Kiss the Sky

by Ritchie, Krista

  Lily lets out a delighted squeal, her hands shooting to her mouth. She bounces giddily on Loren’s lap, and he holds the blanket around her body to keep her covered. “Are you serious?” she asks excitedly. “They called us OTP? Lo, did you hear that?”

  “I heard, love,” he says with a smile. “But I didn’t need anyone to say it for me to believe it.”

  Her entire face glows at his words.

  I’m still stuck on OTP. I turn to Connor and he shakes his head like don’t look at me for this.

  “What does OTP stand for?” I ask my sister.

  “One True Pairing. Like couples that fans think are meant for each other,” Lily says quickly. “It’s used for fandoms. I guess, since we’re on a reality show, now we qualify.” Weird. But she would know that information, seeing as how they’re both into comic books and general pop culture things.

  “Neither of you knew that?” Loren asks with a grin.

  “It’s slang,” Connor says like that explains it all. It doesn’t matter. The fact that my sister and her boyfriend stumped us, the smartest people in the room, literally makes them beam in pure glee.

  “Okay, what about this: I ship Ryke and Daisy so hard it hurts. What the hell does that mean?” I end up slurring the end of the sentence. Oh my God. Get your shit together, Rose. He’s going to fuck you so hard. He can’t fuck you if you’re passed out! I swallow, but my throat feels like cotton and clouds…which is one of the stupidest thoughts I’ve ever produced. I really am drunk. Dear God.

  Connor runs his fingers across my arm, so light that I shiver. He tucks me closer to him. Please don’t pass out, Rose.

  Lo groans as Connor rereads what I said aloud, only more coherent than me.

  “What?” Ryke frowns.

  Lily is all too excited to explain. “Ship is like relationship. When you ship someone you want them to hook up. Like I ship Magneto and Mystique in X-Men: First Class.”

  “But they’re not canon yet,” Lo interjects, adding another term that makes little sense to me.

  Lily clarifies, “They’re not really together. We just want them to be, but once it happens, they’re canon. I’m still holding out hope.”

  Connor looks between Lo and Lily. “So let me get this straight. People are rooting for Ryke and Daisy to be together, but they’re not canon because it’s never happened.”

  Lily claps and smiles brightly. “I’m a great tutor.”

  Connor laughs.

  “And it will never happen,” Lo adds, nodding to his brother to make sure he understands. I think Lo just fears abandonment again. That if Ryke dates Daisy in the faraway future, he’ll lose his brother and that sense of family. It’s not true, but you know, people believe what’s in their heart. You can’t change that so easily.

  Julian stays quiet, digesting all of this information even though we’re talking like he’s no longer her boyfriend or even in the room. As far as I’m concerned, she just broke up with him tonight. I’m beginning to think Daisy stays with these losers because she doesn’t have the heart to reject them.

  “Hey,” Ryke says, purposefully locking eyes with Julian. “I have fucking fans.” He raises his glass of water, and it’s hard to overlook my sister’s head in his lap.

  Julian stands and nears him. “I’m going to take her to bed.”

  I open my mouth to refute, my eyes narrowing, despite the booze softening me. But Ryke (sober) is way faster.

  “She’s not fucking sleeping with you. Sorry, man.”

  “Okay, just hand her over, dude. This shit is getting old.”

  “Is it not processing in your fucking head?” Ryke asks with one of the worst glares I’ve seen him use. “You’re not fucking taking her. You’re not sleeping with her. She’s staying here.”

  “With you, right? That’s not happening. I don’t fucking trust you with her.”

  Lily perks up on Lo’s lap. “She can sleep in my bed, and Lo can go in Ryke’s room. Right, Lo?” she asks.

  He nods. “Yeah, sure.” But he looks worried about leaving Lily alone. Not only for her own safety against Scott, but she’ll also be tasked to protect Daisy from her boyfriend. What if Julian crawls into their bed? We don’t know him that well.

  “I’ll sleep with them too,” I announce, knowing that I drank too much to do anything with Connor anyway. But I do regret the words, even as I say them.

  If Connor’s disappointed, he masks it perfectly, his face entirely unreadable.

