Page 48 of Wild Flower

28

BECCA

Istand in my protea garden in the late afternoon on Wednesday, waiting for Finn and Archer to arrive for our photoshoot. I squelch the nervous flutter in my chest by checking the lava rock mixture used for the soil. Proteas are closer to cacti, with their thick leaves and giant, dragon-like blooms which seem like a holdover from the prehistoric era. The King protea blossoms have large artichoke scales known as bract, which most call petals because of their pink and coral colors. But really, they’re a protective armor surrounding the frills of tiny flowers inside, making up the actual flower at the center. Pincushion protea have much smaller bract, the flowers flaring out like sea anemones with orange-red pistils or “pins”, all protruding from the central yellow cushion. They remind me of the frail stalks of sugar in Arie’s fancy drink.

It’s amazing the variety and oddness of nature, how a plant can evolve to create a protective skin, or flaunt its neon flowers like a flamenco dancer. Every piece has a purpose: collect sun, attract bees, spread pollen.

Finn and Archer arrive in the same vehicle and it’s the first time I see them not wearing suits from Flambé. My stomach squirms in the most delicious way, which is silly, I’ve seen them both naked, yet everyday clothes has a comfort to it that has my insides fluttering.

Archer wears jeans and a fitted grey t-shirt that stretches over his chest, and his long dark hair is pulled up into a man-bun atop his head. Finn wears a casual button-up and jeans, and over his shoulders are dual camera straps, made of leather and crisscrossing over his back like badass tomb raider suspenders in a video game. He clips cameras to the ends of each strap, like he’s holstering guns instead of photo equipment.

Finn waves and continues to arrange lenses as Archer walks straight to me like a man on a mission. The lilt of his body makes me flush with the memory of him in the water the other night, punishing me with the pleasure of his body.

I barely know this man, but he affects me so entirely that I’m sweating.

Archer nods to Finn with his head. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asks, a strand of dark hair unleashed next to his temple that I want to twirl around my finger like a school girl.

“You seem rather protective of photos of me,” I tease, hooking my thumb in my overalls which are cut off at the thigh to make shorts. Archer walks right into my personal space and mimics my stance, snagging his finger in my other overall strap and pulling me close.

“There are tribes that believe a photo steals a part of your soul,” Archer says.

“Is that what you think Finn is doing?” I ask, looking into the smolder of his eyes that sets me on fire. “Is he stealing my soul?”

Archer doesn’t move, searching me like he’s the one doing the stealing. And indeed, my body reacts, my nipples hardening under my overalls as my breath goes ragged.

A flicker of gold catches the light and I notice the edge of the necklace I saw around Archer’s neck the other night. That medallion is the only thing he wore when he dove into the water and encapsulated me with his warmth. It hung from his neck between us as I was pinned between him and Finn against the cliff, the gold coin rocking back and forth as he thrust.

I run a finger against the chain on the side of his neck, then pull it up from beneath his t-shirt. Archer flinches when he realizes what I’m doing, pulling away, only I clutch the object and don’t let him go.

“I saw this the other night,” I say softly, “when you were inside me.” His eyes flash up at that comment: heat and desire laced with the intimacy of remembering us together. “What is this?”

I thought he could burn me with a stare before, but the one that sears me now is so brutal I think I might faint, or maybe I’ll just erupt in flame and be left naked at his feet. I level my breath and dare to stand in his gaze, matching his intensity.

“I’ll tell you what it is the next time you’re coming on my cock,” Archer says finally, and I shiver.

“Promise?” I whisper.

“That I’ll be inside you again?” Archer’s voice lowers. “That’s an inevitability, Wild Flower.”

The soft shutter of clicks are heard to our left. Finn is taking photographs and stealing my soul, and I wonder if he can capture the lust and bravery emanating between me and Archer. Can he see it blazing like embers and smoke?

I cup the medallion tenderly and press it against Archer’s chest, feeling his heart thumping wildly beneath it, his heart matching the whisper of Finn’s shutter. I’m hardly touching him, the metal of his medallion under my fingertips, and he’s barely grazing my shoulder with his hand hooked in my overall, but something pulses between us that’s needy and raw. It makes me want to drag him into my greenhouse where the humidity is a hundred percent and take him between my thighs, demand he tell me the importance of this piece of metal.

Archer cups my cheek and brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. “We’re not doing that kind of photoshoot,” he says, reading my mind.

I bite back a whimper and look to Finn. An irrational part of me wouldn’t mind. I’ve never seen one of Finn’s photographs, but I trust he would find something beautiful amidst the lust, like he could see something no one else could.

“I’m sorry, Finn,” I say, my voice thick. “What were you wanting for this shoot?”

“You guys are perfect,” he praises. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. Except, I’d love for us to move into the field, where I could put the sun behind you.”

My eyes catch Archer’s, and I lick my lips, not sure I can handle this much eye fucking without needing to be under him again. And like the cheeky devil he is, Archer winks, indicating he’s got no problem burning me to ashes.

I step away and try to focus on Finn. “Does it matter what flowers we’re near? The orchids are in the greenhouse, but the hibiscus blooms are rather showy this time of year.” I point to the large bushes with a fiesta of yellow and orange blossoms. “Or I can show you my more exotic varieties: African daisies, urn plants, glory lilies. I have a Barringtonia Asiatacia tree, with these amazing pink tufts inside the blossoms like cotton candy. Of course, it’s poisonous.”

Finn looks at me like I just spoke French.

“I could tell you all their scientific names, too.” I laugh. “Along with their genus and species. Then you’d really look at me sideways.”

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