Текст книги "Hothouse Flower"
Автор книги: Becca Ritchie
Соавторы: Krista Ritchie
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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 29 страниц)
< 42 >
DAISY CALLOWAY
We’ve split up.
I’m in a black two-door sports car that Rose had rented with Lily, heading down a freeway with Ryke. Rose, Connor, Lily, and Lo took the SUV. The paparazzi parted. Some following us, others following them.
Ryke shook off the three vans on our ass in under thirty minutes. Our sports car is manual, and Ryke switched gears and cut corners sharply, driving like he owned the road. He wasn’t scared to slam on the brake at the last minute, go in reverse or hit hundred-mile-per-hour speeds. If we didn’t just have sex, I’d think it was the sexiest, hottest thing he’s ever done with me.
Now the open freeway is less exciting, but it is peaceful. And I am thankful for no tail and the crazed paparazzi.
With a bit of decent cell signal, we made a plan with the others to meet up in Utah at the Canyonlands.
I glance over at Ryke. He has his hard eyes set on the road ahead, but his hand has been on my thigh most of the drive. Now that we’re alone, truly, it seems like more of our restrictions are disappearing. I love the freedom, and I want to make it last past this trip.
“Stop, Dais,” he tells me. “That’s fucking annoying.”
I realize I’ve opened and closed the dashboard about fifty times.
“Play with the fucking window.”
“I have,” I say. “It’s revolted against me and no longer rolls down.”
He keeps one hand on the wheel and glances at me. “You have problems.”
“What a true, true statement,” I say with a smile. “Say another.”
He flips me off and then messes my hair.
I laugh. “I can’t help my fidgetiness. It’s boring in a car.” And I’ve downed five Lightning Bolts! to battle my exhaustion. Thank you, insomnia. I’ve already untied my sneakers and braided the shoelaces into bracelets. Now I’m considering playing Cat’s Cradle with the strings.
Ryke’s eyes flit to me, and then he reaches up and presses a button by the ceiling light. The sunroof groans open.
I beam, happy to have air and the wind. I unclip my seat belt and kiss his cheek quickly before standing on the middle console. A gust blows into me first, and I take a giant breath, filling my lungs. The road has very few cars. We’re on flat land with no traffic lights and few cops in sight.
I raise my arms and shut my eyes.
I’m flying.
In this moment, I’m really, really happy.
Ryke is holding one of my ankles, but his hand runs up and down my leg. The friction and mystery of what he’s going to do races my heart. But he won’t…
His gentle movements turn rough, and his fingers urgently find the button to my jeans, and he yanks them down, all with one hand.
Holy shit.
He forces them to my feet, and I clutch onto the roof to keep my balance
He doesn’t swerve the car.
Not even as he pushes aside my panties and plunges his fingers into me, filling me instantly. Oh God. This can’t be happening. I’m standing up. Half suspended out of the freaking sunroof.
He pumps his fingers into me, and my body awakens with delight and exhilaration. I reach one arm down, back into the car, and I put my hand on his, feeling how big his fingers are compared to mine.
He hits the most sensitive place, finding it with ease, and I cry out, my voice lost in the wind. After I catch my breath, he starts building me to a higher peak. I grip his wrist, never wanting him to leave this place between my legs. Dear God, send me Ryke Meadows morning, noon and night.
Then a honk blares. I can barely turn my head, so dazed with these feelings. My lips are parted, unable to close. But I notice a family van behind us. Uh-oh.
I’m about to crawl into the car, but as soon as I duck my head in, Ryke says, “Stay.” He must not be concerned about them filming us on their phones—but it’s not like they can see much. The windows are tinted. Ryke puts his knee on the wheel to steer and he sticks his other hand out the window, flipping them off.
Why is that so sexy?
His fingers move faster inside of me, driving deeper, up and down. Ahhh! I clutch harder to the roof.
Mind officially blown.
His fingers aren’t sweet. They’re rough and hard, and my knees almost buckle with the brilliant force. I’m moaning, hunched over the roof, my eyes watering from the wind.
The van lays on the horn again. And then it switches lanes and speeds to our side. A father rolls down the passenger window where his wife sits. He shouts, “There are kids on this road!”
Ryke yells back, “They’re going to fucking learn about it sooner or later. Might as well learn how to do it the best way.”
AHHH!
