Chapter 6
Chapter six
Lena
I felt like I was walking on a cloud all day, humming to myself, grinning so wide that my cheeks ached. Ironside had called me this morning, letting me know that he intended to drop by The Bellflower on my lunch hour to bring me food, if I didn’t have any other plans.
Ever since then, I’d been giddy with anticipation.
At noon, when I flipped the sign on the door to Closed for Lunch, Ironside met me there. He looped an arm around my waist, greeting me with a kiss that made my toes curl. I draped my arms around his neck, smiling against his lips with a purr of contentment.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to mine.
“We saw each other less than forty-eight hours ago,” I pointed out with amusement, but it wasn’t a complaint.
The fact that Ironside was clearly interested in me—and eager to see me again—was a refreshing change. And I intended to soak up every second of it.
“Well, that’s still too long in my opinion.” Ironside held up a small cooler. “Hungry?”
“Starving. What’s on the menu?”
“It’s a surprise. I did a little cooking myself.”
I gave a hum of surprise.
“You cooked for me?”
He shrugged and took my hand, kissing my knuckles.
“I like to cook for other people. It helps to clear my head, makes me feel useful. Cooking for myself gets boring when you’re a bachelor. And…maybe I wanted to impress you.”
“Oh, you certainly did that already.”
I smoothed my palm down his chest appreciatively. He wore his leather jacket this time, and I loved the scent of it, and the way it looked so good on him.
“Where can we set up?” he asked, offering his arm to me.
I slipped my hand through his elbow, pleased at his gentlemanly manners. For an outlaw biker, he certainly knew how to treat me like a lady.
“In the show room.” I gestured to the door leading to the back of the shop. “I do all my flower arranging and photoshoots there, for social media, my website, things like that. There’s a big table we can use with plenty of space to spread out.”
“Sounds perfect. Lead the way, petal.”
Making our way through the shop, I took Ironside into the show room.
Buckets of flowers filled every shelf and clustered on the floor, waiting to be arranged.
The air was thick with a heady mixture of perfumes—roses, lavender, lilacs, peonies, honeysuckle, jasmine.
A rack hung on one wall, arrayed with spools of florist wire, ribbons, shears, gloves, and other various tools.
The high ceiling and large windows created a cathedral-like atmosphere, holy and reverent and awe-inspiring.
A place where my raw creativity could spread its wings and soar.
“So, this is where the magic happens,” Ironside said.
I plucked at his sleeve, feeling a little bashful that I had granted him access into my inner sanctuary. Only my closest friends and family were allowed back here. But never a man I was dating.
“It’s my happy place,” I admitted, tugging on his hand as I pulled him toward the table. “I can lose track of time so easily when I’m in here, surrounded by flowers all day.”
“How did you get started?” Ironside prompted. “With your shop, I mean.”
I shrugged, idly fiddling with a bundle of irises out of habit to soothe myself.
“When I was a little girl, I would spend hours in my grandmother’s flower garden next door. She would tell me stories about a fairy who made her bed in a bellflower, wrapped up in a blanket of petals. I wanted to be that fairy more than anything in the world.”
“You wanted to escape?” he replied, studying me. “From what?”
I glanced away, shaking my head.
“The world. I was a shy, awkward, lonely girl who was teased a lot. The fact that I could rattle off every part of a flower by heart without hesitation wasn’t exactly earning any popularity points either.”
Ironside made a noise of sympathy.
“I’d say you did pretty well for yourself, all things considered.”
I nodded with a small smile.
“My grandmother had this magnificent old rose bush that cascaded over her porch in a shower of pink blooms every summer. One year, she gave me a cutting, and I was hooked. I wanted to be a florist. I wanted to have my own shop and a flower farm. I wanted to fill every inch of my life with flowers.”
Ironside’s unwavering gaze held mine as I spoke. He set the cooler on the table next to us without looking away from me.
I cleared my throat, suddenly overcome with a bout of self-consciousness. I touched my lips.
“And now I’m babbling like a lunatic.”
He took my hand away from my mouth.
“Not a lunatic. Just passionate.”
My face warmed at being the center of his undivided attention. I liked it—I loved it actually—but to be looked at with so much intensity and desire and raw want was still a new experience and I didn’t know how to respond.
Closing the gap between us, I covered his eyes with my palm. He breathed a faint laugh.
“What are you doing?”
“I can’t think straight when you look at me like that.”
Ironside curved his hands around my hips, sliding down to cup my ass.
