Page 166 of Wallflower

“Ripley…” her voice is a feral growl, awakening an erotic thirst alongside the anxiety.

“No, Rose. Tell me right fucking now or I swear on my life, I will get it from you one way or another.”

That dead look in her eyes haunts me every moment not occupied by the warmth of my brother’s blood on my hands, my fingers slipping between the severed pieces of his neck.

The way she ripped the flowers from the ground, and held onto them like a fucking lifeline in a storm, should have alarmed me. It didn’t though. She’d just been through hell and deserved a little beauty. Maybe Chelsea’s favourite colour was purple. Hell, it could have been her preferred flower. I didn’t know, and was too mindfucked to care. I was just happy we were both alive and heading home.

“I’d like to see you fucking try,” she mutters.

Just like that, I snap. Everything I know about her engulfs me like a goddamn avalanche. She’s about to see a whole other side of me. The monster she’s been begging me to unleash for fucking weeks.

I turn on a dime. Banding my arm around the back of her thighs as I stride out of the room.

“Rip? Where are we going?”

Her harsh voice is barely a whisper as I battle my thoughts.

She wouldn’t dare leave me. Not after all we’d just been through.

Not even if we found her sister bloated and hanging from a tree, would she abandon me.

No fucking way on this planet, or any other, would I let her.

She’s been mine since that first day, and she will remain mine until my dying fucking breath.

Reefing open the basement stairs, we quickly descend. “Ripley!” she screams, the shrill sound reverberating off the narrow hallway walls.

I don’t dare respond for fear of what may come out. I’m so far past the point of anguish induced rage, I’m liable to say a bunch of shit I don’t fucking mean just to make her feel half of the pain eviscerating me.

Entering the theatre room, I cross to the mirror on the far side. Placing my palm upon the glass wakes the scanner, the machine whirring quietly. The latch clicks open, and I slide the door to the left. Stepping through the mirror’s frame and into the secret, sound-proofed, adjoining room.

Rose has been rendered speechless. Shocked by the near barren dungeon room surrounding her.

Though it’s immaculately clean, it’s cold and dark. Nothing like the warm, sexy play room she probably imagined.

Chains of varying weights hang from a rack, anchor points mounted on the wall, ceiling, and floor. I never needed anything fancy to fulfill my desires. Knowing the pain stinging my palm paled in comparison to what was resonating through my partner was enough to keep my beast satiated.

For times like this though…I have a small collection of things to extinguish the fire burning me up from the inside.

“What’s your safeword?” I growl.

She doesn’t answer, and I realize it’s probably because this room is eerily similar to Richmond’s. Though, unlike him, I do get off on the pain I inflict…and I don’t kill my willing victims.

Her body slides down mine as I remove her from my shoulder.

Gripping her chin, I force her to lock my gaze. She’s scared, but intrigued. Desperately, I cling to that rage, the only familiar thing I’ve felt since meeting her.

“Safeword. Now.”

“Dinosaur,” she meekly replies.

“Last chance to come clean.”

Rose opens her mouth like she’s about to spill it all, then she thinks better of it, snapping her lips shut.

“Have it your way.” My hand shoots out, wrapping around her slender neck. Her fingers coil around my wrist, steadying herself, as I slowly walk her backwards. A grin blooms across her perfect mouth. I know she thinks she wants this, but she may be very, very wrong.

Her back presses up against the cold, black leather of the St. Andrew’s cross, and I smile down at her. “Turn around, flower.”