Blue Dragonfly

By Lilith Wes

The last thing on Iris’s mind when she moves back home to Mendocino after her divorce is love, but something unexpected happens after she meets Victor. She hires him to help her sort out the long neglected yard around the old bungalow and finds a spirited kindness about him that she has never encountered before. As their summer together draws to a close, Iris finds herself more than open to her beautiful young friend’s advances one night, but by the time she realizes Victor is in love with her, the difference in their ages causes her to question their entire relationship.
Will Iris go with her true nature and make the logical decision to set him free, or will she finally learn to be in the moment and trust her heart?
Blue Dragonfly is a sweet tale of first love and the willingness to love again. Plus lots and lots of hot explicit sex. Happy reading!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lilith Wes
• Release date: Feb 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310580482

Lilith Wes

Lilith Wes lives in a little village on the East Coast with her husband, baby girl, one orange cat with spatial relations issues, and one cuddly pup named Frank. She graduated from Tyler School of Art with a degree in photography, and writes in addition to her lens jockeying because she loves to tell stories. Her chosen path is erotica/smut, but that isn’t to say that one day she won’t write something else.

Book preview

Blue Dragonfly

An Erotic Romance

By Lilith Wes

First Smashwords Edition © 2015 Lilith Wes

Book Cover Design By Megan Davis

Editing By Megan Adams

Formatting and Beverage Support By Kelly Light

License Notes:

All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be reproduced in any other than that in which it was purchased and without the written permission of the author. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Mature Content:

This book contains sexually explicit material, and is intended only for persons over the age of 18.

Summer

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Fall

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Winter

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Spring

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Summer

One

My divorce was finalized last month, just days before I moved back home to be near my parents. It was a simple transition, the love lost had been equal on both sides: mine, yours, all the best. When I found the small bungalow on the hillside just north of Mendocino, I knew it was the perfect post-disaster recuperative hide-a-way that any thirty-six year old woman could hope for. Mooshie and I would be happy all alone as we licked our wounds, read good books, drank coffee, and lots of wine.

Luck was also present when I found a position at the Mendocino Coast Hospital, which was within 15 minutes of my childhood home in Fort Bragg. It wasn’t the ideal shift, five twelve-hour days, but it would do until I accumulated some seniority and reapplied for something with fewer hours in the future. My parents were thrilled to have me back and, particularly after the events of the past year, I was glad too. It had been a long seven years in the Bay Area and I was more than happy to be rid of my ex, the traffic, and the demands of a large hospital. I needed a slower pace. I needed quiet, the ocean, and a sense of self. I needed to be alone for a good long while.

The small house I’d purchased with the initial financial split from Bruce was unruly at best. Long years of neglect had affected the grounds, but the house itself was basically in good condition. Small and affordable by California standards, I’d made an offer after the first look. I knew it needed work, but the foundation was sound and like me, we both just needed some care and would be back on our feet in no time.

Mooshie, on the other hand, was not impressed with our newfound digs and preceded to complain loudly, as loudly as a cat can, at the unfairness of it all. He was pissed too that my new work schedule was 60 hours per week, which left him little time on a warm lap in the evenings. I knew we would both adjust; it would just take time.

When I initially heard about Victor, I had gone to my parent’s house to help them with a few chores and a late dinner. He was the only son of a local family that had immigrated to the US from Eastern Russia about twenty odd years ago. Victor’s father, Kazimir, had been here on a teaching visa as a guest professor at Berkley accompanied by his wife and they had never returned. My mother was fuzzy in the details of how they ended up in Fort Bragg, but her praise for the Lukov family was nothing but enthusiastic. My father had gotten Kazimir a job at the community college in Mendocino as a professor in the mechanical drafting department, and most recently replaced him as department chair when my father retired. Soon after, they hired Victor to come over a few hours on the weekends to help with the outside work, as my father’s back would no longer permit such indulgences.

During dinner, I asked my mother if she thought Victor might be available to help me make sense of the unruly jungle that sat shiva outside my new abode day and night. She seemed sure he could and would give him my number when he came over on Saturday.

