Burning Flowers Read online

  Burning Flowers

  June Beyoki

  Copyright 2015 June Beyoki

  All rights reserved

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  About June Beyoki

  Acknowledgements

  To Michael whom I cherish and love always,

  and to my children, David and Crystal, who make life wonderful.

  Prologue

  Clarke's childhood was defined by a mystery absentee father and a harsh mother. Now in her 30s, she is virtually emotionally unavailable and high strung, still trying to please her mother by finding success in the flower business. Her only comfort is in the many men she has few fleeting moments with.

  After a fire threatens to ruin her flower shop, she meets a carefree young man named Vince. At first, his personality irritates her, but he comes in handy when her mother shows up at the store to snoop around.

  Chapter One

  Clarke Bennett ran her fingers through her hair, twirling her Shirley Temple curls around her index finger. At only seven years old she was already beautiful with long lashes, perfect blonde curls and bright blue eyes. She’d heard people tell her she was going to grow up to look like an old world movie star like Marilyn Monroe or Bette Davis. But for some reason, her mother would always get mad at that and tell people if they kept it up Clarke would get a big head.

  Clarke skipped around the house while her mother unpacked. They had just moved to a new home from their dingy old apartment after her mother landed some big job. She’d been a lawyer for years, but now she got a break at a big trial firm. Clarke was already loving all the space at the new place, but her mother kept shooting her dirty looks. At any point Clarke expected her to yell and make her stop skipping around and messing with her hair. If there was anything her mother hated more than anything it was tom foolery.

  Clarke skipped her way into the master bedroom where her mother’s things were sitting in boxes everywhere other than the few clothes that were laid out on the bed. She smelled of the perfumes and shampoos in the box next to her mother’s vanity, and then ran her fingers across the soft materials of her mother’s dresses. Her mother seemed to collect expensive and beautiful things, but she was pretty much never allowed to touch them.

  Clarke sat down on the floor in front of one of the boxes and began unpacking it, hoping that it might make her mother happy to see her helping out. The box was mostly jewelry and odds and ends her mother kept on her nightstand. Clarke carefully put everything away where she knew her mother had kept them at the apartment. She knew her mother was going to be so surprised and pleased when she saw Clarke had put away all her things.

  Then, at the bottom of the box, Clarke found a gold picture frame with an old photo in it. She had to blow off the dust to make anything out. It was a picture of a couple standing in front of a large ferris wheel, like at a carnival. As Clarke squinted, she realized the woman in the photo was a younger version of her mother. The woman had a smile on her face like Clarke had never seen, and her hair was down to her shoulder instead of in the short boyish cut she kept it in now.

  Next to her was a tall, happy-looking man who had his arm around her. He had blonde hair and blue eyes just like Clarke. She instantly knew it must be a picture of her father. She’d always wondered about him, but she’d never had the courage to ask.

  She picked up the picture and skipped back into the living room where she found her mother setting up a bookshelf they’d bought from the thrift store. “Mama, mama!” she called in excitement. “Look what I found.”

  Her mother wiped sweat off her brow and looked at Clarke with frustration. “Clarke, can’t you see I’m busy?” she asked harshly, but Clarke passed her the photo anyway.

  “Is this my daddy?” Clarke pointed to the man in the photo, and she saw her mother’s expression change just for a moment before it went sour again. Her mother stayed silent for a moment like she hoped Clarke would go away or maybe the question would answer itself. But Clarke stood her ground, shaking the photo at her. So, her mother snatched the photo away and threw it in a pile of trash she was keeping to her right.

  “He was a quitter, Clarke,” she said matter-of-factly, not even looking up at her daughter when she did. She still hadn’t admitted for sure that it was her father.

  “I look like him,” Clarke said quietly.

  “Well, then you better change it. He’s not the kind of man you want anything in common with,” her mother spat at her.

  Clarke couldn’t stop the tears from running down her cheeks at her mother’s words, but her mother ignored it. “Forget about it, Clarke. This is a new life here, and we’re never looking back. We’re going to be important here, and it’s all because I worked hard to get here. So wipe those up and hold your head high. Things are going to change around here.” As Mrs. Bennett spoke, she looked up as if she was seeing something that wasn’t there; a dream of a future that she’d always wanted. One that her own daughter didn’t seem to fit into.

  Chapter Two

  ***26 years later***

  Clarke looked at the man in front of her and let a sly grin spread across her face. She ran her hand down his bare chest all the way down to his bellybutton before running her fingers through his thick black hair. She circled him, her fingertip just barely trailing along his skin while she licked her lips.

  Then, she stood before him in her pink lace panties and bra before slowly removing them, putting on a show for him. Her C cups spilled out into the open, and she watched as his eyes bounced with them before she reached down to hook her thumbs in each side of her panties to slide them to the floor. She kicked them off to land at his feet and stood before him with her pink skin completely bare.

