The Dahlia

The Dahlia

Ready. Set. Shoot.

After a long day at the garden, Ann's almost ready to head home when one last chance opportunity captures her.  #free #erotic #short

“The dahlias are beautiful, aren’t they?”

My eye caught movement before I could focus. The swallowtail landed on a brilliant purple blossom. Holding my breath, I angled the camera. The undercurrent of insect movement vibrated the air. A whole civilization of insects moved from blossom to blossom. 

I shut one eye, focused on my heart rate and willed the butterfly to stay still. The camera clicked in rapid succession. Time seemed to pause and then accelerate. One moment she gulped nectar through her proboscis and the next, her wings lifted and she was gone.

I hesitantly withdrew the camera. Weariness began its gradual invasion.

“Wow.”

I lifted my gaze and peered into the deepest green eyes I’d ever seen. It was as if the forest infused his pupils. 

“You’ve captured her spirit.”

I almost didn’t want to view the screen. “I can’t believe my luck.” The ache in my feet expanded upward. I wanted to stay and stare into his eyes. My feet pleaded with me to find the nearest bench.  

“That’s talent.” He pointed at the screen.

“The dahlias only bloom for maybe a week.” I followed the direction of his fingers. The image appeared like a still frame of real life. Her majestic blue wings quivered right before taking off. The purple haze provided a brilliant backdrop. 

He struck his hand out. “The name’s Peter, by the way.”

“It’s a pleasure.” The slight shock of his strong grip lingered with me.  Dismissing my aching feet, I slung the camera strap over my shoulder and glanced at my watch. “I was heading over to the fountain. Have you seen the new display yet?”

“I actually have tickets for tonight.”

“Oh.” I swallowed hard. The air felt cool and yet my palms seemed moist. “That should be fun. I’m going—”

“My friend canceled.” His hand brushed my arm. “If you aren’t busy, I have an extra ticket.”

His fingers on my arm sent a rush of heat shuttering through my body. “I’d love to.” My response mixed with a quick exhalation of air.

“I was on my way to the meadow.” His smile seemed to lighten his eyes. “We have time before the show.” 

“The meadow's beautiful this time of year.” My feet fell in step with his. “Actually, it’s beautiful all year long.” 

Our conversation ebbed and flowed. The blossoms along the rest of the flower garden walk gave us much to chat about. 

We wound our way through Pierce’s woods. The natural beauty competed with his rugged handsomeness for my attention. I kept stealing glances sideways. He seemed at home out here. One hand rested in his jeans pocket, the other swung casually. His white t-shirt bulged a bit over his biceps.  His jeans hung at his hips, not too loose, not too tight.

The gradual fade to darkness suddenly brightened. Green and yellow foliage spread out upon the hillside. Small blips of color broke the natural scene. I held my camera and brought the lens to my eye. The beauty of nature stole my breath away.  A light breeze brought vitality to the blossoms. The sense of time gently pressed onward. 

I captured the hillside; the flowers; even the farmhouse at the top of the hill. The moment passed. My heart beat echoed in my chest. I lowered my camera. A nervous tension spread within me. I willed my eyes up and swept my gaze along the path.

He stood a few paces away. The fading light, an almost ethereal halo, illuminated him. Without thought, I dropped to my knee. The camera clicked. His body relaxed into the scenery. His head angled in thought or appreciation.

I captured the essence of him.

He turned.

I couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed or amused. His face held this easy smile. He walked toward me and offered me his hand.

I reached for it and felt more than a little electricity as our fingers touched. I stood and shuffled my feet.  The ground a little uneven, I braced myself as my feet slipped. His hand tightened and I thudded into his chest.

My heart raced. I felt him. I could smell his cologne. I opened my eyes. The transparency of his t-shirt appeared visible close-up. I saw the definition in his chest. The cotton barely hid his muscles. 

His finger graced my cheek.

My heart beat seemed to ring in my ears. I stood frozen, unable to look him in the eyes and unwilling to step away.  

His hand gently urged my chin up. 

I gave in with lowered lids, not wanting the moment to end.  His mouth felt soft. His body felt hard. I opened to him.

Our bodies pressed together. The brilliance of the sun setting kindled a burning flame between us. The tempo of our kiss exploded. Like a bee seeking pollen, I reached for him. I felt the muscles beneath his shirt and grew impatient. We fumbled. The meadow stood tall around us.

I pulled at his shirt. Stems and leaves scratched at us. The symphony of the meadow embraced us.

His kiss felt like smooth chocolate. His attention awakened a desire within me. “Touch me.” I guided his hand under the cloth of my shirt, holding his palm close to my heart. 

With my free hand, I felt for the button on his jeans. Instinct overcame reason. His cock pressed against me. The sexy pair of cowboy jeans had to go. 

His hands covered my breasts and torso as I sought his cock. Urgency filled the air. Our lips met in a clash of hunger and need.

“Are you—”

“Yes.” I reached down and yanked his jeans below his ass. We tumbled in the field. I crawled down his body and took his cock in my mouth, savoring the salty earthen taste.  My lips and tongue covered his flesh. My hands groped and fondled his shaft and balls. 

His sharp intake of breath excited me. I sucked harder.

“Ladies first.”

His hands wrapped around my waist. That quickly I rose then felt the ground beneath me. His warm breath caressed my thighs. The cool evening air flittered against my belly. My skirt hiked under my ass and around my waist. His fingers brushed against me.

I jumped. A soft moan escaped my lips along with a warm rush of air.

“Like that?” he whispered. His fingers teased along the hem of my panties. His mouth left kisses along the most sensitive parts of me.

“Yes.” I whispered. “I want you.”

His finger swept my panty out of the way. The cool evening air sent a shiver cascading through my body. I reached for him. His warm, wet mouth covered me.

I sunk into the pleasure. “Oh.” Nature filled my ears. “That’s, that’s….” I tried to speak but my words were lost. I felt the tease of his fingers, the heat from his mouth. My whole body felt alive.

I followed his movements. My breath grew shallow. His mouth felt so soft. My body felt so full, so ready to burst. The symphony of the meadow joined me as my muffled cries increased in insistence.

“Please,” I begged. I pleaded. My hips shook. I wrapped my hands around his head. “I need you.” I bit my lip. My whole body arched. “Yes, just—like—that.”

I felt it. The momentum built toward that perfect moment. When the shutter clicks and everything is magical. The air puffed.

Time stood still.

I felt held in place almost, just about—

There.

My hands dug into his head, holding him against me. “Please.”

I shook.

I moaned.

Pleasure radiated from my hips to my fingertips and back again.

He felt so strong and sure.

I rocked against him. My body lost to a momentous pleasure.

All of the sudden his tongue was too much. I urged his face against my thigh.

“Hmm.” My eyes fluttered open to a beautiful foliage canopy.

He snuggled up next to me and brushed my hair from my face. 

“Thank you.” I stared into his eyes. 

His lips met mine and rekindled the passion from moments ago.

He smoothed my skirt down my legs and glanced at his watch. “We still have time to watch the show.”

I reached for him. “How about—”

“A second date? I thought you’d never ask.”

The End

 

Want more free erotica to sizzle your senses? Check out Put a Ring on It. Looking for something a bit longer? Try a novella like How About a Threesome. Want practical advice? Learn why you should schedule sex.  

*Copyright ©2017 Ginger Segreti. All rights, including electronic, reserved by the author. Do not reproduce in any form without the author’s express permission.

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