Page 168 of Wallflower
She keeps her lips sealed, earning herself a hard swat against my healing name on her hip.
“Six,” she sighs.
“So, your voice does work.”
“I’m selective with my words.”
“Sure you fucking are,” I growl, backing away from her.
“You’re hot when you’re angry,” she taunts, swaying her hips back and forth. Those fucking heels are going to be the death ofme. The way she struts with confidence in them has me tagging along like a drooling fool. Which is unfortunate, since a funeral home was not the best place to be thinking of stealing her away to a darkened corner of the cold room.
“Don’t move,” I instruct.
Crossing the room to where the other toys hang in a wall-mounted glass cabinet, I grab the light-up mask, slipping it on. I hope to unnerve her. Spiking her fear just enough she tumbles into a confession.
Flicking the switch, the pink X’s over my eyes and the stitched smile illuminate. My fingers hover over the crop, debating whether it’s too much for her. They bite hard and can break the skin, though she may like that.
Deciding against it, I slip a flogger off the hook. I make my way back across the room, hitting the light switch on the way. The bulbs dim to the lowest setting, the soft pink light of the mask’s threads are the only thing Rose will be able to see in the dark.
The nine black braided tails of the flogger are lined with little dark green leather leaves. The tips adorned with crimson leather roses, matching the red grip clenched in my hand.
As I approach, the light from my mask flows over Rose’s obedient form. The sight takes me back to the second time I saw her. Lying on the bed, bathed in that soft pink light, nearly glowing like a goddess on satin sheets.
The memory pummels me as I deem myself too fucking unworthy of the woman before me, bent over in the exact position I left her.
I’m surprised she listened for once. I can only assume she wants whatever I decide to bring upon her, which assuages some of my turmoil.
My touch ghosts up the back of her thigh. Rose stiffens, her gasp morphing into a moan as my fingers skim across her tenderflesh, inflamed from my palm. “Seems you can follow orders.” Fingers grazing over the soaked scrap of fabric covering her core, I try to lure her into my web, “Perhaps you deserve a reward?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
Landing a swift swat to her pussy, I rumble, “Yes, what?”
“Please,” she murmurs. “Yes, please.”
My fingers slip beneath the flimsy material, sinking into her with a groan. “So fucking wet for this, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she breathes, “you make me so fucking needy, Rip.”
“Mmm,” I growl, slowly thrusting my fingers in and out of her. The sinfully addicting taste of her cunt calls to me, a temptation I have no hope abstaining from. “Think you can bait me that easy, flower?”
“Can’t blame me for trying.”
“Look at me.”
Rose’s head lifts, turning my way. Her sharp intake of shock shoots straight to my sack, her pussy gripping my fingers like a vise at the first sight of the mask.
Well, shit.
She’s not scared at all.
Holy shit.
I’ve never considered masks as a thing I’d be into. However, the way the pink light halos Ripley’s dark shaggy hair as he looms ominously behind me awakens a new thirst for something dark and forbidden. He’s the only thing I want, the only thing I see. The neon light blacks out the surroundings. I’m barely able to make his body out below the tattooed chest.
“Wow,” I rasp, as he withdraws his teasing touch, fixing the thong back over me. Ripley raises his fingers to the mask, inhaling deep. Something knots tight in my gut at the sight. It’s as primal as the rumble in his chest. Slipping his fingers under the edge of the plastic, Rip’s breath huffs out, loud asit escapes the confines of the mask. He sucks his fingers clean with an exaggeratedpop, the filthy action making an involuntary whimper escape my lips. “It’s such a shame you’re so stubborn, flower. I’d love to worship you like this until you’re crying for me.”
“Ripley, please.” My voice is whiney, pathetic, but when he talks like that, I can’t help the mess I become.
