Текст книги "Kiss the Sky"

Автор книги: Becca Ritchie

Соавторы: Krista Ritchie
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

[ 15 ]
CONNOR COBALT

She closes her lips around my thumb. Her pleasure flushes her cheeks and causes her to shift towards me, my cock throbbing for her tightness, for the place that she’s let no man into.

I want to remind Rose that I’m the one who causes her body to tremble—not the fucking moron one shower over. Her anger towards Scott only fuels him and lets him believe he has power over her. Biting comments, insults, that love-hate relationship is our dynamic.

He can’t have it.

But as soon as she makes a noise, he shuts off his shower. I watch him wrap a towel around his waist, and he glances at me once with cold, pissed eyes before he shoves through the door. I’m not uncomfortable by the situation, but hearing my girlfriend moan from my touch must have been his limit.

My free hand slides to the back of Rose’s neck, holding her very close to me. I lower my head and whisper, “I’m going to put something else in your mouth, Rose.”

Her eyes meet mine with questions. I say only one thing with my gaze.

You’re safe with me.

She can leave. She has full capability to knock me back in the chest and chastise me about commanding her to drop to her knees. Rose is not shy. She is not weak or insecure. If she doesn’t want something, she’ll let me know.

She’s a virgin, I remind myself. Giving her what she craves, what she’ll love but denies—it’s going to take time, no matter how much my body protests the long wait. But if she can accept this, to begin to submit in bed, then we can finally move forward.

As she processes my words, her body responds by curving towards mine. She wants to let go for once. I know this. She knows this. She just has to decide if she’s going to allow herself that pleasure or refuse it on some higher, ridiculous moral ground.

Her fingers skim my wrist, and I remove my thumb from her mouth. Quite slowly and effortlessly, she sinks onto her knees, eyelevel with my dick. I want to drive it into her mouth, to fuck her the way I want to fuck her pussy. She’s a virgin.

Patience, Connor.

I grab a fist-full of her wet hair, the shower pelting her beautiful body in waves. Her breath deepens as she looks from me to my partially hardened cock. I rest a hand on the tiled wall.

Rose seizes my shaft with light, tender hands, so unsure of how to hold it.

“Put it in your mouth,” I urge with a deep, possessive voice.

She gives me a sharp look, one that’s ten times harder than her grip. My whole body reacts to her gaze, thrumming in pure fucking want. I enjoy how difficult she is. I stare down at her, watching as she opens her mouth wide enough to put me between her lips.

I’m not even halfway in before she stops. Her hands fall to her thighs, so uncertain again.

She tries to withdraw, and I immediately clench her hair. Her gaze is all fire, all tumultuous and hot. But it’s not a look that says stop. It’s one full of passionate, ugly, beautiful words and curses. Fuck mes mixed with assholes and cocksuckers and hell fucking yeses.

She’s complicated. Just the way I like.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth, darling,” I say bluntly. I grip her hair harder, and her hands shoot out to my wrist.

A moan garbles in her throat, my cock only barely inside her mouth. She meant to threaten me, and the surprise coats her eyes at the sudden revelation. That she’s more turned on than anything.

I ease out of Rose, my cock popping from her lips. I keep one hand on the tiled wall but the other falls from her hair to her neck.

“I’m doing this wrong,” she says. “I knew I would be awful.”

“You haven’t done anything yet,” I tell her with a smile. “You can’t be awful at nothing.”

“Don’t baby me,” she snaps. “If you’re going to teach me, I want you to do it right. I want to be the best.” She waves me on, her eyes pinned below my waist with challenge and more delight.

If that doesn’t get me hard…fuck. I grow, and her eyes begin to widen, probably wondering how she’s going to fit it into her mouth now.

“You will be the best, darling,” I say. “Hold onto it.” I want to start this way for her. And then I want to do it my way.

She grips the base in that same delicate manner.

“That’s strange,” I say.

“What?” She frowns.

“You threaten to castrate men ten times a day but yet you hold my cock like you want to tuck it into bed.”

Her grip immediately tightens, and my lips part from the sudden sensation. I laugh into my next words. “You’re an excellent pupil so far.”

“I graduated with highest honors,” she says. Yes, I know. I attended her graduation. I saw her walk across the stage and accept her diploma. I was able to witness the look of accomplishment and freedom from four years of hard work and educational slavery. Those memories I hold close.

“You’re a conceited little honor graduate.”

“Little?” She raises her eyes.

“You are shorter than me,” I remind her. “It’s time for you to shut the fuck up and put my cock back in your mouth.”

