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Kindle Edition
Published August 1, 2024
I'm not his dream girl, but I can be his consolation prize.
1. Tell everyone you meet, stranger or not, that you are an artist.
2. Draw roses and thorns all over your body, actually, the flower doesn't matter as long it's your favorite and something you can identify yourself with.
3. Tell everyone that you are an artist. Very important step. Do not miss this one.
4. Write the name of yourcrushobession all over your body.
5. Tell everyone that you draw and that is a special hobby only artists do.
6. Always have a pen and sketchbook with you.
7. Tell everyone that you are an artist. Every day. Every hour. Every second.
8. Draw in the morning, during breakfast, during lunch, during dinner. Draw until the lights are out. If you want to be different than other artists than you should draw under the moonlight too. That makes it extra special.
9. But never forget to tell everyone that you're an ArTisT.
10. Bonus: If your rich upper class parents disapprove of your weird "phase" that will make you an even better artist.
She's an artist. She's colorful and imaginative. She's made of roses and pink glitter. She clinks when she walks and her skin is like gossamer. She's art itsef.
Now I want to see if what he told me was true or not.
So I wrap my hands around his thick trunk and put it on my face. From chin to forehead. And he was right. He was.
It covers me whole and there are still some inches left. His purple head goes past my forehead and I smile. And moan.
I also slap my cheek with it, rub my nose along the underside of his ark rod. As I lick that vein.

"I mean, I'm an artist, as you know. And artists draw. And I'd love to, uh, draw you if you'd –"
"Leave."
"But I –" He abandons his pen then, straightening up and away from the desk. "Out."
"I'm a wallflower. And you're a thorn." He looks back up, his eyes dark and slightly narrowed. "Get it? Because your last name is Thorne."
"They don't see how hard his wallflower is working his dick. His throbbing, beet-red dick. They don't see how eager she looks, how her tits. Tits that quite possibly belong on a milkmaid in a fucking porno – are all swollen under her schoolgirl blouse and how wet she is under that skirt. Maybe she's dripping on the floor, marking a puddle at my feet. Like she's dripping down her chin and making a puddle at the base of her throat. Is she? Dripping, Bronwyn."
"God yes. She is. I am."
Because as his mouth moves over mine, his hips slide against my pussy. My sore, beaten-up pussy blooms and creams and juices herself up for him.
Breaking the kiss, he pants against my mouth, "I know I trashed your pussy earlier. I know I beat her up but I –"
This time I cut him off with my kiss that he latches on to, hungrily, desperately, before I whisper, "Do it, please. Fuck me."


“So,” he says, his jaw clenching, the muscle in his cheek beating, “your Mr. Pierre is clearly a pervert.”
I draw back. “What?”
“You need to stay away from him.”
“Excuse me?”
He leans forward slightly. “He called you into his office. To tell you that he wants to nurture you. And that he wants to continue giving you private lessons. Lessons that I’m sure your parents know nothing about, do they?”
“Why is it that assholes like your dance teacher and your fucking art teacher, Mr. Pierre, and whoever the fuck Robbie was, are always salivating like dogs over your tiny self-decorated body and you never have a clue? What I’d like to know, Bronwyn, is what the fuck goes on in that bubblegum pink brain of yours?”
If I fuck a woman, she knows to get on her back at the crook of my finger and spread her legs. She knows to arch that back too and open her hole for me. And if instead of on her back I want her at my feet and if instead of her hole, I want her pink mouth, she knows to drop everything and get the fuck on her knees. And open that fucking mouth.
“So is your mouth pinky promising me,” he says, his jaw moving tightly, his thighs still flexing, “that it will give me a good ride? That it will give me the ride of my fucking life?”

“It’s the cock of a thirty-three-year-old man,” he rasps, “that won’t fit in your eighteen-year-old mouth. It’s a beast that your eighteen-year-old mouth will struggle to take in, let alone suck it like I like it. It’s wider than your tiny wrists and longer than that rosy as fuck face of yours, do you understand? You put your face under my dick, Bronwyn, and I’ll cover it from your chin to your forehead and still have inches left. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
His fingers flex in my hair again. “I like it a lot, you understand? I need it a lot. I need my dick sucked every day, three times a day. You up for that?”

