Page 109 of Inked in Bloom
The confession cracks my ribs, and I drop my hand. “Thanks again for stepping in.”
“Of course.” A sly smile spreads across her face, and she places a hand on my chest. The mate mark tingles beneath her fingertips. “Though I have to admit, my intentions are not all pure.”
I swallow thickly and arch a brow. “Is that so?”
My cock twitches. Our time at the bookstore feels so long ago. The memories of her watching, her scent invading me, her velvet skin and slick warmth engulfing my fingers.
“Well, you were so confident about your cooking skills at dinner,” she teases. “Figured I’d give you the opportunity to show off in the morning for our next date.”
“Nextdate…” I tilt my head at her. “Admitting last night was our first?”
There’s a momentary shock that flares through her, and I wonder if she’ll draw those walls up again, if I’ve pushed my luck. But then she inhales slowly and shakily says, “I think I am.”
I brush back her hair and kiss her forehead, resting mine against it. There’s so much I want to say and do, but we remain silent, holding each other, and I never knew the world could feel so still.
Eventually, Monroe peels herself away, says goodnight, and heads back into the girls’ room. She curls up in the small bunk, nestled and lovely and perfect. When I climb into bed next to a snoozing Juniper, I’m buzzing with possibility.
I thumb over the mate mark, the bells of her foxgloves and the petals of my peonies. For the first time since its arrival, I’m excited without the stain of guilt or fear of rejection.
I haven’t dared wishing for anything. Not even when she agreed to dinner. Not even while I made her come in my lap. But as I stare at the ceiling, anticipating what tomorrow brings, I pray to Fate and Time there will be many more memories alongside Monroe.
My mate.
SEPTEMBER
45
MONROE
The next three weeks pass by in a whirlwind of planning the claiming ceremony. I spend my days with Cherri and meet up with Briar after his classes are over at the Conservatory. Aside from a few kisses and lingering grazes of fingers against skin, we haven’t done anything physical since our evening at Novel Nibbles. It’s not for a lack of want—the sweet scent frequently filling the air is proof enough of that—but for whatever reason, Briar never takes it further.
To be fair, we’ve mostly spent the afternoons and evenings at his place, working through ceremony plans between homework, dinner, showers, and bedtime. He doesn’t want to be away while Juni sleeps, and I can’t blame him. Coming home to find your child covered in blood is a parent’s nightmare. I can’t pretend it didn’t rattle me either.
At the end of each night, I take my floracycle home, cursing myself for not asking to stay. To talk, to fuck, I’m not sure what I want.
And that’s the crux of the problem, isn’t it?
Pushing for more is selfish, even if that means every night I end up reaching for my toys or listening to one of the erotic excerpts on my planter stereo, pretending it’s Briar saying the words. That it’s his fingers, his tongue, his bodybringing me to the pinnacle of ecstasy. If he can feel my desire, he doesn’t act on it. There’s no amplification.
So when he asks on our walk home if I’ve ever been to The Nestling Fields, my fingers twitch in anticipation, wondering if he’ll finally make his move.
“Is this your way of inviting me to go with you to them?” I stare up at him, giving himjust kiss me, damniteyes.
“When I have you in The Nestling Fields, it won’t be on a random weekday with a few harbingers milling about.” His eyes drop to my lips and his hand slides down my spine, whispering against the shell of my ear. “It’ll be when I’m claiming you for every Bloom to see.”
A full-body shiver courses through me as he captures my lips in a kiss.
A delicious, yet solitary, kiss.
“Sorry. That was probably too forward.” His desire permeates the space between us.
Before I can tell him how much I liked his forwardness, he clears his throat, spine straightening.
“I recommend going during the daytime for a bit more quiet. You’ll also get a better view of the flora and incredible flowers and trees and vines. The magic and energy at something like a claiming ceremony is immense, enough to grow a lush backdrop that shifts with each event. It never looks the same between them.”
He’s helping me build out the platforms, and later tonight we’ll visit The Greenhouse so I can pick out which plant varieties I want featured at the ceremony.
“So what you’re saying is the scenery itself will change as the day goes on?”
