Page 26 of Smarty Plants
“Whatever you want, angel.”
I try to take slow, steady breaths, calming myself, even though my heart is jackrabbiting in my chest. Eventually, I sense that Iris is growing close. I’ve grown accustomed to the way her muscles tense before she comes, her perfect pussy growing even tighter.
Iris wraps her arms around my shoulders, leaning forward, moaning my name as she rises and falls, grinding as she chases her release. I love this moment – when she stops thinking and simply feels. When she lets her hot, curvy body take over and drop into every sensation.
“There you go,” I growl against her shoulder, still teasing her clit as she twitches, her climax shaking through her like a series of explosions.
After she cries out weakly, collapsing against me, I take hold of her ass with one hand, her hip with the other. “Hang on, baby.”
Her eyes blaze. “Yeah.”
I bury my hard cock in her softness again, and again, as her knees grip my hips. Once I finally let go of my control the orgasm surges through me, driving my seed into her in hot, fast pulses.
Her fingers clutch me as I rock her gently, reveling in the aftershocks before setting her back on the counter. “I love you so much.” I kiss along her collarbone, since she’s still panting for air.
“And I love…my incredible new closet.” She grins, tapping her forehead into my shoulder. “Andmy gorgeous hunk of a husband.”
Iris is the reason I get up every morning, ready to work hard and improve my business, our lives, and our marriage. I’ve known from the beginning that we belong together.
And just like the plants that are now all over my office, our home, and the homes of many of my clients, I know we will both continue to grow together every single day.
EPILOGUE TWO
DAHLIA
* Four Years Later *
Iced tea in hand, I sprawl in the shade on a chaise lounge, watching my six beautiful grandchildren tend what we refer to as “the kids’ garden”.
No matter what strange gardening methods they use, most of it is thriving. Despite the lemonade incident. And pulling daisies out to wear in their hair. And all the water fights.
My entire life has been about growth. When my husband took off, leaving me with three small daughters, I decided to grow. I took my inheritance and bought a building for us to live and work in. Now Palmer’s Potted Plants is so successful that two years ago I was able to buy this house just a few blocks from the store. Chad moved into the huge upstairs apartment above the shop with his new wife, Dawn, so there’s still someone there when we’re not at work.
It's funny… When life was going well, our shop also did well. Or was it when the store was doing well, that gave us all the energy to seek personal growth?
Whatever the case, I’m extremely grateful for two major times in my life: when I was brave enough to buy the building and go for my dream, and later…much later…that three-month span where my beautiful, talented daughters brought in their first corporate accounts and started us on the path to true stability.
More importantly, of course, they brought home the wonderful men they would all marry.
At first, I’ll admit, I was slightly concerned that these men were all a bit older. Worried that because they were established in their careers they might not have the capacity for significant growth. Yet all of them treat my daughters like queens. True partners. Equals. They are all growing and building their lives together.
“Gramma! Tell Zinnia to stop eating all the raspberries.”
“Have you tried asking her nicely yourself?” I call out.
Six-year-old Cedar turns to his cousin. “Zinnia, please stop eating all the raspberries.”
She pauses with her chubby hand half-lifted to her mouth. Then she holds the berry out to him. “Yours?” Although she’s barely three, she’s already learning that when she smiles, widening those big blue eyes, nobody can ever stay angry with her.
“Thank you.” Cedar eats it, then grins. “Now pick one for Forest.”
Forest loves raspberries too but isn’t quite coordinated enough yet to pull them free. Luckily, his cousins find it amusing to feed him because of his dramatic “Yum-mmm” sounds.
Sipping my iced tea, I grin to myself. What a perfect afternoon. My lovely daughters are off having their semi-annual “Sisters’ Saturday”, where they shop for clothes, get manicures, and have a fancy lunch in town.
They don’t know that their husbands brought the kids here. Usually, “Gardening with Gramma” happens on Sunday afternoons, right before a big family dinner.
At the moment, though, my three sweet sons-in-law have taken over my dining room with their laptops and notepads, planning a massive family vacation for next year. Instead of letting the girls do any of the work, they’re planning three options which they will then present to their wives to decide between.