I disintegrate. I can’t even support my body any longer. Ryke takes his fingers out, and I drop down onto my seat and breathe heavily. I rest my forehead on his shoulders, my mouth agape. When I look through his window that he’s ignored, I notice that the wife is flushed, the husband enraged.
I don’t care.
That was awesome.
They honk again.
Ryke slams on the gas and takes off, leaving them far behind us. His fingers glisten, and he wipes them on the inside of his shirt before passing me my jeans.
When I finally breathe normally, I slip my pants back on. “Have you done that before?” I wonder. It seemed like he knew what he was doing.
“First time,” he says, trying not to smile. The sudden glimmer in his eyes gives him away though. He liked it too. Maybe not as much as me. But he definitely enjoyed that.
“Your turn,” I say, sitting up on my knees, ready to give him head.
“Later,” he tells me. He turns the car off the exit. “We’re here.”
Wherever here is.
< 43 >
RYKE MEADOWS
We can’t drive in a car all the way to the Canyonlands. She’s too hyperactive and ADD—which is an actual fucking problem right now, even if we joke about it. No matter if I’d love to finger fuck her all the way there…and with half her body out of that fucking sunroof. Fuck. My cock despises me right now. I should have let her suck me off in the parking lot before I went into the store.
She gives amazing head.
But that didn’t feel right. And I usually don’t jump into things when my gut says no.
I shake hands with the sales person, and I step back out into the parking lot. Sunglasses on, shielding the bright afternoon light from my eyes. The wind picks up and I pull my leather jacket tighter. It’s getting fucking cold. But what do you expect from October?
Daisy walks out of the gas station next to the dealership. She eats a Little Debbie brownie, a shopping bag hung over her right arm while wearing bright blue, flower-shaped sunglasses that I’ve never seen. They look like cheap plastic, but they’re really fucking cute on her.
She waves when she sees me and starts walking over.
“Miss me?” she asks.
“I was fucking devastated.”
“You look it.” She nods, and I hook a finger on her plastic bag and peer into it. Hair dye. Lots of it. I spot pink and purple. I glance up at her, and she looks a little worried. Maybe she thinks I won’t be into her if she dyes her hair. But I don’t fucking care about shit like that.
Hair color. Skin color. Big. Small.
I like her. Not the body she comes in.
“Are you indecisive?” I wonder. “It looks like you have the rainbow in there.”
“Precisely.” She smiles, licking the chocolate off her fingers. “Unicorns love rainbows. I love unicorns. Therefore thy hair must be a rainbow.”
“Interesting fucking theory.” I start walking further down the parking lot and she follows me.
“One of my best?” She catches up to my side.
“No it’s fucking stupid.”
“It can’t be interesting and stupid. Those are exclusive.”
“You sound like Rose.” As soon as I say the words, she brightens. I know she looks up to her sisters, and in a way she reminds me a little bit of both of them. The rest of her is just Daisy. Just wild.
We stop by a black sportbike that I just bought from the dealership. Like I said, we can’t ride in a car anymore. I have the means to buy a motorcycle to appease Daisy’s restless state, so I’m going to fucking do it.
“We’re riding together?” she asks me with a smile.
“Yeah.” I take her plastic bag and shove it into my backpack. “You okay with that, sweetheart?”
“Will you let me drive some?”
“I’d let you do whatever you want, as long as you pay attention so we don’t fucking highside.” Last thing I need is for her to fly off the fucking bike.
“What about lowside?” She’s already done that once before: slid off the back of the motorcycle while it raced off without her.
“How about we don’t ever fucking crash?”
“But if I crash,” she says, slinging her leg over the seat. “I’d rather crash with you.”
My brows rise and she smiles bigger, brighter, pulling her scar. “You tell that to all the guys you’ve hooked up with?” I ask her.
“No,” she says, “because you’re the only one I’ve dated who rides motorcycles.”
I shake my head. “Your list of pickup lines, sweetheart, is insane. And I fucking swear you’ve used most of them on me.”
“I have?” she says, eyeing my muscles with a little more desire than before. I can tell she’s remembering the tent, when we had sex for the first time. “Looks like they worked.” Her eyes flicker to mine. “I have you.”
Her bedroom eyes are going to fuck me over like they never have before. I toss her a white helmet, not alleviating the moment. With us, the tension will probably stick around for seven whole days.
Everyone is taking their time driving to Canyonlands, so yeah, we have a week.
A week alone with Daisy.
