep down, late at night on the few occasions I was in bed by myself, I let myself think about it. Let myself really explore my feelings. I’d never been in love before. Not real love. Not true love. But this? This thing I had with Monroe? The warm feelings and deep desire to be with him. The need to share everything with him, the good and the bad. To get his opinion on everything in my life, from what shirt I should wear to if he thought I was doing good enough business to hire another person. And most of all that feeling that I had only half my heart unless we were together. All those things definitely pointed to real love.

  If I let it get that far. And really, why wouldn’t I?

  “So dinner with my parents?”

  “You bet,” I murmured, my heart swelling. “What time?”

  * * * *

  Sunday mornings were my favorite. No matter what else was going on in our lives, no matter where we needed to be or if we’d spent the night before together or not, Sunday mornings were our standing date. Sometimes I had to show up at his house, or he had to come to mine, but most of the time, we woke up together. Coffee and pancakes for breakfast. Then we spent a few lazy hours tog
ether just being in each other’s presence.

  This Sunday was no different.

  Monroe cooked, because he always cooked, which meant I did the dishes. I didn’t mind. I liked the methodical act of washing the griddle and bowls, our cups and plates, and wiping down the counters where he inevitably spilled batter. I made quick work of my task, and Monroe was dogging my every footstep. I playfully bumped him out of the way, but he grabbed me from behind, pulling me in close so that his hips pressed into my ass. He was already half-hard, and when he gently cupped my crotch, I chubbed up, too.

  “Monroe,” I whined.

  His laugh was wicked in my ear. “Just getting started, baby. Gotta get you hard so we can play later, right?”

  I nodded and pressed back into him, loving the feel of him around me. When he let go and stepped away, I groaned in frustration. But he just hummed a merry tune as he grabbed his e-reader and headed into the living room.

  I blew out a breath, finished the dishes, and followed him. I found him on the couch, spread out in a way that was clearly an invitation for me to settle between his thighs. I climbed up and settled in, giving his dick an extra rub with my hip for good measure. If I had to be hard and aching, then so did he.

  It was still a marvel to me that he accepted this side of me. But from the very beginning, Monroe had not only accepted but went with it as if it was no big deal. To him, it wasn’t and that meant the world to me.

  “You good?” he asked, and I could tell by his tone he was talking about more than if I was settled. I didn’t answer, and he reached around me to check himself. Then he decided to leave his hand there. “Yeah, you are.”

  I sighed and snuggled in, reveling in his touch. After about a half an hour or so—I always paid attention to the time when he was keeping me hard but not doing anything about it—he gently tossed his e-reader onto the coffee table.

  “I heard Elise hired someone to come in and help her run the inn.”

  I nodded, spread my legs a little more, then sighed. “Yeah. Her best friend from back in the city. How did you hear about it?”