  “Great,” Julian says, “I’ll go put Daisy in her sister’s bed.”

  Ryke stands with Daisy cradled in his arms, her legs dangling lifelessly. He readjusts her so she’s turned towards his chest, looking more passed out and less dead.

  Julian waits for Ryke to hand her to him.

  “Over my dead fucking body,” Ryke growls.

  Before they have a tug-of-war with my sister, Loren steps in and pries Daisy from Ryke. “I’m taking her to bed.”

  Lily wraps the blanket tight around her naked frame and follows Loren out of the living room.

  Julian puffs his chest out like he could push Ryke and pummel him. But Ryke pretty much has a look like “I’m going to rip your head off and chuck it in the snow.” I’d say Ryke would win based on expressions. That is, if I had to bet on this stupid fight at all.

  I really just want to be alone with Connor, even if I already committed to sleeping with my sisters. I can creep in their room later, right? Drunk me says hell yes. Sober Rose would say where did your loyalty go, bitch?

  Drunk Rose is so powerful right now.

  Connor stands, my armrest gone. I almost fall into the cushion, but I catch myself with an unsteady hand.

  “We should all go to bed. It’s late,” he says. He turns to me and easily grabs my hand, lifting me to my feet and supporting me with an arm to the waist.

  Scott speaks to Brett, words that I can’t catch, and then they head over to Savannah and Ben in the kitchen to review old footage.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Julian says. He shoots Ryke one last threatening look before backing up and climbing the stairs to the loft bedrooms.

  When we hear the door close, Ryke’s shoulders slacken. He shakes his head repeatedly and runs his hand through his hair.

  “What’d Daisy say to you?” Connor asks. I didn’t realize this was an important piece of information. Okay, I am not drinking anymore for the rest of the trip.

  Ryke stares at the ground, his features darkening. “She said, don’t let him touch me.”

  My face clouds with worry. She really thought he could have taken advantage of her while she was passed out? “I don’t like him,” I say with the shake of my head.

  “Join the fucking club.”

  Connor sets a hand on the small of my back. “Let’s just be civil with him for the rest of the trip. Daisy has to work with Julian, so obviously she’s treading some muddy waters here.”

  “I don’t see anything fucking muddy about it,” Ryke retorts. “She doesn’t like him. So she needs to dump him.”

  “Not everything is black and white, Ryke,” Connor says. “You should understand that, considering your situation with Daisy.”

  Ryke scowls. “There’s no situation.”

  Connor tilts his head. “Act stupid in front of your brother, but that tactic won’t ever work with me.”

  “You like her,” I add, saying each word slowly so I don’t slur them together. “It’s okay to like her.” Hell, I like any guy that makes my sister happy and treats her well. Julian does neither.

  Ryke glares at both of us. “It’s not fucking okay. I’m not into her like that. I can’t be. She’s seventeen.”

  “What about when she’s eighteen?” Connor asks with an arched brow.

  Ryke shakes his head adamantly. “You think I’m going to sacrifice my relationship with my brother for a girl? Then you don’t fucking know me, Cobalt.”

  “Lo will get over it.”

  “Yeah, I don’t see that happening. And maybe
you’re fucking right—all of this shit is confusing.” His nose flares as he breathes out. “I’ll try not to hit her boyfriend, okay? Only because they work together.” Ryke doesn’t give us the chance to respond. He disappears upstairs, shutting the door to his room.

  I spin back to Connor and place my hands on his hard chest. “Maybe…” I say, trailing off. “I can go sneak into Lily’s room later?”

  His eyes roam my body, and he brushes my hair off my shoulder. Instead of answering, he leaves my side and walks confidently to the refrigerator.

  At the kitchen table, Scott looks up from the camera equipment and stares between us. But I’m so entranced with Connor, the way he commands the room at six-foot-four, his self-assuredness so unquantifiable and so, so attractive.

  I unconsciously sway, waiting for him to return to me in the living room. He procures a carton of strawberries and kicks the refrigerator closed on his way back. He bites into the fruit, staining his lips red for a single second before he licks off the strawberry juice.

