Текст книги "Hothouse Flower"

Автор книги: Becca Ritchie

Соавторы: Krista Ritchie
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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

< 40 >

RYKE MEADOWS

I am alone with Daisy. In a tent.

“I’m not surprised,” Daisy whispers. I attached a flashlight at the top of the three-person tent and it dangles like a lamp. I can see all of her as she sits cross-legged. I lie on my back, watching her twist her hair into a bun. “Rose thought the shadows were bugs, and she rolled on top of Lily, she was so grossed out.” Daisy smiles at the image. “She’s never been camping.”

“Really? I hadn’t fucking noticed,” I say. Rose was the first to ditch the all-girls tent. She unzipped the one I was in, bracing an axe in her hand like she was ready to murder all of us. I think the thought seriously crossed my brother’s mind.

But Connor reached out for her, and she melted, like a feral cat turned into a soft kitten. Before I left, his arms were wrapped around her, and she seemed content. Lily showed up next, too frightened to be alone with just Daisy in the all-girls tent. In Lo’s words, Rose could scare off a “wildebeest” and without her, Lily decided to seek comfort with her boyfriend.

Which left Daisy all by herself.

And it gave me a necessary excuse to sleep in her tent. No one really wanted her to be alone in the middle of the woods. Not even my brother.

“Lie down,” I tell Daisy. I can tell she’s having trouble sleeping. She doesn’t want to take Ambien tonight, and I can’t push her to take that pill anymore. The side effects are too intense. There has to be another way to combat her insomnia.

Instead of lying down, she straddles my waist. She’s wearing my track sweatpants that are baggy on her legs. I fucking love her in my clothes. “I can’t sleep,” she says.

“It’s two in the morning,” I whisper, sitting up fully. I’m taller than her in this position. Being this close to her, my chest an inch from hers, strains the air and stiffens my muscles. “Have you ever imagined me fucking you?” Curiosity compels me to the question. My fingers glide along her bare hips, underneath my Penn shirt that she wears.

Her breathing shallows, probably wondering if tonight will be the night. “Yes.”

“When?” I prod. I pull the T-shirt over her head, leaving her topless, her nipples already erect. It’s over for me. I harden in a fucking instant and a large breath catches in the back of her throat as she feels me underneath her.

“A bunch of times,” she says in a whisper, the air tensing. She tugs on my shirt, wanting me bare as much as she is. I help her pull it over my head, and then she starts to trace the outline of my tattoo with her fingers. “By myself. But usually…” She pauses, her green eyes flitting up to mine. “When I was with other guys. I thought it’d help.”

She thought about me when she was screwing other guys.

Not just masturbating to the idea of me.

I just want to fuck you harder.

My surprise sits beneath an intense arousal that literally forces my body to hers. I grab the back of her head. She grabs mine, and I kiss her hard and urgently. I think about every night I spent in her bed. The restraint. Every time I pictured Daisy underneath my body, my muscles cloaking her in safety and so much fucking power. Driving into her. Releasing. Fuck. I need inside of her.

Our lips and hands and bodies connect like a bomb goes off between us, nerves screaming, lungs barely fucking breathing.

I move roughly with her and she moves wildly with me.

Our legs tangle together, and her hands roam my abs with eagerness, settling on my back, gripping my flesh while my weight bears down on her. She cries out as I grind into her. Fuck… I want to hear her again, but I have to stifle her noises. So I cover her mouth with my palm, and I keep grinding against her, my cock throbbing. Push into her.

Not yet.

She mumbles against my hand, trying to speak while I slide the track pants off her long legs. I remove my hand and shed down to my boxer-briefs.

“Push into me,” she whispers, her lips swollen from our embrace, her breathing ragged. The flashlight swings above us. We must have knocked into it, and neither of us attempts to turn it off. I want to see all of her, every reaction and every limb.

Instead of outright answering her, I undress Daisy, slipping off her panties and shirt. We kiss again, just hammered with these intense feelings. She rolls her hips against me, and I slam my weight back into her. She cries out, and I grip her hair.

She lies on her back, her shallow breaths slicing the silence. Her eyes pin on my dick, and I can tell she’s imagining every inch of me inside of her.

“Please,” she breathes.

I comb my fingers through her hair and then hold her face in my large hard. She’s small beneath me, fragile. Even if she thinks she’s experienced, she’s not experienced with me. Not yet, at least. I kiss her while my other hand descends to her clit. She bucks her hips up to meet me as my fingers move up and down and then circular.

She writhes beneath me, her nails clawing into my back. Just as her lips part, I slide my hand over her mouth, her hot breath heating my palm.

