Текст книги "Kiss the Sky"
Автор книги: Becca Ritchie
Соавторы: Krista Ritchie
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
[ 13 ]
CONNOR COBALT
I check my watch. 4 a.m. The stationary cameras in the kitchen rafters film me, but there’s no possibility anyone would want to watch me, alone, right now. I just take pleasure in the idea that Scott will have to sift through hours of footage of me doing monotonous tasks, like studying. I find time to give the cameras the finger too, even if it’s childish.
Ryke would definitely do it.
And if I can tell Scott to fuck off at four in the morning, then I’ll gladly take the opportunity. The benefit is just too fucking good.
I pour black coffee into a larger mug and fit the pot back. As soon as I turn around, I flinch and almost spill the hot liquid on my button-down and slacks. “Dammit, Rose.”
She wears her black silk robe, but I focus on her hands that fix firmly on her hips. “You never came to bed.”
I take a sip of my coffee and pass her easily, heading to the kitchen table, papers spread around my open laptop. “I have business reports due tomorrow. I don’t have time to sleep.” She follows me, and just as I near my chair, she kicks the legs, and it overturns and clatters to the floor.
My brows jump as I look from Rose, her arms crossed, and the chair on the floor. “Are you trying to start something?” I would smile if my eyes didn’t feel like lead. My temples pound as though someone repeatedly swung a bat at my face. She has more leverage on me when I’m this exhausted.
“Let me help you with the report,” she says.
“No.” I set my mug down on the table so I don’t burn her or me. Her vexed stance and piercing yellow-green eyes tell me what she may do next. And it’s not going to be delicate.
“Richard, you can’t live off two hours of sleep a day. So either I help you or you’re going to turn your report in late and try to get an extension.”
The latter is not an option, and while I think Rose is fully capable of helping me, she needs the sleep as much as I do. There’s no point in both of us suffering while I try to get my MBA.
“Go back to bed,” I say flatly.
“You’re stubborn.”
“I’m determined,” I refute. I layer on a complacent smile, which causes her chest to rise in irritation.
She shoves me hard, and I sway at the force, already predicting it enough to brace myself. But she catches me off guard, darting to the table and gathering my papers. She scans the words quickly.
“Rose,” I warn. “You’re not helping me.” I try to collect the papers from her, but she holds them above her head, as though that’ll work. I easily snatch a couple, having the height advantage.
“I can calculate these numbers,” she says, glancing at the computer screen.
“I have no doubt that you can. But you’re not going to.” She tries to reach for my laptop, but there’s no way I’m letting her touch it—tired or not, I block her with my body and shove her back with enough force that she stumbles into the wall.
She gapes and then her lips tighten. “You always talk about how I need to accept help once in a while. You’re becoming a—”
“Think hard before you finish that sentence, darling.”
Her eyes brighten at the challenge. “A hypocrite.”
That’s it. I grab her around the waist, and she starts hitting my chest with closed fists. “Set me down right now, Richard!”
I carry her towards the kitchen sink, my hand gripping her ass, while she thrashes against me. When she bites my arm, I grimace into a laugh. “You want to play rough?” I set her feet on the ground, and before she can orient herself, I push her hard against the kitchen island.
I lose my hand in her hair and yank forcefully. She gasps, but she blinks quickly. “Let me help you.”
“No.”
Her nose flares. And she slams the heels of her palms into my chest, forcing me back. “I’m doing half of your report.” She’s about to storm over to the kitchen table, but I seize her again. My lips find her ear as I draw her ass towards my cock.
“No,” I force, “the only thing you’re going to do is sleep.” My hot breath hits her skin as I lower my head. Her perfume smells like white roses and ivy—a scent that dizzies me in an intoxicating lull. I love every inhale. My lips skim her neck before I suck deeply.
She lets out an audible noise of pleasure before spinning on me again, her gaze flickering to my laptop.
“No,” I tell her.
“Yes.”
