Page 12 of Love in Full Bloom (Zaftig Ever After #2)

CHAPTER EIGHT

BEN

I hold Jasmine's hand as we walk from the botanical garden exhibition back to her apartment.

The evening air carries the scent of night-blooming jasmine—a coincidence that makes me smile.

The conversation at the dogwood bench has cleared the air between us, but there's still something I need to tell her. Something I've been holding back.

"Your paintings were the highlight of the exhibition," I say as we approach her building. "The way they complemented the actual plants... it was perfect."

"Thanks to the curator's placement," she replies, fishing her keys from her purse. "She really understood what I was trying to convey."

I follow her inside, watching as she kicks off her shoes and turns on a small lamp that bathes the room in soft, golden light. She looks beautiful in that green dress, her hair slightly tousled from the evening breeze, her eyes still bright with the excitement of the exhibition's success.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asks, moving toward the kitchen. "Tea? Wine?"

"Actually, there's something I need to tell you first." I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "About how we met."

She turns, her expression curious. "What about it?"

"It wasn't a coincidence." The words come out in a rush. "Me being at your booth that day. I went to the festival specifically to find you."

Jasmine goes still, her brows drawing together. "What do you mean?"

I gesture toward her couch. "Can we sit?"

She nods, and we settle on the small sofa, angled toward each other. I take her hands in mine, gathering my courage.

"My sister Leah didn't just sign me up for the matchmaking service," I explain. "She'd seen your work at a gallery opening last year. She bought one of your wildflower paintings for her office—the chicory, I think. She told Krissa about you, about how your art made her feel."

Jasmine's eyes widen. "So when we met at the festival..."

"Krissa had already told me about you. About your paintings of overlooked wildflowers, about how you see beauty where others don't. She thought we might connect over our different approaches to the natural world.

" I squeeze her hands gently. "I was skeptical, to be honest. But then I saw your work, and it was.

.." I search for the right word. "Revelatory. "

"You knew who I was before I spilled coffee on you?" A small smile plays at her lips.

"I did. But the coffee was definitely not part of the plan."

She laughs softly, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. "So our meeting was... arranged?"

"The introduction was arranged," I clarify. "Everything that happened after was real. Completely real."

I watch her process this information, emotions flickering across her expressive face—surprise, confusion, and something else I can't quite read.

"Why tell me now?" she finally asks.

"Because I don't want any more secrets between us.

Because after our conversation tonight about trust and vulnerability, it felt wrong to keep this from you.

" I release her hands to cup her face gently.

"And because I want you to know that I chose you, Jasmine.

Even before we met, something about you called to me. "

Her eyes search mine. "You're not disappointed? Now that you know the real me, with all my insecurities and doubts?"

"Disappointed?" I shake my head, incredulous. "Jasmine, you're extraordinary. Your ability to see beauty in overlooked places, your emotional courage in expressing what most people miss, your resilience in pursuing your vision despite doubts—these aren't flaws. They're what make you remarkable."

I take a deep breath, knowing it's time to lay everything bare.

"When I look at my life before you, I see structure without soul. Technical excellence without heart. I was creating landscapes that looked perfect but felt empty." My thumb traces the curve of her cheek. "You've shown me what was missing. Not just in my work, but in my life."

A tear escapes, trailing down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb.

"You paint wildflowers because you see their worth when others dismiss them as weeds. I see you, Jasmine. All of you. Your passion, your doubts, your whimsy, your strength. And I'm not just captivated—I'm falling in love with every part."

Her breath catches. "Ben..."

"You don't have to say anything. I just needed you to know?—"

She cuts me off by pressing her lips to mine, her hands sliding up to tangle in my hair.

This kiss is different from our previous ones—deeper, more urgent, filled with newfound certainty.

I pull her closer, one hand at the small of her back, the other cradling her head.

She tastes like wine and possibility, and I lose myself in the sensation of her body against mine.

When we finally part, her eyes are dark with desire, the emerald flecks almost glowing in the dim light.

"Stay," she whispers against my lips. "Stay tonight."

The simple request sends heat coursing through me. "Are you sure?"

In answer, she stands and takes my hand, leading me toward her bedroom.

The space is as vibrant as the rest of her apartment, with flowing curtains in jewel tones, a patchwork quilt in shades of green and blue covering the bed, small paintings of wildflowers adorning the walls. It's unmistakably Jasmine.

She turns to face me, suddenly shy despite her boldness moments ago. I step forward, closing the distance between us, and kiss her again, slowly this time, savoring the soft sigh that escapes her lips. My hands find the zipper of her dress, pausing there.

"Is this okay?" I murmur against her neck.

"Yes," she breathes, turning slightly to give me better access.

