Page 77 of Wallflower in Bloom

One of the girls was plus-sized like her, and it wasn’t lost on Violet that she’d ordered the t-shirt. She tried to shove down all her emotions roiling around while she struck a quick pose.

“Thanks so much!” the girl said as they walked away and waved.

She dug into her Sense and Sensibility and Snickerdoodle with a tiny tasting spoon, processing everything. She hadn’t wanted to freak out even a little.

“How does it feel to be famous?” Jack took his first bite of Hot and Bothered.

She savored the ice cream as she processed. “Good. Weird. A tiny part of me still thinks they were maybe making fun of me, but I didn’t faint, so that’s progress.”

“Fucking hell,” Jack said. His eyes bulged out of his head, and he stuck his tongue out like he was breathing fire. “How can ice cream set my mouth on fire?”

“Too hot for you, huh? Here.” She laughed and shoved her ice cream at him.

“No, no,” he said, taking a bill out of his pocket, throwing a 20 at the table, grabbing the nearest ice-cold bottle of water, and chugging it. “That was quite hot, and I am terribly bothered.”

“It’s disappointing to know you can’t handle your erotica,” she said, throwing her arm around his waist, remembering she had an excuse to act all couple-y.

“Hmm, just you wait,” he said, squeezing her waist back.

She had to keep her head on straight, or she’d completely lose track of the ‘no strings’ part of their arrangement.

They spent the next 30 minutes going through the festival and getting various pictures together. Violet’s favorites were where he would lean down to kiss her and insist they take a few more to try different angles.

After the seventh or eighth take, she decided either she was a terrible photographer, or he was interested in more than photos.

Jack looked at his watch with surprise as they walked to the car, his arm wrapped around her waist. “Oh man, I didn’t realize what time it was.”

Violet panicked, trying to remember if they were supposed to be somewhere. “What time is it?”

He looked down at her with a wicked grin and whispered in her ear.

“It’s face-sitting o’clock.”

Violet threw the front door open, Jack’s mouth never leaving hers as they stumbled over the threshold. His arms were wrapped tightly around her, and he kicked the door closed.

“Thought of this all fucking day. Especially”—he moved to lick her neck—“when you had ice cream dripping down your chin.”

Violet’s pussy clenched, thinking of what they’d done last night. How free she’d been with him. She felt safe with him, and she wanted him to wreck her.

Fuck her into oblivion while he still could.

She’d squirmed on the car ride home as he’d described what he’d do to her in excruciating detail.

She’d heard he was a playboy, a flirt, but she hadn’t expected he’d be so freaking good at it.

His hand traveled under her skirt as his mouth took hers, and she clenched her pussy, already dreaming about what it would feel like to have his tongue right there. She arched her back toward him as they walked backward into the dining room.

He broke away, and she panicked. Her front windows didn’t have curtains. “Not private enough. And I should shower. I’m sweaty,” she panted. She wanted to be flawless for him.

His mouth caught hers as his hand dove into her panties.

God, that feels so good. She craved him, and her hips moved against him, needing friction.

She was so wet already from his twenty-minute narration, and he took his hand back out and slowly sucked his fingers. “But I like the taste of you just like this.”

Holy hell, this man. I’ll be a walking puddle if he doesn’t stop.

“Give me ten minutes,” she begged, edging toward the stairs.

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