Flower in the Dark

I break away, a question in my mouth, “Z, what are you doing?”

He shushes me with another kiss, not answering my question, running his hands softly down my body to grip me around the waist. Swept up in his gentle touches and his sudden appearance, I kiss him back with an unexpected passion, as our mouths and tongues battle against each other. My eyes roll back when he squeezes my hip and sucks on my tongue. I don’t know what’s happening right now, but I know I don’t want it to stop.

He has never been like this before. It’s confusing to my already fragile sanity, but it feels so damn good. We are both breathing heavily, and then he starts to kiss his way down my jaw and neck, biting into my shoulder. It’s a sweet and addictive mix of pleasure and pain, and I can’t stop the moan escaping my mouth. His hands haven’t stopped moving, gripping, squeezing and stroking me. His fingers breach the edge of my panties, and then brush the top of my pussy as he inches them down to where I want them the most. He pinches my clit between his finger and thumb, eliciting a gasp from my mouth, and I dig my nails into his back, relishing the freedom to use my hands to touch him. The muscles contract beneath my hands, and he grunts, then proceeds to bite and suck the space between my neck and shoulder.

His teasing fingers finally reach the entrance to my pussy, and I know I am wet and dripping for him right now. The smirk against my skin tells me that he knows that it’s all for him and all because of him.

“Z,” I moan breathlessly when I feel him pushing into the wetness, filling me sharply and hitting that deep spot inside of me which makes me crazy for him. The instant pleasure that erupts all over my skin gives me chills, and I shiver through the mini orgasm that built from the teasing sweetness of his fingers moving inside and pressing against the innermost walls of my slick pussy.

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“Your pussy is so damn wet, dirty flower. You want me?” He says, rising up to look at me, his voice low and husky, and eyes black with desire.

I lean up into him and meet his eyes, taken aback by the depth of what I see there. Never have I felt so wanted and desired in my entire life, “Yes.”

He kisses me forcefully, pushing me back down onto the bed as he pumps his fingers in a harsh rhythm that leaves me panting and moaning. He removes one, teasing my back entrance with the wet digit, and then plunges it in, and begins working both my holes and kissing me like he has been starved for oxygen. The orgasm sweeps over me, both powerful and decadent, and before I have even finished he is slipping his cock against my slick and drenched pussy, entering in one smooth glide, and owning me completely.

“Violet,” He groans, his own voice strangely breathless, and it touches my heart in a way I never expected it to be touched by him.

This monster, which has captured, used, and defiled me, is making my heart jump. Panic floods my skin, the emotions beginning to war through my heart and soul. I shouldn’t want this man, I can’t want this man. Yet I do.

“Goddamn Violet, I want you so much, my perfect little flower.” He grits out, slamming his hips against mine, and pulling me out of my thoughts.

The sudden rough pressure of his grinding against my clit, combined with the depth of his cock inside me as it rubs against my G-spot, causes me to cry out, and flood his cock with my orgasm. I clutch his firm ass, holding him closer, digging my fingers into the sensitive skin as his hips slam against mine.

“That’s it flower, come all over my cock.”

He continues to move against me, punishing me with forceful drives of his powerful hips. My pussy is squeezing his cock, holding him deep in the confining, wet heat that surrounds his hot and hard length as he powers through my orgasm. When he starts to jerk and his rhythm stutters I know he's getting close to reaching his own release.

“I’m going to fill you up with my cum. You’re fucking mine.” He grunts, as his cock swells and another kind of warmth coats the insides of my pussy.

40

Z

I don’t move from where I am, still seated deep inside her, I look at her just laying quietly beneath me. Our breathing is heavy as we both come down from the high of what we just did. I look at where we are still joined, our hips pressed together and my softening cock still buried in her tight cunt. A strange feeling overcomes me; I’m fucking paralyzed and can’t move.

She reaches up to touch my face with her small hand, and I flinch away from her touch. Hurt glosses her eyes with a glistening sheen of unshed tears, and I close my own because I can't bring myself to fucking look at them. I don't know what's happening to me, and I want it to stop.

My softening cock slides out of her, shiny with the evidence of our orgasms, and I mourn the loss of heat from her cunt almost instantly, but I’ve got to get out of this room.

“Don’t you fucking dare try to leave the house,” I bite out sharply, exiting and slamming the door behind me, as I head for my room and sanctuary.

I throw my bedroom door shut, and the noise and force reverberate through the house, shaking everything.

I punch the wooden structure repeatedly until my knuckles are red and nearly splitting. “Fuck!”

I sit down heavily down on the bed and start tugging on my hair, the sweaty strands sticking to my hands and face, the dampness reminding me of how I fucked my little flower into sweet oblivion. I’m hungry to hear more of the delicious sounds she makes when I’m inside her, and I relish that she wants me so much. It fills my hollow soul with pride, but I didn't expect to crave her back, and not so damn much. I am obsessed with her, and I always was, but she was meant to be the missing piece to fill the garden. Now, I'm not sure I can do it anymore, and that knowledge is scaring the shit out of me.

I can hear her crying softly through the speakers, and I plant my hands over my ears, trying to block out the sound. I can't, I fucking can't listen to this right now. I throw on some clothes, a shirt, and some jeans, not bothering with anything else and make my escape. I need to be outside, get some fresh air, and clear my damn head. I need to see everything more clearly so I can figure out how to move forward from here.

Once I’m outside in the garden, calm washes over me, the sun is just starting to rise on the horizon, throwing faint orange light over the garden. It’s chilly out here but I don’t care. This place never fails to bring me peace, and it manages to tame the crashing tides that surge through my mind.

I lie back on the freshly mowed lawn and close my eyes, inhaling the scent of the garden around me. The different floral aromas tickle my senses and I smile serenely; Heather, Jasmine, African Daisies, and the pungent scent of Marigolds. Other scents float on the early morning air, ones that my father planted long ago that I have cultivated and helped bloom each year since he left. He never did come back, and he never will. I got the letter shortly after my nineteenth birthday telling me that he had died and left everything to me, this house included. I never did go to the funeral though, I couldn't force myself to go, to look at the cold and lifeless face of the man who left me behind.

The sun has long risen by the time I return to the house. I give the garden one last glance before I leave it behind me and enter the now silent house. I can’t hear Violet when I go back inside, so I assume she is still in her room. She won’t be able to get out of the house though, I engaged all of the locks on the outer doors last night and the keys are tucked safely away in my pocket.

The click of the locks on the back door is satisfying and I smile again, “We are both prisoners in this house Violet, I am your jailor, and the memories are mine.”