“I hate that you haven’t changed your stupid answering machine,” I whisper angrily. “It tricks me every single time. And it’s not nice.”
A pair of jeans land near my desk. I jump, my eyes wide. They’re undressed. One of them is without pants. Oh. My. God…
I shut off the phone and redial. Answering machine. I swallow hard and say under my breath, “Um, Lo, where are you? Bye.” I hang up quickly, and I dial my sensible sister. The line rings twice before she answers.
“Are you okay?” Rose asks.
“Why is Lo not answering?” I wonder, biting my nails.
“He left his phone at the house.” Her voice muffles as she pulls the receiver from her lips. “Okay, okay, Lo, I understand. Calm down.” She huffs and then says louder, “Are the models already there?”
“Yep,” I say, catching a glimpse of a pair of bare ankles and legs—which means that he can see me curled up here. But I don’t dare move. “All nine Captain Americas have reported for duty. Where are you?” It’s not like Rose to be late.
“Stuck in traffic,” Rose tells me. “I told Connor I would pick up his dry cleaning, and there was a long line.”
“You could have told Harold to do it,” I say softly. The bare ankles are moving closer! I shut my eyes. Go away. Go away.
“I’d rather not use our mother’s butler, thank you.” Yes, I suppose that comes with some sort of stipulation. Like spending an extra couple of dinners in Villanova, and Rose already commits to Sunday get-togethers.
“Mmm-hmm.” The legs pause, too close now.
“Lily…” Rose trails. “If you’re uncomfortable, you can go wait in my office, okay? You don’t have to be around those models.”
I think it’s too late for that.
The male model squats, and I am met with beautiful brown eyes, tan skin, and full dark hair, swept in a perfect way. He has that Italian charm in his blinding smile. He tilts his head. “What are you doing under there?”
“I work down here,” I blurt out. I am roasting from head to toe.
He laughs a husky laugh.
“Lily.” I flinch at the sound of Lo’s voice, and I look over my shoulder, met with the back of the white desk. Right, I have the phone pressed to my ear.
“I’m Julian,” the model says, extending his hand.
My palm is too sweaty. He’ll think I’m weird if he shakes a slippery hand, so I point to my phone and give him a nervous smile. “Work stuff,” I say.
“What’s going on?” Lo asks through the receiver. “You okay, Lil?” His worried tone drives knots in my stomach. I don’t want him to be concerned that I’ll cheat. I know it’s a valid fear, but I wish he could trust me one-hundred percent. But he can only do that when I begin to trust myself.
Julian says, “When you’re finished, you should come out from under there. Your office has a great view.”
I know he’s just trying to be nice since I’m the anti-social monster hiding beneath her desk. He’s not hitting on me, but I can’t stop looking at his pretty eyelashes.
He stands, and I try to focus my thoughts on the phone call. “Lo?” I question whether he’s hung up.
“Lil,” he says slowly, “you’re freaking me the fuck out.”
“Sorry, I’m fine.”
“Where are you?”
“At my desk.” That’s not a lie, right? Technically I am right here. “I just…thought you were going to be in the room too.” I don’t want to cheat on him. I don’t want to even give my mind the ability to contemplate the thought—to wander and fantasize. That will kill me. Keeping them out of sight is best, even though it’s not healthy to avoid the opposite sex when Lo’s not around.
Once I have a handle on controlling the things that tempt me, it’ll be better. Today’s just not a good day. I am overly aroused.
“You don’t have to talk to them,” he reminds me.
Too late.
“I thought you said you were at your desk.”
“I am.”
“Then how come I don’t see you?”
He’s here? I can’t even crawl out from underneath my desk anymore, not even to greet Lo and Rose. Because everyone by the muffins will laugh and look at me funny for being down here. I just want to stay hidden until they all leave.
“Maybe,” I say, “because your superpower is to turn me invisible.”
He pauses. “That’s a horrible power. Take it back.”
“Okay fine. I may be here. But I’m not here on my chair,” I whisper.
