Page 5 of Wallflower

“I want to taste myself on your skin when I devour that needy cunt.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t disobey me, Rosie.”

“Why?”

“Because then you’ll be the one choking on cum, not me.”

“Jesus,” I whisper to myself, not hating his bluntness or the mental image of kneeling before him.

Sam leans in, kissing me gently, and pulling me from the thoughts his filthy mouth conjured up. “I’m the furthest thingfrom a holy man, Rosie, but I know there’s no Gods who can save you now.”

Sam slips out of the bathroom before me, shooting a quick wink my way just as the door closes between us. I need to trample the feelings fluttering in my chest. I don’t know him at all, and it’s better that way. It’ll make going separate ways at the end of this trip infinitely easier. At least that’s what I tell myself. Truth is, the chemistry is volcanic, and I’ve never had that before. I’m not so sure I want to let it slip through my fingers when the ship docks back at home.

Observing myself in the mirror, I’m clearly freshly fucked. The puffy lips and matted hair at the back of my head are a clear give away. But I’m also glowing. My skin has an ethereal sheen, cheeks showcasing that telltale hint of colour, and my mood is inthe clouds. I get giddy every time I think about him. It’s damn near impossible to hide the fact I’m nursing an immediate crush.

Running my fingers through my hair proves pointless, I need a brush to sort this mess out. Grabbing the elastic off my wrist, I get my thick hair secured in a high ponytail in seconds.

I shake out all my worries as I move across the room and grab the door handle. Swinging it open abruptly has my sister crashing into me. Apparently, I pulled when she was about to push. Her tall six foot stature sends my five foot four inch frame off balance, toppling us both to the ground in a groaning heap.

The cold grey tile floor is not only disgusting, but it’s slick and moist. There’s mildew accumulating in every corner.

“Get off me, your bony elbows are digging into my stomach,” I grumble.

“You made me fall, live with it.” Her hands slip on the grimy floor, dropping her onto my gut again. I groan in both annoyance and pain.

She finally gets her knees under her, pushing herself up, and righting herself back on her feet. Extending her dirty, damp hand, she offers to help me up. However, the clump of stranger hair and dust stuck to it repel me. “I’m good,” I say, trying to gently turn down her invitation.

Somewhat shocked, she looks from me to her hands. Visible disgust contorts her face for a moment, then a sick little grin upturns her mouth, showing off her stunning dimples. I know that look well. ”Get the fuck away from me, Chelsea,” I snarl.

“Why? What’s the matter, Rosie Posie? Don’t you want my help?” She closes in on me, extending both her repulsive hands, and wiggling her fingers.

I’m no germaphobe, but I scramble away from her nonetheless. “Come on, just let me help you.” She towers over me, shit-particle covered hands blocking my escape as she cackles like a lunatic.

Why couldn’t I have been an only child?

My own palms carry me over the slippery floor, coating my clothes, hands, and legs in every microbial thing that resides in this washroom.

I’m worse off now than I would’ve been if I had just let her help me, and in recognizing that, I also realize I’m going to have to shower and change before Sam finds me again.

Damn my sister to the Underworld for ruining my chance at some mind-blowing oral. But, I’m still not repulsed by the thought of Sam shoving his girthy monster down my throat.

“Fine!” I shout, extending my hand. She stares down at me, arms dropping to hang at her sides. “Well, aren’t you going to help me?”

“Uhhh…no. You’re covered in bathroom floor.”

“Oh, you bitch,” I grumble, getting to my feet as she moves to the sink and starts to wash her hands.

Looming behind her, I wait until she’s finished—all cleaned up and pristine. Then, I launch myself at her. Wrapping my arms around her tightly, I pin hers to her sides, as I crush her in a germ-covered hug. Rubbing my body against hers, getting her as disgusting as me. “You smelly little piece of dick cheese,” she squawks. “I’m going to kill you!”

Laughing, I abruptly release her, pushing her away as I bolt from the bathroom, out into the dining room. She can’t cause a scene out here, Father will rip a strip off us both.

Chelsea flies out behind me, crashing into my back. “Think Dad will excuse us from dinner to go get cleaned up?” I ask. The muscular bartender swaggers by, winking cutely as he observes us and our slightly dishevelled state. His ruby collared t-shirt is the same as all the other workers, but the colour makes the darkness in his eyes pop.

“I wouldn’t put it past him to make us sit at the table looking like this,” she answers. The remaining family members at thetable aren’t so much as looking our way, grossly engaged in their own conversations.

Turning to my sister, I ask, “You like that shirt?”