Sure enough, the following week, a kind male voice rang me with a subtle Russian accent asking if I needed help this summer. He seemed easy, his demeanor on the phone nothing but courteous and pleasant as we set up a work date for the coming Saturday afternoon.

I had no pants on when the doorbell rang, my brain still trying to catch up with the second cup of coffee I was drinking. The toll of sixty hours was something that would take some getting used to and it was hard to rouse myself before eleven on Saturday mornings. I'd eased into the old wooden kitchen chair wearing nothing but an old t-shirt and underwear, book in hand, thinking I had at least another hour before Victor arrived. I was mistaken. The clock read 12:13 pm when the bell jarred me, making Mooshie run yowling to the bedroom, insulted that our first and only alone time that week was being interrupted by an unknown entity at the front door.

He shouldn’t be here for another 45 minutes, I thought looking down at the thick, pale flesh spread wide, filling the seat. The lack of pants was the first problem I needed to overcome. I grabbed a throw off the back of the couch and wrapped it around my waist, hoping I didn’t look as disheveled as I felt. As the door swung wide, I was surprised to see my young helper, eager and smiling standing on the front step.

Victor, you’re early, I stuttered, more acutely aware of my pantless-ness and thin t-shirt as my eyes recognized how uniquely cute he was. His hair was dark and thick, the ends curled as they fell at his neckline, framing his wide oval face. Please come in, I offered opening the screen door and standing aside like the Royal Highness of England was coming into my unorganized and messy abode.

I’m sorry to be so early, Victor said softly. I got done at your parents' house and didn’t look at the time. Oh, and before I forget, your mother already paid me for an extra hour for you. She wanted me to be sure to tell you, he added looking unobtrusively at my strange outfit before casting his eyes downward.

No, no, its fine, Victor. I was being lazy after a long week at work and just didn’t expect you so soon.

He bowed his head, revealing a long, thin scrape on his face, making my caretaker instinct kick in.

You have a cut, on your cheek. Did you get it at my parents' house? I asked, my feet taking a step towards him.

Yes, maybe, I took some branches down on the trees in the front this morning, but it doesn’t hurt.

Instinctively, my hand reached out towards the injury as he instinctively backed up.

Ms. Allard, please, I’m fine, he smiled trying to reassure me.

I know you are, just let me put a little antibiotic cream on it so it doesn’t get infected.

Your mother said you were a nurse.

Is that all she told you about me? I laughed directing him towards the bathroom. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you my entire life story.

She may have told me a little more, but nothing very personal, he chuckled as I nudged him with one hand towards the small room at the end of the hall.

No doubt, I sighed as my other hand shored up the blanket around my waist as not to embarrass him with an unwanted appearance of my naked lower half. Let me throw on something a little more secure and I’ll see to that cut, I said disappearing into the bedroom.

Scanning the floor, I found a pair of running shorts that had never seen a day of running in their life and threw those on. My shirt was fine, but only if Victor didn’t look too hard. The outline of my small breasts was sure to be visible through the thin fabric, but then again, why would he be looking? I was far older than him and even though I’d basically taken good care of myself, things were starting to shift. Grabbing a rubber band, I tied my thick light brown hair back and gave my face a quick check to make sure there were no remnants from breakfast lingering. Nothing too amiss, I noted before returning to my helper.

Victor was standing in front of the mirror considering a bottle of wrinkle cream in his hand when I walked in.

Here, have a seat and I’ll have you fixed up in no time, I motioned to the toilet before digging through the basket on the shelf.

Victor seemed nonplussed as he watched me struggle, his eyes and smile bright as I burrowed in vain.

How long have you lived here?

A little over a month, I answered, finally pulling the tube from the basket. I squeezed the cream onto my finger before applying it to the long thin scratch on his upper cheek. At this point I was only a few inches away and the smell of fresh air and sandalwood pushed its way inside my nose making me want to lean in further. I didn’t, instead, taking a step back pretending to examine the cut, the proximity to such youthful energy and beauty slightly disconcerting. He looked up at me, eyes locking onto mine. I had noticed them earlier, the light brown irises in the brightness of the doorway, but now they looked darker, thicker, set wide above the lean nose.