  As he nears me, he twirls my body towards our bedroom on the main level. And then he presses his chest to my back, guiding me with a firm hand to my hip. Wild thoughts jumble in my head, spinning madly with the help of the vodka shots. What is he going to do to me?

  Once in our room, decorated with bear cabin décor, he closes the door behind him and sets me on the edge of the bed, a red and brown quilt underneath me.

  “Are we going to have sex?” I ask him, my neck straightening in alarm as I process those words. Am I about to lose my virginity?

  “No, Rose. You’re drunk,” he reminds me. “You’re going to remember our first time together for the rest of your life. And alcohol isn’t going to take that away from you or me.”

  I glare, my shoulders curving backwards in defense. “So you’re just going to put me to bed then?” I’m clearly horny.

  He pops open the carton again and eats another strawberry, not saying anything one way or the other. His domineering posture causes me to slowly sink back, my elbows propping my body on the mattress. His penetrative gaze rakes me from head to toe, traveling across all the places that crave his powerful touch.

  Images of him on me, in me, breeze through my brain in a wonderful, toxic mess. And I swallow hard as I realize what I want. “Can you be rough with me?” Without the alcohol, I’m not sure I would have had the balls to ask, despite gaining more courage in bed these past couple of months.

  He places the strawberries on the mattress, moving casually, easily, contentedly. The uncertainness of what he’s going to do quickens my heart, and then his eyes meet mine, his one forceful look saying everything, I’m going to give you that and more.

  He lifts me and throws me further onto the bed, the air rushing out of my lungs. He climbs on before I can orient myself, and he spins me so my stomach is flat against the mattress. “We’re going to play a game…” He digs his pelvis into my ass before he strips me crudely with two hands, tossing my dress aside. The cold nips my bare skin, and he snaps my bra off but leaves my blue cotton panties on.

  “What game?” I ask breathlessly.

  I turn my head a little and watch him unbutton his shirt and shrug off the fabric. He unbuckles his belt, and the spot between my legs aches for him. I stifle a moan and try to sit, but he puts a hand on my back, forcing my breasts to the quilt.

  The only way I can watch him is by pressing my cheek to the mattress. He allows me this at least. He takes off his slacks, only in his navy boxer-briefs. He’s incredibly hard, and as he lowers his underwear, his cock springs out, ready to enter me.

  But he’s already made it clear that’s not what he plans to do tonight.

  I can’t stop staring at the size of him. “I know you’re going to be able to fit,” I say. “I’m not an idiot, but when you do, I think it’s going to hurt…a lot.”

  “Most likely,” he tells me, not denying it. He kneels on the bed and leans me on my side, my bottom facing him. He gathers my wrists and ties them behind my back with his belt.

  My lips part as soon as the leather digs into my skin, the buckle cold against my wrist. I close my eyes as the sensations ripple through my middle and settle in tortured places.

  His lips find my ear. “Are you scared of being sore?”

  I shake my head once. I could beg for that force right now, but the words are lost inside my tangled mind.

  He yanks my panties up, hard, the fabric digging into my heat.

  “Connor,” I gasp, my arms tugging against his belt restraint.

  He groans, and lets out a deep, husky breath. “I can’t wait to fit inside of you.” He kisses the small of my back and exposes my ass without taking off my panties, his lips sucking on my tender cheek. “Hard. Rough. Wet, volatile sex, with no letting up.”

  “Who will concede first, you or me?” I ask him.

  He bites my ass, and I press my forehead to the mattress. Ahh. A sharp breath catches, and I let out a high-pitched cry.

  “We’ll come together,” he tells me. “Always.” Then he opens the fruit carton. With my cheek back on the quilt and in his mercy, he has control of what I see. All of a sudden, the flesh of a strawberry is against my lips.

  “Open wide. Don’t eat it. Treat the fruit like my cock,” he says. “You bite down too hard, and you’re going to be spanked hard. Understand?”

  “I’m not an idiot,” I remind him.

  “You’re drunk, darling. I’m just making sure you’re coherent. Otherwise, this ends.”

  “No, I’m here,” I say forcefully. “You’re not leaving me.”

