Текст книги "Kiss the Sky"

Автор книги: Becca Ritchie

Соавторы: Krista Ritchie
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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

[ 45 ]
CONNOR COBALT

I steady her in my arms, maintaining my intense rhythm. Rose sits on my lap, her legs wrapped around my waist while I lean against the headboard of the bed. Even with her on top, I guide her. I make the decisions and route the path. My hands grip onto the flesh of her hips, and I buck up into her with rough exhilaration.

She moans. I think I hear my name from her muffled voice. She can’t speak, even if she wants to. I’ve shoved her panties in her mouth. And her hands have been tied behind her back with my leather belt.

I stop moving, and her head lolls like she’s been riding a rollercoaster for the past twenty minutes. And maybe she fucking has. I’ve been alternating between taking her by the waist and maneuvering her own body up and down on my cock, and then keeping her still as I thrust my own body up. My chest rises and falls, and I try desperately to ignore the throbbing sensation in my groin. But I want to play with her, not just fuck her into submission.

“Pop quiz,” I say in a ragged breath. “One word to describe what you’re feeling. Only one.” I remove her lace panties from her mouth, and her breathing deepens as if trying to catch the air she didn’t have.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” I tell her. “You have a nose to breathe through. Or have I fucked your anatomy knowledge right out of you?”

Instead of glaring, her lips lift and her eyes lighten. I press my fingers underneath her chin and lift her gaze. “You like that,” I say, not asking. “You like me fucking you so hard that your brain empties of all those traversing thoughts.”

She sways on my lap like she might fall backwards. I hold her tighter, one hand on her back to keep her upright while I slip my fingers into her collar, gripping it forcefully to support her head.

“One word,” I remind her. “Even if it’s as ineloquent as the word cock. Right now.”

She licks her bottom lip and my eyes train to it. Don’t move, Connor. But it’s a struggle. Everything she does makes me want to take her hard and fast. And then she gives me her answer in a single, soft breath.

“Concupiscent.”

My eyebrows rise. “That’s a big word.”

She gleams with pride. Oh no, Rose. That was not a compliment. I pull her collar and she leans forward on my command. My lips brush her ear. “You’re still thinking properly,” I tell her. “Apparently I haven’t fucked you hard enough.”

I feel her sex tighten around my erection in quick, short pulsing motions. Her mouth needs to catch up with her body. It has no trouble begging for me.

I don’t move yet. I let her soak and squirm while I wait, trying my best to harness my own aching needs. “One word,” I say again. My fingers dig into the soft skin on her hip and then I slide my fingers, edging up the length of her thigh.

“Lascivious.” Her pronunciation slurs on the end and her head falls back, her eyelids fluttering as I begin to thrust again.

I stop after two short pumps. “One word.” I yank the collar and her eyes shoot open.

“Passion.” Better.

I let go of the collar and place both hands on her hips, and then I lift her off my shaft. I watch the way her body responds in distress. Not liking that I’m taking her away from me. When I bring her back down, filling her up, I do it hard. Our bodies make noises together. Flesh on flesh. Groans against moans. Ragged breathing that fills the silent air. I do it three more times, basically bench pressing her on my dick.

It might be my second favorite position. Right behind having her spread apart, tied up, gagged and left soaked and waiting on the bed.

On her third or fourth sharp gasp, I pause again, keeping her motionless with me deep inside.  “One word.”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Fuck.” There we go.

I take her in my arms again and make sure it’s the last word she remembers.

* * *

We talk for a while, Rose on her stomach, the comforter at her waist while I have an elbow propped on my pillow. I run my hand over her lower and upper back, massaging any tense muscles and engraining the velvet of her skin in my mind.

I adore these moments after sex, almost as much as the actual act. Her stress has been reduced to a minimum. Even when she talks about her to-do list—her worries and fears—it’s with an easy breath, not a strained one.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep Daisy with us after the show ends,” Rose says softly. “I talked with my mother, and she won’t let her leave.” She has her cheek on her pillow, turned to me. “Maybe if there’s a season two, she’d be able to live with us.”

A season two? Another six months dealing with Scott, with invasive cameras following our every move? “You’d want that?” I ask.

“No,” she says frankly. “I already have what I wanted out of the show. Fizzle stocks are high. A couple retailers are looking to store my pieces. People sympathize more with Lily than they ever have.” This last fact has her smiling. “That’s the best part,” she admits.