Her eyes grow hot at my words, but the rest of her body reacts differently. She presses her thighs together. Wanting. Ready.

To make me come.

She takes me inside her mouth again, slowly, not yet halfway before she nearly chokes. With one hand on her head, I readjust Rose and shift my hips so the position is more comfortable for her. This angle works better, and she shuts her eyes while she eases me in a little further. She’s not horrible, but she’s not fantastic either.

She stares off, hesitating.

She’s drowning in her beautiful fucking mind. I don’t want her to think about whether she’s doing something wrong or right. I just want her to feel.

“Take your hands off.”

She glares and tries to pull back to yell. I know she wants to try—to prove to me that she can do it, but that’s not what needs to happen. I hold the back of her head tightly, keeping her here.

“You want to please me? Then do as I say.”

Her eyes narrow, but she releases me. And I use one hand and my hips to guide myself further into her mouth. Fuck. That feels good.

She gags once, and her hands fly to my ass, gripping me hard.

“Rose,” I groan. My strokes are shallow and then they become deeper…deeper until tears seep from the corners of her eyes, her body shaking.

Her legs slowly give out, and her back rests against the warm tiles, the water showering our bodies. I drive into her, my pelvis rocking, having complete control on how much of me she takes between her lips.

Her legs squirm, her toes curling and her chest lifting as I quicken my pace.

“That’s it, darling,” I say with a tight breath. “You’re safe with me.”

After a few minutes, I come and slide out of her quickly.

“Spit,” I tell her, sitting on my knees.

She turns her head and does as I say. She wipes her lips, her breathing heavy. I collect her in my arms, holding her while she digests what happened.

Her own arms wrap around my neck, and she presses her forehead to my collar.

I rub her back, the water slowly turning lukewarm. As she rests on my lap, something strong grips my heart. I’ve never been so possessed by another person before. She consumes my body and mind in ways that I can’t articulate.

I comb her wet hair away from her face.

Right now, I want to kiss the place between her legs more than she can possibly understand. I want to taste her and watch her back arch. To see her reach a peak like I just did. After a couple minutes, I begin to readjust her, spreading her legs on either side of me.

She puts a hand to my chest almost as soon as her ass hits the tiles. “No,” she says, disentangling from me. She stands.

I stay on my knees and frown at her change of heart. I’m confused—and that doesn’t happen often. “You can’t deny what your body responds to. You liked it, and that’s all right, Rose.”

“I know.” She nods with more assurance. “I just don’t need you to give me anything in return. That was for you.”

“I want to make you come.” And I’m going to fucking do it. I hold her ankle and kiss her knee. “You’ll love it. Trust me.”

“I don’t care.” She pries my hand off her leg.

I stand up now, my gaze harsh on hers. “I fucking care.”

“This wasn’t quid pro quo. I wasn’t going to blow you so you could get me off.”

She’s jumped on a new page of our book, and she’s left me to find which one that is. “You’re aroused,” I tell her. “Lie to me and tell me you aren’t going to go back to our room and touch yourself.”

She raises her chin, not backing down.

I could shove her against the wall, watch the breath leave her lips, watch her body respond in vicious hunger. She’d let me please her. But I don’t want to push her to that place without understanding her sudden reservations.

She takes one step towards me and says, “I don’t need you to make me come.” Fear swims to the surface of her piercing eyes.

And it clicks. Just like that. I see the ocean beneath her words, the deeper meaning to everything. I bring her into my arms. I don’t care that her limbs are stiff.

She tries to push me away, and I hold her to my chest in a tight hug. My lips skim her ear as I say forcefully, “Vous avez tort.” You’re wrong.

Her body flushes, and I abruptly release her, shut off the water, and find a towel nearby. I wrap her in the soft cotton while she stares at me, questioningly, wondering if I’m going to elaborate.

She finally says, “I’m not wrong.”

“You think your virginity is a prize that I want to win and run away with. Am I right?”

“Don’t manipulate me.” She shakes her head. “I don’t need you to tell me what I want to hear just so you can win that much easier.”

She’s crazy to believe such a horrible fucking thing. I want to hold her longer, tighter, to calm her with my words. “I’m not manipulating you, Rose. You’re smart enough to understand me. And if you truly believe I’d manipulate a woman just to fuck her, then you don’t know me very well.”

“Don’t lie to me.” She points to her chest, her eyes wild. “I’m a pit stop to you. I’m the halfway mark until you find a woman who will kneel in and out of the bedroom.”