When we disagree, we usually don’t speak for a couple days until one of us concedes. I don’t want that to happen tonight, not with Scott upstairs trying to encroach on my territory. I watch her shift in anger, her black robe stopping mid-thigh. Adrenaline pumps into my veins as her blazing eyes dance over me.
I rub my sensitive lips, and I make a calculated decision. I shove her into the island again, and she lets out a sharp noise. She tries to fight me at first, but I pin her to this place with my pelvis, her spine curving against the counter.
I squeeze her chin and glare as though she’s been a bad fucking girl, a look she rarely sees from me. Her whole body shudders. I feel every quake against my chest, my legs, my arms and groin. Her lips part and a high-pitched moan staggers upon release. The noise grips my cock so tightly that I choke on a groan. I want to be so far inside of her. I want to pound between her legs until her eyes flutter, until her limbs slacken in exhausted defeat.
She breathes heavily, as do I, and I trace her lips, her flushed cheeks, her narrowed eyes.
“I’m helping you,” she says with a raspy voice.
“No,” I say before I bite her lip. She moans again, and I slip my tongue into her mouth, kissing her forcefully. She returns it with just as much power, her hands clenching my hair with a desperation that I haven’t seen from her in a while.
I lift her up onto the counter and pull her legs towards me. I wrap them around my waist, not giving her time to be uncertain. My hands drift underneath her robe, relaxing on the bareness of her thighs. I kiss her while guiding her shoulders onto the cool counter. My lips break from hers, sucking a line from her collar towards her breasts. With one hand, I slowly untie her robe, and then her eyes meet the cameras overhead.
She shoots up and places two hands on my chest. “Wait…” Her eyes flicker to the rafters again. I don’t want Scott to see Rose naked any more than she does, but I knew this would be the easiest way to get her to forfeit.
I’m not really a winner in this scenario. My cock hates me, dying to slip between her legs and thrust for as long as we both can last.
“Let me help.”
“I’m either fucking you right now. Or you’re going to bed.”
She realizes there’s no alternative. Really, I wouldn’t deflower her in the middle of the kitchen with cameras pointed on us. I may be horny, but I have an idea of how I want to take her virginity. And this isn’t it.
“Fine,” she concedes. “I’ll go to bed this once, but if I catch you up again like this, I’m helping. Or you’re going to wake up with bruises.”
“Such threats.” I kiss her cheek, my lips lingering.
She holds my arms and swallows hard. I put a little space between us, but I keep my hand on her knee as she stays seated on the counter. A sudden thought sweeps my brain. It’s one I’ve meant to ask before. “Where do I rank in your life?”
She frowns and shakes her head in confusion. “You want me to rank you?”
I nod. I want to know how far I have to climb to be her first importance. I’m willing to work hard to get there, but I need to know who fills her heart before me and if I’ll ever be able to surpass them.
“I have siblings,” she says.
Her sisters outrank me. All three of them. That’s what I thought. “I almost had brothers,” I tell her honestly.
Her face falls. “What?”
“Twins. They would have been fourteen by now.” I skim her knee with my finger.
“How can you say it like that?” she asks.
“Like what?”
“Detached.”
“I’m not the one who carried them for nine months.”
She slaps my arm. “Stop being an ass. This is serious.”
“I know. That’s why I’m telling you. I’m not sure if having brothers would have made me a different person.” I’ve often thought about this event and how it could have reshaped my life, but it’s too foggy to see a clear outcome. They would have been ten years younger than me. They would have gone to boarding school, been distanced from my life at Penn. Would I have been as fiercely protective of them as Rose is to her sisters? I don’t know. I was never given the chance to see. “My mother had complications during their birth. They both passed, and I have no idea how she coped afterwards. She seemed…fine. She could have been as cold as she appeared to be, or she could have just hid her grief. I wouldn’t know.”
“Didn’t your parents separate two years later?”
I nod. “But I think their marriage was already strained when she was pregnant. I rarely saw them together.”
“Do you think…?” She trails off, not able to say the words.
“That she cheated on him? That those weren’t his kids?” I shrug. “Maybe. But all of it is neither here nor there. It’s all just…gone.”
