Page 88 of Wallflower

But now… Will this pull her to me? When free, will she remember this and stay? Can I puppeteer her feelings for me the same way I’m sure she’s trying to contort mine? Not many women willingly like pain with their pleasure, and those that do, don’t usually have the guts to ask for it. She has to be crafting a persona just for me, based on what she assumes I like. I know she felt my desire for her, for her screams, that first day.

But all I ache for is her.

Every fucking minute of every goddamned day since I crushed her to me and painted my skin with her blood. She’s infected my fucking mind like a persistent parasite, and I feel it’s only fair to return the favour.

As if in a trance, the plan reconfigures in my mind. Formulating how to get everything I want while absentmindedly staring at the wall, peach juice half way to the bag while I’m frozen in place.

Yes.

I can see it all so clearly now.

The path to what I covet most laid out plainly within my mind’s eye.

The sound of the clicking lock pulls me from my thoughts.

Did someone just lock me in this room?

Ripley whips around so fast his handsome features are a blur. With the way he towers over me I wonder if he even sees me. His sights are set on the door at my back, the electronic lock that slid into place when I entered the room.

Finally, he registers my form standing shyly before him. I wondered if he knew I entered the room, and he was just soaking up the fact that I was ogling his very muscular back.

However, with the ferocity in his eyes, I now know he didn’t register my arrival at all.

“Ripley?” My voice is quiet, gentle, not wanting to startle him anymore than I already did.

“How long have you been standing there?” he questions, almost monotonously.

My face flushes. “Not long. What are you doing?”

He looks down to the bottle in his hand. “How long is ‘not long’?”

The darkest eyes I’ve ever bore witness to lift, locking their sights on mine, assessing me. “Uhh, I don’t know…”How much time has to pass before simply seeing becomes creepy leering?

Ripley’s frigid gaze softens as heat inches up my neck, face warming the longer he looks down upon me. “You’re lying.”

“Am not,” I object. “I wasn’t keeping track of time, nor do I have a watch to do so.”

“So, it was long enough that it could’ve been timed? Good to know.”

“It was no—“ His lips threaten to curl up at the corner, but he fights to keep his features neutral. He’s trying to rile me up, and I walked right into it. It’s not like I can deny watching him though, my face feels as though it’s a million degrees in this room. “You’re infuriating.”

“And you were gawking. Should I worry that I’ll have a stalker once I get you out of here?”

The way hope swells within my chest can’t be hidden. But that doesn’t mean I have to voice it. He said as much before. He will get me out, I just have to be patient with him. “Maybe,” I volley back.

Turning, he sits on the edge of the bed, placing the juice jug on the nightstand. “Can’t wait. I’ll put on a special show just for you.”

A swell of filthy images flit through my mind, almost all showcasing him with his dick in his hand. “Is this like a sexy show? Or are you going to make me watch a dinosaur documentary?”

He barks a laugh, the sound honest and deep, coming from the heart of his chest.

Rip curls his fingers, beckoning me to stand between his spread thighs. “You’ll have to wait and find out.” I move into him, threading my fingers into his hair without hesitation. He tenses beneath me, inhaling a deep breath. His body uncoils upon his exhale, as he lays his head against my breast. This isn’t like the first time. I’m nervous, but in a good way. His hands curl around the backs of my thighs. “Maybe it’s both…” he rasps, looking up at me from beneath those thick, dark lashes. “Maybe it’s neither.”

I fight the urge to slam my lips against his as Rip’s fingers trail lightly over the sensitive skin of my thighs, working their way up under the hem of the airy pink dress. “Oh good…” The sounds scrape along my vocal cords, all moisture abandoning my mouth with the way his fingers dance along my flesh. “I love surprises,” I manage, clearing my throat.

Ripley’s right hand moves inward, sliding through my centre from the back as I gasp, fisting his hair tight. Pleasure shoots through me sharp and fast as he grunts, responding to my roughness.

Tilting his head back, I take in the sinfully handsome man before me. Like gravity, he pulls me toward him without my realization. Even half conscious and hanging from chains, I thought he was pretty, in the most dangerous way.