“If I wanted a wallflower out of the fucking bedroom, then I’d never even talk to you, Rose.” What gets me off is the way a strong woman can give herself to me the moment she passes through a door, the minute I can overpower a girl during a fit of passion. And then we can go back matching each other once again. Why would I want someone who can’t keep up with me? What enjoyment is there in that?

She shakes her head, not believing me. Why can’t she fucking believe me? It’s the goddamn truth!

“You need someone who will be by your side twenty-four-seven,” she says. “Who has no greater obligations that will divide her attention from yours. I have been a ten-year-long chase for you, Richard. Nothing more.”

 I try not to expose my hurt, but it literally tears at my face, too livid to conceal. She’s driven something hard and cold inside of me. “No,” I force. “No, Rose. You’re so fucking wrong.”

She breathes heavily, clutching the towel with a firm grip.

I near her, cupping her face with large rough hands. I stare down into her yellow-green eyes. “You’re not a pit stop. You’re my finish line. There’s no one after you.” I kiss her powerfully, my tongue parting her lips, and she responds. But not as much as I hoped. So I break apart and add, “I want you for eternity, not for a brief moment in time.”

I don’t understand why every time I speak it sounds like an empty pickup line.

I can’t lose her.

Not because of this.

I try to imagine a life without Rose and I see something gray, something motionless—a world without time and a place without color. I see mundane and dreary and lackluster.

I can’t lose her.

Not for anything.

She places a kiss on my cheek. “I want to believe you, and I’m going to trust you, but just as a forewarning, it may take more than words in the future.” With this, she opens the shower door and she leaves me with a new challenge. But I’d be with her without all the tests—all the hoops she makes me jump. I do enjoy them.

But I enjoy her more.

[ 16 ]
CONNOR COBALT

I’m late.

I fucking hate that I’m late. Even with my legitimate excuse—five hours of Wharton lectures and another two hour business meeting at a New York City restaurant—I’m still unnerved. Time is obstinate, constant, and undeniably aggravating. No matter how hard I try, time will not bend to my will.

The traffic on my commute from New York to Philly resurfaces my frustration. A man in a green truck lays on his horn to my left, as if noise will magically part the congested freeway. I hold back the urge to roll down my window and remind him that he’s not Moses and magic does not exist.

I pinch the bridge of my nose as I reread the last text from Rose.

It’s on soon. I’ll tape it just in case. – Rose

The first commercial for the reality show airs tonight. And Rose is already preparing for me to miss it. For most, being late for some stupid thirty-second television promo spot wouldn’t be a big deal. They’d shrug it off.

But it’s not okay.

All it takes is one time. One single moment where I walk through the door ten minutes late and everything could change. The what ifs in life aren’t impossibilities. What ifs are parallel paths that could happen—that could be. In one moment, a what if can be fact.

Scott Van Wright is a what if.

If I hadn’t heard the shower turn on, the pipes rumbling through the walls and ceiling, then I would have never gone upstairs. If I had no desire to tell Rose to go back to bed, to take a shower later, then I would have never heard Scott’s voice through the door, tangled with hers.

What if I never entered the bathroom to break apart what could have been?

Scott forcing himself on Rose is an image that cripples all the others in my head—it’s what makes my spot in this car and not with her so painful.

Another honk fractures my thoughts. I accelerate and close the small gap to appease the asshole behind me. My eyes shift to the exit signs and the words blur together, almost unreadable. I blink and try to focus, but it barely helps.

Don’t worry. Do not fucking worry, Connor.

I’m starting to feel the effects of 36-hours without sleep. The night is my graveyard shift. Proposals for class. Business emails for Cobalt Inc. Everything and anything that needs my attention. I’ve pulled all-nighters before, sure, but I have a rule to never exceed the 36-hour mark. Sleep deprivation promotes brain inefficiency.

This is what I get for ditching my limo. I could have taken a nap in the backseat while Gilligan drove me to Philadelphia. But as soon as filming began, I opted to drive myself in a silver sedan. I may have been granted luxury, but I work hard. And if I’m videotaped being carted around in my limousine, all anyone will see is a lazy son of a bitch.

My eyes sag, and I feel the exhaustion weighing on my muscles. I make the conscious decision to carefully pull off the next exit and park in front of a drug store.

I take out my cellphone and walk inside.

“I need you to prescribe me Adderall,” I into the receiver. My loafers clap against the tiled floor and the attendant gives me a narrowed look. With my black slacks and white button-down, I look better suited for Wall Street than some drug store off a freeway.

