Soft Petals

The entire garden was in bloom, sweet perfume so thick you could drink it from the air. I strolled along the patio outside our bedroom, soaking up sun and the energy of growing things that seeped right through the skin left bare by the T-shirt I had on. His. It was worn soft over the years and seemed to have absorbed his scent and warm essence the way I wanted to absorb the entire day.

My fingers skimmed the petals of a thick, cream-colored rose. They were sun-warmed and soft in a way that made me think about gentle caresses. I glanced back through the screen door, where he lay with the blankets falling off his firm, bare torso. As I watched, he turned his head on the pillow--awakening, but far too slowly.

I picked up the pruning shears where I'd left them the day before, distracted as he put his arms around my waist and asked if I wouldn't rather be in the shade of the bedroom. I clipped the blossom, shook it clean of soil specks, and carried it inside.

Kneeling next to him on the bed, I drew up the hem of the shirt. His half-open eyes blinked, cleared. I had his attention, but I held out a hand to stop him before he got up.

“You don't have to do anything. But you're welcome to watch, if you want.”

He watched, gaze deepening to something beyond clarity as I set the lush petals against myself and swirled them.

I wasn't expecting the sensation, myself. Ticklish at first, the texture a mix of crisp and soft, brushing from the light-haired rise of my mound all the way to my moist lips. A petal slipped between them and momentarily stuck on the dew beading them, while others swirled around my clit peaking from the whorl of folds just above. I gasped and pushed the blossom harder against me, twisted my wrist to sweep it in teasing strokes across tender flesh again.

Eyes wide, he sat up. I parted my legs further and raised my hips, both so he could get a better look and to enjoy the new angle, which exposed more of me to the flower's touch. The sweet musk of the rose mixed with a headier musk, my personal perfume.

Just as I couldn't stand it any longer, as I was ready to cast the blossom away or crush the petals against my mound and grind to completion, he caught my wrist.

“Can I do more than watch?” he asked.

Too far gone for speech, I only nodded eagerly. He guided my hand away and replaced my makeshift toy with the soft, warm petals of his lips. They brushed all the parts already enlivened, making me mew with want. His tongue flicked from between them, lapping my bud, gliding through the nectar lubricating my folds to trace circles building in the rhythm of my desire. It didn't take much to set me off, orgasm shaking my body and leaving me awash with energy brilliant as the sun and sweet as a hundred gardens bursting into blossom.

T.C. Mill's erotic fantasy and science fiction has been published by Dreamspinner and Storm Moon Press, and she has stories forthcoming from Carina, Cleis, and Circlet. When not writing, she cultivates a herd of stuffed animals with distinctive personalities, overcrowds her bookshelves, and runs a very eclectic Tumblr blog. For more about her writing, check out her website,

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