Page 152 of Wallflower

The blade curves upward in an arc before dragging down. Ripley repeats the opposite process, and I know he just drew a heart. The sweet, sentimental fucker.

“Done,” he pants, pulling out. Rip moves quickly across the mattress and off the bed, bare feet shuffling along the hardwood as he disappears into the bathroom.

Chains clatter as I roll, sitting up and sliding off the edge of the bed, leaving a path of crimson in my wake. Metal drags across the floor as I attempt to move inconspicuously toward the mirror. I fail miserably as I take the few steps I’m allowed.

Thin streams of blood travel down my leg, but there, engraved into my hip, is his name paired with a tiny heart over the ‘i’.

Rip’s reflection moves behind me, placing bandages and topical ointment on his nightstand. “Come here,” he calls.

I meet his gaze through the glass, shaking my head slowly.

His eyes darken as he moves toward me with determined steps.

Turning, I face him as he comes upon me. Slowly, I sink to my knees before him.

“I need to clean you up,” he says with absolutely no conviction.

“After,” I whisper, leaning forward to lick him from root to tip.

“Ah, fuck,” he groans, as I tease him with the same pace he used on me, twirling my tongue around his crown. His fingers brush the hair back from my face before they fist tight, tethering us while still letting me lead. I wrap my lips around the tip, tasting him on my tongue, moving leisurely on his most sensitive spot.

“Take me deeper,” he begs, and I have to fight the triumph I feel at making him crumble.

Backing off, I look up at him. “Make me,” I taunt.

The fist in my dark curls clenches punishingly. “Open up, baby.”

My lips drop open, tongue out for good measure.

He leans down, spitting into my mouth.

“Swallow.”

I’m shocked, my arousal shooting to another fucking level, as I comply.

“Rattle the chain if it’s too much, since you won’t be able to scream.”

“Okay.”

“Good girl,” he coos. Rising to his full height, he glares down upon me. Tugging me closer by the hair, Rip drags his cock across my tongue with a moan. My lips wrap around him. “That’s it, baby, get me good and fucking wet so I can fuck that pretty throat.”

Holy shit.

My thighs crush together, trying to get any sort of sensation as I squirm. My muffled, slutty whine hums down his shaft, and his hips punch forward. Ripley holds himself there, feeling me attempt to accommodate him.

“Shit, that’s it, flower,” he hisses, pulling out slow as my saliva strings us together. He strokes along his length, thick as fuck and throbbing, before sliding back into my mouth.

Rip plunges deep, hard and fast, tears springing to my eyes. His pace is ruthless, the sound obscene, as I gasp to keep up.

“Fuck, look at you,” he pants between sharp thrusts, “so damn gorgeous.” Slipping from between my lips, he leans down. Rip’s tongue licks up my cheek, collecting the salty wetness with a sound of satisfaction. His thumb brushes over my mouth. “Swollen lips and running mascara, ruining yourself for a monster like me,” he utters, a sinful quirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Please,” I rasp, and he smiles wide and wild.

“Please what, flower? What is it you want?”

I swallow, looking for my voice.

“My cock? Another orgasm?”