She exhales loudly. “That’s a lot to take in, Richard.”
“No one knows that except Frederick. I didn’t think it was important.”
“It is,” she says.
I still don’t see how, but somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I must have believed it was significant too or else I wouldn’t have shared it. “So you love your sisters the most?”
She runs her fingers through her shiny brown hair. “I can’t imagine loving anyone more than them.”
“You do realize that Lily loves Loren more than anyone else on the planet? If they were both given the ultimatum of oxygen or each other, I’m fairly certain they’d choose to suffocate.”
She contemplates this for a second, her brows scrunching in thought.
“I’m not asking you to love me,” I tell her. “I think we’re both smart enough to choose oxygen.” I don’t see how love could benefit me.
Her eyes fall and her lips downturn. After a full minute of silence, she says, “I’d choose to die if it meant my sisters could live. You think it’s stupid, but sometimes love is worth every foolish choice you make.” She hops off the counter. “Oh, and you’re my number three.”
“I beat Poppy already?” I fight a burgeoning smile.
“I see her less than I do you.”
I fit my arms around her waist. “Don’t ruin it,” I breathe, kissing her neck lightly. My hand lowers to the small of her back, and I leave her with one last kiss to the forehead that feels more genuine than all the others. “You’ve bewitched me, body and soul.”
She glares. “And you ruined it with a quote from Pride and Prejudice.”
I grin. “What? I thought we were purposefully being cliché.”
“Maybe next time, quote the book and not the film.”
My eyebrow arches and I recite theatrically, “You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.” I shake my head. “Doesn’t have the same ring to it, darling.”
A laugh escapes her lips. “Go back to work. I’ll see you in the morning. Oh wait,” she feigns surprise, “it is the morning. I’ll see you when we cross paths again.” I watch her walk to the staircase, her lovely round ass bouncing against her silk robe.
“How can you be sure we will?” I ask before I return to my computer. She hypnotizes me, gluing me to this very spot.
She glances over her shoulder, her silky hair molding her beautiful face. “Because,” she says, “we always do.”
[ 14 ]
ROSE CALLOWAY
I didn’t go back to sleep. I decided to take a shower before the rest of the house wakes up. The bathroom is my hell. I think it’s the third or second circle. Scott Van Wright, a devil in disguise, stands firmly in the first.
A chest-high tiled wall barely separates one shower from the other. As though we need to high-five while we’re shampooing our hair.
I wash quickly, but I have a particular routine: scrub beneath my nails at least twice, rinse, shampoo, wash, condition, repeat. I’ve already finished with those steps. But I still have others to do.
I prop my foot near the hot-and-cold knob and shave my leg. I slow down to avoid cutting my ankle or knee.
And then the door swings open.
I drop my leg, warm water dousing me from the showerhead. Please be Connor.
I process that sudden realization—that I’d want it to be him, out of everyone, that’d I’d hope for it. Even if it would pull him away from his business project.
I hate that I’m attracted to a man who thinks love is nothing but a weakness. But I also adore that there’s no one else remotely like Connor Cobalt in the world.
And I’m the one who has him.
When I look back up, Scott is already halfway inside, heading to one of the sinks in the center. He barely acknowledges me, just turns on the faucet and starts brushing his teeth. I solidify to stone. And I only move to cover my chest with my arms, standing underneath the showerhead, as though the downpour of water will clothe me.
I should ignore him and just go back to shaving, but I can’t reawaken my taut muscles.
I shouldn’t watch him either, but I find myself scanning his features quickly. Messy dishwater blond hair, scruffy jaw, and reddened eyes from the early morning.
He spits into the sink, and his gaze meets mine as he wipes his mouth with a towel. “Yes?”
“I didn’t say anything.” My voice is not even a little kind. I don’t know how to defrost the ice that clings to each syllable, even if I wanted to.
“You’re staring.” This fact gives him permission to lower his gaze to the misted shower glass.
I don’t look away. I will not come across as a frightened bird.