I moved back here after my divorce to be near my parents, but you already know that, I joked, a quick smile from him confirming the knowledge.

Your mother said you wanted to come home.

How long has your family been in California? I can still detect an accent, were you raised here?

I was, my family came from Russia and soon after, I was born.

So, technically, you’re a US citizen? My mother explained a little about your family to me, but I’m afraid I don’t know all the details.

Yes, you are correct, but there are times I wish to see Russia. He paused, glancing down at his rough hands. My parents glorify it at times and it leaves me unsure of why they have stayed here, if they miss home so much.

I’m sure you’re right, they probably just miss parts of their old life, came the succinct reply. I had no desire to become so familiar so quickly with this young man. I just needed help with the yard to get it under control, not a friend, comrade or confidant in any way.

There, that should keep it from getting infected, I said, throwing the ointment back in the basket. I just need to change and then we can get started.

Victor looked confused. You don’t have to help me.

I know, I just thought this first day it would do me some good to go out with you and see what needs to be done. My mother said you know what you’re doing and if you have any suggestions, please tell me. I’m a nurse, not a landscaper.

Victor nodded in agreement, an easy smile on his lips. I lead him into the kitchen and bade him to have a seat. Let me get you something to drink before we start. What would you like? I asked getting a glass out of the cupboard.

Water is fine.

I have juice and coffee too.

No, water is good. I drink coffee sometimes and vodka, but mostly water.

I filled the glass full and let him sit while I went to change. A few minutes later I returned to the kitchen only to find him reading my book. He didn’t notice me at first, the thick fingers on his right hand holding my place as he read.

I waited a long minute before alerting him to my presence.

He looked up, setting the book carefully down as he rose. Sorry, he said quietly. I read that book my first semester, it was very good.

What’s your major? I asked wondering who would read Louise Erdrich, Love Machine, besides a student of English Literature.

Language and communications, it’s a liberal arts degree he said with that lovely slight accent. "But I like The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse better," he stated as if he were a 40 year old man with a lifetime of experience behind him.

Really? How old are you exactly? I inquired making him blush.

I turned twenty-one about two months ago and am starting my second year at The Redwoods in the fall. I want to teach, like my father, just in something that is fun and not so intense as mechanical drafting.

I laughed, understanding immediately his concern about being stuck for a lifetime of something that holds no promise of fun. It was good to be single.

I went into nursing because I wanted to help people, but there are times I wonder if that’s what I’m really supposed to do in this life.

If you don’t find it too personal, may I ask how old you are?

I balked momentarily, but in reality I didn’t care. I was as old as I was and glad for the lack of stupidity acquired in my life experiences.

I’m thirty-six and no, I don’t find it all that personal a question. To be honest, I’ve never really understood why women get so upset about getting older. I’m glad I’m not as stupid as I used to be. Instantly, I regretted referring to youth as being ignorant, but Victor just laughed, shaking his head.

My mother says something similar to that.

Well, your mother is a very wise woman. We should meet someday, I jested glad that no offense was taken.

You should, I’m pretty sure she would like your spirit.

The words struck me as strange. My spirit? Granted, I’d always felt assured and confident in my view of the world, but lately, with the marriage ending, the move, and the thought of my parents in their final years, my spirit felt a little stamped on. I didn’t feel broken, just a little bruised, and as I watched him head towards the front door, my spirit felt a little lighter for the recognition it had just received, even if it was from someone so young.

Two

As I found out quickly, Victor wasn’t one for standing around. He immediately assessed the jungle that was trying to consume the small pale colored bungalow and set to work. We started around back by the patio, working quietly in each other’s company as Victor gave clear concise orders of our business for the day. I didn’t mind. I was tired from my long week at the hospital and glad to have someone else making the decisions for a few hours.