It’s hard to deny Lily’s love for Loren or his love for her when they’re always together on the show. “They’re easy to root for,” I say, kissing her shoulder. “You just have to understand them first.” That’s the hard part. Being willing to look past their addictions and see a person.

She shuts her heavy eyes for a second, but I don’t want her to sleep just yet. I have to ask something important while she’s in a complacent mood.

“About the wedding,” I start. And before I can finish, she interjects, her eyes shooting open.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I showed Lily her wedding gown the other day, and she was happy, Connor.” Rose smiles like it’s a fantasy. My stomach twists in knots. She supports her body on her forearms to look at me better. “She squealed and bounced like she was excited. I think she’s finally ready to get married.”

“That’s great,” I say, not able to control my stilted voice. “I’m happy for her.”

She frowns, and then she hits my arm. “You don’t sound happy.”

My hand stops on her lower back. “I’m with a girl who refused to take part in childhood games of marriage, and now you’re fawning over someone else’s wedding.” She’s told me before that when Lily and Lo pretended to get married as little kids, she destroyed all of the flowers by ripping them off the stems, and then she called everyone “stupid” and stormed away.

“If you’re worried whether I’ll mutilate the flowers at their wedding, don’t be. I picked them out. They’re having orchids.”

“I changed them.”

Her eyes jolt further open, and she sits all the way up, holding the sheet to her chest. She points at me. “If my mother swayed you to orange lilies and teal ribbon—”

I cover her mouth. “I didn’t consult your mother on any of the final arrangements, I promise.”

“Then what’s this about?” she asks. “You look like you failed a math test.”

I edge close to her and kiss her temple. “I was just thinking about us.”

She freezes. “And it upset you?”

I’ve always been the most confident, the most prepared, but never the most forthcoming. And all of these are being overturned. How can you be confident when someone else holds your fate? I can’t make my own if she’s won’t deal me some cards.

“I’m all in,” I tell her. “I want the kids. I want the wedding ring on your finger. I want all of it with you, Rose. Where’s your head at?” We haven’t talked about this in months. The last time we did, she denounced my vain concept of children, but after dealing with Daisy, Lily—she has to see that we’d be good together, beyond academic rivals, beyond great sex. We’re compatible in life. And that’s what matters most.

She shakes her head as she stares off in thought.

My chest constricts, and I try to make this easier for her. “Imagine yourself in two years. What do you see?”

After a long silence, she says, “I see you working for Cobalt Inc. beside your mother, and I see us taking vacations together with my sisters and their boyfriends or husbands, whatever they’ve done in two years.” She rolls her eyes but smiles at that future.

I wait for her to finish, but that’s it. “What about Calloway Couture?”

“I don’t know. I’d probably have more employees to help me. I wouldn’t be so focused on it, or at least, I don’t want to be.”

I frown, not expecting this answer at all. “But you love fashion.”

“You loved Wharton.”

I shake my head at her. It’s not the same. And I’ll show her why. “Can you really quit your business, Rose? Would that make you happy?”

She lets out a deep breath like she’s combatted with this all before. “No. I would be miserable without Calloway Couture, but I’m miserable trying to keep it running. I have no control in what happens to the line once it goes in the store. It could be pulled in a year, less than that. And then I have to work hard all over again. For what?”

“So that women may wear your clothes, darling.”

“It’s foolish.”

“It’s not even close to that, Rose,” I tell her with narrowed eyes. “You give women clothes that they can feel confident in. You empower them in a way you know how, and that will never be foolish. That’s beautiful and brilliant and something you can’t forget.”

And then she kisses me. Her hand clenching my hair as her lips press against mine. I smile and urge her lips open for a second, our tongues meeting in an embrace that clutches my mind and refuses to let go.

But she breaks first, holding my cheek in a delicate hand. “Thank you,” she says. “You’re right—” She puts her fingers to my lips. “Don’t you dare gloat.”

I try not to grin too much.

Her lips rise. “I’m going to try to find a way to be happy with what I have. I don’t want to keep thinking it’s never enough. And I’m not ready to give it all up either.”

I grab her hand, dropping it from my mouth. “That’s a smart decision.” I brush the bottom of her reddened lip. “And in ten years, when your sisters and their husbands have children and families of their own, what do you picture for yourself?”

“I can’t look that far,” she refutes.