“I wondered if you were a bush kind of girl. Now I know.” He tops it off with a half-smile.
I purse my lips. He can’t see that much detail through the glass. “You’re a pig.”
He tosses his toothbrush back in a cabinet underneath the sink and leans against the porcelain rim. “And Lo calls me Mr. Hollywood. Do you all have a thing with nicknames?”
“Loren also told you to eat shit in the same breath, so I wouldn’t gloat.”
His grin never falters, in fact it widens. “You forget that every curse word, every pig and insult is another notch for ratings. So keep ‘em coming, honey.”
He prefers to provoke Loren since he’s fishing for drama. He’d like for me to curse him out too. Maybe I should seal my lips shut and let him deal with the silence. We could still have great ratings without being nasty. But it’s harder for me to be nice than mean. However awful that seems.
Scott steps closer to the showers, and my eyes tighten as I glare so hard. I continue to hide my breasts with my arm, but everything else is exposed. I could reach for the towel, but surrendering is not an avenue I’ll take. I’ll look foolish and scared, which’ll sit like dead-weight in my stomach.
He slowly steps out of his pants.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He cocks his head. “Taking a shower, Rose.” He motions to the available “stall” beside mine—the one so close that we could practically high-five. “Do I need your permission?”
“Yes.” I straighten my shoulders. “And you’re not getting it.”
He laughs. “I was just being a dick when I asked. I don’t really care about your permission.”
I don’t really care about your permission. His words gnaw a hole in my brain. I hated him before. I think I loathe him now.
He removes his white shirt, and my eyes linger on his abs for point-two seconds. They’re okay… Defined, but more “I lift too many weights and drink a shit ton of protein shakes” sculpted than the natural “this is my body. I’m just fucking hot” look. Which all three guys in the house possess in spades (even if they all do work out together).
My loyalties lie far, far away from Scott Van Wright—and even a simple compliment about his body feels like kissing a pig who shit in my yard.
I catch a glimpse of his red briefs.
This is not okay.
Fuck it. Where’s my towel?
I go to reach over the glass door to retrieve the cloth off the hook, but Scott snatches it—and it slings right out of my grip.
You have got to be– “That’s my towel.” This is not okay.
“Now it’s mine.” Scott acts modest all of a sudden, tying it around his waist so he can shed his underwear.
I fume. Outwardly. Steam may as well be blowing out of my ears. “What no peep show this morning?”
“We’ll save that for the bedroom,” he says. And winks. He winks at me. My insides shrivel in repulsion. I think he just poisoned my uterus.
He takes off his briefs, all while keeping the towel snug around his waist, and then he kicks his underwear to the side. His eyes pin to me, a smile playing at his lips. Yes, he is naked underneath that towel.
And yes, I am very much naked in the shower right now.
I’m not quite sure things could get much worse.
“Sorry that phone call took so long, darling.” Connor’s voice emanates from the doorway. “The partners wouldn’t stop talking about finger paints.”
A sudden wave of relief crashes into me. My teammate has arrived to tag me out of this disaster. Somehow he saw or heard Scott in the bathroom and came to retrieve me. Maybe he finally realized that I can finish his project for him.
Thank you. I’m out of here.
And then Connor says, “My shampoo, is it in there?”
That relief is squashed by anxiety. I understand now. He wants to come into the shower. He plans to beat Scott this round and push our relationship to a place where it should already be. I try to pump my chest with more confidence, but he still wants to hop in here with me. And in order for Connor to win, I can’t be shocked by his arrival. I can’t push him away like he’s less than my boyfriend. I need to be as comfortable around him as I should be. I can’t say “wait” like I did downstairs. I have to let him keep going. Full speed ahead. No fucking brakes. Grow some bigger balls, Rose Calloway.
Yes, I think I can do this.
I scan the shelf with an arrangement of female and male hair products. I find his black bottle that costs more than my conditioner and body wash put together. “Your precious shampoo is here,” I say in my usual biting tone.
