But he rests his palm on top of my hand, silently telling me to keep it there.
He kisses slower, and his tongue flicks in and out of my mouth, the best French kisser in the whole wide world. I think I could do this forever. Well, not forever. I need a release sooner or later, but foreplay has never been better between us. I revel in the beforehand now. Each moment means something. It’s not just about the cl**ax.
Though something hard, really hard, right inside of me would be just about perfect.
“Hey, get the f**k off each other.” Ryke’s voice wakes me from my blissful thoughts. A pillow assaults my side.
Lo props his body up with one arm, just enough to detach his lips from mine and reveal exactly where my hand has journeyed. In Lo’s shorts. On his cock.
Should I look over? I do. I glance at Ryke, who towers over the couch. My elbows heat in a shade of rash-red. Ryke crosses his arms, a dark accusing look on his face. “The couch is a public area.”
“We weren’t f**king,” Lo refutes with a half-smile. “Thanks for the concern, bro.” He helps me retrieve my hand from his shorts because I have frozen in a pit of embarrassment.
“Ten minutes later and you might have been,” he notes. “I really want to f**king go. The weight benches are probably all taken, so can you hurry up?”
“Yeah give me ten minutes.”
“Not with her,” he says. “It’s the middle of the afternoon.” Shit.
Lo’s jaw muscles tic, and he rises to his feet. “Ten minutes alone, I got it.”
I cover my hot face with my hands, watching out of the cracks of my fingers. I can’t touch myself. For other people, it’s not so dangerous. For me, it may trigger my compulsions. Losing thoughts and time to p**n and masturbating—not again. I don’t want to regress, not with this baby ticking inside of me.
I just need…to forget about the pulsing between my thighs. Do not think of what it feels like to cl**ax, Lily. Think about ugly thoughts. Unattractive things. I glance at Ryke, his scowly unshaven face and general broodiness. It almost kills my arousal. Almost.
Lo pauses beside the couch, and his eyes fall to me. “You’re coming with us, Lil.”
“Nonono,” I say. “I’m coming with you, not him.” I point a finger at Ryke, thusly removing a hand-shield from my face.
Ryke groans. “Really, Calloway?”
“Not that type of coming, Lil,” Lo says with a small smile, making me like less of a sex-crazed freak. He nudges my shoulder with his knee. “To the gym, okay?”
I nod, nervous flutters in my belly. I can hold out. I realize I’ve crossed my legs. I’d like something very, very hard still. Don’t think about it. Right. Unattractive things. Ryke Meadows. Ryke Meadows.
I breathe out.
“Don’t leave her,” Lo tells Ryke. It’s not a question.
His fear lingers long after he leaves, like a dust storm he kicked up in his wake. I think I’m okay. Wet, aroused, but I can wait until tonight. No p**n or touching. It’s not what I really want anyway. Loren Hale is my one true desire.
A couple seconds pass, the silent, awkwardness in the room disturbs me. I still lie on the couch, afraid to uncross my legs at the current moment.
“Can you talk?” I ask, tempted to just burrow in this couch like a na**d mole rat and never return to see daylight.
“Sure,” he says roughly, which makes me a little scared of what comes next. “We should talk about how I now have to wait for your boyfriend to jerk off before we can go to the gym.”
I cringe and let my other hand fall from my face. “Doesn’t it skeeve you out that you’re talking about your brother jerking off?”
He rolls his eyes and throws another pillow at me. Seriously annoying. Mood killer. I brighten. It’s working, and I don’t even think Ryke meant to be my sexual repellant.
“Who instigated that?” He gestures to the couch. “You or him?”
“It was mutual,” I reply defensively.
He opens his mouth and then closes it quickly, as though trying to choose the right words. That doesn’t happen that often. Ryke speaks on impulse with me. Finally he lands on this: “Are you okay?”
My lips part, not able to say anything, half out of shock.
“Don’t look so f**king surprised,” he says. “I care about you. It’s just…Lo has been in a bad place. All my concern has been directed towards him for a while.”
“Mine too.” Slowly, I sit up and hug one of the pillows to my chest, able to sit Indian style well enough. It’s not so bad. “I’m really worried about him.” I pause, collecting my thoughts. “He told me that he’s going out west with you and Connor, on a road trip, instead of going to rehab.” When he uttered those words, I started to cry. Anytime we’re separated it feels like someone has ripped a piece of me away, but this time, the tears were more from the shock of the situation. The longer we sat and discussed it, the more it felt right.
I hope that when he returns he’ll be in a much better place, enough to handle more news. I’m not even sure if keeping this secret will be easier or harder with him absent.
“I didn’t think rehab was a smart choice,” Ryke says. “Not with the press. I don’t think he can deal with more attention from the media.”
“I know,” I say, remembering every headline about his hospital trip. It’s bad enough that he broke his sobriety and landed there, but to have the whole nation in on it—it’s ten times worse. It made his recovery harder, and it was one reason why he drank again afterwards. He even told me so. “Thanks for that.” I look to Ryke. “For offering an alternative.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. But it’s not nothing. I saw the relief in Lo’s eyes when he told me about this pseudo-rehab away from cameras and the press.
Ryke takes a seat beside my feet, and he runs his hand through his dark brown hair. “Do you miss public sex or something?”
“Huh?” I frown at the quick subject change and tense at the actual topic.
“You were practically f**king in the living room,” he says, keeping eye contact with me. Which makes the awkwardness amplify by about ten notches. “Is it because you miss it? The public sex, I mean.”
I sometimes forget that Ryke is comfortable by most things. “Yeah…I miss it a lot,” I lie. The truth: Lo and I had sex in the pool a few weeks ago while Connor and Rose spent a long weekend in London.
“You know that you shouldn’t be ashamed of liking it. It’s not wrong,” he tells me. This is definitely a Ryke Meadows ploy to make me comfortable.
My cheeks heat. Half out of embarrassment and the other half out of fear. This is not how I want Ryke to discover my “extra sex” secret. He can learn the same way as Rose, when I eventually tell him that I’m pregnant.
“Not that this makes me a sex addict,” he prefaces, “but I prefer to have sex in places besides a bed.”
I perk up, more interested. I knew it. All of those bathroom breaks with Melissa during a Cancun trip years ago suddenly make more sense. He even did it on the plane. It’s very rare for me to find someone who enjoys these things. Maybe because I just don’t talk about sex all that much.
“Like where?” I ask.
“I’ve f**ked all over,” he says conversationally. I must admit, he has a gift in speaking without restraint or shame. It’s like he owns who he is to the fullest degree.