The return from Paklenica had left a permanent, humming resonance in Ina's soul. The wild, untamed power of the ancient forest had awakened something in her, a deeper, more primal connection to the world Juraj ruled. It was as if a door had been unlocked within her, and now she could feel the currents of life that flowed through everything—not just in sacred groves, but in the very soil of her own backyard.
A few days later, the Dalmatian sun was a benevolent, heavy weight. The air in the lavender field was thick and sweet, the buzz of bees a lazy, hypnotic drone. Ina had been working since dawn, harvesting the last of the season's peak bloom. The hard, satisfying labor, combined with the intoxicating scent and the sun's warmth, began to pull her toward sleep. Her limbs grew heavy, her eyelids drooped. The idea of walking back to the cottage felt like an impossible journey.
Yielding to the impulse, she found a soft, clear patch of earth between two particularly lush rows of lavender. She lay down, the sun warm on her closed eyelids, the purple spikes forming a fragrant wall on either side of her. The world narrowed to the scent of lavender, the hum of bees, and the feel of the earth beneath her back. It was a return to the womb, a perfect, peaceful solitude.
But as she hovered on the edge of sleep, she became aware of a new sensation. It was a gentle, almost imperceptible tickling against her skin. At first, she thought it was an ant or a stray blade of grass. But it persisted, a soft, deliberate caress. She opened her eyes slightly, looking down her body.
The lavender plants were moving.
Not with the wind—the air was still. They were moving of their own volition. The slender, flexible stalks were bending toward her, their soft, fragrant flowers and silvery-green leaves brushing against her sun-warmed skin. They traced the line of her arm, whispered across her collarbone, tangled playfully in the loose strands of her hair. It was the same sentient, responsive life she had felt in Paklenica, but here it was gentler, more familiar, infused with the essence of her own care and Juraj's power.
A giggle escaped her, soft and breathy. It wasn't fear she felt, but a thrilling, mischievous delight. The plants she had nurtured from seedling were now, in turn, nurturing her. They were exploring her, worshipping her, as if recognizing her as their mistress, the human heart at the center of their world.
The sensation grew more intense. A cluster of blooms nuzzled against the side of her neck, releasing a burst of calming fragrance. Another stalk, heavier with flowers, draped itself across her stomach, its weight a pleasant, grounding pressure. The tickling became a symphony of subtle touches, each one awakening a different nerve ending.
And then, the touches grew bolder.
A particularly adventurous stalk, laden with fragrant purple buds, slid slowly, sinuously, up the inside of her calf. The sensation was electrifying. It was the vine from the forest all over again, but this was her lavender, the scent of her sanctuary, the symbol of her life. This felt less like an intrusion and more like a homecoming.
A sudden, wild, and utterly irresistible impulse seized her. The clothes she wore—a simple, cotton work dress—felt like a barrier, a denial of this intimate conversation with the natural world. She wanted to feel it all, without filter or hindrance.
Sitting up slightly, her hands trembling not with fear but with a sense of reckless, pagan freedom, she pulled the dress over her head and tossed it aside. She lay back down, completely naked, exposed to the sun and the sky and the tender attentions of a thousand lavender plants.
The effect was instantaneous and profound.
Freed from the barrier of fabric, the lavender embraced her fully. Dozens of slender stalks converged, their touch now a chorus of sensation. They traced the sensitive undersides of her arms, cupped the gentle swell of her hips, brushed against the sides of her breasts, making the peaks tighten into hard, aching buds. The air was so thick with the released scent of the bruised flowers that it was like breathing pure, liquid pleasure.
She moaned, a low, involuntary sound that was swallowed by the buzzing of the bees. Her back arched, pressing her skin more firmly against the caressing plants. This was different from being with Juraj. This was the earth itself loving her, the very essence of fertility and growth acknowledging her body as part of its cycle. It was a diffuse, all-encompassing sensuality that made her feel both incredibly powerful and utterly vulnerable.