“You shouldn’t insult my shampoo. I’ve been told my hair is my second best feature.” He ignores the fact that Scott still stands outside the second shower, his hand on the glass door, frozen as he watches.
I only notice Scott from the corner of my eye. He waits for one of us to acknowledge his presence. And I refuse to entertain his snide comments.
Even though, really, it’s more than rude to be bathing in a communal shower together. I know Lily has already done it…though in her bathing suit. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Daisy has too with her new boyfriend (that no one has met yet).
I want to not care and just “go with the flow”—I’ve never really been like that.
Connor quickly unbuttons his shirt and tosses it aside, now only in black slacks. As he nears my shower, he’s clearly taller than Scott.
Connor combs his hand through his hair. “It’s thick, full—something to grab onto.”
Is he still talking about his hair? My eyebrows rise at him in question, and he shows off a million-dollar grin. I stare at his crotch, unabashed about looking now.
“And what’s your first best feature?” I challenge. Your cock, most definitely.
“My ass.” His smile widens. And with this, he steps right out of his pants and boxer-briefs. Completely fucking naked.
The glass door still separates our bodies, but Connor has just shed his clothes right in front of Scott. And he doesn’t even care. He acts like the producer deserves none of his attention, as though he’s as low as weeds in cracked pavement.
Connor is the sexiest he’s ever been.
He opens the shower door confidently, and I try not to shy away. No man has ever seen me this naked and that’s all about to change.
And in order to give Scott the middle finger, I can’t be alarmed when Connor’s naked body comes into contact with my naked body.
There’s just a whole lot of naked in this scenario.
With no room for fear.
Fearless nudity. I do like the sound of that.
I pull my shoulders back and drop my arm as Connor steps inside, careful to block my exposed body from Scott. He closes the door behind him.
His tactic to neglect the third-party works for the most part. Scott stands outside of his shower stall, just watching us in curiosity, as though he’s considering grabbing a video camera. If he does, I will snip his fucking…
My thoughts trail off as soon as Connor nears me. His eyes drop, climbing from my bare legs and rising higher and higher. His gaze momentarily pauses on the spot between my thighs, and I swear he smiles ever so slightly. Places that no man has ever touched ache for hard pressure. All because of his stupid smile. And those eyes, I suppose.
They heat me as much as the shower steam, his blue irises ascending once more from my feet to my breasts where he lingers. I check the state of my nipples. Erect. Of course. My pulse speeds crazily, and each bead of water scorches my skin.
And yet, I don’t want to move. I want to stand right here and burn with this fire.
Connor closes in, and his hardness brushes against my belly. I feel so short without high heels on. I look up. The water rains down on his body, where his muscles curve in hard, defined lines, leading to his cock. Just seeing that stirs something deep inside of me, the heat and his body numbing my brain.
A strong need heightens, the kind that would like a real dick and not a rubber one—the kind that I’ve snubbed for a long, long time. This is something I would have fantasized about at sixteen in my bedroom. Connor Cobalt entering my shower like a dominant god, his intelligence trouncing mine for a long, stimulating moment.
He reaches over me, grabbing his expensive shampoo, and his arm rubs against my shoulder. My chest collapses. Just like that.
I don’t breathe.
I can’t move.
I’m surprised my brain hasn’t completely shut off. But then I would really be pissed. My brain has never ditched me before, and like hell the first time would be because of a penis.
Fearless nudity. Right. I suck in a breath and command my confidence to return.
“Your project,” I whisper to Connor. He needs this time to work, not guard me from the sleazy producer. Normally I would protest against the backup, but I wish, more than anything, he’d stay right here.
“I finished it,” he says, his face naturally unreadable. It could very well be a lie, but I’d rather not reignite that argument.