“No.” Frederick doesn’t even hesitate. “And next time you call, you can lead with hello.”

I grind my teeth as I stop in front of the boxes of decongestants. Frederick has been my therapist since my parents’ divorce. My mother’s words: I can hire someone if you need to talk. So I spent weeks combing through potential psychiatrists to give the whole “talking” thing a go.

Frederick was on the college fast track, and I met him when he graduated med school at just twenty-four. He had this air about him. He was hungry for knowledge, and that kind of passion was lost in the other thirty and forty-year-old shrinks that I had interviewed. So I chose him.

He’s been my psychiatrist for twelve years. I would call him my best friend, but he constantly reminds me that friends can’t be bought. He earns a staggering sum from me every year, and I overpay for these moments—the ones where I call him up at any hour of the day and he gives me his full undivided attention.

Our last session, we discussed Scott Van Wright, and I tried (rather poorly) not to call the producer names like I was seven and spitting on a bully. But I think I may have used the words “fallible, conceited human bacteria” when Frederick asked me what I thought of him.

 Thankfully psychiatrists have an ethical duty to keep secrets.

“Hello, Frederick,” I say, trying to keep my tone even. He’s the only person who has seen me at my worst. Broken. Unusable. But I like to keep those moments as infrequent as possible. “You can call the nearest pharmacy in Philadelphia. I’ll pick it up there.”

“I can, but I won’t.”

I let out a long breath as I scan the shelves. “This is not the time to be obdurate. I’m late as it is.”

“First, calm down,” he says, and I hear rustling on the other end. Papers shuffling around maybe. He likes to take notes.

“I am calm,” I say, layering on the complacency in my voice for further effect.

“You just used the word obdurate,” Frederick refutes. “Usually you just refer to me as a stubborn swine. Do you see the difference?”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Then don’t patronize me,” he rebuts. Normal therapists shouldn’t be this argumentative, but I’m not a normal patient either. “You remember our conversation right before your freshman year at Penn?”

“We’ve had many conversations, Rick,” I say casually. My fingers skim over two different brands of nasal decongestants. I check the labels for the ingredients.

“The conversation about Adderall, Connor.”

I clench my teeth harder, my back molars aching. Before college, I told Frederick that if I ever came to him for Adderall to deny me the prescription. No matter what. I wanted to succeed in college on my own merits. Without stimulants or enhancers. I wanted to prove to myself that I was better than everyone else and that I didn’t need a goddamn pill to do it.

“Things have changed.”

“Yeah, they have,” he agrees. “You’re in your first year at grad school. You have a long-term relationship with a girl, and your mother is preparing to hand over Cobalt Inc. to you. And now you have to deal with a reality show. I fully admit, Connor, you’re able to juggle work and stress better than ninety-nine percent of people on this planet. But this might be humanly impossible, even for you.”

This isn’t the first time he’s told me that I’m taking on too much, but I don’t have a choice. I want everything. And if I work hard enough, I can have it all. That’s always been how my life runs; I refuse to believe this is any different.

I grab the decongestant with the highest milligram dosage of pseudoephedrine and then walk further down the aisle towards the caffeine supplements.

“I agree, it’s not humanly possible. At least not without losing some sleep. And going through my day, like a body without a brain, half-coherent and lazy-eyed, is not an option for me. I need stimulants.”

“What happened to never succumbing to frat boy tricks?”

“Guilting me? Really, Rick? Isn’t that a little low for you?”

“You’re the one that told me to use whatever means necessary to talk you out of it,” he says. “There was a time in your life where you’d rather jump off a bridge than take Adderall. I know things have changed, but just think about that for me, okay?”

I stare at the caffeine supplements, trying to unbury an alternate path. But I see none. To have it all, I must sacrifice something. That something begins with sleep.

“If you don’t prescribe me Adderall, then I’ll be purchasing pure ephedrine on the internet,” I threaten. Buying pills on the internet is dangerous.  I can imagine all the other unknown, untested ingredients accidentally laced in them.

I’m smarter than Frederick, and he’s aware of this fact. A long time ago, he made me agree to be honest to a fault. To never manipulate him.

I won’t. Which is why this isn’t a bluff.

“What are you taking right now?” The tone in his voice has changed considerably. It’s tempered like his syllables are carefully placed. He’s concerned, and I don’t ask how he knows I’m grabbing medicine off a shelf.

He’s had twelve years inside my head.