The past year it felt like all I did was think and rethink every decision, every idea or thought that ran through my addled brain and this was a nice change. I stood and watched as he efficiently cut the lower branches off an ancient hemlock tree, freeing its spirit a little, as well as clearing a path for the sun to reach the foundation of the house. When he rose, I saw the muscles under his t-shirt, the thickness of his forearms that told of his physical labor beyond the mental exertion of reading books. He was about five foot ten inches to my five and a half feet, with a long torso supported by solid legs hidden beneath his jeans. I could see Victor was in the thickening process, as I called it, when the lean, gangly physicality of the teenager gives way to the start of a man’s body; shoulders broadening, middle condensing, the flesh taking on the learning of the world as it steps into true adulthood. Yes, he was definitely nice to look at, I thought as he turned smiling, arms full of branches.

After three hours, a clear and tidy patch of earth was our reward. We stood, side-by-side, hands on our hips admiring our first reclamation of the land that had been so long neglected.

Would you like something to drink before you go? I asked leading the way to the back door off the kitchen.

Yes, please that would be great, he replied in a low voice just behind me.

I poured two huge glasses of water and unceremoniously plopped down in a kitchen chair as Victor joined me. It was four o’clock and the day still had many hours of sun.

Plans for the rest of your Saturday? I asked curious to know what he did other than school and working.

I have one more job, then home to help my parents.

What does your mother do? Does she work at the college also?

Victor smiled and shook his head. She sews and is very good at it. She has a room inside the house she calls ‘The Shop’ and mostly does alterations. There was a time she thought of working outside the home, but we’ve been lucky.

Lucky how? I asked curious to the smile that this good fortune had placed on his face.

My mother is a little funny, he said wistfully. She likes to be at home; to cook and clean, to sew and as she puts it, to maintain the family health.

The family health?

Yes, my mother believes that a well run home keeps the family healthy.

Physically, mentally, or both?

Both, especially the latter, he said, eyes bright as the corners of his mouth turned up further. It made sense, what he was saying, and perhaps it was a philosophy of his family's upbringing, but in that moment it was exactly what I needed to hear.

Victor seemed to note my hesitation and fumbled a little. You see, he began watching my reaction very closely.

No, I totally understand. Your mother is the caretaker; she is the one you come home to, a safe place that the heart resides.

The all-encompassing grin that threatened to eat his face at my obviously correct reply was quite splendid to see.

I thought you would understand. It seems that if I say this to other people, especially women, he said with a sly glance. They seem to think it indicates a subservient position, when in reality, it is quite the opposite. My mother is the one who keeps us well and whole and there is nothing so important.

Well, it certainly sounds like I should meet her someday, I know my parents think very highly of yours.

As do mine, the acknowledgment noted. I should go, still one more job to do.

Oh wait, I yelled jumping up. I need to pay you.

Fumbling for my wallet inside the cavernous purse I had told myself to get rid of a hundred times, I pulled out sixty dollars and pushed it into his hand. Is this enough? I never asked what your rate was.

It’s too much, he said handing it back to me as the tips of his fingers grazed my wrist. Remember your mother already paid me for an hour.

Consider it a signing bonus, I laughed as a shiver rode up my spine. You’ll need it for all those books you’ll be assigned.

His eyes dropped, our hands still touching as he considered what I’d said. When he looked back to me, I felt my nipples harden. The gaze was thick and full of something I hadn’t seen for a very long time.

I’ll put it towards next week and please, no money next time. I only charge ten dollars an hour.

Ten? You should be charging twenty, that’s what I thought it was.

He slid the cash across my palm and put it directly into his front pocket. That’s what your mother said, but I like to work and I could never charge your parents so much. Next time, no money ok?

I didn’t know what to say. His voice was full of kindness, but there was a raw look in his eye, something far past gentleness. It took a second, my heart stumbling, for me to answer.

I know they appreciate everything you do for them. When I first heard about you, I thought they were speaking of a priest or rabbi.

The look dispelled in his laughter. No, no, that is not my path, he said turning towards the door. I’ll see you next week, your mother has my cell number if you need to cancel.