I scan her from head to toe, the way she unravels in pleasure, the way her legs spasm, and her body arches towards me, her hips thrusting to try and find a pressure that I have yet to give her. Watching Daisy come is like watching a person discover a new world, seeing fireworks for the first time, lit up and awed. Knowing I helped her achieve it—I fucking ache to be closer, to fill her with happiness and me.

Her toes curl and her fingers press deep into my back, her head tilted, my hand enveloping her face to muffle the cry.

I sit up and let her catch her breath, which is all over the fucking place.

She watches me, but my dark gaze lets little through besides I want you. You’re so fucking beautiful. She quickly matches my position, sitting, and I spread her legs wider around me.

Her mouth starts to descend towards my cock, and I lift her chin up quickly and kiss her. I move on impulse—what feels right. And my fingers slip inside of her. She’s so fucking wet. She climaxes within a couple minutes, and I take them out and grip the base of my cock.

Daisy inhales sharply, realizing what’s about to happen. She edges closer to me, holds the back of my neck with both hands, and rests her forehead on my chest. She likes the visual, and I’ll gladly give her one.

I brush her hair away from her ear and whisper, “Ready to have all of me, Dais?”

She answers by running her hands through my hair near my neck. I smile, and I slowly slide into her. She clenches around me, and my mouth opens. I force a fucking groan to stay in the back of my throat. My muscles cut into hard lines, and I hold the back of her head to my chest.

I can’t imagine a more intimate way to fill Daisy, with her on my lap as I sit up, clung to my chest, giving me possession of her body and heart.

She’s swollen around my erection, soaked and so much tighter than I anticipated or expected. Underneath these nerve-splitting sensations, I’m acutely aware of how much she can take of me. She gasps, learning how to keep her voice hushed, and I stop midway from fitting into her completely.

“Ryke,” she cries.

“Shh,” I coo. She rocks her hips, attempting to put all of me inside of her. My hand falls from her head to her hip. I steady her, and then I push in further. Fuck. My eyes shut as the pressure overwhelms me. I haven’t even started moving in her yet.

I grip her ass while she stares at the way my long cock disappears between her legs. She breathes short, choppy fucking breaths, and when she’s engrained the image, I tilt her back against the dark green sleeping bag.

My hand slides from her knee to her thigh, and I begin to thrust with slow, deep strokes, milking every fucking movement. I want each one to last for eternity, no rushing, no speeding up this cliff. My ass tightens as I push forward, and I kiss her, combing her damp blonde hair away from her forehead.

I’m inside the girl who has begged for this type of pleasure for years.

And I’m the one finally giving it to her, showing her that sex can be so fucking good.

Fucking Christ, I’ve wanted this for so fucking long.

“Ryke,” she starts saying. So much that I have to put my hand over her mouth again. She rocks her hips upwards each time I thrust down, creating friction and extra depth that blinds me with adrenaline. I rest my forearm beside her head, my six-foot-three body hovering over her small frame.

Her eyes fix on mine as I thrust, my pace increasing by a notch. Her hips can’t keep up with me. Her legs hook around my waist. She’s limber enough that I bring one of her legs over my shoulder while my chest is close to hers.

She moans into my palm, and I restrain from coming right there. I hold back, grunting and pushing. Fuck. I don’t feel her breathing, and her eyes flutter.

“Breathe through your nose,” I say roughly, instinctively quickening each thrust. I don’t want her to fucking pass out.

She finally exhales, and her gaze returns to mine. I slow for a second, but I can tell she’s nearing the end. Her whole body is tense beneath me; her eyes threaten to roll back at any moment. I pound into her in fast spurts, a thin sheen of sweat coating my skin. Fuck.

Fuck.

She’s so tight.

I can’t slow down, even if I wanted to.

My parted lips touch her forehead, and I move until her body lifts against mine, until her head tilts back and her eyes close. Her moans breach my hand, but they’re soft cries that only I can possibly hear. And they’re so fucking beautiful.

I grunt as I force myself not to come yet. I take my hand off, and I lift her from underneath her arms.

“Ryke,” she says, her tense muscles all softened and melted after that climax. Her eyes fall to my erection, and she frowns.

“Catch your breath fast, sweetheart.” I spin her on my lap, her back against my chest, and I grip my cock, sliding into her easily. She gasps as she has the best visual of me moving up and down inside of her.

I suck her neck, lifting my pelvis up into her in a deep, pulsing rhythm. I knead her breast, my finger flicking over her hardened nipple.

