The Language of Flowers

She ducked and kissed his nose. She picked an oval sage leaf and laid it over the pads of two fingers, its skeleton etched in pale silver on muted green. She dusted his lips with her knuckles, they parted obediently. She slid her wrapped fingers into his mouth and over his tongue. He received her easily, his lips closing around her fingers and his tongue moving indulgently, as he sucked on the earthy, peppery, menthol taste. He had a devil's tongue, even this made her shudder. She sank down to his body, drawn like the honey bees to the lavender. She kissed the raspberries from him and snacked on the tart flesh. They were so ripe they were on the cusp of wilting. They melted blissfully in her mouth, clouding her senses with fresh sweetness. She chased the flavour with the salt mist on his hot skin. He quivered beneath her, a taut bowstring. She could feel his pulse against her lips, rhythmic, but fast, skipping elatedly, echoed by her own heartbeat. She kept this one a secret, but in her grandmother's lore, raspberries stood for the heart.

Your presence soothes me.

She slinked down his body, slipping from his mound, still burning in her clit. Her nipple grazed his cock, then her chin bumped the tip, as she slurped a berry from the furrow of his hip bone. She gazed along his body, watching it undulate with yearning sighs. His bound form was littered with streaks of red shimmer over the dark scratches, like a painting of a martyr. The closer she came to his cock, the harder he sucked on the sage, growing urgent, pulling the blood to her fingertips so they tingled, the leaf disintegrating on his adder of a tongue.

She hummed on his tip. His cock twitched.

His teeth nudged her knuckles as he moaned around her fingers. "Please..."

She smiled and took him into her mouth.

His rough groan buzzed from her fingers down to her toes. He writhed and thrust with yearning into her mouth. She took him deeper. He sucked greedily. So did she. He filled her mouth, his pulse tapping her tongue and giving her a rhythm for her licking. He seeped heavily, salty dew coating the roof of her mouth and making her ravenous. His meat was mild, but there was a savoury hint of smoke that stoked her cravings. He drew his tongue along her fingers. She popped him free and dragged her tongue up his shaft, a glistening thread of saliva dripping from her mouth. She caught his eye with a filthy gleam and he groaned lower, his eyes rolling back into his head. She delighted in how his cock responded to her, growing even larger and stiffer, as she beckoned his desire. She ran her tongue around the head, salt and raspberry and mint all infusing in her senses. She plunged down again and quivered at how he sucked, as if he was drowning. Her clit ached so much that, as she shifted her weight, it dislodged a rolling wave of need that almost took her over the edge.

She dined on him for long, sumptuous moments, forgetting herself in the satisfaction of his taste and his pleasure, tightening her mouth each time he pulsed. He was such a sweet thing, she wanted to make him feel good. She wanted there to be no room in him for anything, except how she made him feel. The sounds of nature washed around her.

Cascading moans rumbled in his chest, as she swirled her tongue round and round his shaft, then head, then tip, drawing up for the final time. She sighed into his abs and peeked at him along his drawn body. He eased his mouth from around her fingers, swallowing the dregs of the sage leaf. He collapsed back into the soil, breathless and blushing furiously. She beamed and lazily lapped his tip.

"Fuck..." he panted, gazing dazed to the blazing blue of the sky, "Can I..." he gulped and caught his breath, "Can I have my hands free?"

"Why?"

"I want to hold you. So badly."

She kissed just beneath his belly button. "Yes."

The ivy seemed to loosen of its own accord, just as it had coiled. He extracted his wrists and lowered them with a soft creak in his voice, rubbing the blood back into his hands. His wrists had fine, pretty rings of redness round them, lighter and more messy than the neat, demonic thorn scratches webbing his torso. His fingers combed into her hair. His touch syrup-glazed her nerve endings. She slid up his body to lie on him, face to face. His arms enclosed her. It felt wonderful, the glow of sunshine in cloud. He hugged her tight and they kissed, softly at first, then deeply, hungrily. One of his hands buried in her hair and teased the back of her neck, the other stole over her ass and squeezed. His cock kissed her clit and she trembled and ached. He clutched her close, revelling maddeningly in the use of his hands.

"How..." he murmured between kisses, "How much do I have to kiss you before you let my mouth where it really wants to be?" There was a trickle of smoke in his voice, it made her agonisingly hot.

"I don't think there's a limit to how much I want you to kiss me." Her answer came fissured and wistful. She snatched at his lips.

He sighed low and gave into her. They kissed for another heady, suspended moment. The way his tongue moved on hers stirred her core until she couldn't keep still.

She broke from him and scurried up his body with a breathless, "Fine, you've persuaded me."

He grinned like Robin Goodfellow, as she straddled his upper chest, spreading her thighs, the juicy gleam of her pussy emerging from her skirt.

His face darkened in the shadows of her looming body, his eyes glinting silver and gold. His tongue crept from between cunning teeth and prowled high on her inner thighs, less than an inch from her labia. She boiled. She cast her head back and drew in the drugging air and ran her fingertips over her nipples. His pupils yawned. His tongue retreated and he blew on her clit softly. The temptation wriggled in her flesh.