And then I see a pair of ratted Vans. He bends in front of me the same way Julian did, but his face isn’t full of kind amusement. His eyes darken, and his brows harden in concern.
“Go model or try on clothes or, you know, do what you do,” I tell him. “Don’t worry about me. I’m working on something down here.”
“Like what?”
Uhhh… “A report…thing.”
“Okay,” he says, and I relax, glad that he’s letting me off the hook. “Can I have a hug before I go?”
I crawl forward a little, still blocked by the desk sides, and I wrap my arms around him. He smells good. Like mint soap and a hint of citrusy cologne. Just before I let go, Lo’s arms tighten around my waist, and he begins tugging me out of my sanctuary.
“Lo,” I whisper fiercely. I shove his chest, trying to escape and crawl back to my den.
But he brings me into the light, and I bury my face in the crook of his arm, unwilling to meet the mocking gazes of the other models. I don’t want people to look at me like I’m a weird, abnormal girl.
Lo strokes the back of my head, and his lips brush my ear. “Hey, you’re okay. Lil, no one cares.”
“I care,” I mumble.
And then he clasps my face and before I can go spastic, his lips touch mine. He kisses deeply, his tongue slipping into my mouth. My thoughts, my insecurities—they whoosh out of my head and all my built-up tension starts to tighten again.
The distraction works too well. Because when he draws back, a few of the models clap and whistle in jest. Lo shakes his head at me as my elbows blush.
“Don’t listen to them.” He rolls out my chair and guides me until I’m sitting behind my desk once more. And he hangs onto the back, his head dipping low as he meets my ear. “Just think of finishing that kiss tonight.”
I turn my head a fraction to see his sharp features, all ice. “And what if I can’t wait?”
“You can,” he assures me, but his muscles flex, worried by my sudden claim.
“You’re right,” I say. “I can.” I nod, knowing I have to. I have to wait in this chair, with my back to ten male models, and I have to finish double checking my spreadsheet. I nod again, trying to build confidence.
He kisses my temple one last time, leaving me completely aching. And every so often, my arousal turns to embarrassment and shame. I wonder if any of those models can read my sinful thoughts—or if they just think I’m a bizarre girl. I shouldn’t care about the latter, but being reminded that I’m not normal makes me feel…wrong and dirty.
After Rose assigns the models outfits, she stops by my desk. “You look flushed.”
I shrug sheepishly. What else is there to say to that?
“You don’t have to be here, Lily,” she says. “You can go home early.”
“I need to finish this.” I tap my screen. “And I want to ride home with Lo.”
“You’re uncomfortable,” she says.
I am, but I’m desperately trying to do the right thing here. I’m trying to be better. “It’s okay.”
She pats my shoulder. “If you change your mind, let me know. I won’t be upset by it.” She returns to the models, and she flocks Katie and Trish, making sure they’re doing their jobs well.
After ten minutes, I regret drinking two mochas this morning. I have the worst urge to pee, and that means spending time alone in the bathroom. And hello, I’m aroused too, and the allure of self-love is overpowering like a drug.
I cann
ot squirm any longer in my seat. I don’t want to attract more unnecessary attention to myself. So I stand and walk tentatively to the bathroom past both Trish and Katie’s work stations. I look over my shoulder just once, and I spot all the models pulling on sport’s coats, button-downs, collared shirts and golf shorts, all of the clothes tailored and chic.
Lo meets my gaze. He’s full of questioning. I mouth, bathroom. He nods, but he must see the need creeping over me like a cancer because his worry never disappears. But I can wait to have sex. I’ll be fine, I try to convince myself.
I shut the door behind me, and after I finish on the toilet, I touch my panties, about to raise them around my thighs. But I hesitate for one strong second. Because the place between my legs throbs so badly, and I remember the blissful feeling if I just touch once. I’ll be floating. I want that.
I shut my eyes and spend a great deal of time in a mental battle. I end up pulling on my panties, but my jeans stay around my ankles. I close the toilet lid and sit on the maroon suede covering. The bathroom smells like pine and cranberries, a glass vase of potpourri emitting the aroma.
