“Yeah, Lil, I was a dick,” I remind her. “I wanted you to feel my cock.” I drink in her features: round face and big green eyes.
“You hoped I would ride it, huh?”
“Every day.” It also doesn’t hurt admitting these things to her anymore. I can see the lightness in her expression too. We have each other now. That will never change.
“Guess what?” she says.
“What?”
“I want to ride it now and for every single day.” She lifts her head like she’s ready for a kiss. “Promise you’ll let me?” Christ—I could f**k her right now. Impatient, she inches downward, wiggling beneath me so that she’s in line with my cock. Abandoning the kiss.
I have to control every muscle in my body to keep from taking her. After a moment of concentration, I let out a dramatic sigh and grip her waist, pulling her higher. “Unfortunately, I can’t make that promise with you, Lily Calloway.”
She squints at me, waiting for my punchline. I take my time and then press my pelvis against her heat. Her breathing staggers, and she drops her hand as my c**k digs into her.
“You see,” I say, continuing where I left off. “There are going to be days where I want to ride you.”
“Oh…” She licks her lips, and I start rocking against her. Goddamn. My c**k screams to be inside of her. To toss away the sheet. To remove my drawstring pants and her underwear. I ignore my dick and focus on her reactions.
Her toes curl. Her h*ps buck. Aching for pressure.
I lift one of her legs higher, thrusting deeper. Fabric separating us. She hooks her other leg around my waist and moves with me, grinding against my erection. Jesus. My mouth opens as a heavy breath leaves me.
Moans breach her lips. One that escalates the longer I move. High-pitched. Desperate. Like I’m her ice in the desert. It’s like when we were teenagers. Only it’s not.
I have her this time.
I’m not just hers.
She’s mine.
I kiss her deeply, sucking on her bottom lip until it swells.
“Lo, please,” she begs, her hands trembling. She wants to touch herself, to meet her peak.
“Okay, okay, shhh,” I coax, smoothing her hair off her forehead.
I reach down, beneath the sheet and her panties, and start rubbing her with my thrusts. Her eyes flutter at the new sensation, and she takes a shallow breath. Her lips part, and I expect more moans. But she manages actual words.
“It’s really going to be like when we were younger,” she says in a dazed smile. I wait for the punchline this time. “…with you coming in your pants.”
I raise my brows, trying hard not to smile. “Who said I was coming in my pants?” I grab her chin in one hand and stare down at her beautiful mouth that starts to form a perfect “O.”
I kiss her cheek, her jaw, her lips, quickening the speed of my fingers on her soft flesh. “But you first, love.”
Her eyes say, yes. A million times over.
* * *
I descend the staircase, showered and about to head out for lunch with Ryke and Connor. The girls are spending the Saturday with Jane and Moffy, giving us free time.
“We all have two more f**king days until we get laid,” Ryke says as he leans against the foyer wall, waiting for me to finish tying my black Vans, “so why do you look so happy?”
“My girlfriend likes blow jobs,” I tell him with a shrug.
Ryke gives me a glare. “Why don’t you write a f**king book?” he says. “You could call it: Perks of Dating a Female Sex Addict.”
“Or you could write one,” I shoot back, rising to my feet. “Perks of Having the Hots for a Sixteen-Year-Old Supermodel and Having to Wait until She Turns Eighteen, Only to be Cock-Blocked by Your Bastard Half-Brother.” I flash a bitter smile.
“That title needs some work,” Connor says, clipping on his Rolex watch. “And that’s if we all agree Ryke can write a full-length novel.”
“Dude, I was a f**king journalism major.”
“And look how far that got you.”
“Let’s just go,” I cut in. “I’m starving and our bodyguards are probably bitching us out in their Escalades.” They have to follow us anywhere in public, including the local Mexican restaurant downtown.
Ryke turns the doorknob, and I step out onto the brick porch with my brother.
The minute my foot hits the welcome mat, liquid suddenly cascades in violent sheets, dousing Ryke and me. It’s slow motion. And I shut my eyes as the warm liquid tries to sear them. The smell is overpowering, sharp and too familiar.
“What the f**k!” Ryke yells, horrified.
It’s not water.
We’re drenched in something worse. After the gushing stops, a bucket tumbles a second later. I marbleize in realization. Fully processing what just happened.
We were just showered in alcohol.
By inhaling, I can tell that it’s bourbon.
I slowly open my eyes. I’m shaking, too stunned to do anything. I’m swept up in years and years of bad deeds and terrible nights. I look to Ryke, and his hair is wet, his gray shirt plastered to his chest. He’s breathing unevenly, filled with fury. “This is so f**ked up.”
And then he meets my eyes. His features burst with too many emotions. Panic for me. Rage at the teenagers.
The smell is killing me. On instinct, I lick my lips. It’s bourbon, for sure.
“Lo, don’t f**king taste it,” Ryke says quickly, grabbing my arm like he can stop me. He can’t.
“We’re soaked in booze,” I state like he can’t see it. “It’s too f**king late.” It doesn’t mean I broke my sobriety. Not again. I have to believe this. No matter how much my brain wants to say I f**king lost a battle today. I didn’t. I didn’t.
My face twists with my stomach. God. Dammit. I squat for a second, collecting my breath.
“Hey,” Ryke forces, bending down to me. He clasps my shoulder. “You’re okay.”
“No matter how much you say it, it doesn’t make it any f**king truer,” I retort in an agitated voice. I’m pissed. At the situation. Not at him. I grimace. “Just…” I’m trying not to lose it.
“Take off your clothes,” Connor says from the doorway, with an inexpressive voice.
It almost makes me laugh, but my features only morph into hurt. “How forward of you, love.”
“He’s right,” Ryke actually agrees with Connor. My brother lifts me up, so I’m standing straighter. And then he starts removing my sopping shirt since my joints are locked tight. When I unfreeze a bit, I pull my crew-neck over my head. Ryke tugs off his own shirt and tosses the wet fabric on the brick with mine.
I instinctively run a hand through my hair. I pause at the smell. At how much it’s seeping into my skin. Christ.
Ryke is saying something. My mind is on a hundred paths, speeding. I stare off at the road, expecting to find an audience. No one is there. Not these stupid, bored teenagers that’ve turned malicious. This is low. The girls TPed one of their houses. And in return they decided to shove me a thousand steps back in my recovery.
Ryke is right. It’s f**ked up.
It’s really, really f**ked up.
“Lo!” Ryke shouts, lightly slapping the side of my face to get me to concentrate.
I inhale a deep, strained breath that burns my muscles. “Don’t worry about me,” I say. “I’m not going to pass out and die.”