Page 60 of Wallflower

Her fingers find my waist, trailing lightly along the top of my pants to the front. With a glint in her eye, she pulls back from our kiss, watching how I react to her touch. She drags out the agony, slowly popping the button, making sure the sound of my dropping zipper rivals the time it takes to run a mile.

In fact, I’m sure I could run a marathon faster than Rose undresses me.

She pushes the dress pants down over my ass, toying with the band of my boxer briefs. Coyly, she bites her lip, slipping her hand beneath the fabric.

I shift my weight, fingers uncurling from around her throat as I kneel between her spread thighs. I push the boxers down, cock springing free as she continues to stroke me. “Fuck, Rose,” I rasp.

My tunnel vision clears as she sits up. Leaning forward, she spits onto my cock.

It’s then, when I watch her lean back again, clearly satisfied with herself for slowly undoing me, that I see the wet smears of blood.

I scramble back, tangled in my trousers, and end up slipping off the edge of the bed.

“Are you okay? What happened? Did I do something wrong?” she asks, moving to peek at me over the side of the mattress.

“No, you’re bleeding.”

“Oh,” she smirks. “Does that bother you?”

“Not at all… Are you okay?”

She snickers, covering her mouth with her hand to smother a laugh.

“What?”

“You really like dinosaurs, hey?”

Glancing down, I see that I’m decked out in my “No Chomping Zone” Allosaurus boxers. I should be mortified, but instead, I shrug. “They glow in the dark.”

“They do not,” she deadpans.

If she doesn’t like these, she’s really going to hate my “Butt Quack” boxers with laughing ducks on them. “Do you need me to prove it?”

Rose’s gaze slides across my skin as she drags her sight down, then back up. “Maybe later.” She rises off the bed, moving to stand over me. “Do you want to stop?”

“Do you?” I counter. There’s no fucking way I’m stopping, but feeding into this persona I’m presenting as being a ‘good guy’ will only have her warming to me all the sooner. She’s not drunk enough for this to be wiped from her memory. She’ll remember how gentlemanly I was. How I didn’t treat her the way I did that first day.

Rose shakes her head. Dropping to her knees, she straddles me.

Blood’s never bothered me, I prefer it most of the time. When my playthings willingly bleed for me, something ravenous awakens. But nothing’s compared to this—to her, because she likes it. I don’t know why I’ve never looked for someone like her before.

Crimson streams in fine rivers down her back, leaking from the re-opened wound near her shoulder blade. The slice severed the dragon’s shredded wing, disconnecting it from its bony body. The poorly stitched cuts didn’t realign the tattooed skin, making the skeleton monster appear to have disarticulated upon a crushing impact.

Blood colours the curve of her ass, trailing down her legs in a path of its own choosing. It drips onto my skin when she rolls her hips, sliding herself along my cock.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, flower.”

She whimpers when my thumb finds her clit, circling slow. My other hand grips her hip, waiting for the right moment to slide inside her.

Her breaths come faster, and I watch entranced, waiting for the moment she detonates.

Too lost in the rhythm she sets, grinding on me, I don’t feel her notch my cock at her slick entrance. Rose slams back onto my dick as she shatters, and fuck, watching her come undone is a moment I’ll never forget.

Perhaps there are perks to this scheme after all.

Gripping her by the back of the neck, I pull her lips to mine, devouring the sounds pouring out of her. Her release mixes with the blood coating my groin, the slapping sound vile, obscene, and fucking delicious as I start to pound her from below.

“You going to let me fill you up, flower? Stuff that pretty cunt so full of my cum you taste it?”