Her legs, which had been curled slightly, began to relax. Then, driven by a need deeper than conscious thought, they fell open. It was an invitation, a surrender. The lavender needed no further encouragement. A single, determined stalk, its tip a cluster of the most fragrant buds, began a slow, deliberate journey up the soft, untouched skin of her inner thigh. The velvety flowers brushed against her, so close to the core of her heat, her dampness, her yearning.
Her breath came in short, sharp gasps. Her hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk, seeking the contact. She was on the precipice, ready to let the nature she loved so deeply consummate its bond with her in the most primal way possible. She closed her eyes, giving herself over to the moment, to the flowers, to the sun-drenched field.
And then, she heard it. A soft, deep chuckle that vibrated through the very soil beneath her.
"You betray me with my own creation, ljubavi moja…"
Ina's eyes flew open. Juraj was standing at the edge of the row, leaning casually against a wooden post, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't angry. His soil-dark eyes were alight with a mixture of intense amusement, blazing possessiveness, and raw, unvarnished arousal. He had been watching. For how long, she didn't know.
A blush of epic proportions flooded her entire body, from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She made a reflexive move to cover herself, but the lavender stalks held her gently, almost possessively, in place.
Juraj unfolded his arms and took a slow step into the row, his gaze a physical caress. "No, don't stop on my account." His voice was a low, hypnotic rumble. "The sight of you… like this… welcomed by the earth… it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."
He knelt at her feet, his eyes never leaving hers. The adventurous lavender stalk was still poised, trembling, at her very threshold.
"Let it be then," he whispered, his voice thick with a strange, shared excitement. "I will watch."
The permission, given in that tone of fervent, voyeuristic delight, shattered the last of her hesitation. This was not a betrayal; it was a new, deeper level of their union. He was not just her lover; he was the lord of this realm, giving his blessing for his domain to worship her.
She let her head fall back onto the soft earth, her eyes closing again, her body thrumming with anticipation. She gave a slight, deliberate nod.
That was all the invitation needed.
The lavender stalk, with a life and will of its own, pressed forward.
It was not like the invasion of a man. It was softer, more diffuse, a thousand tiny, velvety points of contact that filled her, not with pressure, but with sensation. It was like being entered by scent itself, by the very spirit of the flower. The fragrance intensified, clouding her mind, pulling her into a trance of pure, botanical pleasure. The stalk moved with a slow, sinuous rhythm, a mimicry of life born from the essence of life itself.
And all the while, Juraj watched.
He watched the expressions flit across her face—the shock, the bliss, the utter surrender. He watched the way her body moved, not against him, but with the plants, a dance of human and flora. He watched as other stalks continued to caress her breasts, her neck, her stomach, worshipping every inch of her. His own arousal was a painful, thrilling ache, but he didn't move to intervene. This was her moment. This was the earth loving its priestess.
His presence, his watching eyes, amplified everything for Ina. Knowing he was there, witnessing her ecstasy, sanctioning it, drove her to a height of pleasure she had never known. It was a shared secret, a sacred voyeurism that bound them even closer. She was not alone with the plants; she was performing for her god, offering her pleasure as the ultimate hymn.
Her climax, when it came, was not a shattering explosion, but a slow, deep, unfolding bloom. It washed through her in warm, pulsating waves, a release that felt like the field itself was sighing through her. Her body arched, her fingers clutching at the earth, a long, shuddering moan torn from her lips as the lavender stalk within her trembled and released a final, concentrated burst of its intoxicating perfume.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of her ragged breathing and the hum of the bees.
Slowly, gently, the lavender stalks retreated, unwinding from her limbs, sliding from her body, returning to their upright positions as if nothing had happened. They were just plants again.
Juraj moved then. He came to her, his expression one of awe and fierce possession. He didn't speak. He simply gathered her naked, trembling, scent-soaked body into his arms and held her tightly against his chest.
"You see?" he finally murmured into her hair, his voice rough with emotion. "You are not just mine. You belong to all of this. And it belongs to you."
Ina clung to him, her mind and body reeling. She had made love to a field. And her god had not just allowed it; he had reveled in it. The boundaries between herself, Juraj, and the natural world had blurred into irrelevance. She was his, and he was hers, and they were both inseparable from the fertile, passionate, living earth.