For the first time, we’re going to see how we are as a couple. No restraint. Very little boundaries.
I sense the excitement.
But I also see the trouble.
< 44 >
DAISY CALLOWAY
I don’t mind when I ride behind Ryke, on the same seat, not the one steering or revving the throttle. He speeds as much as I would on a two-lane highway with very little traffic and no hills in sight. The farm lands we pass remind me that we’re in the Midwest, heading towards Utah at a leisurely pace.
If he’s tired from sleeping even less than me, he doesn’t show it. I wrap my arms around his waist, still entranced by him even though we’re together. I’m drawn to Ryke the way penguins waddle in a group, one following the other, rarely all alone. He’s masculine and tough and someone who chooses to feed my needs first and his second. I thought he’d want a twenty-nine-year-old, big breasted girl with lots of makeup and a tight bandaged dress.
Not eighteen, flat-chested, no makeup and ratty jeans and a loose fitting tee.
He keeps a lot in his head, and that’s partly the reason I like him. The mystery of his actions. The danger he wears in his dark eyes.
The motorcycle suddenly slows down to the side of the highway. I scan the area, just rows and rows of cornstalks, way taller than me. I take my helmet off at the same time as him. He climbs off the bike, not saying a word, but I watch him with pure intrigue, my curiosity peaking.
“Why’d we stop?” I ask.
I think I might know why. This week is already crazy for us. Our first unrestrained time together, and like I had always fantasized, we’re making up for the years we wasted on waiting.
He turns off the ignition and kicks out the stand while I’m still on the bike. And then his eyes meet mine, and they start a slow descent down my body, his chest rising in a deep, lustful inhale.
I smile. “You want to fuck me?”
With that darkness, he says, “I want to fuck you.”
Ohhhhh. The spot between my leg pulses. I climb off the bike and start to walk backwards while he follows me.
The cornstalks brushing my face as I enter the field. I want him to chase me. “Do you think you can catch me?” I ask in a silky breath.
He almost smiles. “I’ll give you a head start.”
I grin and then I spin around and take off, my blood pumping, my heart racing, my hands whipping through the stalks as I pass.
It’s beautiful. The sun is hoisted in the perfectly blue sky, clouds rolling over to cool the heat. A gentle breeze. This is a moment that you’d find in your dreams—a place that you’d never think you’d be.
And Ryke took me here.
I don’t know how far I go, but it’s not long before he finds me, scooping me up in his arms and kissing me with aggressive, thirsty passion. I kiss back with the same vigor, a cry escaping as his body melds with mine. I lift off his shirt and unbutton his pants with excitement, and then he starts to slow down. When his lips part from mine, I sense that he’s stuck inside his head.
“What?” I ask, using the extra time to give much needed oxygen to my lungs.
“It’s just something I’ve been thinking about…”
This doesn’t sound good. “It’s not about the… period stuff, is it?” Shut up, Daisy. “I’m on birth control. Everything’s fine now, you know that.”
“Dais, it’s not that.” He draws me to his chest and whispers in my ear, “Have you let a guy go down on you before?”
I don’t want him to think I’m inexperienced or too young to love. But I also don’t want to lie, so I try to brush this one off. “Have you let a guy go down on you?” I ask him the same question with a playful smile.
“No,” he says. He tilts my chin up so I’m looking at him. I didn’t even realize I was avoiding his gaze. “It’s okay if you haven’t.”
“It’s not that I haven’t wanted to,” I explain, courage building to tell him the truth. “It’s just that no guy has offered before.”
His jaw hardens in a severe line, really sexy even if he’s half pissed at these phantom guys that exist in my past. He ends up unbuttoning my shorts, staring down at me with a new determination. “Did someone offer to backdoor you?”
Ack…this answer, I don’t like it either. “Number six,” I say. “I tried it once, and honestly I don’t ever want to try it again.” It hurt like hell. I think I cried it was so painful. Like actual tears.
“I wasn’t going to fucking suggest it,” he says. “I’m just irritated that number six would do that before even going down on you.” He slides my panties to my ankles. I don’t know what he plans on doing with me; he won’t say.
He’s in his black boxer-briefs, and I pull my shirt over my head, stripping completely. It’s different being in the daylight doing this with him. It feels real, not heightened by nighttime hormones or our closeness as we sleep. It’s just us. On an adventure. Together. Trying to fully figure each other out, no barriers this time.