It makes leaving ten times harder.
And then the door opens. I forgot to lock it! I internally shriek. I struggle with my jeans. “Someone’s in here!” I shout, but the body slips inside anyway.
With his back to me, Lo locks the door and then turns around, catching me frozen—with my jeans midway up my legs, with the toilet seat closed.
“I didn’t…” I start. Does he believe me?
I wouldn’t. I’ve been caught with my pants down.
It looks like I didn’t even try to wait. It looks like I gave up.
{ 10 }
LOREN HALE
I rub my lips, not sure what to make of Lily sitting on the toilet lid with her jeans halfway up her ankles. I worry about her heavy breath and the shakiness of her hands. She’s an addict who needs her next fix.
“Lo, I didn’t,” she says again.
And I believe her this time. Tears threaten to spill down her cheeks, and I rush to her before she has a major breakdown. I squat to match her height, and I place my hands on her knees. “Hey, shh.” I cup her face and rub a fallen tear with my thumb. “You’re okay.”
She shakes her head.
“Can you wait?” I ask her. “You have five more hours.”
She shudders.
I can’t watch her crumble like this. My lungs constrict, my whole chest clenching.
“You should go back,” she says. “You’re working.”
I’ve changed out of the Calloway Couture clothes, and I wear my regular black shirt and jeans. “They’re writing down the alterations for the other models. I have time.” I’m supposed to be putting on my second outfit, but Rose is preoccupied with measurements and test shots. She won’t miss me for long.
Lily stares at her hands in her lap, barely meeting my eyes. “I can wait,” she says under her breath, so meek that I don’t believe her for a second.
“Can you?” I ask.
She nods and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. I tuck her hair behind her ear, wanting so badly to pull her into my arms and to make it all better. But that’s not how this new chapter of our lives is supposed to go, is it?
“I didn’t have sex for three whole months,” she says softly. “What’s five hours?”
“This is different.”
“Why?” she asks, her chin quivering. She so badly wants to grab me. I can see it in the way her eyes flit over my body for a brief moment. She catches herself and stares back at the floor.
“Because I wasn’t there,” I tell her. “You didn’t have the opportunity to touch me. It was easier.” I imagine three months without me was like being locked in a house without booze. If there’s nothing to drink, then you’re not going to get drunk. But there are always liquor stores. The same way there are always other guys to fuck. She also had the option to touch herself, but she’s eliminated that completely. She stuck to her vows.
And I know that if I leave her like this, she’ll break one by masturbating. She can’t last five hours, and she won’t ask me to have sex with her. So she’ll be drawn to the next best thing, thinking that self-love is the right solution. She won’t cheat on me. She’ll just cheat on herself.
So while she sniffs and wipes her tears, I rack my mind for that damn blacklist with the therapist’s rules. My head is fuzzy, distracted by Lily’s constant trembling and the way her knees begin to turn inward.
“Lo,” she cries. “I think you should leave.”
My chest falls. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And before she can refute, I kiss her. I part her lips with my tongue, and she clenches my shirt, her soft moans like thank yous. Each one drives me harder, and my movements become as hungry as hers. I lift her in my arms, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist. And I knock her back into the wall. Her voice is lost in the base of my neck, her forehead pressing to my shoulder.
“I need you,” she whispers, panicked. “Please…” The fear in her voice cuts a new scar.
“Shh, love.” I rub my hand through the back of her hair, and I nip her ear with my teeth. She shudders against me. I want her to release, but I feel like there’s no winning with this one. If I let her go, she’ll masturbate. If I fuck her, she’ll hate herself. If I make her come, she’ll still be filled with shame and guilt for not lasting five hours.
There is no right answer, no fucking break. And so each stroke against her flesh is seared with tension and a strong ache, my heart pounding like a jackhammer to cement.
