Page 66 of When Hearts Collide

But my groin twitches as I think of Millie sprawled on my desk, her tits heaving, her dark nipples as sharp as glass, poking out of that little scrap of a tank top, beckoning me to bite them, to suck on them, while I ram my hard cock against her jean-covered pussy. The sounds she made. The moans. The whimpers. How they got louder the rougher I was with her, like she needed my dominance, craved my aggression.

At that moment, all those obstacles disappeared like steam vaporizing in the air.

Everything was inconsequential except for her.

She made me so angry when she rightfully confronted me that day. I knew I was an ass to her. But didn’t she know I was barely hanging on by a thread? And now, knowing how soft she is under me, how she yields to me so beautifully, how sweet her lips taste, how can I resist her?

I must—impeccable reputation and everything riding on it. But more importantly, Millie needs a man without shadows, a free man not living in a cage, bound to a family he loves and secretly resents at the same time. She needs to spread her wings and fly, and not to have them clipped if she’s enfolded into the Anderson family business.

I need to stay away from her. There’s no other alternative.

But the joke’s on me, because fate seems to have other plans when we step into the rooftop garden and I turn my head and look toward the front of the space.

She is there.

Like I’ve conjured her from my deepest desires.

My beautiful lark is in her element, looking every inch an angel fallen from the skies, blessing mankind with her warmth and beauty. She’s standing on a small makeshift stage, lecturing to a crowd of men and women of various ages sitting in rows of plastic chairs.

Millie laughs, her voice as sweet as the songbird, and says, “Do you know there are many wonderful benefits to gardening? It’s not only a hobby for retired old folks nowadays.”

She pauses and quirks her brow. “I see you’re unimpressed. Your doubt is written all over your faces.”

She leans in, her blue eyes radiating warmth and excitement, and loudly whispers, “I thought the same thing too when I started gardening. Like how lame it was, how tiring, how I could spend my time doing something more fun than watering the soil and pulling weeds.”

Light chuckles fill the room as the residents listen to her while she transfers some seeds into the ceramic pots on the table. It reminds me of that day when she came into my office at ULA, holding bright yellow daffodils. The flowers that made her cry when they shattered on the floor.

“My mom loved flowers. She used to spend her free time, what little she had outside of working and taking care of my dad, my brother, and me, on our small balcony, where she’d set up her own garden. Daffodils were one of her favorites.”

My heart squeezes, the tears on her face that day in my office suddenly making sense.

Her voice turns wistful, and she forces out a smile. “When I asked her why she spent so much time out there, she told me, ‘Millie, do you know plants have healing powers? They’re magic. When you get your hands dirty in the soil, feeling nature at your fingertips, nurturing the flowers, vegetables, fruits, or whatever it is you’re growing, they’ll respond to you.’”

She looks up, her gaze intent on the small crowd. “It’s something you can control, something you have full power over. When you nurture nature, it’ll bloom and blossom under your care. The wonderful flowers and getting your heart rate up as you putter about are just side benefits.”

The room is quiet; the crowd sitting with rapt attention. I see a few women shift in their seats and one of them discreetly wipes her face with her hands. Most likely, the lives they ran away from didn’t allow them to have much, if any, control.

Millie grins as she pours some soil into the ceramic pot. “Someday, besides teaching, I want to open my own greenhouse to the public for free…so everyone can have these beautiful flowers and gardens at their fingertips, so parents don’t have to worry about paying adult ticket costs to take their children to kids-free admission days. Anyone, regardless of status, can enjoy these flowers for free.”

Millie swipes her lips with that pink tongue of hers and I feel my cock twitch in my pants. I can still taste her honeyed sweetness, feel the tentative swipes of her tongue as it tangled with mine. I swallow and let out a ragged exhale.

“She’s great, isn’t she? Captivates the crowd,” Parker comments, and I can’t help but agree.

She’ll be a great educator one day. Empathetic. Passionate. She’ll help many underprivileged people from all over the world. Something she can’t do if she is with you and living in the Anderson cage.

I nod, unable to reply or tear my eyes away from Millie.

“Do you know, there’s research showing a certain bacterium in the soil, the Mycobacterium vaccae, can act as a natural antidepressant because of its interactions with serotonin, the happy chemical, in our brains? So, Mom wasn’t lying to me after all. There is magic in the soil…”

“How did you find her?” I ask Parker as I’m transfixed on Millie.

At his silence, I turn to him, finding him gazing lovingly at his wife, watching her flutter around the room, handing out refreshments to the residents who are looking with ardent attention at the goddess on the stage. My heart pinches at the lovestruck expression on his face, like he’d be happy even if his world burned down as long as he had his wife by his side.

For the first time in my life, I wonder what things would be like if I had this kind of love in my life. Would my soul feel less tired, less cold? Would the prison feel more like heaven?

My gaze shifts to Millie once more, and the panging hits harder in my chest, resounding like a gong, and I clench my fists, unwilling to acknowledge the impact or the sound and what they represent.

Love isn’t for me. This is physical attraction only. The temptation of the forbidden.

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