He steps out of his underwear, and my gaze drops to his package almost immediately. I can’t believe that was inside of me is my first gut reaction. My second: I hope it happens again. Soon.
I close some of the distance between us and run my hands up his abs, across his tattoo and chest. He looks at me the same way he did when he climbed off the motorcycle. Want glimmering in his eyes. His hands settle on my hips, his touch quickening my heart. And like I weigh nothing, he lifts me up on his shoulders. Not his waist.
I smile wide, my legs dangling against his back, and he skillfully kisses the spot between my legs, his hand on my ass, his tongue doing things to a place that loves this new sensation. My head peeks through the cornstalks, able to see the cars whizz by on the street that we abandoned.
I tense and my mouth falls as he licks a sensitive spot. I grip his hair, my hands on his head for support. “Ryke,” I cry. “What…” I want to say what the hell? Have you done this like this before? I’ve never seen this happen. On his shoulders. Legs open. His mouth right there. Not even in R-rated movies.
That’s because this is reserved for the NC-17 stuff. Duh.
Heat gathers on my neck. “Fuck,” I cry.
I can feel him smiling. Yeah, I guess he is a bad influence on me sometimes. But I know the opposite is true too.
I prefer being on his shoulders to the way he went down on the girl in his bedroom. This is better. Sexier. More fun.
He squeezes my ass, and his tongue—
Ahhhh! I moan, which turns into another cry, gasping repeatedly with that sound. All thoughts are deserted. All that’s left is need for something fuller between my legs. Something hard.
My noises get to Ryke because he ends up sliding me down from his shoulders to his waist. I hold onto the back of his neck with both of my hands, still a mess from that.
“Whoa,” I say with a tight voice, breathing heavy. His eyes consume my whole being, and he uses one hand to brace me to his body, the other to push his erection deep, deep inside of me.
There’s a slight pinch when he fills me entirely, but the pain dissipates when he’s all in. Another high-pitched sound escapes.
“Fuck,” he curses, the word so sexual and heady off his tongue.
He begins to fuck me standing up, his body and strength doing most of the work, thrusting into me while I meet him with my hips a couple times. But really, I can’t keep up with Ryke in this position. He’s stronger and has an easy time forcing me upright and pounding hard against me.
I clutch him so tightly, my body bouncing on his cock, my head dizzy. The pressure so freakin’ wonderful. The sensations too powerful to describe. I am floating. Rising. Towards the bright blue sky.
“Ryke,” I start again, and my sharp gasps return, piercing cries attached that come in succession. “Ahhh…ahhhh…” Oh God. Oh God.
“Dais,” he groans, one of his hands on the back of my head. “Fuck.”
Fuck is right.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuuuuckkk. Oh my God. He jerks forward, coming inside of me, and I tighten around his cock, clenching over and over, riding a wave to the shore. He holds me as I slow down, as I gather my breath, and he rubs the back of my head, gentle with me, even after a pretty rough and deep moment.
I don’t want to disentangle from him. I don’t even want to go back to the motorcycle anytime soon. He appeases my silent command by setting me on his bike jacket, flattening some of the cornstalks. He kisses me from above, though he does pull out. His lips and tongue move with more affection and care, and I rest my hand on his bare bottom, spreading my legs on either side of him.
I’m not sure how long we kiss. All I know is that I could do this forever with Ryke.
He skims his thumb across my bottom lip, and his eyes rake over my features with fondness, a look that I’ve never seen from him before.
“What are you thinking?” I whisper. We’re alone in the middle of a cornfield, but it seems too peaceful to talk loudly.
“I love this,” he breathes, kissing my cheek, the one with the scar, as though it’s perfect just the way it is.
My chest rises. “The sex?”
He shakes his head. “No, this. Right now.” He kisses me again and then says, “But I do fucking love the sex.”
I smile. “You’re not too bad at it.”
His brows pinch together like yeah? “Not too bad? Do we have a recording of your fucking voice?”
“You mean this voice?” I arch my back a little and cry, gasping with the same unraveling pleasure, though there is a slight difference in my fake orgasm and the real one. My voice cuts off shorter every time Ryke takes me hard, and here it’s more drawn out. “Ryke, ahhh…” My chest rises and falls heavily, like I struggle to breathe.
He sits on his knees, watching me, and then he hardens, turned on. The fakeness in my body starts to switch into real, dramatic feelings. Ahhh…I moan a desperate moan.
