A Florist's Heart

Chapter 5

The lamplight flickered softly, casting a warm, golden glow over the room as Amelia pulled back just enough to meet Theodore’s gaze. Her lips curved into a teasing smile, her voice barely more than a whisper. "What if I said that I wanted this?" She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she pressed her lips to the sensitive skin of his neck, each kiss light, deliberate, a slow torture that made his breath hitch. Her lips trailed upward, pecking along the strong line of his jaw before finally brushing against his chin, her breath warm and tantalizing.

Theodore’s control was already fraying. His hand slid down the curve of her back, his fingers gripping the soft fullness of her bottom, squeezing just enough to draw a sweet, breathless moan from her lips. The sound sent a jolt through him, and he knew he was lost.

His other hand reached for the hem of his tunic, pulling it over his head in one fluid motion. The fabric fell to the floor, forgotten, as he stood before her, his chest rising and falling with the effort of restraint. Amelia’s eyes traced the broad expanse of his chest, the muscles there defined from years of labor—hauling sacks of soil, lifting crates of blooms, the endless, honest work of a man who shaped beauty with his own two hands. His skin was warm, golden in the lamplight, marked here and there with faint scars and callouses, the silent testament of a life spent in service to the earth. His shoulders were broad, his arms strong, but it was the way his body tapered to lean hips that made her breath catch, the way the faint trail of dark hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers.

Amelia didn’t hesitate. Her hands slid over the smooth, warm skin of his chest, her fingers splaying against the steady, strong beat of his heart. Theodore closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the feel of her touch, the way her palms explored him as though she were learning him for the first time. Then his hands found the laces of her dress, his fingers working slowly, carefully, as if he were unwrapping the most precious of gifts. "You’re beautiful, Amelia," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, thick with all the words he had never dared to say. "So beautiful it hurts."

The dress loosened under his touch, slipping from her shoulders to pool at her feet. She stood before him in nothing but her shift, the thin fabric clinging to the soft curves of her body. Theodore’s gaze traveled over her, drinking in the swell of her breasts, the gentle dip of her waist, the flare of her hips. She was all softness to his hardness, her body a perfect contrast to his, as though they had been designed to fit together.

His hands found her waist again, his touch feather-light, his thumbs brushing over the delicate fabric of her shift. "May I?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he were afraid to break the spell between them.

Amelia nodded, her throat tight with anticipation. Theodore’s hands moved to the hem of her shift, lifting it slowly, his knuckles grazing her skin as the fabric slid upward and over her head. When it was gone, he didn’t pull her to him—not yet. Instead, he took a step back, his eyes roaming over her with a reverence that made her skin flush. "You’re like a dream," he said softly, his voice filled with awe. "I’ve imagined this so many times, but you’re even more perfect than I ever could have pictured."

Amelia’s heart pounded under his gaze, but she didn’t look away. She reached for him, her fingers tracing the hard lines of his chest, the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch. Theodore’s hands followed the curve of her waist, sliding down to her hips, his grip firm but gentle, as though he were afraid she might slip away if he held her too tightly. "You’re perfect, too," she whispered, her voice trembling. "So strong. So real."

His hands moved upward, cupping her breasts with a tenderness that made her knees weak. His thumbs brushed over her n*****s, teasing them into tight, aching buds, and Amelia gasped, her body arching into his touch. Theodore leaned down, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, then the hollow of her throat, his lips warm and tender against her skin. "I’ve wanted this for so long," he confessed, his breath hot against her ear. "Wanted you for so long."

Amelia’s fingers found the fastenings of his trousers, her movements slow but determined. Theodore helped her, pushing the fabric down his hips, stepping out of them until he stood before her, completely bare. His body was a study in contrasts—strong, muscular, but with a gentleness in the way he touched her, as though he were worshipping every inch of her. He pulled her close, his skin pressing against hers, the heat between them almost unbearable.

Amelia’s hands roamed over his back, her nails scraping lightly over his skin as she pulled him closer. Theodore’s hands slid down to the small of her back, his fingers tracing the curve of her spine before moving lower, cupping the fullness of her bottom, pulling her against him. She could feel the hard length of him pressed against her stomach, the evidence of his desire sending a thrill through her that settled low in her belly.

Their lips met in a slow, deep kiss, but it was their bodies that truly spoke—Theodore’s hands mapping the softness of her thighs, the swell of her hips, the way her body molded to his as though they had been made for this moment. Amelia’s fingers tangled in his hair, her body melting into his, her skin tingling everywhere he touched her.

The bed beneath them was already rumpled from their earlier motion, the sheets cool against their heated skin as they shifted closer. Theodore’s hands never stilled, tracing the dip of Amelia’s waist, the curve of her stomach, the softness of her thighs with a reverence that made her breath catch. His touch was slow, deliberate, as though he were memorizing every inch of her. "You’re incredible," he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her collarbone, his voice thick with desire. "Every single inch of you."

Amelia’s breath came in short, ragged gasps as his hands ventured lower, his fingers sliding between her thighs with a gentle insistence. She could feel how wet she was, how ready, and the way Theodore’s breath hitched as he realized it sent a wave of heat crashing through her. His fingers moved with a teasing slowness, exploring her, drawing out soft, desperate moans that filled the quiet of the room.

Theodore braced himself above her, his muscles taut with restraint, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. The lamplight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the intensity in his dark eyes as he gazed down at her. "Tell me what you want," he whispered, his voice rough, barely more than a plea.

Amelia’s hands found his face, pulling him down to her. Their lips met in a searing kiss, her body arching against his as she breathed her answer against his mouth. "You," she whispered, her voice trembling with need. "I want you, Theodore."

It was clear in her tone, Theodore may have had the better and clearer mind. He knew that she was perhaps just saying all of this as projection to the day since she did lose someone that she truly did love. He knew deep down inside that she did not love him the way that she loved Nathaniel. Yet, he could not help but bring his lips to suckle and nab at her n****e first.

"Ahhh~!" Amelia would moan out, back arching to his lip.