Chapter 10 #2
“That sounds like a smart idea. You guys work too hard.”
“So do you,” he says, tossing the stems into the compost bin. “Do you ever take a day off?”
I shrug, picking at a french fry. “Not really. There’s always something to do. And Maisie… I like to be busy. It keeps my mind quiet.”
He pauses, looking at me over the rim of his glasses. “Does it? Keep it quiet?”
I don’t answer for a moment. I think about the nightmares, the anxiety, the panic attacks. “Most of the time.”
He nods, accepting the half-truth, and goes back to work. We fall into a rhythm. I eat, directing traffic between bites, and he moves around the shop with a focused energy.
It’s strangely intimate, this domestic chore. It feels like we’ve been doing this together for years.
“So,” he says, placing a vase of tulips on a high shelf. “Do you have a favorite flower? Or is that like asking a parent to pick a favorite child?”
I laugh. “It changes. But lately, I’ve been really drawn to ranunculus. They look like roses, but more complex. Layer upon layer of petals. And they come in these incredible colors—this deep, bruised purple, or this soft, buttery yellow.”
“Ranunculus,” he repeats, testing the word. “I’ll have to remember that. What’s your least favorite?”
“Carnations. Absolutely. They smell like old soap and they last forever, which sounds like a good thing, but they just… they lack soul.”
Eli grins. “Noted. No carnations for Amber. What about Maisie? Does she have a favorite?”
“Sunflowers,” I reply instantly. “Because they’re taller than everything else. She likes the idea of looking down on people.”
He chuckles, a warm, rich sound. “She sounds like a handful.”
“She’s the best handful.” I finish the burger, crumpling the wrapper. “I’m going to save the rest of the fries for you. You must be starving.”
“I can wait until we’re done,” he says, wiping down the counter where the stems had been.
“Oh, I almost forgot. I brought a box of the lemon tarts. They’re in the car.
I made extra, specifically for Maisie to have for breakfast. If that’s okay?
I didn’t want to assume you’d want her having sugar for breakfast, but I figured… it’s a special occasion?”
I look at him, standing there in my pink apron, worrying about my daughter’s breakfast. The lump in my throat returns, thick and sudden.
“That’s more than okay, Eli. That’s… really sweet. She’s going to lose her mind.”
“Good.” He looks pleased with himself. “I want her to like me.”
“I think the treats will work,” I assure him.
He bursts out laughing. “Are you suggesting that I’m using sweet treats to bribe your child?”
“Hey, I thought that was your go-to move. Isn’t that how you ended up here?”
“Fair point.”
We work in companionable silence for another twenty minutes. The shop transforms from a disaster zone back into a sanctuary. The floors are swept, the vases are gleaming, and the air smells fresh and floral again.
By the time he hangs the apron back up on the rack, the clock on the wall reads 1:30 a.m.
My phone buzzes on the counter. I glance at the screen. Jude.
“Hello?”
“Amber?” Jude’s voice is low, rough with sleep. “You okay? Norah said you were still at the shop.”
“Yeah, I’m just finishing up now,” I tell him, leaning against the counter. “Everything is locked up. I’m heading to the car now.”
“Okay. Drive safe, okay? The roads might be icy in spots.”
“I will. Go back to sleep, Jude.”
“Right. See you in the morning.”
I hang up and slide the phone into my pocket.
Eli is leaning against the edge of the worktable, his arms crossed over his chest. “Your brother worries about you, huh?”
“He does,” I admit, walking over to him. “He’s… he’s taken on the father figure role since well…my past was a little complicated. Sometimes I think that he forgets I’m an adult.”
“He’s just protective. It’s his job as an Alpha.” Eli reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “But I get it. I worry about Fallon, and he’s a thirty-year-old man who does parkour in his spare time.”
“Parkour?”
“Don’t ask.” He steps closer, eliminating the distance between us. The air shifts instantly, the exhaustion of the night replaced by a buzzing, electric tension. “So. We’re done. The shop is clean. You’re fed.”
“I am,” I whisper, looking up at him. “Thank you. For everything. You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to.” His eyes drop to my lips. “I really wanted to.”
He leans in and kisses me. It’s different from the kiss in the kitchen—slower, deeper, less urgent but somehow more devastating.
He kisses me like he has all the time in the world, his tongue sweeping against mine, tasting of mint and the cold night air.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, my fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.
He feels so good. He feels solid and real, and for a moment, I forget that I’m tired, forget that I have to be up in six hours. There’s only this.
There’s only him.
I pull back slightly, breathless, and gesture to his clothes. “You know, you looked absolutely ridiculous in that apron earlier.”
He laughs, the vibration rumbling against my chest. “Oh, shut up. You loved it.”
“I did,” I admit, grinning. “It was the pink. It really brought out your eyes.”
“You’re a brat.” He kisses me again, harder this time, his hands gripping my waist. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I have a few ideas,” I murmur against his mouth.
He groans, low in his throat. “Amber…”
“Eli.”
He pulls back, his eyes dark behind his glasses. “Where can we go?”
“The back room,” I say, taking his hand and leading him toward the storage area. “There’s a rug. And plenty of packing supplies if we get creative.”
The backroom is dimly lit by a single bulb overhead. It’s filled with boxes of vases, ribbons, and floral foam, but there is a small, open space near the desk where I sometimes take my breaks. There’s a worn floral rug on the concrete floor.
Eli kicks the door shut behind us and spins me around, pressing my back against the closed door. He catches my wrists in one hand, pinning them above my head. The dominance sends a thrill straight through me.