“Language, watch it.”
“We’re not talking about me right now.”
“Out”
“Enough. You’re not allowed to say yes anymore. Do you understand?”
“Conrad, I —”
“Shut the fuck up,” he thunders.
“I bet they were so stuck that you could see it, yeah?” he whispers. “I bet you could see the shape of your rosy pussy through your wet panties. I bet your rosy pussy was so swollen that she was bursting out of your panties too. Gushing and dripping, making everything sticky.”
“Besides, I draw here every day,” I continue. “It’s my routine. And I read in a book once that discipline is very important if you want to be successful at something. Especially if you want to be successful as an artist. It’s a unique passion, see. It’s super self-driven, so I need to stick to a schedule.”
Before I raise my arms and push my fingers through my light brown tresses, loose and long.
I slowly sway my hips and bend my knees.
Before I drop down on the ground and part my thighs.
And as I come up, I’m flowing with the music. I’m flowing with her words. I’m flowing with his pain.
I’m flowing with him.
So much so that I feel a sting behind my eyes. I feel the tears. They fall down my cheeks, hot and sad, and I let them.




“I see them. Your hands. In my dreams. I see you in my dreams. I’ve been seeing you ever since you arrived at St. Mary’s. Ever since I picked that stupid fight with you on the field. And you got so angry. You’re always angry. In my dreams. You’re always agitated and frowning and clenching your sexy jaw. And you’re always taking my privileges away because you want to punish me for being bad. It makes me wonder what would happen if I pushed you too far. Would you do something drastic, something crazy? Would you put those hands on me? Your big, strong hands that could turn my pale skin all pink with one smack. All pink and pretty and painful. Because you’re a thorn. And I’m a flower and… So yeah, you were right. My teenage brain is obsessed with you and that’s my condition: you have to kiss me.”
I’m in his house.
I’m standing in the living room, taking everything in with what I know are wide, wide eyes.
But I can’t help it.
This is his house. His home.
He lives here.
My thorn lives here, and the very first thing I know right away — that I knew right as soon as I stepped through the door — is that this house, this place has character.

Looking into his eyes, I say, “I want you to kiss me.”
“You want me to kiss you,” he repeats.
“Yes,” I nod. “Because you traumatized me yesterday.”
.
.
.
His chest moves as he takes a breath and repeats my words again. “I traumatized you.”
“I’m a flower.” I hug his hoodie, so soft and cozy but most of all warm. “Not a bug. A wallflower.”
“What’s a wallflower?”
“A type of flower that grows on walls and loves it,” I explain, rubbing my chin in the cozy fabric as his eyes focus on my actions.
“Yeah, she is,” he keeps going, rolling his forehead against mine. “She’s dripping and dripping down her chin and it keeps coming. It keeps coming because Coach Thorne doesn’t care, does he? He doesn’t care that his wallflower is slobbering all over his cock because all he cares about is going even deeper. All he cares about is going down to her throat so he can see. He can see the fat outline of his cock in her slim throat. So he can see how he’s wrecking her. Owning her. Touching her tight teenage stomach.”
He had me on the edge so my rose just bursts in his mouth and he drinks it all down.