She leans back against me and clenches my hair, letting me fuck her how she deserves to be fucked. With attention and so much love. Long minutes pass, and I know I could build her up for hours. I could make her come until exhaustion shuts her eyes, but I want her to be coherent afterwards. As she clenches around my cock, I focus on her body in my grasp, me deep inside of her, and her shallow noises.

I push upwards hard, and I come with her, white lights flashing in my vision, my head fucking spinning. I exhale a couple times before I slide out of her. I gently lean her against the sleeping bag, and I lie next to Daisy, my body at peace with hers. The flashlight swings above us like a pendulum.

Fucking finally.

Nothing has ever compared to that.

She kisses me, before I can say anything. I smile and kiss her back. Then I cup her face, my legs magnetically finding her smooth ones, tangled once again. “Better than chocolate?” I whisper.

She breathes like I took her on a marathon, not a sprint. “You’re in another league.”

I skim her cheek with my fingers. “Yeah?” I smile. “You’ve finally found the league you’re supposed to be playing in, Dais.”

“I like it here,” she whispers. “The better than chocolate league.” She wraps her arms around me, and I press my lips to her head. “How long do you think this’ll last?” Her voice turns serious, fear creeping in. Now that we’ve slept together, we could lose so much more if someone pulls us apart.

“As long as we want it to,” I tell her. “I’d fucking fight for you, Dais. You just have to let me.” She can’t be worried about hurt feelings. We’re going to upset people eventually, but if they love us, if they want us to be happy, they’ll accept this.

“Even your brother?” she whispers, her eyes closing as she dozes off.

“Even him,” I breathe, watching her begin to fall asleep. How long it’ll last, I’m not sure. I sit up and turn off the flashlight. I zip open one flap that faces the woods, the moon bathing our tent in a serene glow. I lie back, not closing my eyes. She eases into a peaceful slumber.

And I stay up and recount what I have with her and how much more I want.

One day can change everything.

So I keep hope that one day we’ll finally be there.

* * *

An hour must pass before she wakes up, unable to sleep. She notices that I’m already awake, and she rolls onto my body and traces the outline of my tattoo again, grazing her finger over the dark ink. I hear the faint sound of crickets outside our tent.

Her finger trails the inked chain on my side that’s bound around the feet of a phoenix.

“Am I the anchor?” she asks, skimming the tattoo on my waist.

My eyes darken. “Why would you think that?”

“You never told me what the tattoo meant when you got it.”

She was with me almost every time I went to the tattoo parlor to have more of the design filled in. She asked only a couple times what it meant. I would give her a look, and she’d drop it. I didn’t think she’d draw this conclusion. Not back then, and definitely not now.

“I’ve weighed you down the past couple of years,” she elaborates off my dark gaze. “I just thought—”

“I’m the fucking anchor,” I tell her suddenly.

“What?” Her brows furrow.

I know I need to give her the whole explanation. I can barely meet her eyes as I do. “When I was seventeen, my dad came to one of my track meets. He tried to watch as many of my competitions as he could.”

I stare at the top of the tent, remembering the heat of the summer in May. Jonathan Hale in the bleachers, wearing a suit and nodding at me as I met his sharp gaze. He smiled. Genuine pride.

“My mom was there. She wouldn’t look at him,” I say. “And when a lady leaned in to ask my father who he was there for, I heard his answer.” A bitter taste fills my mouth. “He said, ‘my friend’s kid. That one.’ He motioned towards me.”

I remember flipping him off, and that pride vanished from his eyes.

I didn’t care anymore.

Daisy places her hands on my abs. “What happened?” she asks with a frown.

“I still had to run, and I had two fucking choices. I could reach the finish line or just walk away. I took my fucking mark, and right when I started the race, I began to slow down. And then I fucking stopped on the track, took a couple deep breaths and walked off.” My heart beats faster at the memory. “My coach pulled me aside and he told me something…” I shake my head. “It’s stayed with me for so many fucking years. It changed me.”

I meet her eyes that are filled with my pain, sensing the hurt that travels through my body, thinning the air.

I can practically hear my coach in my ear, see him standing on the sidelines, one hand on my shoulder. “He said that I could be anything and do anything, and no one can stop me but me.” I say what he did, “You are your own anchor, Ryke. When you fail, you hurt yourself more than anyone else. Do you want to keep burning or are you going to let yourself rise?”

My brother—I don’t think he ever had someone to tell him this. He just kept failing until there was no way he could ever succeed.

I reach out to Daisy and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “So I’m the anchor and the phoenix, and it was around this time that I learned to run for me. I stopped winning for my fucking mom, for my dad. Every achievement, every good grade—that was mine. I started living my dreams and I stopped living theirs.”