“Lies,” I scoff with the click of my tongue. “You’ve mapped out your life already.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that’s what you and I do. We envision our futures and we make it happen.”

She squeezes my knee. “Now you make us seem utterly shallow and vain.”

“We are,” I say. “But in the best way.” I grin and wait for her to tell me. I want to hear it.

“I see you and me together, and we’re eating Thanksgiving at our house. Loren and Lily come over. They don’t have kids, but they’re happy with that. And Daisy will arrive on her motorcycle with some drifter boyfriend we all hate. Ryke won’t be there. He’ll be…climbing some mountain in another country, backpacking or something insane. And you and I will be drinking wine by the fire after everyone goes to bed.”

No children.

Anywhere. Not even for her sisters.

That’s how scared she is. “What frightens you about having kids?” I ask her, skimming her palm with my fingers, tracing the lines while she comes to an answer.

She goes rigid, and I sit all the way up and rub her legs that peek beneath the sheet. “Failure,” she says with a tight voice. “What if they hate me? What if I don’t show them the love they deserve? What if I turn out like my mother and suffocate each one?” She pauses. “I don’t want to ruin a human being, Richard.”

I stroke her hair, pinning a strand behind her ear. “You won’t, Rose. I’ll be here to help you, and I have no doubt that you’ll love each of our children as much as the next one.”

I wait for her to refute. To shoot me a dark glare and snap about me not knowing anything about kids since I have none. But I know her, and I know she’d be a great mother if she allowed herself the chance to be one. And to believe this—all anyone needs is a glimpse into how she treats her sisters. With compassion, dedication and soul-bearing love. She gives all of herself to the people she cares for.

“In our late thirties, if we’re ready, if you help me, I can imagine a little girl or two…” She trails off as she stares at my face. “What?”

My mouth has fallen, and then my surprise transforms into the purest fucking joy. I smile so bright; I can’t do anything but kiss her on the cheek, on the lips. I tackle her on the bed and pin her to the mattress.

“Richard,” she says with a smile. “Stop for a second.”

I grin. “You want children?” She said yes.

“When I’m thirty-five or older,” she retorts.

She wants children.

I kiss her deeply.

“You have to help me,” she says between kisses.

Help. She’s asking for help. A girl who struggled to take my college blazer to hide a stain is willingly opening her arms to me—to us. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was be on your team, Rose.” I laugh as I remember. “You, Miss Highest Honors, were the one who chose to be my rival by attending Princeton.”

She tilts her head. “I like competing against you.” She sits up on her elbows, her lips so close to mine as she says, “But I like being your teammate more.”

“Me too, darling.”

Me too.

[ 46 ]
ROSE CALLOWAY

7 days – Mom

I try not to let the countdown alter my mood anymore. I’m more upset that Poppy, my oldest sister, decided not to come to Lily’s bachelorette party. Since we’re spending the weekend in Vegas with the cameras—and Scott, tall villainous Scott—she chose to stay back in Philly. At least she wants to be a part of the wedding.

Lily dances beside me, wearing a pink sparkly Bachelorette sash and tiara. Her happiness makes Scott’s looming presence worth it. We’re in a huge club with multi-colored strobe lights and half-naked girls gyrating in cages.

I grab Lily’s hands, all of us a little buzzed. Usually Lily doesn’t drink, but when I ordered shots with Daisy, she said she wanted to be a part of it.

“You’re getting married!” I shout over the music, swinging her hands.

She beams from ear-to-ear. “I’m getting married!”

I don’t really understand her sudden change of heart. But why question it? I’ll just ruin this, and I’d rather enjoy tonight and the next seven days.

Daisy twists her sweaty hair into a bun on top of her head. Savannah and Brett try to film us without being shoved by other dancers.

“Hey, look who it is?” I hear a guy shout.

Great.

“Go back to Philly, sluts!” The guys don’t near us, but the longer they yell, the more likely they will find the courage (or stupidity) to do so.

“Get out of Vegas!”

“Should we take a bar break?” Daisy asks. “Beer time?”

Lily tries to ignore the heckling too. She nods quickly. “Beer time”

“You girls want beer?” I say. We have the option of fruity cocktails, dirty martinis, tequila shots, and they’re going to choose beer. Really?

“You’ve never had beer before,” Lily refutes. “This is the day for us to try new things together. Come on.”

She tugs my hand.

“But you don’t even like beer,” I retort. Beer is not my alcohol of choice. Although, I’ve never tasted it. It kind of looks like piss in a glass, which makes complete sense why frat guys love it so much.