"You're teasing again," she whined.

He stroked her legs and held her down on him, grinding him into the dirt. He flicked her clit with the very point of his tongue. "I don't know what you mean."

She scooped her hips, beckoning him urgently. "Don't make me wait."

He bent his head and rested his mouth on her and breathed her in, purring against her agonising ache. "You made me wait."

Her mind was a mess of images of his mouth on her, it obsessed her, tore her apart. "Oh God, I might die if I don't feel your tongue on me."

She scooped her hips again and she was scattered with pleasure as she pushed to his parted lips. He moaned and squeezed her thighs. A sweat broke out on them. She felt like she was cooking his skull in a kiln. Her nipples were tight, her stomach knotted.

"Like this?" his voice was satin. So was his tongue. He delved into her depths and ploughed a long furrow up her folds, right to the peak of tenderness.

She almost squealed. She clapped a hand to her mouth, a gasp in her throat. He kissed her labia. He lapped her again. She was struck again. She shook and toppled forward, catching herself on braced hands above his head, bunching the grass in tight fists. He groaned as her collapse crushed her to his mouth. He caught her with his lips and grasped her thighs and plunged into her. His tongue moved like roots in the earth, stirring her, exploring her, jostling her loose, so all that held her together was the dry press of soil under the heels of her hands. She thrust her hips sharply, riding his tongue, dragging her clit over his taste buds and shuddering from the friction. She was gushing wet, tropically humid between his searing mouth and her soaked seam. Her flesh stifled his moans and they chimed in her abdomen. His tongue somehow reached deeper, skewering her, then flailed, ravenous, merciless. She clenched her teeth fiercely to stay quiet, the ecstasy of it tortuous. She held her breath and stars popped in her eyes. He heaved in his breath and his chest padded to her ass. His fingers dug into her muscle and ached. She gazed in wonder at his half-submerged face, intoxicatingly ardent, zealous, lost.

"Mmm, yeah. You want this?" she snarled, calling to his appetite.

His mouth came reluctantly unstuck. He replied thickly, his tongue unwilling to leave her flesh and lashing it hotter as he jabbered into her pussy. "More than food, more than air. Goddess, what I'd give up for this."

He dove back to her with a gruff, strained whine and churned his tongue, his lips kneading and consuming her with pleasure.

The intensity built and built and burst. With a shrill gasp, she shivered violently, as her climax fizzed and rippled through her body. He moaned, primal and satiated, sending aftershocks through her from his quivering lips. She stilled, tearing the grass, forcing her cries back into her body and tensing to oak. It calmed. But there was more in her, her blood still chasing furiously after release. She raised off him and felt iced. She scrambled down and cupped his flushed, bewildered face, his eyes sparkling in delight, a spiced sheen on his mouth.

"I need to fuck you," she hissed, biting his lip, tasting herself.

"Christ, yeah, fuck me," he gasped, clawing at her waist, gnawing along her jaw feverishly, "Come in my mouth and come on my cock, I'm fucking yours."

She whimpered with longing. She scrambled backward and hovered over his cock, dark and swollen and shining. She guided him inside her and sank down, taking him deep.

Convulsions.

She held him inside her for a paralysed moment. They moaned passionately together, as they connected and relief whirled between them. His brow crumpled and he arched his back and his hair smeared in the grass. His top was still rumpled over his chest, showing his scored, stained skin. There was a tremor in his graceful shoulders. His hands clenched on her skirt, then kneaded her belly, spreading the pounding heat over her flesh. She bundled her hair on her head and tried to cool her roasting body. She gazed down at him and his rough, ragged beauty.

She began to rock. He picked up her pace. They drove slow, twisting and rising and sinking, their pulses and their breathing falling into rhythm and coursing out into the birdsong. His cock moved in her like a honey spoon, her body dissolving into sweetness, the soft smack of their wet, tight motion lilting and entrancing. She stroked her hand over his on her belly and their fingers interlaced.

She let her gaze wander. Butterflies swirled in a buddleia, scraps of rainbow in a lilac cloud,rebirth. The apple tree glimmered and drooped under the weight of engorged fruits,temptation. Dandelions going to seed stirred in a gentle breeze and seeds floated into the air, lost wishes,strength, sunlight. Sweetpea spilled from a crowded bed, tumbling towards them with delicate, puckered lips,everlasting pleasure. The brick wall of the garden cracked under the stealthy grip of bougainvillea, erupting in dazzling hot pink, its gaudy confetti of heart-shaped petals clouding her vision,passion. An old arch door in peeling turquoise paint was set into its fringe; she eyed the hefty, iron padlock and, for the first time in a while, she wondered about being seen. It thrilled her. She rocked faster. He sucked in through his teeth and held her hand tighter. The petunia flower fluttered in his hair. He looked like a dethroned prince lost in the wilds.