  He leans forward and kisses me roughly, hungrily on the lips, his tongue nearly choking me with the pressure. I clench my legs as I throb for more of this and him. He peels away abruptly and says, “I give the fucking orders.” And then he spanks me.

  Hard.

  I grit my teeth, my face heated, but the spot between my legs reacts much differently. I ache for him to slap me there. God yes. My insecurities about him leaving, not loving me completely, become shelved in the back of my head. And I concentrate only on how this feels. I leave my mind behind, something that I can only do when I am riding a boozy wave.

  He slides the strawberry in my mouth, the green end sticking from my lips, and I rest the fruit on my tongue, careful to not dig my teeth into it.

  Connor massages my ass with his large hand. I hear his heavy breaths behind me as he strokes his cock at the same time. I’d like to watch, but I have no say in that. So I’m left to imagine what he looks like as his cock swells, as his lips part in heady pleasure and his head tilts back. I’ve seen that adrenaline-fueled “I am close to passing out” look before. I’ve seen his muscular ass tighten as he jerks forward. And there’s nothing more I want to see than all of that while he’s so deep inside of me.

  His fingers dip into the wet, dying spot, nudging my panties to the side.

  And I spasm at the sudden touch. I taste the sweet strawberry before I realize I’ve bitten it clean in half. I chew and swallow. Maybe he won’t notice. Yeah fucking right, Rose. His IQ is higher than yours by one percent.

  His hand whips my ass, and I gasp, then wince, and glare. “That fucking…hurt,” I retort slowly. But as soon as I say it, his fingers return to the needy spot, and he rubs my clit. Ohhh…I melt instantly, and I think I whimper into the mattress. I don’t know what else to call that foreign sound.

  “You’re too drunk to have my cock in your mouth,” he says.

  I scoff at that declaration, but the aftertaste of sweet strawberry says he’s right and I’m very much wrong. But even drunk, I can’t surrender so easily. “I am not.”

  He suddenly sits me up by pulling at my tied wrists, but my spine still faces him. I feel him shift on his knees, the bed rocking with his weight, and his hard cock poking at my back. “Connor,” I moan, close to begging.

  “How do you feel?” he asks. “Besides dizzy from the alcohol.” He clenches a chunk of my hair and pulls so my chin juts upward
and I can see his eyes as he stares down.

  “I feel…” I blink a couple times as I try to form the words. I lick my lips and say, “Like I want you to do anything to me.” Just uttering the words shallows my breath.

  He stares at me with a hard, possessive gaze, and his arm extends over my shoulder, and his fingers fit back inside me again. But he doesn’t move.

  “Elaborate.”

  “I…need you…to move.”

  He takes out his hand quickly, and he forces me on my knees. The blood rushes to my head, and he spanks me again, the sting more numbed by the booze than before. He must notice because I don’t whimper or moan or flinch forward.

  He sighs in frustration and starts untying my wrists.

  “Wait, no,” I say. “Stop.”

  “Just months ago, you were telling me to stop from touching you. Now you want me to keep on doing so, and I’m still not going to comply with your order, Rose.” He tosses the belt aside and turns me onto my back, my head relaxing into a pillow. “You know why?” he asks, his hands on either side of my shoulders as he hovers over me.

  “Because you’re an asshole,” I snap.

  He pinches my cheeks with one hand. “Because you’re wrong. I won’t fuck your mouth, your pussy or your ass when you’re drunk. I’ll fuck you when you’re sober.” He kisses me roughly on the lips before saying once more, “Elaborate.”

  On what I feel.

  I stare into his deep blue eyes. Lost in the power inside them. And I take his hand for a second, and I fit it between my legs, his gaze never breaking from mine. “This is yours,” I tell him. “That’s what I feel.”

  I’ve never wanted a man to toss me around how they want, how they like, using me to their desires so much before. And in this moment, I realize it doesn’t matter what I believe outside the bedroom. In life I can be powerful, but here, I can trust him to fill me with his power, his strength. That has to be okay. Because beyond all thoughts, all logic, it’s what makes me feel so fucking good.

  His lips rise. “Ca vous a pris pas mal de temps.” It took you long enough.

  “How long do we have left?” I ask him softly, his body beginning to blur.