Pressed into Petals

Autumn stood in front of the full-length mirror, slipping on a small gold hoop earring as sunlight poured through the window behind her. Her dress fluttered around her thighs, a soft white cotton with tiny lavender flowers scattered across the fabric like someone had brushed them on with a watercolor brush. It was delicate. Feminine. The material clung a little more than she was used to, nipping in at the waist, skimming over her hips, and dipping low enough at the neckline that it made her pause.

She tilted her head slightly, adjusting the neckline with both hands. A little more cleavage than she normally wore--nothing outrageous, but definitely intentional. When she stepped back, smoothing the fabric down once more, she caught sight of the curve of her breast reflected back at her and felt a flutter of nerves low in her stomach.

From behind her, the bathroom door creaked open and a warm gust of steam rolled out. She didn't need to turn around to know he was watching her. Ryan leaned against the doorway, towel slung low on his hips, hair wet and curling at the ends. Water still clung to his chest, catching the light in slow drips that traced down the lines of muscle and along the ink carved into his skin. His eyes were on her like he was starving.

"You're kidding me with that dress," he said, voice low, still rough from sleep and the heat of the shower.

She glanced over her shoulder, pretending to be nonchalant as she ran a hand down the front again. "What? You don't like it?"

He pushed off the doorway, his eyes darkening as he approached. "No, I love it. Too much."

She turned to face him fully, feeling the flush crawl up her neck under his gaze. "We're supposed to be leaving in ten minutes."

"We're not making it out of this apartment in ten minutes."

He stopped in front of her, letting the air stretch between them for a moment. His hand lifted, fingers barely brushing over her collarbone, following the dip of her neckline slowly, reverently. "You've got no idea what this is doing to me."

Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

"I've imagined this," he murmured, voice going rougher. "So many fucking times. You, in a sundress. Looking like spring. Like you're made of sunlight and sweetness and soft little sounds. But this--" His thumb swept just under the swell of her breast, not quite touching but close enough to burn. "You wore this knowing exactly what it would do to me."

She swallowed. "It's just a dress."

He leaned in, breath hot against her ear. "No, sweetheart. It's the dress. And I bet you've got no panties on under it, have you?"

Her breath hitched.

Ryan groaned under his breath. "Fuck."

Before she could answer, he grabbed her waist and lifted her, spinning them around and sitting her on the edge of the dresser. She let out a gasp, the sudden contact shocking and delicious, her legs falling apart instinctively as he stepped between them.

His hands skimmed up her thighs, rougher now, not even pretending to be patient. "Tell me," he said against her throat, "you wore this knowing what I'd do."

Her fingers curled into his shoulders. "I thought about it."

He growled, actually growled, and slid his hands under her dress, dragging the fabric up around her hips. "You thought about me bending you over in it, didn't you?" He pressed his forehead to hers, lips barely brushing. "I've had this fantasy for months. You in something soft and pretty while I fuck the sweetness right out of you."

She whimpered, hips rocking forward. "Ryan--"

"Turn around," he said suddenly, voice almost commanding.

She blinked.

He stepped back, eyes blazing. "Turn around for me, baby. Let me see you."

Breathless, already trembling, she slid off the dresser and turned to face it, bracing her hands on the edge. He stepped in behind her, gathering the fabric of her dress up her thighs, up her waist, until it was bunched around her hips. He dropped to his knees behind her, groaning at the sight.

"Jesus, Autumn."

She felt his lips press to the back of her thigh, slow and hot and open-mouthed. Then again, higher, closer, until he was mouthing at the crease where her thigh met her ass, breathing her in like he was trying to brand the memory of her into his lungs.

"I need you," he murmured against her skin. "Right now."

When he stood, she heard the soft rustle of the towel dropping to the floor. Then the thick, slow sound of him stroking himself behind her. She glanced into the mirror and caught his reflection--jaw clenched, hand working himself at the sight of her bent over in the dress, legs parted. And then he was there, pressing the head of his cock against her entrance, teasing her just enough to make her squirm before he buried himself inside her in one deep, aching thrust. She gasped, gripping the dresser harder.

"Holy fuck," he groaned, his hands finding her hips and anchoring her to him. "You're so wet. You were waiting for this, weren't you?"

"Yes," she moaned. "God, yes--"

He started to move, long and slow at first, dragging it out, letting her feel every inch. "You have no idea what this is doing to me," he panted. "That dress. This view. You letting me take you like this when we're supposed to be out the door--"

She could barely speak. Could only moan and whimper as he picked up his pace, each thrust rocking her against the dresser, her eyes fluttering shut with the force of it. The way he filled her was almost too much--it always was--but this? Him still warm from the shower, her legs shaking beneath her, the soft cotton of the dress brushing her back as he fucked her like she was something to be claimed? It was perfect.

"Look at you," he murmured, his hand sliding around to cup her breast through the fabric. "You're gonna ruin this dress, baby. Gonna come for me and soak it."

"I'm close," she gasped, and he moved faster, the sound of skin on skin getting louder, rougher.

"Come on, then. Let me feel it. Let me feel you fall apart just like this."

She cried out, her orgasm ripping through her hard and sudden. Her body clenched around him, shaking, legs barely holding her up. He followed moments later, slamming deep, voice breaking with a groan that sounded almost like relief. He stayed pressed to her, breathing hard, one hand gripping her hip, the other flat over her stomach, holding her against him as he came.

They stayed there, bodies pressed tight, the air buzzing around them. Eventually he leaned down and kissed her shoulder, slow and lingering.

"I'm never gonna recover from that," he murmured.

She laughed, breathless. "We're really late now."

He turned her gently, brushing the hair off her face. "Worth it."

Her legs wobbled, and he caught her before she could fall. "Shower?" he offered.

She shook her head. "I'll freshen up. You made a mess of me."

His eyes glittered with pride. "I always do."

He cleaned her up with careful hands, then helped her smooth her dress back down. It looked soft and sweet again, like nothing had happened--except the slight flush to her cheeks, the barely-there wobble in her step, and the faint crease in the cotton at her hips.

Ryan kissed her one more time. "You're not getting through brunch without me thinking about this."

"You won't be the only one."