He pulled me against him with a rumbling hum deep in his chest. Our bodies fit together so perfectly like we had been made for each other, like I was always supposed to be here, at home, in his arms, fitted against the strong, wiry muscles of his body.
“You don’t have to think when you’re around me, petal,” Ironside replied. “You can just feel.”
He dipped his head, pressing his lips to the curve of my neck. I closed my eyes with a sigh. He was right. Forty-eight hours was too long to be without him. Without this.
I slid my hands inside his jacket, peeling it off his shoulders. But when I let it drop, Ironside pulled back with a noise of dismay.
“Easy, sweetheart. My cut doesn’t touch the floor.”
As he scooped up his jacket, I noticed it was actually two pieces of clothing in one—a jacket with a vest worn over the top. He dusted them off, then draped them over the back of a nearby chair.
“Club rules,” Ironside added. “A man’s cut is a symbol of his brotherhood. He earned it, and he has to take care of it, respect it.”
I rocked back on my heels with a twinge of guilt.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”
Ironside took my hand, kissing the inside of my wrist. Skimming his lips up my arm. His beard tickled—a gloriously sharp contrast to the soft heat of his lips.
“Don’t apologize, petal. Just go back to undressing me like you were before.”
My face flamed. Ironside chuckled and kissed my burning cheek. He hooked an arm around my waist with a growl.
“Fuck, I love it when you blush.”
I sputtered, both flustered and pleased at his praise.
“You’re teasing. I look like a tomato.”
He cupped my jawline and angled my head to the side, dragging the hot, wet flat of his tongue over my pulse. My nipples tightened and an ache throbbed to life between my thighs.
“Good. Then I know exactly what turns you on and I can chase that gorgeous red blush over every inch of you.”
I swayed into him, fighting to catch my breath at that image in my head.
Ironside smoothed his palm up my side, squeezing my breast. The wraparound dress I wore felt as thin as tissue paper with the weight and heat of his touch radiating straight through. It wouldn’t take much effort to tug at the little bow tied near my waist and peel my dress away.
My stomach clenched with the hope that he would.
I threaded my fingers into his hair, pulling him in for a kiss until our tongues were a tangled mess and my mouth flooded with the taste of him—sharp black coffee, smokey cigars, and the burnt caramel sweetness of bourbon.
Gripping my hips, Ironside guided me back against the table. He hoisted me up and set me on the edge without even a grunt of effort. Then he pushed between my thighs, the roughness of his jeans rasping my sensitive skin. The hem of my dress rode up higher until I was barely covered at all.
“I thought we were having lunch,” I said, hooking two fingers into his belt with a tug.
“We are.” Ironside placed his hands on the table, bracketing my hips as he leaned in, kissing his way down my neck. The tip of his tongue flicked out, tracing the V-neckline of my dress. “But we’re starting with dessert first.”
Just as I hoped, Ironside plucked the tie at my waist loose until my dress fell open, revealing my bra and panties. Thank God I’d spent so much time picking something cute this morning—a lacy forget-me-not blue bra and purple panties the color of early spring violets.
My heart pounded and my blood roared in my ears. This was only the second time in my life that a man had seen me naked—or nearly there.
After enduring so much bullying in school for the way I looked, for my height, I spent years in therapy, learning how to view myself in a better light.
Letting someone see me—all of me—was still nerve racking though.
The rolls of my stomach and the love handles at my hips.
The cellulite on my thighs. The stretch marks on my breasts from my growth spurt in puberty.
It was hard to place my vulnerability in someone else’s hands, praying that they wouldn’t scoff at it.
For so many years, I had been a target of mockery for boys who pointed out every flaw and magnified it ten-fold.
You’re with a real man now, petal. Let me prove it to you.
“Holy shit, look at you, sweetheart,” Ironside rasped. He ghosted his hands up my thighs, over my hips, touching everywhere as if he couldn’t get enough. “Blushing and beautiful and all mine.”
I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I inhaled sharply with relief. My whole body felt like I’d been filled with molten sunshine, glowing and radiant and loved.
When Ironside trailed kisses down between my breasts, I arched into him, welcoming him, opening every part of myself to him. He tugged the cup of my bra down, flicking his tongue over my nipple.
He licked and sucked and pinched with his teeth, skilfully taking me through a roller-coaster of delicious pleasure and sweet pain. When he pulled back with a wet pop, I whimpered at the loss of his mouth.