The Rose Garden

Katy knelt on the warm grass, her thongs removed, leaving her barefoot. Long tanned legs folded beneath her, frayed denim shorts barely covering her firm round ass. Perspiration dotted her smooth stomach beneath the loose white cotton crop top, the back damped by sweat even with her blonde hair tied in a ponytail to keep it from her skin.

She worked barehanded, enjoying the feel of the stems beneath her fingertips. The fragrant yellow blooms nodded in approval of the faintest breeze, it carried a stray wisp of hair across her face. She brushed it from her eyes, in a moment of lapsed concentration her other hand fell upon a thorn.

Swearing under her breath, she pulled her hand back, a bead of blood forming on her fingertip. The deep red drop bright against her skin. With a wince, she sucked on the small wound. The wince came, not from physical pain, but from the pain of memories of the countless times it had been another's lips that would engulf the cut to kiss away the pain. The lips from the man who had planted the rose garden, the man who had left his home on the other side of the world to live with her, his small reminder of home.

She got to her feet, slipping into her thongs. With her finger and the memory still raw in her mouth, she picked up the secateurs and the cut flowers wrapped in newspaper, deciding to finish the pruning another day.

Entering the house felt like entering a furnace, the open windows doing little to cool the place. Her light sweating turning into rivulets. Her top stuck to her skin, fighting against her, as she pealed it from her body. She dropped it on the couch, heading towards her bedroom. Air swirled round her exposed breasts giving her a moment of relief from the heat.

Outside her bedroom, she paused to look at the hanging photo. Her finger ran over the face of her love, with Valentines day approaching she missed him more than ever.

Inside her bedroom, she stripped off her shorts. The denim dropped on the ottoman, leaving her in nothing but a small pair of cotton panties, sweat already soaking into the material. Removing the shorts made her feel hotter rather than cooler. She was heading for the shower, but with the bed between her and the on-suite, the bed seemed the more inviting option.

She fell onto the doona, her eyes closing before she landed.

A cool breeze blew against her neck, a whisper in her ear, words that were familiar but not quite loud enough for her to hear. She tried to open her eyes to see the face of the whisperer, but her eyelids felt too heavy to move, instead she lay still trying to listen to the words that she was sure she knew.

Softness touched her forehead, at first she thought it was a kiss. Gently the touch dragged over her skin, she recognised the touch as a rose petal as it floated down the bridge of her nose. As it caressed her lips, she inhaled the scent, the fragrant aroma filling her mind, the smell that had filled her life ever since she met him.

A tickle moving down her throat, soft and sensitive, like a lovers kiss. Her breath caught as the petal stroked the hollow of her jugular notch. A place that had seemed to captivate him so much. Its journey continued down her breastbone, travelling between her spread breasts, lingering on its journey in the valley before continuing down across a smooth stomach, to delve into her navel causing her to gasp.

At the elastic of her panties, the touch faded. She lay in darkness hoping the touch would return, that the petal would stroke and caress more of her skin.

Then she felt the warmth of a breath, it ran up over her stomach making her breath catch. The holder of the rose was between her legs, their unknown intentions teasing her. Fingers grazed her hips, the contact of skin against hers, sending jolts into her body.

The fingers moved down picking the material up in their path, dragging them down her body. The material gave up its hold upon her to be dragged down her legs. Naked in the darkness, she lay motionless, waiting for another touch.

It wasn't a touch that came, but another breath, warm air wound its way through fine golden hairs. Fingers gently pushed her thighs apart. Another breath came, this time lower, the warmth flowing over her body to curve down under her. She could sense the lips, less than an inch from her body, poised to close upon her. Her breathing increased, becoming rapid in anticipation.

First contact came from a lick, a tiny lap with the tip of a tongue against her soft lip. A shudder ran through her body at the sensation she hadn't felt since he had left her. The second lick was longer, pushing between her flesh to the wetness inside.