A rustle broke their reverie.

They both froze and looked around frantically. She clenched around his cock, feeling it pulse hard.

A rabbit hopped from a mist of sky blue flowers. It twitched its nose at them and sprang out of sight. They looked at each other and collapsed into laughter. She dropped forward, her cheeks burning and her shoulders shaking. He rose onto his elbows and they pressed their brows together. His laugh was rich and crackly, the last of a bonfire snacking on dry wood. They kissed, smiling, and broke to bubble over with laughter again. He stroked her cheek and the warmth of it spread through her body, coating the lust spiralling in her core.

"What do those mean then?" he asked, nodding at the blue flowers.

"Flax," she replied, stroking his chest, "'I feel your kindness'."

He beamed, his face fracturing with it. He kissed her again. "Mmmm. I can feel you."

He relaxed back, still on bent arms, and thrust up, his smile turning sly. The pleasure rang in her and she gasped and took her movement back up, faster, harder, clutching her hair with one hand and pinning his sternum with the other. They looked hotly into each other's eyes, daring each other, summoning each other. He leaned heavier on one elbow and reached out with his other arm and circled his thumb on her nipple, then her clit. It was still tender from his tongue and it speared sensitivity through her flesh.

The sun intensified on her back, she prickled with sweat. She thrust faster, she drew him deeper. Waves of heat gripped her. She fought not to cry out, her breath coming out in sputtering sighs. His torso rippled as he panted, matching her pace, pressing firmer into her clit, his mouth hanging open and trembling. The sun drenched him, he seemed to mirror its gold. It was as if she was photosynthesising him, sapping his light and heat into her body and being nourished, energised. Want needled her. Pleasure whipped up in a storm in her blood. Her knees burned and her hips ached from the feverish thrusting.

"Are you close?" he whispered eagerly.

"I..." She lost her voice, she swallowed and forced it back, tremulous and high. "I'm so close. God, I don't know how to stay quiet, I feel like it'll break me."

"Bite down on my hand," he begged, his words thick with the effort of restraint.

She nodded. He circled his thumb on her clit savagely, whisking her to madness, casting her to the brink. Desperate mewls tumbled out of her. It was ripping her apart, remaking her. It was everywhere, every part of her body was touched by it, seized by it. They sped up again, their flesh clapping, her skirt billowing about her.

It grew and grew and grew...

And bloomed.

Her body exploded into life, flurrying and cascading. It spread through her, vibrant and elating, tight buds unfurling, chrysalises tearing open and releasing riots of colour. Birdsong and the trickle of water and the hum of bees all rose to a cacophony, as she gulped down a scream and sank her teeth into the strong hand that shot up to her mouth in the nick of time. He hissed and moaned, his fingers curling round to grip her jaw almost painfully. His cock pumped powerfully and with a long, deep, volcanic groan, he arched his back and came into her body, flooding her, making his devoted offering to the goddess.

The rush drained from them, echoing in the air as they fought for breath. She relaxed her jaw and he eased his hand from between her teeth. She looked a little meekly at the dark crescent of marks left on his palm. He grinned, sparkling, and flung himself forward, gathered her in his arms and kissed her. She puddled into it. She felt like butter.

She felt like nectar.

I feel your kindness.

***

Jess held her close and still she wasn't close enough. He drowned her in kisses. Her warm breasts bunched against him, her dainty hands seized his collar. He shifted to feel her thighs around him, her gentle weight in his lap heavenly. Her citrus scent had given way to the smells of sex and sweat, the moreishness of it made him dizzy. Every one of his muscles relaxed. He could feel the relief and rejuvenation as deep as his bone marrow. He wrapped her even tighter, cocooning her small, sweet body. Their kiss turned leisurely and indulgent.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything,don't go, come home with me, run away with me, I'll build a temple to you. It only invited a deeper kiss.

"And if you come this way, you'll see the garden extension built in 1746..."

He stopped still.

She looked at him with wide, startled eyes. "That's not a rabbit."

"Afternoon tour." The realisation thunked in his stomach.

"Shit!" they squeaked together. They sprang apart and staggered to their feet in a mess of petals and grass. She slung the straps of her dress back up and shook out her skirt, he hastily refastened his jeans and yanked his top straight. The tour guide's polite, affable voice grew louder on the other side of a thick laurel hedge. She wheeled around to it. He looked at her, messy and marked and achingly beautiful.

This couldn't be it.

He grabbed her hand.

She turned to him, those round, periwinkle eyes dulling the sky. His heart raced, his throat went dry.

"It's still Saturday," he whispered.

She smiled.

They dashed from the garden, leaving the debris of fruit and flowers and herbs by their erstwhile bed.

Jess' heart soared, his mind cleared, his body chorused with sensation and scent and satisfaction. Her hand fit into his, as if they'd been sculpted together.

A breeze eddied past them, whisking up their laughter. It plucked the petunia flower from his hair, drifting to the grass, a droplet of love potion gleaming in the summer sun.