And I kiss her again, my lips swelling beneath her eagerness, her insistency to push deeper, to go farther. She runs her bitten nails across my back, not sharp enough to draw blood, not even long enough to truly scratch, but she digs her fingers into my skin. She grips so fiercely, as though I am two seconds from dropping her. From saying no.
My brain clicks, and the blacklist isn’t hazy anymore. We can’t do this. I retract my lips from her, and I don’t meet her eyes.
I fucked up.
I want to punch the wall. I want to scream. More than anything, I want to go sit at a bar and forget the road I was about to pull Lily down. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Lo…”
I bring her to her feet, and she wobbles unsteadily. I keep a hand on her waist, but there’s considerable amount of distance between us.
“What did I do…?” Her high-pitched voice lurches my stomach.
“Nothing,” I say, tucking another piece of hair behind her ear.
“Then we can do something…” She grips my shirt again, clenching the fabric between two panicked fists.
I pry her fingers from me. “We can’t have sex here, and I can’t touch you here either.” But she can’t wait until tonight.
She nods rapidly. And as the news settles with her, she pulls her shoulders back like I’ve seen Rose often do. She raises her chin, trying to be strong. Christ, I want to her kiss her for it and to apologize for tempting her even more. I should have taken her to our house where we can have sex. In fact, that’s what we’re going to do now.
“Grab your stuff,” I tell her. “We’re going home, and I’ll make you come there.” My tone isn’t sexy. It’s clinical. I just want her to be able to wait until we reach our bedroom.
I find her jeans on the ground, and I help put her legs in each pant hole.
“Wait,” she says.
I don’t want to give her the chance to convince me to have sex with her in the bathroom. It’s not happening. I already screwed up by arousing her more—I don’t need to break anything on that blacklist.
Public sex—yeah, that’s not fucking allowed.
I zip up her jeans and fish the button through, towering over her with dominance that makes her squirm. I want to kiss her. God, I just want to hold her. But instead of drawing towards Lily, I have to draw back.
“Wait,” she says again, more forceful this time. She grabs my wrist to stop
me. “You’re not going home.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I say. I don’t add that I don’t trust her. Her fingers may slip into her panties; she may give herself what I’ve denied.
“You’re working,” she reminds me, tears building again. “I’m not ruining your first job.” She inhales a strong breath and adds, “I’ll stay at my desk, and when you’re done working, we can go.”
I hesitate.
“You should only be one more hour. I can wait that long.”
“Plus the ride home,” I remind her.
She nods quickly. “Yes, yes.”
I like this option. Mostly because Lily came up with the idea, and it’ll lessen whatever guilt she’ll feel for not being able to wait tonight. “Okay.” I kiss her cheek. And she sighs, but as she walks to the door, the tension becomes apparent in the way her thighs press together.
I lead her out of the bathroom, and we enter the loft space where Trish and Katie fling clothes at one another, fixing the garments on the models quickly. I look around for Rose, but she’s nowhere in sight.
Lily keeps her eyes pinned to the desk and nowhere else. “I’ll be okay,” she says, more to herself than me.
“I know you will.”
I watch her make the short journey to her desk. She slides into her chair and studies her computer screen, focused and concentrated. Maybe it’s all a façade. But I know she’s trying damn hard.
I need to find Rose to tell her that I’m leaving right after I finish with the fitting. There aren’t many places she could be. Besides her glass office, there’s only the backroom. I saunter down the short hallway, my shoulders stiff. I stuff my fists in my pockets so they’ll stop shaking. I feel high on fear and concern, my adrenaline spiked badly. I just need a drink.
Her icy voice echoes from an open door. I rest my arm on the frame, my eyes darting around the dimly lit area that’s filled with marked boxes, racks of clothes, and clear plastic tubs. Rose has her back to me, a phone pressed to her ear.
“I don’t want to have this conversation with you right now. We have a photo shoot next week and a runway show in two months—”
“Which is precisely why I called.” I’d recognize Samantha Calloway’s biting voice from the fucking moon. I’m not surprised that she called her daughter. She’s been involved with Rose’s company from its birth.
Addicted for Now (Addicted Series 2) Page 10