At the age of 30, there were three orgasms seared on Katy's soul, the kind where the tingling sensation never truly stopped, the first was the first one that she received at another's touch, the second was the first night she spent with the Englishman. The third was five years later, the night she had been abandoned. He had entered the shower while she was under the hot water.

His hands had caressed her back, rubbing as the water washed over her, slowly his hands moved lower, his lips pushed between her wet hair to kiss her shoulder. When his hands reached her ass, his lips started to descend kissing wet skin. She kept her back to him until his lips reached her ass and he gently turned her to face him. On his knees, his tongue licked and probed until she had to hold the sides of the shower to stop herself from collapsing.

On the bed, the tongue languidly pushed against wet flesh, every move, every stroke, every caress sent her back to the shower. As the tongue swirled she recognised its touch, convincing her he had returned.

Teasing and probing the tongue moved up, sliding against the flesh to find the quivering bud. With expertise, it pushed back the fleshy hood to reveal the sensitive tip. Her body spasmed as a stream of cold air ran over the nerves electrifying her loins. She moaned as warm lips surrounded her essence, the moan sounding alien and distant to her. His lips closed in a slow lingering kiss, letting her slip from between them.

His tongue descended, pushing against her as it moved down to her wet opening. Pushing inside, he released a stream of her juices to trickle down her ass to dampen the covers beneath her. As if encouraged by her fluids his lower lip clamped against her, his tongue forcing deeper. Hot breath engulfed her as he breathed against her wet flesh.

Her body bucked as he pushed his searching tongue into her body. Flesh pushed open to allow his hungering muscle to probe deep. As he flexed inside her, she felt her juices being coaxed from her to dribble down his throat and his chin.

Once sated on her essence, his tongue withdrew. Slowly he moved back up to her hot bud. The tip of his tongue swirled around her, making her body shake. It swirled faster, her breathing getting faster with it. Her lungs started to burn, unable to keep up with her rapid breathing.

She felt the ball of fire between her legs growing, a burning white flame ready to be unleashed. Her fingers gripped the edges of the bed, her toes curled, her body prepared for the release.

Then his tongue switched from swirling to flicking. Her body twisted in shock as she dropped back from the edge of orgasm

His continued attention stoked the fiery ball, making it hotter and bigger. She moaned, her head twisting from side to side trying to contain what was about to happen.

With the orgasm cresting, he stopped again. This time he took her engorged nub into her mouth, his lips closing around it. Gently he sucked, each draw enlarging the fireball. Her hips moved in time with him, her ass lifting up from the bed to follow his draws.

For a third time she reached the edge of orgasm, the swirling ball of fire threatening to engulf her body. She nearly begged him not to stop, to let her reach the climax her body demanded. She felt the rising crescendo making her body tremble, feeling like she would rip herself apart trying to contain the fire.

Her fear that he would stop again exploded as the fire ravaged her body. Seconds lasted a lifetime, filled with an eternity of pleasure. She couldn't tell if the scream of ecstasy filled the room or merely her mind.

Every part of her burned as if the bed had caught fire, her muscles spasmed uncontrollably, causing her to twist and thrash amongst the flames. She gulped air in the hope of quenching the fire, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. Beneath her, she felt the doona dampen as her body forced her own juices out to soak into the material.

Slowly her body cooled, she regained control over her muscles, and her breathing subsided. A tingling warmth replaced the blood boiling lust, leaving her feeling exhausted and satisfied. She rolled onto her side, knowing she was along again, and fell into a deep sleep.

She awoke the next morning, her body stiff and aching. In her fist, she clenched the ring that had been returned to her, the ring which had come with explanations of how heroic he was, how he had been a hero, and countless other excuses for him abandoning her.

Her eyes blurred with tears as she saw the vase of red roses on the table. The last time she touched a red rose had been the day of his funeral, playing the part of the widow throwing a rose onto the casket. The only bush with red blooms now a tangled mess, a year of growth that she couldn't bring herself to prune back.

Word Count:  1714