Thankfully he doesn’t make me beg for it or admit my sarcasm. He just drives his erection between my legs, filling me again. He pumps with a melodic rhythm, his forearm resting a little bit above my head, staring down at me as my noises tickle my throat.
It’s way too much. Every single nerve is lit up. “I can’t…” I moan.
He slows, and his cheek brushes mine as he whispers in my ear, “Yes, you can…you’re going to feel it.”
Not long after his words leave, my eyes roll back, and the most intense, mind-numbing sensation washes over me, heart-stopping feelings that transport me somewhere else. I can’t even scream. It’s so insane that my mouth opens and the sound is stripped from my throat.
When I come down, exhausted, he lifts me in his arms and sets me on his lap. I don’t have the energy to do that again, but I know he does. I glance down. Oh. He climaxed with me, and I hadn’t even noticed. He just holds me in his arms, wiping the sweaty hair off my face.
“I don’t understand how I can go from never having an orgasm to that,” I whisper. He must be a god. A sex god. And he’s been sent to me from the heavens.
He has a more logical answer. “Generally when you’re not attracted to the person you’re with, Dais, you’re not going to get off.”
I turn my head and look up at him. “You know what this means?”
His brows harden, and I can tell he’s expecting a joke and my normal theatrics. “What?”
I smile with sincerity. “I am very, very attracted to you.”
The corner of his lips rise. “Funny, I’m also attracted to you. What are we going to do about that?”
“Make love and make babies.”
His brows shoot up. “You already want to make babies with me, Calloway?”
“I want to do lots of things with you.” I use a very diplomatic response, walking on a thin rope with this subject. I have no idea where his head lies. His thoughts could match his brother’s. Lo doesn’t want children because alcoholism is hereditary. Lily told me his stance on the matter. Well, really she told Rose and I was in the same room, and I kind of, sort of, inserted myself into the conversation. I realize that sounds annoying, but I just want to be close to them before they move away and start families.
He kisses my lips, his tongue easily slipping into my mouth and sliding against mine, and then he breaks apart and says, “Me too.” He stands, setting me on my feet. And he grabs his underwear and jeans, beginning to dress. I gather my clothes and watch him with curiosity. I didn’t think I would care this much about his feelings on children, but I am dying to find out.
“You know I was joking about the babies,” I say, slipping my panties on. He hands me my shirt, and the tension of this conversation constricts my lungs. He doesn’t let much through his dark gaze, which makes this hard. “But I’m curious…”
“You’re always curious,” he says, messing my hair with a rough hand.
“I’m really, really curious.” I smile. “Are you hoping to get married and have kids one day?”
He pulls his T-shirt over his head and grabs his bike jacket off the ground, shaking the dirt off it. And then he runs a hand through his hair, a giveaway that my question makes him a tad bit anxious. “I’m not like my little brother, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he says, putting his jacket on. “I do think alcohol may be an issue for whatever fucking kid I have, but this disease isn’t going to take anything away from me. I won’t let it.”
The answer almost makes me smile. I wish Lo felt the same way, but I think it’s different for him. He’s been battling his addiction for much longer and he had a much bumpier road than Ryke.
He fixes his hair, trying to comb through the disheveled strands with his fingers. “Look,” he suddenly says, his thoughts collected to form a whole response. “I can’t do to my kids what my parents did to me. The separation, the divorce, the fucking fighting. I want to be in a serious, committed relationship before I have a child.”
“You mean marriage,” I say.
“When you’re married, you can still get divorced. I don’t take that much stock in the word. I just need the emotional fucking commitment.” He motions with his head towards the path we came from. “Let’s start walking.”
I follow him, keeping up with his lengthy stride.
His eyes flicker to me a couple times while I stay silent and digest this information. “What do you want?”
I smile. “Look who’s curious now.”
He brushes a cornstalk out of my way. “Yeah, well when you joke around I have to read between the lines, and I don’t always read you right. It’s easier asking you.”
I’m glad he asked. It definitely means he cares. “I want to be fully committed to someone, to be married, probably earlier rather than later. And I do want babies. Maybe like three. I also want to travel and visit the great seven wonders and scuba dive and stand beneath a waterfall in Costa Rica, kissing you.”
He reaches out and holds my hand.
My heart swells.
“Not in that order,” he tells me.
My lips pull high because he didn’t discount a single one of my wants. In fact—I can see it in his eyes.
He wants all of it too.
