2X The Heat (2X The Pleasure 1)

I pulled up to the street and found a parking spot right out front. I strode into the shop; the door was open now as I expected. I heard something in the back, so I followed the noise. I didn’t want to be an intruding guest or anything, so I stayed by the counter. Moments later someone rounded the corner.

I heard a gasp, and turned in its direction. I almost gasped too, but instead I just looked on in confusion. In a matter of moments, she rounded the corner, and stopped in her tracks. It was the woman from the ball. My baby doll, the women I have literally been dreaming about for weeks. The woman I have been going on and on about, wishing I could see her again.

And it was the florist that can’t answer her phone either. Her eyes met mine, and then the vase she was holding fell and shattered on the ground.

Chapter Fifteen: Emilia

The bride and I are on a tight schedule, so we need to meet today.

The word washed over me like an acid. Or the worst poison. It went right to my core, like it was piercing my heart. I almost wanted to cry and then I felt so pathetic for it.

We were not dating, and he surely did not owe me anything. But it still hurt. I had escaped to a small café around the corner. I needed something to calm me down, so I ordered some tea. That’s when I saw the call. I didn’t have to see into the future to know it was him calling me, following up on why I didn’t show up.

What I hated the most was that he made me so unprofessional. I don’t skip meetings, I don’t blow people off or stand potential clients up. But here I was. Being an unprofessional florist. I knew I had to get my head out of my ass, but I needed a minute.

I spent a month literally dreaming about this guy. Waking up thinking about him, going to bed thinking about him, even pleasuring myself to him! He wiggled his way into my life at the oddest of times and then I had to run from him.

I suppose it is a good thing since he was fucking engaged. The man was about to get married and I am over here fuming over tea about him. I wanted to google ‘what to do if your crush is engaged,’ but I was not in high school anymore.

He called me again while I sat there, but I wasn’t ready to answer the phone yet. I had to get over this before I met him. It would be even worse if I was yelling at a client about being engaged when he was fucking me up against a wall. Or even worse, not being able to hold it together in front of his fiancée and then ruining two people’s lives. I couldn’t do that to t

hem or myself.

So, I needed to fume. Gather my thoughts. Make up a story, and then get about the work. Being around my flowers would help. They were almost the same as being around my mother. He couldn’t be there anymore, so I finished my hot tea and then walked back to the shop. I nervously cleared the corners before I kept going and entered the shop.

The smell hit me; lilacs and roses together are something out of a dream. I had put the lilacs in the front after the ball, remembering that it was his favorite flower. But now I just wanted them out of the way. I replaced them with purple daffodils, filling the vases with something new. I changed out the water and clipped the beads.

All the flowers needed to be clipped, it would take a while. But I was glad to do it. It was a welcome distraction. A few people walked in, I sold about two hundred dollars’ worth of flowers. Graduation season was the best for me, second to Christmas. I put on a friendly smile and served my customers. Why could I do that with the man from the ball? Because he was buried so deep inside you, you forgot your own name.

That’s true.

It wasn’t until two that things slowed down, and I could finish up in the back. The bell of the door swung open with another customer. I smiled softly and grabbed the vase of lilacs to put next to the peonies.

But when I rounded the corner, it wasn’t just any customer. He stood by the counter, unseeingly tall amidst the flowers. The sunshine from the skylight fell right onto him, setting his hair aflame under the light, showing me the rigid lines of his muscles visible under the thin linen shirt. His thighs were thick and strong, his ass was a perfect round apple in those pants. My stomach clenched at the memory of him spreading my legs apart with those thighs. He had his hands in his pockets, the veins of his forearm leading right down to the seam of his pants. Why does he have to be so perfect? If he wasn’t so god damned gorgeous, I don’t think I would be in this much of cahoots.

It all happened in seconds. I rounded the corner, my breath caught in my throat as I gasped; my eyes met his. Those smoldering green emeralds met mine with an intensity that made my knees weak, and then the vase flew out of my hands and fell to a shattered mess on the ground.

“Shit!” I squealed jumping back so no glass would get on me.

I scrambled for the dust pan behind the counter, tucking my hair behind my ear.

“Let me help you.” He held out his hand, and I forced myself not to look up, but I did.

My chest was constricted, almost no air could get through. I wanted to say hell no, you can’t help me. I don’t want your grimy, cheating help. He didn’t cheat on me, but it was still a shitty thing to do.

“I’m fine.” I shoved my way past him, and started brushing up the glass on my hands and knees.

He sighed and stepped over the broken glass anyway, picking up the lilacs for me. He set them on the counter and I felt him staring down at me as I swept some stuff up, and then trashed it. When I was done, I ignored him as I went to wash my hands. Stop being unprofessional, this is your job.

I forced myself to calm down, and treat him like any other person. His moral capacity is none of my business.

“How can I help you?” I appeared back at the counter, clearing my throat to get his attention.

He turned to face me, and I had to look past him to ignore those eyes. They made me want to get down on my knee and suck him off right here, then beg him to take me against the desk. Before I knew it, I was flushed and rubbing my knees to relieve the pressure that I let slip through me.

“I’m Tristan Cox. I had a meeting with you at noon for a wedding arrangement.” His deep even voice washed over me in familiarity. Did he even remember me?

He was looking at me, and elsewhere, but I couldn’t tell that he could recognize me at all.