Lavande - Jane/Maura (complete)

If I had a dollar for every time Jane spoke to me from behind lowered lashes; her voice thick with desire as her hands clench against the bedclothes, I’d have exactly one hundred and thirty seven dollars.

One hundred and thirty eight, if you count right now.

“Maur.” She grinds out my name slowly, as if she’s taking a long and languid drink for a cold fountain on a hot summer day. I know exactly what she wants from me, and a small piece of my heart breaks, understanding the ache that she surely must feel.

I move my tongue once, and she shudders against me. It is divine.

When I was young, I had the advantage to summer in Europe with my parents. We rented a house in the south of France for a week and while they were entertaining friends one afternoon they put me on a bus filled with elderly Japanese tourists. I had a six hour ride tour of the countryside and by the time I returned home, I was fluent in Japanese.

I couldn’t believe the beauty of the southern French farmland. There were fields of lavender bordered by sunflowers, and the contrast of the yellow-highlighted purple fields against the bright blue sky was like nothing I’d ever seen.

I’ve always considered that to be the most beautiful sight in the world. That is, until I witnessed the expression on Jane’s face when my tongue is sliding against her very core. Lavender and sunflowers have nothing on her.

Her fingers wind through my hair tightly, pulling me against her. It is now, in these small moments of vulnerability when she can’t control her need for me that I love her most. Is she aware that she chews on the corner of her mouth and furrows her brow when she needs me to move slightly to the left? I oblige, and her long hands tighten their grip on my head, holding me in place, as a guttural moan escapes her throat.

I couldn’t move if I wanted to. She is far stronger than I am, the mornings at the gym leaving her with an impressive set of biceps. Although she is slender, she has a high percentage of lean muscle mass, and I’ve seen her handle much larger suspects with ease.

If she were anyone else, I’d forcibly smack at their hands and tell them to go fuck themselves. I have never been one to enjoy being told what to do, in any circumstance.

Everything is different with Jane. I take her powerful hold on me as a compliment. I eagerly take commands from her in many different situations, the bedroom being one of them.

However, I never let her forget who is really in charge. With a flick of my tongue, or in this case, a cease movement of said tongue, I could have her in the palm of my hand. She would be quivering and anxious to do as I please in order to get her reward. This exciting knowledge causes me to increase my motions even more and soon she is grunting my name in a feral chant.

She is finer than any vintage in France. Heady and slightly sweet, I enjoy how her flavor lingers on my tongue as I bring her to climax.

When her fingers release my hair, I slowly kiss my way up her long body until I am resting in the curve of her neck. She pulls me toward her, her other hand grasping for the blankets. I help her, and pull the lavender-scented throw around both of us.

Flashing a sunny smile at me, I am once again transported to the French countryside. Someday I will take her there, and we will sit in a field overlooking the walled city of Carcassonne and eat Sushi.