Page 128 of Wallflower

I lean in, giving Rose what she wants, and driving my point home. Rose won’t understand the seriousness of a simple kiss, but Shantel will.

She’s furious as she scoffs, turning from the doorway.

Shantel makes it all of three steps before Rose pulls her lips from mine. “Shut the door,” she calls out.

She sinks back down into the mattress, pulling me with her as she cocoons us once again, the sound of our bedroom door slamming echoing through the room.

Rip’s lips move against mine in a dance of melding souls, but my mind wanders dangerously. Back to the look in his eyes. Like something died at the sound of her voice, and ghosts rose from the grave, haunting his existence.

Not to mention, he went limp while inside me.

That may not have concerned me if Rip and I hadn’t been monitored throughout every encounter. I know he doesn’t care about being watched or listened to during sex.

No, this has to do withher.

It pains me to pull away from his tender kisses. They are so few and far between.

“What’s bothering you?” he whispers.

I shouldn’t bring this up, it’s really not my business. “Who is that?”

“My head of security.” His eyes are wary. I’m treading a line I maybe shouldn’t cross, but I want to know him, even if I don’t like what I hear.

“What else?”

“Nothing,” he sternly replies.

“Rip…come on, I’m not an idiot. I recognize jealousy when I see it.”

“If you see it, then why bring it up?”

I second guess myself. Hard. But when I look at him, really fucking dig into him, I see them. The cracks I’ve bore witness to so few times before. The panic, the fear, the tormented look that glazes over his depthless eyes, yanking him away from me.

That itch awakens, crawling like an insect under my skin, ravenous for retribution. Tingling at my fingers, it urges me to act.

It would be so easy.

I’ve been silent for too long, lost in my thoughts.

“What’s on your mind, flower?”

It’s now or never, I may not have the guts to ask again. I channel that anger with Shantel, and use it to steel my spine. “If I ask you something, will you be honest?”

His expression immediately drops, panicked gaze darting between mine.

Don’t back down.Even if I hate that his falling expression is because of me.

His gulp of trepidation is audible. “Yes,” he rasps.

Immediately, I regret this. But I know how it feels to have every trace of arousal dry up because of someone else. It happened when I realized it was Sam in my bed, not Ripley.

I won’t be able to fucking breathe if what happened to me, happened to him, and she’s obsessed with keeping him in her hellish orbit.

I hate that I don’t know whether to keep my hands on him or not. I don’t want him to feel caged, but also don’t want him to think I’m repulsed. I don’t even know how to word this properly. What do I do with my face? My body? I’m pissed off and worried, trying to exude support and safety, while resisting the urge to run after Shantel and beat her face with the bat that’s hidden under the bed.

“We used to fuck around,” he offers as a half explanation, hoping to placate me.

“That’s not what I was going to ask.”