She smiles, tears in her eyes. “That’s beautiful, you know.”

I sit up with her and kiss her cheek. It feels good to finally share that with someone. I never thought it would matter, but I can see that it does.

“How did you know that you loved running and rock climbing?” she asks me.

I think about this for a second. Take away all of my trophies, all the success, would I still run and climb? My lips rise at the answer. “Because when you find something you love, you can’t quit. Every failure pushes you harder. It’s in your soul and in your fucking heart.”

“And what if I never find what I love?”

“You have to try some things,” I say, not worried about this as much as she probably is. She’s only eighteen. She’ll figure it out. She has time, even though her mom makes it seem like she has none. “I got lucky.” I kiss her temple. “Try to sleep with me, Dais.”

She smiles and opens her mouth to make a very fucking obvious quip.

“Real sleep,” I say, lying back down with her. I hold her to my chest, keeping her safe.

And I wait for her to start dreaming.

< 41 >

RYKE MEADOWS

I unzip the tent, running my hand through my hair while the birds chirp. I can tell it’s early. Probably around six, and Daisy only fell asleep an hour ago. I didn’t close my eyes at all, and honestly, my body isn’t that tired. Fucking her was the best adrenaline rush I could have. I’m still living that high.

I immediately find Connor and Rose around the campfire, both dressed in inappropriate fucking clothes for the morning. A suit and a dress. And they’re drinking coffee from Dunkin Donuts paper cups.

I outstretch my arms. “You’re a bunch of fucking cheaters.”

Rose scoffs as though I punched her in the face. “We did not cheat.”

I slouch in a chair across from them. “You can’t buy coffee while you’re camping.”

“I’ve never heard of these rules,” Connor says. He sips his store-bought coffee with a pompous grin.

“You camp and you make instant coffee with boiled water and powder packets.” I shake my head at them. “Running to the store is like excusing yourself to go to the bathroom during a test, checking answers on your phone.”

Rose’s eyes narrow at me and then she takes a larger sip of her coffee too, not backing down. Connor looks like he could fuck her right there.

Whatever.

“You’re glowing, by the way,” Connor tells me. I don’t like that knowing expression on his face.

“Fuck off, Cobalt.” I kick my boots up on the cooler.

Rose plants her fierce fucking yellow-green eyes on me. “Did you wear a condom?” she asks in a hushed but forceful voice, pretty careful not to wake up my brother.

My face hardens. There’s no way they heard us last night, but Connor puts details together to find facts, so I’m not that surprised he’s figured it out. Or that he’s been keeping Rose updated on my relationship with Daisy. “Did you wear one when you first fucked Connor?” I retort.

Her neck reddens. “That’s not the point.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay then.” I have nothing else to say. I’m not about to explain how I always wear condoms with other women, but I honestly don’t see the fucking need to with Daisy. We’re in a serious relationship. I trust her. And I trust me. The. Fucking. End.

I’m about to stand up, but Rose says something that keeps me here.

“Be careful with her, Ryke. She might be experienced, but she’s still my sister. If you hurt her, I’ll personally snip off your balls and hang them on the Christmas tree this year.”

I internally cringe. “I wouldn’t fucking hurt her, I promise you, Rose.”

She nods. “Okay then,” she repeats what I did, and I almost smile.

“I’m going to get more wood,” I tell them.

Connor follows me with his coffee in hand. “I’ll help.”

“Feel guilty for cheating?” I ask, heading towards the forest.

“No,” he says, his expensive shoes crunching the leaves. “I just thought you needed an extra pair of hands.”

I wait for the punchline. My brows rise when it doesn’t come. “No insult?” It’s weird not hearing a dog joke. Even with the constant badgering, he’s always been my friend, but like most of my relationships, it’s complicated. “You didn’t tell Rose about Daisy’s sleep issues, did you?” I stop about twenty feet from the woods, our camp still behind us.

“I thought about it,” Connor admits, “but you’re not giving me all the information, and I’d rather not spread around partial truths.” He waits for me to divulge more.

I won’t.

“She’s going to talk to her sisters,” I say. “She needs time.”

“Man’s greatest excuse to delay the inevitable.”

“Can you not fucking talk like your auditioning for the role of Confucius?”

“If you make a mistake and do not correct it, this is called a mistake.” Of course he goes and actually quotes Confucius. Fuck me.

I shake my head. “You’re such a fucking prick.”

He doesn’t even blink, not affected by the insult. Maybe because he knows it’s true. “You know, I never really liked Confucius. I always thought his principles were a bit basic, common sense.”

“Fascinating,” I deadpan.

