Page 156 of Wallflower

Oh.

He lays them on his stomach, eyes dancing with trepidation-laced excitement when they meet mine. “Put them on me,” he rasps.

A delicious shiver rolls through me as I curl my finger around the metal, sliding the restraints down Ripley’s gloriously naked body. His cock flexes when I grip them in my hands. They are flimsy, cheap things, with an easy-release switch on the side.

I’m about to comment on how weak they are…how he could break them with nothing more than a flinch. However, the thought halts me in my tracks. Maybe that’s why he picked these specifically for himself. It will give the illusion I’m in control, that he’s submissive, even when he’s truly not at anyone’s mercy. Something I know he’ll never truly want to be again.

Smiling slow, seductive, “Gladly,” I reply, crawling my body up his.

Ripley’s breaths quicken as I clasp one wrist. “Move,” he growls.

“What?” I squeak, starting to get off him in case I did something wrong.

His strong hands grip my sides, stopping my advancement as he shoves me up the bed. “Sit on my fucking face, and chain me to the headboard.”

Tingles travel through me like singeing embers, breathing life to the fire smouldering in my core. Despite the fact I’m supposed to be in charge, I bend like a blade of grass in a tornado, giving him exactly what he demands.

Righting myself in my seat, I pull down the visor, checking myself out in the small mirror to ensure I’m presentable for brunch. Unfortunately, my eyeliner is smeared, mascara streaked from tears, lips swollen.

“Fuck, you look beautiful,” Ripley coos from the driver’s seat, turning off the main road onto Bleakcrest’s winding driveway.

I look wrecked, but part of me wants to show up like this just to piss Shantel off as much as possible.

“You’re not too bad, yourself, stud,” I reply, his taste lingering on my tongue. The closer I get to Shantel’s demise, the more ravenous I become for the man beside me. Even now, mere seconds away from being seen by Ripley’s guards, I want to climb astride him in that seat. Pin him beneath me, and constrict his muscular body with the seatbelt so he’s mine to play with. I’ve been on him like a hound in heat since I ground my revenge into a fine toxic powder.

I pull a makeup wipe from my purse, careful to not have Rip snag a glance at the little glass bottle tucked inside.

“Think Bucky will be annoyed we’re so late?” he asks, pulling in beside the purple El Camino. Shantel’s cherry red Porsche Cayman sits further down the line, and gods, I want to fuck it up beyond repair.

I shrug. “He’s the one that asked me to get food.”

“Not candles and gifts though.” Rip smiles, turning my way.

“It’s a celebration, candles and a new cozy hammock for the rodents are necessary.”

“The rats won’t care, sweetheart.”

“I know, but Bucky’s doing so much for me to find Chelsea, I just want to be nice and say thank you. He deserves it.”

“You’re an angel, you know that?”

Angel of death, maybe.

“If I am, then so are you,” I answer, wiping the final stubborn spot of makeup.

Perhaps the gifts are from a mix of guilt and thanks, but when I look inside myself, I don’t care. Bucky may not deserve the grief, but Ripley’s more important. Shantel’s existence is an ever-growing stain upon his soul.

Rip exits the jeep as I let down my hair. His fist fucked up my bun as he held me on his cock, thrusting into my throat with the aid of cruise control.

I re-do the topknot as he crosses in front of the vehicle, watching me with a fervour I don’t tire of seeing. When I finish, he opens the door for me.

Reaching around to the backseat, I grab the cinnamon buns, and jug of coffee from Maple Jacks, passing them to Rip. I retrieve the two shopping bags, fishing out the card I snagged, and a pen from the pack I grabbed last minute.

In glittery gold block letters, with colourful confetti in the background, the front of the card says ‘Congratulations on the promotion!’, but inside it’s blank. I thought it was fitting, seeing how Kyle and Bucky both wanted a raise for all their trouble. However, I’m drawing a complete blank with what to write on the inside.

“Here, let me,” Rip says, laying the food on my lap and placing the jug of hot coffee on the gravel momentarily. Heleans over me, slipping the card and pen from my grasp to write against the dash. The tendrils of his scent wrap around me, tugging me close. I brush my nose up the column of his neck, breathing him in, as desire makes me hungry. “Rose,” he growls, trying to focus.

“Hmm?” I murmur, kissing softly over his skin.