Romford Rose
"Florist Adaeze creates the most beautiful arrangements in Essex. When delivery driver Emeka brings the wrong flowers on her busiest day, she shows him exactly how he can make it up to her."
Valentine's Day was madness in any flower shop, but in Adaeze's boutique, it was warfare. She had thirty orders to fill and a delivery driver who'd brought pink roses instead of red.
"How could you make this mistake?" she shouted, waving the invoice at him. "I specifically ordered—"
Then she actually looked at him.
The delivery driver was tall, dark-skinned, with shoulders that strained his uniform shirt and a face that could launch a thousand ships—or sink them.
"I'm sorry, ma," he said, his accent pure Lagos. "The warehouse must have switched them. I can go back—"
"No time. Just—" She exhaled. "Help me salvage this. You know anything about flowers?"
His name was Emeka, and he knew nothing about flowers. But he learned fast, following her instructions as they worked to fill orders with what they had. By 6 PM, they'd survived the rush.
"You saved me today," Adaeze said, handing him a bottle of water. "Even though you caused the problem."
"I feel bad. Let me make it up to you. Dinner?"
She looked at him—really looked. Sweat glistened on his dark skin, muscles visible where his sleeves were rolled up. He was beautiful.
"The shop's a mess. I can't leave it like this."
"Then I'll help you clean. And after... dinner."
They cleaned in companionable silence, but Adaeze felt his eyes on her constantly. She was wearing a fitted dress that showed her Nigerian curves—hips that her mother called "childbearing," breasts that made finding proper bras a challenge.
"You keep looking at me," she said finally.
"Can you blame me? You're the most beautiful flower in this shop."
She laughed. "That's a terrible line."
"But it worked. You're smiling."
He was right. She was.
She didn't know who kissed who first—only that suddenly they were tangled together between the roses and the lilies, his hands exploring her curves while she tore at his shirt.
"We shouldn't," she breathed.
"Tell me to stop."
She couldn't. Wouldn't.
He lifted her onto the worktable, scattering petals everywhere. His mouth found her neck while his hands pushed up her dress, revealing her thick thighs.
"So beautiful," he murmured. "Every part of you."
He took his time with her, which drove her insane. His mouth traced down her body, worshipping her breasts before moving lower. When his tongue found her center, she nearly screamed.
"Yes... oh God, yes..."
He was skilled and patient, reading her body like she read flower arrangements—understanding what went where, what made things bloom. She came against his mouth, hard, her hands gripping the table edge.
But that was just the beginning.
"I need you inside me," she gasped. "Now."
He obliged, entering her slowly, filling her completely. Her thick legs wrapped around him as he began to move.
"Emeka... oh..."
They made love among the flowers, petals sticking to their sweaty skin, the scent of roses mixing with the musk of their bodies. She came twice more before he finally let himself go, both of them crying out in the empty shop.
Afterward, they lay on the floor, using his uniform shirt as a pillow, surrounded by scattered blooms.
"So," he said, "about that dinner..."
Adaeze laughed. "I think we skipped a few steps."
"Does that mean you're not hungry?"
"Starving. But..." She climbed on top of him, feeling him stir back to life. "Dinner can wait."
Emeka grinned. "Best delivery I ever made."
"Best mistake I ever received."
Her Romford rose had bloomed unexpectedly. And Adaeze intended to tend to it very, very carefully.