Page 58 of Wallflower

Her breath catches when the full expanse of my chest is revealed. Crossing the room, I stretch my six foot four stature to its limits and hang my shirt off the surveillance camera, obscuring its visibility.

When I turn back to her, she’s propped up on her arm, eating me up from across the room. I suppose it works to my advantage that she finds me attractive.

“What happened?” she inquires as I close in.

“What did you take?” I reply, crawling up next to her on the mattress.

Rolling her eyes, she exhales with annoyance. “I was nervous to meet you.”

I smirk, and her eyes dart to my mouth. They linger there, and I wonder if she’s dreaming about how my mouth would feel pressed against hers. No matter my plan, she won’t be finding out.

“And…”

“And so we smoked a joint and took a few shots of whiskey.”

“Who?”

“Me and Karson.”

“Who’s Karson?” I try to keep my tone light, but mentally I’m keeping a list of grievances against Mr. Smythe.

“He works here.”

“I gathered that. Did he touch you?”

“No…yes…”

“Elaborate. Now.”

“He didn’t touch me…inappropriately. I guess you could say he’s in charge of me…maybe? He collected me from Richmond’s room, then clea?—”

“Is Richmond the one who cut you up?”

She nods.

I fight the way my lips purse in irritation, straining to keep my expression neutral. Her hand lands over mine. The one absentmindedly fisting the blanket tightly. I hate being disobeyed.

“Karson is good, I think,” she whispers. Rose’s innocence is sweet. Stupid. Liable to get her blindsided. But sweet nonetheless.

“No one in this world is good, flower. Don’t be naive.”

“Fuck you,” she spits like cobra venom, slamming her palm into my sternum. “I’m not a simpleton.”

Oh, that smart mouth is going to get her pinned beneath me and whining for my cock.

Gripping her wrist, I tug Rose toward me. Her breasts press into my chest, lips hovering a hairsbreadth away from mine.

Her breath catches when I ghost my lips over hers, trail them along her jaw, and down her neck. Deeply, I breathe her in. “So you have proof of his morality?” I whisper.

She stutters, about to speak, but then catches herself, quickly reining in her rebuttal. “No,” she replies softly.

Her pulse pounds against my tongue as I taste her. “Such a terrible liar,” I whisper against her flushing skin before I sink my teeth into the sensitive area.

She cries out, ecstasy ringing through the room. Wrenching her wrist from my grip, she sinks her fingers into my hair. Instinct demands I band my arm around her and crush her to me, but her injuries have me pausing—re-evaluating.

Fisting my hair tight, she yanks my head back, pulling my mouth from the mark forming on her nape. “What are you gonna do about it?” Whatever feeling had her winding her hips in taunting before is back full force now, and sizing me up.

In my thirty years of life, I’ve never backed down from a challenge. I don’t intend to start now.