The other shower turns on, and I hear the water splash against the tiles. Scott decided to make this situation more awkward. I’m about to look over and shoot him one of my signature death glares. But Connor rests a hand on my bare hip and maintains my position here in front of him. He stands between me and Scott, the chest-high wall also adding a bit of a barrier between us and the producer. I pull a wet strand of hair off my lip. Despite being shielded by a six-foot-four muscular man, my fury ejects. “Nice of you to wait ten minutes, Scott. If my shower ends up being cold, I’m going to—”
“What? What are you going to do?” Scott says in amusement, most likely smirking. “Assault me with your nails? Claw me? Please do. And be sure to forget the towel when you come into my shower.”
Uh…fuck. I suddenly realize that giving Scott attention is the equivalent of kicking Connor to the ground.
My boyfriend can be the bigger person in most situations. I tend to take the low road.
Connor lets his annoyance pass through his features. His jaw sets tight and his eyes flash hot at me. Just when I wonder if he’s going to punish me, as he once said he’d do, he returns to his shampoo, actually washing his hair.
Disappointment floods me. Is it bad that I wished he punished me somehow? I guess I should go back to my routine then… I bite my gums, trying not to be distracted as I grab my razor. But he’s much larger than anything I’ve put inside me, and he’s only semi-hard.
“So what’s your job title at Cobalt Inc.?” Scott asks Connor.
“Interim CEO,” he replies civilly. I think Scott’s just trying to provoke Connor.
“So it’s temporary?”
“Provisional, momentary, brief,” Connor lists with a casual tone. “More synonyms for interim in case you need them.”
Scott snorts but has nothing to fling back in my boyfriend’s face.
I concentrate on bathing. I still have to shave my leg. And that means bending over in front of Connor. He continues to hide me from Scott, so I have no clear view of him—thankfully. I don’t want Scott to see my ass. He can look at Connor’s all day—you know, since it’s his best feature.
Maybe I can skip shaving.
I shudder.
Fuck it. I’ve come this far. I’m naked in a shower with a naked man. I can bend over a little. I lather soap on my leg, and then I lean over to finish shaving. My bottom rubs against his dick, and I go to stand up and scoot forward, away from him, but Connor puts a hand on my back, forcing me to stay down.
His other palm caresses the soft flesh of my ass. And then he squeezes me hard, and I hear the warning in his grip don’t give Scott anything of yours.
I wince and can’t help but smile, loving that he cares. He alternates between a forceful grip and a soft one, rubbing and clenching, nearing the spot between my legs. Not yet entering. My arms shake as I attempt to shave, especially when he massages my bottom and then slaps it. Ahh…fuck me…
Why does that feel so good?
He releases his hand on my back, allowing me the option to stand, but his fingers perilously dip to the crease of my ass.
He lowers them. And I yelp, a sound that has never left my mouth before. I’ve just been startled out of my fucking mind. Holy… I knick my kneecap, drawing blood, and stand up straight, causing Connor’s hands to fall from me.
Scott laughs. He’s fucking laughing, which only pummels me with more guilt and shock. I just rejected Connor right in front of Scott—is that what it looks like? I slowly turn around and meet Connor’s complacent, composed and most importantly unreadable expression. I channel so many apologies through my face. I’m using facial muscles that have been static for the past twenty-three years.
Scott’s chortles still scald my eardrums. Out of haste, I try to turn on the producer and curse him out, to ineloquently explain how it wasn’t just Connor. If any man tried to do that with me, they would have been met with the same alarmed response.
But Connor pinches my chin and forces my gaze on him. Our eyes connect on a different level. The world becomes small.
No Scott.
No shower.
No rush of water or nakedness.
Just me. Just him. Just us.
Together again.
Desire blankets and pulses and shrouds me in its heady web. Wants and urges bubble, feelings that have been caged since we moved to the townhouse. It all springs to life, and I see the longing swim in his deep blues.
We haven’t gotten off in a while. I haven’t masturbated in our bed, fearful of the noises catching on microphones outside the walls. And Connor used to masturbate in our shower, which has become complicated with the communal style here.
We’re both horny as hell. Especially after arousing each other downstairs.
And then his thumb brushes my jaw, my lower lip, and slides into my mouth.
An audible noise of consent, of yearning and delight escapes.
It’s a moan that I am not so quick to catch this time.