He continues casually. “But there is one quote I appreciate from him.” Connor looks at me and his eyes turn serious, no pretense or humor. “Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart.”

I don’t know if he meant for this to be about Daisy. But she’s immediately what comes to mind. After what happened last night, bringing up some of the past, all I want is to go full fucking throttle. No more slowing down. No more hiding. I want to believe that I control my fate, that I’m the one who chooses to stop and start.

I want everything that my friends have. Out in the open. Real.

I have to tell Lo.

The resolution lifts this weight off my chest.

And then something rustles a bush twenty feet away. I see it out of the corner of my eye. A movement that crashes the weight back down tenfold and twists a chain around my ankles.

“Connor,” I whisper, a pit in my stomach. “Nine o’clock.”

He calmly sips his coffee and turns a fraction. Into his next sip, he says, “I can see two lenses.”

They found us.

I run a hand through my hair. I promised my brother freedom from this bullshit. I’ve failed him. Then the cameraman peers out of the bush, noticeable, and I lock eyes with him, my body blazing with anger. I start to charge forward, and Connor grabs my arm and forces me back by his side.

“You can’t go to court again,” he says.

The fucking cameraman no longer cares about “candid” shots that sell big to tabloids, he’s taking a video instead.

“Fuck them,” I tell Connor. “They shouldn’t be here.”

“This is public property,” Connor says. “He can legally be in the woods.”

“I said shouldn’t. How’d they get tipped?”

“RV,” the cameraman says. “I’m friends with the two guys camping next to you. Called me last night. Flew in this morning.”

I shake my head. It’d be more of a coincidence if the paparazzi didn’t get their tips like that. But mostly it’s from fucking friends and connections.

“Fucking fantastic,” I snap. I made a mistake. We should have gone to a fucking hotel. I shouldn’t have tried this. I head back to the campsite, ready to pack up. Rose is already folding chairs and pouring a water bottle on the fire.

The cameraman follows us like a shadow, entering the campsite as though we gave him permission to come hang out with us. Oh wait, we fucking didn’t.

“How many more of you are coming?” Connor asks.

He just smiles, and that’s when I hear tires and an engine groan up the hill. And then two more photographers pop out of the bushes in addition to however many are in the car. Fuck me.

“Ryke,” the guy says, his camera pointed at me as I head to Daisy’s tent. “What were the sleeping arrangements like?”

Before I unzip it, I spin around and the camera guy almost runs straight into my chest. He rights himself while a glare sears in my eyes. My fists clench. “Back the fuck off,” I growl. “You came into our campsite and disrupted our vacation. Don’t act like this is for your fucking job.”

“I’m allowed—”

“You’re allowed to breathe because I’m letting you,” I refute. “Back up and give me ten feet before I put you in the fucking ground.”

“You can’t touch me.”

I near him, and he takes a couple steps back. “You think I care about going to jail for a few hours? Fucking test me, and your thousand-dollar camera and those fucking pictures will be gone in an instant.”

He stays put where he is.

I’m so heated I can barely see straight. I open Daisy’s tent and duck my head in, careful not to let the cameraman have any view of her. She yawns tiredly, barely awake and really fucking naked. I crawl in and zip the tent back. Her spine straightens as she gets a good look at my pissed expression.

“We’re leaving,” I say, grabbing my shirt that she was in. I pull it over her head quickly.

“What’s going on?”

“Paparazzi.”

“Uh-oh.” She hurries to put the baggy sweatpants back on. They fall at her waist, and I tighten the string so they stay up. “What’s the plan?” she asks, trying not to appear scared. But she still hasn’t told anyone about the cut on her face, and I’m sure she’d rather tell her mom instead of letting her find out from the tabloids.

“I’m carrying you out,” I tell her. “Front piggyback. Put your face to my chest, okay?”

“Like how Lo carries Lily?” she asks.

I didn’t realize…but yeah, that’s how my brother carries Lily in front of the paparazzi. “Yeah, like that.”

“How many are out there?”

“A fucking lot.”

She smiles. “What’s a fucking lot? Ten? A hundred?”

I give her a look.

“What?”

“Just get in my arms.” I hold them open.

She grins wider. “Say that again.”

“Get in my fucking arms, Calloway.”

She mock gasps. “I thought you’d never ask.”

I don’t smile, but my nerves slowly start to subside. She does that to me—calms me. Makes me feel like this worry is one that should be smaller, less significant.

She crawls towards me, and I lift her in my arms, her legs wrapping above my waist and her cheek pressed to my chest. I rub my fingers through her tangled, messy hair. “Hold tight, sweetheart.”

I open the tent and the lights go off like a neon bomb.