❝I’m in love with you. I’ve probably been in love with you for a long time. I just…❞
❝You’re just an idiot,❞ I complete his thread for him.
A lopsided smile. ❝Yeah, I’m a fucking idiot for taking so long to realize it.❞
❝I'm also eighteen.❞ He frowns and I explain, ❝years old.❞
❝Random,❞ he murmurs. ❝But okay.❞
I - ✋😭
instead i wanna celebrate this bish ✋😭👏
❝Can I… would you let me draw you?❞ I’m not sure what I’m saying. This was so completely not the plan. But still I go on. ❝I mean, I’m an artist, as you know. And artists draw. And I’d love to, uh, draw you if you’d —❞
❝Leave.❞
❝But I —❞ He abandons his pen then, straightening up and away from the desk. ❝Out.❞
❝But you do know the ways of the world now, don’t you?❞ he said over my lips. ❝I taught you. I’m teaching you. And I’m going to teach you more.❞
I grabbed his hair. ❝Are you saying I’m not a teenager anymore?❞
❝You fucking are,❞ he said before roving his eyes over my face and continuing, ❝but you’re different. You’re more.❞
good sir, you don't have to be such a creep about it 🙃
❝You’re an artist because you are one. Because you draw. You paint, you sketch. Because that’s what you do and that’s what you love.❞ …
❝And who are you, Bronwyn Littleton?❞ ...
I stand my ground, my hands still fisted as I reply, ❝Well if you must know, I’m an artist.❞
❝And I think you like that.❞
❝L-like what?❞
❝That I’m older,❞ he explains. ❝Than you.❞
I hug the book tighter, using it as a defense against the war he’s waging on me, on my senses. ❝Why would I like that?❞ But his response to my question makes me realize that there is none. There is no defense against him. Against my thorn.
❝Because you, Bronwyn Littleton,❞ he says, his eyes penetrating, ❝have daddy issues.❞
no his pervy ass did not just say that, i - 😭🤣
❝I’m going to take every inch of you. Every rosy little inch. And then I’m going to eat you up. I’m going to drink you down. I’m going to inhale you. Inject you in my bloodstream. I’m going to fucking live you, Bronwyn. Until I don’t want to anymore. Until this crazy irrational desire is gone. Until I’m not looking for you at school or driving down to your town and knocking at your door like an addict. Just because I didn’t get to see you today. Just because I didn’t get my fix. So you’re coming with me. Because you’re my pretty little wallflower and I’m done being insane over you.❞
❝I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say.❞
❝Good,❞ he clips. ❝You don’t have to. Just stop clinging to me like a fucking spider monkey and let me go.❞ I hug him even tighter as I say, ❝A flower.❞
❝What?❞
❝I’m a flower, remember? Not a spider monkey.❞
This time his sigh is bigger. ❝A wallflower, yes. Erysimum.❞
❝What?❞
❝That’s the correct nomenclature.❞ A second later, he says, ❝You belong to the cabbage family.❞
truly one of the few times i though Conrad was hot 👀
❝It’s the cock of a thirty-three-year-old man,❞ he rasps, ❝that won’t fit in your eighteen-year-old mouth. It’s a beast that your eighteen-year-old mouth will struggle to take in, let alone suck it like I like it. It’s wider than your tiny wrists and longer than that rosy as fuck face of yours, do you understand? You put your face under my dick, Bronwyn, and I’ll cover it from your chin to your forehead and still have inches left. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?❞
do i laugh or do i cry 😭
❝I stand by the wall where you stand and rub my nose on the bricks, hoping to catch a whiff of you. And when I do, I fucking open my mouth and drink it down. Your Coach Thorne drinks you down and then he bangs his head on the wall for doing that. For doing something so depraved. And then, even though he’s cursing at himself, hating himself for wanting his forbidden little wallflower, he goes to his chair. He sits on it and he opens her rosy pink letter. He opens it and reads it himself.❞
he smells what now?
❝Yeah. Your virginity.❞ A puff of breath escapes him. ❝And I’m not only obsessed with it, no. I’m not only constantly, constantly thinking about sticking my tongue down there, inside your rosy hole, so I can taste it, that tiny piece of flesh. In my fucking mouth. Before I rip it with my dick. Like I just did.❞
good sir. please do not say rip and vagina in the same sentence.
❝Because I told you what would happen if you wore a dress that could barely contain your milkmaid tits and your stripper ass.❞ His bright eyes darkened as he ran them up and down my body. ❝I told you that I’d rip it off. But since it was already off your body, I just picked it up and thew it in the trash.❞
milkmaid what now? and dude. dresses are freaking expensive.
❝They could smell your pussy. They could sniff out that she was freshly broken. As fresh as a week ago. They could smell that up until seven days ago, no one had touched her. No one had even laid their eyes on her. No one had tasted her. No one. Before me.❞
i - no. just … please stop.
… ❝I saw stars. I fucking saw pink glitter and unicorns. Your rosy fucking pussy made me see double, Bronwyn.❞ …
no. fucking. words.
… ❝Because if I’m your wallflower, then it means you’re my thorn too. And so if I want to suck your beast of a dick with my flower of a mouth, I can. You will let me. You’re not allowed to say no.❞ …
So I wrap my hands around his thick trunk and put it on my face. From chin to forehead. And he was right. He was. It covers me whole and there are still some inches left. His purple head goes past my forehead and I smile. And moan.
👁👄👁
❝Show Coach Thorne that teenager or not, his sister’s best friend or not, you’re going to rock his fucking world. Show him that you’re his dream girl.❞
❝This is the best thing ever. You’re dating my brother.❞
i mean … if one of my best friends dated my brother behind my back for MONTHS i'm not sure this would be my reaction … but you do you bestie.
❝Well, welcome to St. Mary’s.❞A pause. ❝Mr. Marshall. Oops, Principal Marshall. I think it’s going to be a fun summer.❞
❝Yeah?❞
❝Totally. I’m going to make it so.❞
"Once upon a time, I was afraid to dream."





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"What makes him off-limits times three however, and this whole scenario an epic tragedy, is that, Conrad, Wyn’s dream man, has a dream girl of his own.
And he’s as much in love with his dream girl as Wyn is in love with him…"