Page 71 of Wallflower

Where is she?

My hungry eyes sweep across the room.

Once.

Twice.

Looking for that dark head of wavy hair that makes my fingers itch, the eyes that haunt me when mine fall shut in the early morning hours, the perfect fucking body I want to explore every inch of.

The sound of a throat clearing draws my attention.

“Mr. Morgan, I need you to come take a look at something.”

I just about snap my neck from how fast I whip my sight in the direction of her voice.

The redhead with the sharp bob lowers the book she’s reading, apprehension shining in her hazel eyes. They eat up my appearance. No silly shirt today, just plain grey, paired with plain black shorts and boxers. I want her focused on me. Not distracted by the funny scene on my top or jokes on my undergarments.

I’m rendered immobile, devouring the sight of her right back. I’ve been struck totally wordless by the fantasy unfurling before me.

How did she know?

I can’t possibly be that easy to read.

Rose looks me up and down, rising from the chair. “Who shows up to a date in board shorts?”

I choke on the dryness clinging to my throat as she approaches, a sliver of skin peeking out from beneath the lilac tank top with each step. “It’s hot,” I rasp, as her white mini skirt brushes the hand hanging at my side. The outfit may not be perfect, but it’s close enough to who she’s trying to portray. A white button up knotted under her bust, and white pumps complete the look.

I’m fuckingsalivating.

Every plan I had evaporates, the bag of things I brought dropping from my fingers, as she circles me, building my anticipation. A shiver runs up my spine when she lightly touches me. Brushing her soft skin up my arm, across my shoulder, stopping to cup the back of my neck as she stands before me.

“Kneel.”

Fuck that, half of me screams. The dominance I’m used to wielding pushing to gain control. While the other part, the horny half, doesn’t want this to end.

Her fingers twirl in the dark strands at the base of my neck, burying my resistance beneath the feeling her touch awakens.

My eyes don’t leave hers as my knees hit the plush grey carpet.

A flush reddens her cheeks. The sight of me submitting to her as arousing as the vision of her before me, fingers coiling tighter in my hair.

“Good boy,” she coos confidently, her apprehension swiftly disappearing.

“Fuuuuck,” I groan involuntarily. I’ve never been treated likethis.

I’ve been praised before, in the darkest of ways. But, yet again, without knowing it, Rose overwrites the past. Hearing the words coming from her mouth doesn’t awaken the pain. Though the memory remains, sharp and biting, the ache is dull, easily dismissible.

How?

I don’t fucking know.

However, I don’t want to give it up—give her up. She’s my little escape from the past that’s plagued me for a lifetime.

I fall into the oasis of her fingers running through my dark hair, brushing it back from my face.

“So handsome, aren’t you?”

I smirk, both flattered and knocked off-kilter by the compliment.