I lower the zipper with deliberate slowness, pressing kisses to each inch of skin revealed.

The dress pools at her feet, leaving her in simple, lacy underwear that makes my mouth go dry.

I take a moment just to look at her—the generous curves, the softness of her skin in the lamplight, the constellation of freckles across her shoulders.

"You're beautiful," I tell her, meaning it more than I've ever meant anything.

Her hands reach for the buttons of my shirt, fingers trembling slightly. "I want to see you too."

I let her undress me, watching her eyes darken as she reveals my chest, my shoulders, my arms. When her fingers trail down my stomach to my belt, I catch her wrist, bringing her hand to my lips.

"No rush," I say softly. "We have all night."

I lead her to the bed, laying her down gently against the pillows. She looks up at me with such trust, such openness, that my heart constricts with emotion. I stretch out beside her, propped on one elbow, and trace the curve of her collarbone with my fingertips.

"I want to memorize every inch of you," I murmur, following my fingers with my lips.

She arches into my touch, her breath quickening as I explore the softness of her skin, the fullness of her breasts, the dip of her waist. I take my time, learning what makes her sigh, what makes her gasp, what makes her whisper my name like a prayer.

When I finally remove her bra, the sight of her nearly undoes me. I lower my head to taste her, drawing a nipple into my mouth, circling it with my tongue until she moans and threads her fingers through my hair, holding me closer.

"Ben," she breathes, her hips rising to meet mine instinctively.

I trail kisses down her stomach, savoring the softness of her skin, the slight curve of her belly. When I reach the edge of her panties, I look up, seeking permission. She nods, lifting her hips to help as I slide them down her legs.

"You too," she insists, tugging at my remaining clothes.

I stand to remove them, feeling her eyes on me as I strip bare. When I return to her, the feeling of skin against skin is electrifying. I capture her mouth again, our bodies pressed together from chest to thigh, nothing between us now.

My hand slides between her legs, finding her wet and ready. She gasps against my mouth as I touch her, learning the rhythm that makes her clutch at my shoulders, her nails leaving half-moons in my skin.

"Please," she whispers, her voice breaking. "I need you."

As I position myself between her thighs, I pause, memorizing this moment—her auburn hair spread across the pillow, her lips swollen from my kisses, her eyes dark with desire but still flecked with that remarkable emerald green.

"I love you," I tell her, needing her to know before we take this final step.

Her eyes fill with tears, but she's smiling. "I love you too."

I enter her slowly, watching her face as our bodies join.

The sensation is overwhelming—not just the physical pleasure, but the emotional connection, the feeling of barriers finally falling away completely.

We move together in perfect rhythm, her body rising to meet mine, her legs wrapping around my waist to draw me deeper.

"Ben," she gasps, her head falling back as I hit a spot that makes her shudder. "Right there."

I maintain the angle, increasing my pace slightly as her breathing quickens. Her hands roam my back, my shoulders, my arms—touching, claiming, connecting. I lower my head to kiss her neck, her collarbone, the sensitive spot behind her ear that makes her moan.

When I feel her beginning to tighten around me, I slip a hand between us, circling her clit with my thumb. She cries out, her back arching off the bed.

"Let go," I whisper against her ear. "I've got you."

She shatters beautifully, her body trembling, her inner muscles pulsing around me as she calls my name. The sight of her coming undone pushes me over the edge, and I follow her into ecstasy, burying my face in her neck as release crashes through me.

Afterward, we lie tangled together, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. The connection between us feels stronger than ever, deepened by our physical joining.

"That was..." she begins, then laughs softly. "I don't even have words, and I'm supposed to be the artistic one."

I press a kiss to her forehead. "I know exactly what you mean."

She props herself up on one elbow, studying my face with a new confidence in her expression. "So you knew about me before we met."

"I knew about your work," I clarify. "I didn't know you—your laugh, your passion, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're thinking, how your eyes change color with your emotions."

"And now?"

"Now I know enough to be certain I want to know more. Everything, actually."

Her smile is radiant. "I want that too."

She settles back against my chest, and I pull the quilt over us, creating a cocoon of warmth and intimacy. Outside, the night deepens, but here in this bed, wrapped in each other's arms, something new is beginning to bloom—something with both strong roots and the freedom to grow wild.

"Ben?" she murmurs, her voice heavy with approaching sleep.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for seeing me. The real me."

I tighten my arms around her, overwhelmed with tenderness. "Always."

As her breathing evens out in sleep, I remain awake a little longer, savoring the weight of her against me, the scent of her hair, the feeling of absolute rightness that has settled in my chest. Whatever grows between us will have the best of both our worlds: her wildness and my structure, her passion and my patience, her creativity and my precision.

Like the perfect garden, balanced and beautiful in its harmonious contrasts.