If anything changes, I’ll let you know, I called after him as he walked down the drive to his old dark blue Toyota pickup. A quick wave, a smile, and he was gone, until next week anyway.

Three

The week seemed infernally long, even though it was six hours less than usual allowing me to go over to my parents’ house for dinner on Wednesday night. I brought a bottle of Pinot Noir, my father’s favorite, and a huge bag of oranges for my mom. As soon as I walked in the door, I found myself thinking of what Victor had said about his mother and her role as caretaker. I’d always gotten along with my parents and as an only child, I was brought up plainly, with little of the trappings that I see children facing today. On two acres in the Northern California landscape, it was a relaxed, yet adventurous childhood. I spent my life outdoors with our dogs and the dirt. It was perfect.

My father taught at the college and my mother threw clay in her little studio attached to the back of the house. Her work was distributed up and down the coast, and over the years she had earned a name for herself, as well as a fair living. Now they were older and in what I called a state of semi-retirement. My mother still threw, but it was less and less over the past five years, her only complaint that the arthritis in her hands made it too painful to work.

Her eyes lit up when she saw the oranges in my hand. Oh thank you, Iris, she exclaimed kissing me on both cheeks. We’re so glad you could come tonight.

I switched with Trish. She needs a shift covered in a few weeks, so we traded.

So glad, she said again, smiling and pushing the stray white hairs away from her eyes.

I kept it simple like you asked, come and let’s get your father a glass, motioning to the wine as she padded towards the small red kitchen.

Where is he?

Out on the back porch. That’s where he spends a lot of time lately. He says the fresh air is good for him, but I think it’s just what suits him right now.

There had been whispers of dementia earlier in the year and I think my mother was keeping up the pretense as long as she could, or until I called her out. I let it go for now as my dad seemed mostly with it the bulk of his waking hours.

I dug the wine key from the cluttered junk drawer while my mother asked the usual round of questions. She was more than happy I’d moved back home even though the divorce upset her more than I thought it would. For some reason, she and Bruce were particularly close, and his absence saddened her, as did the now doubtful chance of any grandchildren.

Here’s the glass he likes to use. A thick heavy stemmed wine glass was placed in my hand, an intricate design etched into the bowl. It was one I had bought for him a very long time ago, the last of a set of four. The cork eased out under my experienced hand, pouring three glasses before I went out the back door.

I found him seated on the old, comfortable cedar bench when I went outside, a small cigar burning slowly in his hand.

Papa, I said quietly handing him the wine.

Iris, so happy to see you, he burst out, taking the glass carefully and patting the seat beside him. How is your job going? All settled in at the house?

Yes, all is well. I gave him a kiss on top of his head and sat down. Work is always busy. We had three young men in last night who had been in a car accident, one who was busted up pretty badly. I took a sip of the pinot and watched the yard fall into the warm dusk.

How’s that Mooshie liking the new place? He joked knowing full well what a pain he was.

He hates it. Last week, he chewed a hole in one of my socks and then threw it up on my bed. I might as well have a damned dog. At least they treat you with some respect.

He roared, making my mother’s head pop out of the back door to check on us. That cat, you will never find another one like him. Be thankful.

I am, Papa, I am. How are you feeling?

Good as ever, your mother takes good care of me, and Victor too.

The mention of his name made me flush. I had intended to ask my parents more about his family at dinner tonight, and it seemed my father had opened the door for me.

He did an excellent job for me this past weekend, thank you for sending him my way.

Victor is a good lad, his family too, good, good people. I was very happy when his father took my position as department chair when I retired. You don’t often find such interesting and kind people.

How long have you known them? I remember you mentioning the Lukov family from time to time while I was living in San Francisco, but I don’t remember Victor working for you.

My father took a moment in his mind, searching for the right information. I met Kazimir and Raisa at a community event at the college. He was looking for a job and found out that I was the department head he needed to talk to. It was a few years before we had an opening for him, but he’s been there ever since.

How old was Victor when you met them?

"Oh my, Victor was just a small child, maybe five the first time I