Florist Locks Door With Her Regular Customer

The late afternoon sun slanted through the big front windows of Bloom & Thorn, painting the buckets of lilies and roses in molten gold. Elena wiped her hands on her dirt-smudged green apron and leaned her hip against the counter, watching Marcus pretend to examine a bucket of calla lilies for the third time that week.

“Those ones look a little… excited today,” she said, voice low and teasing. At twenty-eight, Elena had perfected the art of the wicked smile. Her dark hair was twisted up in a messy knot with a stray curl clinging to the damp skin of her neck. Freckles dusted the bridge of her nose, and her full lips were painted a deep berry that made the innuendo land like a velvet hammer.

Marcus, thirty-two and broad-shouldered in a charcoal button-down, gave a low chuckle. “You’re never going to let me buy something normal, are you?”

“Why would I? You always linger until I flip the sign.” She plucked one of the thick, smooth calla stems and ran her thumb slowly up its creamy length, eyes locked on his. “Besides, I like the way your jaw tightens when I talk about how these remind me of thick cocks. All velvety and flushed at the tip.”

His breath hitched. The tension between them had been thickening for weeks—every visit, every lingering touch when she handed him change, every time her breasts brushed his arm while she reached past him for ribbon. Marcus could feel his cock twitch against the front of his jeans just from the way she said the word cocks.

Elena stepped closer, close enough that he caught the sweet green scent of crushed stems and warm woman. “You come in here every Friday like clockwork, Marcus. You watch my hands. You watch my mouth. I’ve seen the way you shift your weight when I bend over to grab something from the low shelf. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re not wrong,” he admitted, voice rough. “Every damn time you wrap those delicate fingers around a stem I get so hard I can barely walk out of here.”

The confession hung between them like smoke. Elena’s pupils dilated, her wicked smile softening into something darker, hungrier. She reached behind her without looking and flipped the lock on the shop door with a loud, final click.

The sign flipped from OPEN to CLOSED.

“Then stop walking out,” she whispered.