“I’ve been thinking about this skirt,” he murmurs, his free hand tracing the hem of my wool skirt. “And these boots. Fuck! Very sexy, Amber.”
“Yeah?” I breathe.
“Oh yeah.” He lifts my skirt, his fingers grazing the skin of my thigh. “You have no idea.”
He kisses me, swallowing my gasp as his hand slides higher, hooking my panties to the side. His fingers find me, and I’m already wet, ready for him.
“Eli,” I moan, my head falling back against the wood.
“Fucking perfect,” he whispers against my neck, his fingers sliding through my folds. “So wet.”
He lifts my sweater, pushing it up to expose my breasts. I’m not wearing a bra and the cool air hits my skin, making my nipples pebble.
He dips his head, taking one into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the peak while his fingers continue to work between my legs.
The dual sensation is overwhelming. I buck my hips against his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure.
He sucks harder, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, sending shockwaves down my spine.
“Come for me, Amber,” he commands softly, releasing my nipple to look me in the eye. “I want to feel it.”
He thrusts two fingers inside me, curling them just right, and his thumb presses down on my clit.
I shatter. My orgasm rips through me, intense and blinding. I cry out, my body convulsing, my hands clutching at his shoulders.
He rides it out with me, his fingers moving relentlessly, drawing every last drop of pleasure from my body until I’m limp and panting against the door.
“Fuck,” I whisper, my legs trembling.
“That’s what I like to hear,” he smirks.
He quickly strips off his sweater and T-shirt, tossing them aside. His chest is heaving, his muscles rippling as he fumbles with the button of his jeans. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a strip of foil packets.
I stare at them, then up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Presumptuous, aren’t you?”
He grins, unzipping his pants. “A man can hope. And besides, I’m an optimist.”
He drops to his knees in front of me, hooking his fingers into the waistband of my panties and sliding them down my legs. I step out of them, kicking them aside.
“Eli, what—”
“Shh,” he murmurs, gripping my hips and lifting one of my legs over his shoulder. “I’m not done with you yet.”
He leans in and presses his mouth to my core.
I gasp, my hands flying to his hair to steady myself. He eats me out with the same focus and dedication as the last time.
He licks and sucks, exploring every inch of me, driving me higher and higher until I’m writhing against the door, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Eli, please,” I beg, not sure if I want him to stop or never stop.
He stands up, tearing open one of the condoms with his teeth. He rolls it on quickly, his jaw tight with restraint.
“Turn around,” he rasps.
I obey, turning to face the door, bracing my hands against the wood. He lifts my skirt again, positioning himself at my entrance.
“Tell me if you want to stop,” he says, his voice rough.
“Don’t stop,” I tell him. “Please, Eli. Fuck me.”
He pushes inside.
I cry out at the stretch, the feeling of fullness overwhelming. He waits a moment, letting me adjust, his hands gripping my hips tightly.
“Okay?” he asks.
“Move,” I demand.
He starts to thrust, slow and deep at first, building a rhythm that makes my toes curl in my boots.
The door rattles with every movement, but I don’t care. The only thing that matters is the feeling of him inside me, filling me up, claiming me.
I can feel the knot at the base of his cock starting to swell, catching on my rim with every thrust. It’s an intense pressure, a biological promise of lock and key.
“Amber,” he groans, his speed increasing. “I’m… the knot…”
“Not yet,” I gasp, shaking my head. “Eli, I’m not ready for that. Not yet.”
He stills instantly, his control hanging by a thread. I can feel him fighting the instinct, the primal drive to lock us together.
“Okay,” he breathes, kissing the back of my neck. “Okay. We won’t.”
He resumes thrusting, avoiding the deep pushes that would trigger the full knotting. It’s still incredible, the friction building a coil of tension low in my belly. He reaches around, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing tight circles.
“Come with me,” he pants in my ear. “Please, Amber.”
I let go. My orgasm crashes over me, harder than the first, dragging a scream from my throat. My inner walls clench around him, milking his cock.
“Fuck!” he shouts, burying his face in my neck as he finds his own release. He pulses inside me, his hips jerking with the force of it.
We stay there for a long time, leaning against the door, trying to catch our breath. The air in the small room is thick with the scent of sex and flowers.
Eventually, he pulls out carefully, dealing with the condom. I slide down the door, my legs feeling like jelly. He helps me to the rug, and we collapse onto it, lying side by side on the floral pattern.
I start to laugh. It’s a quiet, hysterical laugh that bubbles up from somewhere deep inside.
“What?” he asks, grinning at me, his hair a mess.
“I just… we just had sex in the storage room of a flower shop,” I giggle. “On a rug that probably has potting soil ground into it.”
“It was the best sex of my life,” he says, rolling onto his side to look at me. “So I don’t care about the rug.”
I reach out, tracing the line of his jaw. “Yeah. It was pretty incredible.”
He leans up, grabbing his jeans and pulling the small white box of tarts from the pocket. He opens it, breaking off a piece of the buttery crust.
“Open up,” he commands softly.
I do, and he feeds me the tart. It’s rich and sweet, the perfect contrast to the salty, musky taste of sex.
“This is the best date I’ve ever been on,” he declares, feeding me another piece. “Flowers, burgers, sex on a rug, and chocolate tarts for dessert. It’s perfect.”
I chew, swallowing the bite of tart. “You’re weird, Eli Chen.”
“And you’re beautiful, Amber Carter.”
He kisses me, and I can taste the sugar on his lips.
This is perfect. He is perfect.
I no longer feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. I just feel… happy.