“Decongestants and 5 Hour Energy.” I bring the items to the counter and the attendant rings me up at a sluggish pace. I have to show my ID for the decongestants, and she gives me a long, harsh stare. Yes, it’s a little suspicious buying these items together. But I’m twenty-fucking-four. Not a child.

“That’s a trick that teenagers use to get high, you do realize this?” Frederick says over the phone, still trying to convince me to stop.

I take the paper bag from the attendant and leave the store, the bells on the door clinking together on my way out.

“I’m driving,” I refute. “I can either take stimulants or cause an accident. Would you like a four-car pile-up on your conscience?”

“How long have you been awake?” he asks.

“Isn’t that the question you should have started with?” I uncap the pill bottle and toss a couple into my mouth and wash them down with a swig of the 5 Hour Energy.

“Start answering me straight or I’m hanging up on you,” he says sternly. I roll my eyes. Frederick has his limits, even with me. I lean back in the car seat, waiting for the pills to kick in to where my eyelids don’t feel like lead.

“37 hours.”

“So you broke two of your rules tonight.”

“I haven’t taken Adderall yet.”

“No, but you took something.”

I don’t say anything. I wait for Frederick’s obligatory advice that arrives about now.

“You have to give something up,” he tells me. “And it shouldn’t affect your health. So start looking at things in your life that aren’t necessary.”

What would that be? Cobalt Inc. is my birthright. And the only aspiration I ever had was to get an MBA from Wharton. Is my dream not necessary?

So that leaves Rose and the reality show. They’re intertwined. To have one, I must have the other. Rose’s necessity may be called into question. One doesn’t need a partner to live. To succeed. But Rose is not something I’m ever willing to let go. Necessary or not. She’s mine.

“My life is filled with essentials,” I tell Frederick.

There’s a long, strained silence that pulls over the phone. I wait it out.

When Frederick finally speaks, he sounds a little defeated but otherwise as calm as me. “I’ll order the Adderall, but the prescription won’t be filled until tomorrow. Can you text or call when you make it back to Philly?” He must be picturing that four-car pile-up.

“Of course.”

“Okay, great.” He doesn’t sound enthused.

After a few more words, we hang up. And I assess my level of consciousness. Steady hands. Clear vision. Full attention.

I’m finally awake.

* * *

By the time I climb the brick stairs of the townhouse, the promo has already aired. So I prepare myself for what I may find. The worst case scenario: Scott has seduced Rose somehow—his arm wrapped around her while she’s in a vulnerable state.

My adrenaline is already spiked from the decongestant cocktail. Add in this unnatural fear—and my hand shakes before I turn the knob.

As soon as I open the door, my fear disintegrates into self-assurance. Scott and Rose aren’t tangled on the couch together. She’s not crying in his arms.

The living room is in an uproar. A chair is flipped over. Pillows have been thrown and scattered all along the hardwood. Rose has her heels in her hands, and she swats them at Scott like they’re swords. But she’s being restrained by both Daisy and Lily, who grip her waist, tugging her back.

I hate questioning my resolve to overcome bad odds, and I’m glad to have it back one-hundred fucking percent.

I shut the door behind me, but no one hears my entrance. Lo is too busy spewing sharp insults that bleed my ears. Rose is violently cursing, layering on expletives like cocksucker, son of a bitch, womanizer, dick, bastard, dipshit. I hear castrate five or six times.

Scott has his hands defensively in the air, his back literally up against the wall furthest from the television. But he wears the biggest self-satisfied grin.

This is drama he created.

The cameras dance around the living room. Around Ryke who clenches and unclenches his fist, one hand protectively on his brother’s shoulder. Then around my girlfriend who has completely lost her shit.

Everyone is screaming over each other.

I calmly walk straight ahead, towards the chaos. Rose slips out of her sisters’ clutch, and she takes the opportunity to lunge at Scott, her heels barred. I slide into the space between them, and the sharp point of her heel digs into my chest.

My jaw muscles spasm, the only sign that it fucking hurt.

Her eyes widen in horror, and she drops her four-inch heels immediately, the shoes clattering to the floor. And then, just as quickly, her gaze becomes hot and ill-tempered. She points an accusatory finger at Scott. “He’s a—”

“Douchebag? A pig? A fucktwat?”

She places her hands on her hips, fuming. I rub her arm, and she begins to calm. But hate is still present in her eyes.

My gaze flits between each of my friends. Their bodies begin to relax when I look at them individually, the tension in their muscles slowly loosening. Lo actually shuts his mouth, and Ryke unknowingly releases his fist.