  There was a look of both lust and a slight buzz in his eyes from the wine they’d consumed as she pressed her body up against him. The warmth of their heat made her shiver before she pulled away.

  She bit her bottom lip suggestively before climbing into the bed and sliding backward, never losing eye contact. She spread her legs, giving him a great view. Then, he followed her to the bed on his knees like a puppy dog on a leash. Clarke pulled up on her elbows to glance at his long shaft standing at attention for her. He positioned himself on his knees between her legs, moving his fingers to explore her thighs and stroke her throbbing clit.

  Clarke closed her eyes as the muscular man in front of her slid his hard cock into her wet pussy. She felt an instant release, and it was so comforting to be under someone’s strong body like that; in a man’s arms being taken care of in the best way possible. She moaned as he slammed his cock relentlessly into her, hitting her g-spot with precision and digging deeper, filling her up. Her tits slapped against her chest as he continuously rocked her body back and forth, sending sheets rumbled
to the floor as her curly hair was made staticky by sliding up and down on the pillow.

  He placed his hands under her buttocks and lifted her hips, forcing her ass and legs into the air as he wrapped her legs around him. He squeezed her buttocks and slammed his hard cock deeper inside of her repeatedly until her moaned loudly. “Oh god!” she called out over and over as the thrusting caused the headboard to creek and bang up against the wall.

  The man grunted and panted as her pussy began to squeeze tightly around him, choking his hard member as she began to reach her climax. The wave of pleasure came up her shaking legs into her thighs until it reached its height in her center, pulsating inside of her.

  “Oh shit!” the man called out, getting to that point himself. Then, he slowly pulled out of her and rolled over on his back, panting. Clarke lay down next to him at the edge of the bed, covering up with the sheet.

  Sex has been the best stress relief for Clarke as it gave her a sense of empowerment over the feeling of self-worthlessness instilled by her mother. Her mother has never proud of Clarke and whatever she does has never ever been good enough.

  ***

  Clarke walked down the aisle with flower petals at her feet. She looked down, trying not to trip on her long gown in her high white heels. It was easier said than done, but she tried her very best not to wobble or lose her balance. Everything about her wedding day was perfect. The chairs were all white and decorated with yellow and orange flowers, and every single person had walked down the aisle to the music at just the right pace. The whole thing was evenly spaced. But as she got to the end, she realized the man standing there was completely faceless. She couldn’t tell if he was excited to see her or if he was about to object to their union.

  But she shook it off and finished the walk, standing there facing the unknown man. She could feel the perfect even smile on her face as she looked at the hole where his face should be. The preacher stepped up and asked who gave her away to the man. She waited patiently, but no one stood up for her.

  The preacher leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Where’s your father, dear?” The old man smelled strongly of earwax, but his voice was sweet. It was what he asked that made a fear come over her like never before.

  “I don’t have one,” she admitted, looking around, feeling the heat of embarrassment on her face. “He left when I was a baby.” She wasn’t sure why she said that out loud, but maybe it would make her look less at fault for not having anyone to give her away.

  “Surely you have a mother then, dear. I’m sure she could do the job just fine,” the man said, looking around as if her mother would just appear and make it all better. But if Clarke knew anything, she knew her mother would only make things worse.

  “No, please, there must be another way,” Clarke begged, looking apologetically at the crowd. “Can’t I just give myself away?” And then Clarke saw her and froze. She would give up anything not to deal with her. Mrs. Bennett was so angry she had begun morphing into a half dragon, half human creature of some kind, and fire was spewing from her nostrils. That was the moment Clarke knew it was dream, but it didn’t make it any less terrifying as the woman stomped towards her.

  ***

  Clarke woke up in a cold sweat and looked around to see the one story, brick house she’d worked so hard to afford surrounding her. She turned to her right and scooped up the clothes she’d set out for herself the night before and began pulling them on one piece at a time.

  It wasn’t the first dream she’d had like that, and she knew if she told anyone they’d probably tell her she needed to see a therapist. But she knew for sure that a therapist couldn’t handle her problems. They’d run away screaming. Besides, Clarke was more than aware of what her flaws were; she didn’t need someone with a degree in sympathy for crazy people listing them for her. One day, they’d either work themselves out, or she’d be the cat lady that all the little kids were scared of.

  She tiptoed into her bedroom and went to the vanity that bridged the gap between the bathroom and the main part of the bedroom. She flipped on the switch to her straightener and went to find some shoes in the closet. After her dream she was totally over heels, so she just settled for some flats. She didn’t feel short enough to worry about that kind of thing anyway.