“I do like it,” Lily tells me. “I just don’t drink it often.”

“I love beer,” Daisy says with a nod.

“You love everything,” Lily and I say in unison.

She smiles and shrugs. And she would probably try to eat everything if she didn’t have to worry about her weight.

“Go back to—”

“We heard you!” I shout at the air, not sure where the voice is coming from. It must be close considering I hear him over the music.

We reach the long black granite bar with blue lights underneath, and we pick three stools beside each other. Lily is seated between us, and a guy with a scruffy jaw and tattoos sits on my left. From here, we can see our guys over in the VIP roped area, a balcony above us. They sit on leather couches and talk.

Scott doesn’t join them. He leans his forearms on the balcony railing, his eyes pinned to me. The whole time.

It’s aggravating, but I feel worse for Loren who has to put up with Scott during his bachelor party. And I rarely pity Loren in settings like this.

I glance at Lily who pockets her phone as soon as my eyes hit her.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Texting Lo. Let’s order.”

If this bartender would respond to my waving hand, that task would be much easier. But she’s having a nice time flirting with the male customers who’ll tip her more. I would have tipped her well. Now I’m reconsidering. I snap my fingers.

Lily grabs my hands, flushing in embarrassment. “She’s not a dog.”

Well she’s not a good bartender either. But I tone it down because Lily looks as red as the bartender’s formfitting dress.

I guess we’ll have to wait.

Patience—it’s something I don’t have.

[ 47 ]
CONNOR COBALT

Scott keeps looking at Rose. It’s creepy. Can you do something? – Lily

I pocket my phone. I’ve tried to stand up and distract Scott from Rose, but every time I do, Lo pulls me back down and Ryke tells me not to give him the time of “fucking” day. But it’s about Rose, and I don’t want her to be uncomfortable because of him.

“Go back to Philly, assholes!” Someone screams from one leather couch over.

“I’m getting the sense we’re not wanted here,” Lo says dryly. He tries not to provoke the hecklers, but I can see the irritation growing as he flashes a bitter smile.

I glance from the text to Scott. “Give me a minute,” I tell the guys. “I need to talk to him. Seriously.” I have to see what he’s plotting.

“No, we thought you were joking the last four times,” Lo says.

But I stand up from the leather couch anyway, expecting Lo to tug me back, but he just nods to me and says, “Tell him I hate him.”

“Any other messages?” I look at Ryke.

“Tell him to fuck himself.”

I nod. “Didn’t expect anything eloquent.”

He flips me off, and I leave both of them to go to Scott. I rest my arm on the railing like him, not saying a word as I stand by his side. I just watch what he does.

Rose.

She argues with the a brunette bartender in a red dress, and even from afar, I notice the way she cranes forward with heat in her eyes, obviously on the offensive about something.

“So here you are,” I say, feeling the gleam of Ben’s camera lens behind me. “I have the girl, and you’re left with what?” I finally turn to look at him.

“I never wanted the girl,” he says.

I try not to seem shocked. I thought this was a pissing contest from the start. “You wanted fame,” I state, throwing it out there for him to catch.

“No.” He stands straighter. As do I. And we face each other. “If I wanted fame, do you really think I’d be the producer of a reality show? You think someone’s going to award me a fucking Emmy for filming six rich college students?”

I don’t make a point to announce that I already graduated college. He knows this. “So you just want money from the show,” I say. “Princesses of Philly is a hit. You have your payoff. There’s no reason to keep looking at Rose. The charade is over, Scott. You’re not her ex. You’ve never been.” But I stop myself. The more I say these things, the more his lips curve in a smug grin. I inhale in detest, rubbing my mouth as a bad taste rises.

“There’s no season two, is there?” he asks.

“No.”

“I figured as much when she signed the contract. I thought there’s no way she’d want to do this for longer than six months.” He shakes his head at me. “It’s not over, Connor.”

He wants more money.

What the fuck is he going to do?

Before I have a chance to continue, my phone repeatedly buzzes in my pocket. I answer it, not checking the caller.

“You have to get down here, right now!” Lily yells so I can hear over the loud music.

“What’s going on?” I ask while I look for them at the bar. Rose is no longer arguing with the bartender. The thirty-something guy next to her is in her fucking face. And she’s in his as they scream.

I can hear her voice in the background of Lily’s receiver.

