Page 147 of Wallflower

Idon’t know why I’m so fucking shocked she flayed me like that. I chose her as my toy because she could handle whatever I threw at her. I just thought it would be the sickness that makes my dick hard, not the cyclone of my traumatic past.

Her reverent touch scrubs over my back, pausing at the base of my spine. “Can I touch you?” The softness in her voice threatens to wreck the precarious shell I’ve encased myself with. It’s a tiring thing, patching the dam holding all my shit at bay when she’s punching holes in it without realization.

I nod, and her hands continue their mission to cleanse me of all I know.

I don’t blame her for the sharp turn away from foreplay. That’s my fault. I snapped at her, and she’s fucking right. I’m so used to every kindness coming at a cost that I can’t fathom a world where acts are selfless and non-manipulative. Even though I know Rose does these things because she wants to, it’s like trying to rewire my brain into accepting them. However, the system crashes instead of accepting the new information.

“Done,” she says, leaning past me to hang the sponge.

Solemnly, I nod. I can’t bear to look at her fucking gorgeous face, downturned with sadness because of me.

The glass door opens, and she steps out.

She may as well slam the door so hard it shatters, because the soft click of it closing hurts just as much.

Cold creeps in at her absence, wrapping itself up my calves like snakes. They coil around my torso, slithering up to constrict my neck. I immediately miss her touch, her ability to chase away the darkness. I need it back.

I step out of the shower after rinsing, almost forgetting to turn off the water in my haste to have her warmth consume me.

She’s propped up on the pillow, reading a new book in bed, completely disregarding the chips and salsa on the nightstand. “You’re making a puddle,” she says flatly, not bothering to take her eyes off the page.

Can she not stomach to look at me? Does the same scum that lingers on my skin taint hers as well? I’d sooner eviscerate myself than ruin her in that way.

“I don’t give a fuck,” I rumble, approaching the side of the bed.

“It’s your house,” she mumbles.

I lean down, palms on the mattress. The knife she just drove between my ribs making me weak. “Our house,” I correct.

“Sure.” Rose flips the page on her stupid little book, not deigning me with even a glance.

I rip the fucking thing from her hands and toss it across the room, crawling onto the mattress and closing her in. “Why are you being like this?”

The fire in her eyes scorches me when she finally turns them my way. “Like what?” she replies far too sweetly. “Cold? Bitchy?”

“Yes.”

“Because you’re an easy fucker to bait.” A sexy smile blooms across her face, and I realize I’ve been had.

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm.”

“I could just leave.”

Rose curls her fingers around my cock, stroking slow. “You could, but I think you’d rather punish me instead.”

“Think you got me all figured out, eh?” She does, and it’s fucking ruining me. The fact she knows I’d rather fuck than talk about shit is enough. But she knows more about me than even Kyle and Bucky. I only gave them the basest level of my story when we were young, I doubt they even remember it now.

“Hmm, maybe.” She smirks, twisting her hand around the tip of my dick, pulling a moan from my throat.

“How do you want it?”

“Any way you want, I’m all yours.”

Fuck. I could cum from that simple phrase alone.

“That’s a dangerous thing to say, flower.”