People believe I have some sort of magic hold over others. That I can cause crowds to part without asking. All I have to do is stand at the edge of a mass and they’ll slowly, effortlessly make a path for me. I can calm the most restless soul if I choose to, and it’s not because I’m gifted with some inane supernatural ability.

My power is in my confidence.

It’s that simple.

Their belief that it’s something more—that it’s something greater—is what makes the effect so strong. They need me to be their sturdy unbending fortress.

So here I am.

“Let me watch the commercial,” I say. And then we can decide whether Scott deserves a heel to the fucking face.

I pick up Rose’s shoes while Lily retrieves the remote. Rose reaches out for them, her nose scrunching at the hardwood that’s most likely clean. But to Rose—it’s not clean enough.

There’s such malice in her features. I envision her impaling him in the eye. As much as I hate Scott—I don’t want her to blind him. So I retract my arm, keeping the heels in a firm hand. “I changed my mind.”

She gapes. “Give those back, Richard!” She doesn’t want to walk barefoot around the townhouse. Fine. I lift her easily in my arms, cradling her body, and she inhales sharply. But instead of arguing with me, she holds onto my bicep. My eyes fall to her breasts that rise with her heavy breath, and I internally smile.

I have the girl.

In my arms. Dizzy at my touch. I could have walked into something so much worse.

I carry her to the couch and set her down long-ways. She tucks her legs to the side, her dress rising to her thighs, despite her efforts to keep the hem to her knees. When I should be focused on the television, I ache to see all of her again. The curve of her waist, her erect pink nipples, her bare ass and her mouth wide and full of my cock.

She meets my gaze for a second, and we don’t have to say a single word. She knows what’s on my mind. She can see the longing in my eyes, even if everyone else can’t. She glances at my belt, and my lips rise as I take a seat next to her.

I sit so close that I can practically hear her heart pounding out of her chest. I lean over to grab the remote from Lily, and as I do so, my mouth nears Rose’s ear. And I whisper, “I’m going to tie you up again.” I smile at Lily. “Thank you.”

Her sister goes back to Lo, who’s on a chair, and she lounges against his body.

Rose is stiff, but it’s not out of fear. Her thighs press tightly together, and I rest my arm across her lap, my hand on the bareness of her leg. As I switch on the television, she scoots closer and leans her head on my shoulder, trying to relax, but I know she’s imagining my belt, her wrists, our bed.

I want to make her so wet that she begs for me—that my name is the only one on her mind, the only thing she can possibly utter. I want to hear her scream in wild, crazed ecstasy. I want her to see how perfect we are for each other—mind, body, soul. No words this time. Just actions.

“You have to rewind,” Rose tells me. She tries to reach out for the remote, but I pull it away from her grasp.

She glares. “Vous devez toujours avoir le control.” You always have to be in control.

I try to contain a larger grin. “Vous aimez quand j’ai le control.” You love when I’m in control.

Her lips tighten, but she watches me carefully the way I do her. “C’est encore à prouver.” That has yet to be proven.

I rub the smoothness of her silky leg. “Ne t’inquites pas. Bientot ca sera un fait.” Don’t worry. I’ll make it a fact soon.

“Hey,” Ryke cuts in. “No fucking French.”

“Yeah,” Lo says, “Lily wants to hear you guys talk dirty in English.” He adds a smile to his girlfriend.

She turns beet-red at his admission. “You weren’t supposed to tell them that,” she whispers, still loud enough for us to hear. But she doesn’t seem to know that. “It was a secret.”

“Aw, love, it was too good to keep.” He kisses her on the lips, and he eyes the camera for a second while his hand slips up her muscle shirt, no bra underneath. Not that she’s particularly top-heavy. Rose has the biggest breasts of her sisters and a fuller ass, wider hips. I could stare at her all day and have no problem getting hard.

I rewind to the beginning of the promo spot and press play. Everyone goes quiet as the commercial begins with all of us standing in front of a white backdrop. We shot the footage at a studio in Philly not long ago.

We were told to just act like ourselves while the cameras were rolling, and after thirty minutes of being ignored by makeup artists and gaffers, we all naturally fell into our roles. No acting required. It was real—even from me.

The commercial starts by panning down the row of seven, Scott on the end. The footage cuts to close-ups, starting from the furthest person on the right.

On screen, Daisy does a handstand, her white T-shirt falling down to reveal her bare stomach and green lacy bra. She sticks out her tongue with a playful smile. A caption appears right over her breasts.