“Just order the fucking beer!” he yells. “Who cares what size it is?!”

“For you to understand me, you’d have to open your tiny, infantile brain,” she sneers, “and try to step onto my plane of existence!”

“Girl size or guy size, it’s not that fucking hard of a concept! Small or large!”

“FUCK YOU!” she shouts, not even that drunk.

I race down the balcony stairs at that last curse word. And I feel Ryke and Loren behind me, the distress must be clear in my muscles that constrict from my neck to arms.

When I reach the first floor, still on the phone with Lily, I sprint ahead, the crowds parting as soon as they see me. The bar is in sight. Maybe fifty feet away.

And then he punches her.

In the face.

Everything moves quickly.

The momentum knocks Rose off the bar stool. Lily crouches down to help her, and Daisy shoves the guy, screaming and trying to hit him back.

My heart is in my throat. The sensible, reasonable part of me that I have always listened to says to go to Rose, to make sure she’s okay. But the livid, boiling side that Rose is familiar with has a mind of its own. I’m already making my way to him, my hand clenched around my phone, my knuckles white with hatred. Who the fuck punches a woman? I’ve met some assholes—some really fucked up people that would sell their child if it meant living an A-class lifestyle. But this shit is something new and foreign and disgusting.

I almost reach the guy.

But as soon as he says, “Oh, you’re that prick on the show. Come to restrain your fucking crazy girlfriend? She needs her mouth taped shut—”

I lay one fist into his stomach before the bouncers separate us. My grip was strong enough to break the screen on my phone. These stupid, raging emotions collect as I realize Rose is still hurt. On the ground.

I find her within a second. Lily has her arms above Rose so no one enters her space. And Lo is right beside Rose’s head, holding a napkin filled with ice to her cheek that he must have grabbed from the bar.

“Tell me you hit him,” Lo says the moment he sees me.

I nod once.

“Thank God.”

“Thank me,” I say, dropping to my knees while Lo just laughs. It’s easy to joke right now. This is the hard part. “Rose?” I inspect her cheek that swells. Not a shiner, but she’ll have a bruise on the bone. I can barely breathe without seeing a fist in her face. Her body falling off the stool. The motion is repeated over and over again. I want to fucking puke.

“He hit me!” she growls, her eyes flickering hot. She tries to sit up to go attack him, but Lo keeps his hand on her shoulder, forcing her down.

“I have her,” I tell Lo, and I swiftly cradle her in my arms. She holds onto my bicep, not trying to go after the guy. Lo passes her the ice, and she keeps it to her cheek, silent again.

“How bad is it?” she asks. “Oh my God, the wedding pictures.” She grimaces. “What an asshole!” She growls again.

“There’s such thing as Photoshop,” I tell her with an even-tempered voice. I hate that she’s hurt, and another guy was the cause. From the sound of it, he wasn’t even a heckler.

“LET ME AT HIM!” Daisy screams.

We all turn our heads. Ryke has Daisy thrown over his shoulder, beelining towards the exit. I follow with Rose in my arms, Lily and Lo behind me somewhere.

Daisy tries to climb down Ryke’s back to go attack the tattooed guy who’s seated at the bar again. Her head is near his ass until he pulls her back up on his shoulder.

“HE HIT MY SISTER!!!”

“Say it a little louder, Dais!” Ryke shouts at her. “The world can’t fucking hear you!”

She screams incoherently and then yells, “If someone hit Lo, you’d kill them!”

“Someone did hit Lo, and I didn’t do a fucking thing,” Ryke retorts, “so calm the fuck down!”

I remember that night. It was when they met each other. He didn’t really know Lo then. I try to concentrate on Rose, who looks murderous at any person who passes, as though every dancer in the club wronged her.

“You’re okay,” I tell her.

“I should have punched him back.”

“You were on the ground.”

She huffs. “How do I look?” she asks, her eyes softening as she stares up at me. Her cheek continues to swell.

“Beautiful,” I say, and I kiss her forehead before she can refute.

“At least he didn’t break my nose,” Rose says, pinching the bridge with two delicate fingers in gratitude.

If he broke her nose—I think my mind would have truly ejected at the sight of her blood.

Just as Ryke disappears through the door to go outside, I glance over my shoulder to make certain that Lily and Loren are following. But I notice Scott close by, speaking to Brett, both of them laughing and smiling together.

I have a horrible feeling.