  Clarke looked at herself critically in the mirror as she tried, with no success, to straighten her large curls. She had been trying to get rid of them for years, but they just kept coming back like a family of cockroaches after the apocalypse. She wanted to stomp around in frustration like she sometimes did, but she didn’t want to wake her house guest. So, she just scowled at herself in the mirror. Then, she quickly straightened her face out, remembering how scowling could give her wrinkles way earlier than she was ready for them. She spent hundreds of dollars and several hours in the morning to keep her 33-year-old-self looking ten years younger. There was no reason to ruin it in one fit of frustration.

  She grabbed her makeup kit and riffled through it until she found just what she needed; all 12 items. To some it may have seemed extreme, but Clarke knew the importance of perfection especially now that she owned her own business. If her mother had taught her absolutely nothing else, it was that.

  As she drew on her perfect face she caught her bed in the corner of the mirror and saw a lump in it tossing and turning. She’d met that one at the grocery store the day before when she went to pick up some tofu. She thought his name was Steve or Stephen or something like that. She couldn’t quite remember. They had ended up going out for dinner and then he came home with her.

  Clarke had managed to get a couple orgasms out of the guy after a bottle of wine, but then he passed out and began snoring. She had spent most of the night on her couch, avoiding the train-like sound. Now, in the light of day, she just wanted him out of her house. But she wasn’t about to wake him up and risk him asking her to have breakfast with him or another date. She was going to stick to her usual modus operandi.

  She placed the final touches on her cheeks and lips before making sure everything was straightened out with her black and pink pant suit. She huffed at the lump on her bed before leaving the room to go to her office and grab a piece of paper and pen.

  “Lock up on your way out.”

  That was all she wrote on the paper, and she took it into the bedroom and laid it on top of the pillow on her side of the bed as quickly and quietly as possible. The guy better be gone before she got back; that was all she cared about the matter.

  She went around every room, making sure all the lights were turned off before stepping out the door and slamming it shut. It probably woke up her snoring guest, but that was probably a good thing. Otherwise, he might never leave.

  Clarke climbed in her gold car and adjusted the mirrors; giving herself another quick look in the mirror to be sure no piece of hair had gone astray in the wind. Things like that might not have seemed like a big deal to others, but it was to her. For her, it was part of professionalism to look her best.

  She pulled out of the driveway with purpose, not wasting another moment. She needed to get her coffee and get to work. She was already running late, which she always seemed to be, but then she always made it there early anyway. It was a routine that perplexed her just enough to frustrate her.

  She barreled down the road, weaving in and out of traffic. In that way, Richmond and New York City couldn’t be too far off from each other. There always seemed to be some delay and some reason for a line of thousands of cars constantly tapping on their brakes. So, she had adapted a way of driving that got her from point A to point B much more efficiently than the rest of the drivers on the road. Though, she did get several honks and rude gestures.

  Sometimes, if she was bad tempered that day, she would honk back or even roll down her window and say something that would make a sailor blush. Anger was the easiest emotion for her; always had been. She had probably gotten that from her mother; the angriest person she’d ever met. But she somehow maintained these soft and silly looks s
o that people often mistook her for easy prey. Usually, people only made that mistake once, though, before learning their lesson.

  She cut off an older couple in Lexus and then a couple of trucks that could probably squish her in less than a minute. Clarke began mumbling under her breath in frustration at how the world was today, which was consequentially how it seemed to be every day.

  Finally, she made it to her favorite coffee shop which was just a few steps away from her business. There was a sudden calm that came over her as she got out of her car and walked towards the familiar shop to pick up her morning cup of coffee. It was a familiarity that always made her feel at home.

  Chapter Three

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Elizabeth Bennett of the 21st century,” came a voice dragging through the coffee shop as Clarke walked in. She had been going to that coffee shop every morning for three months, and the staff had gotten to know her pretty well. They thought it was funny to call her that because they thought she was stubborn like that. It was probably because one of the baristas kept hitting on her, but she kept turning him down.

  She walked up to the counter where the barista in question was sweeping the floor. He bumped the other cashier over to take her order. His name shined at her on his badge, catching her eye and making it burn with the glare. It read “Joe” in all caps. “So, what can I get for you today, ma’am?” he said with a wink.

  Clarke looked at him with her hands on her hips for a second. She always got the same thing, but he still asked her every morning anyway. Sometimes, he would even offer to surprise her with some new combination that she would love. But she would always stick to her soy chai latte. It kept her calm, yet awake.

  “The usual, Joe, please.”

  “One usual, coming up for Clarke!” Joe called to a young female Clarke had also seen about a million times. She was the only one that stayed silent and minded her own business in that place. But if she were honest, Clarke wouldn’t have it any other way. It had become a comforting part of her routine to have the staff at the coffee shop mess with her.