“I’m not going anywhere.” And then he leans closer to me, one hand braced underneath my leg so I don’t fall, the other gripping the porcelain sink behind me. He pulls my panties to the side. I didn’t notice him unzipping his pants—not until his erection slowly (so, so slowly) eases into me.
I gasp, my eyes almost rolling back in my head. I clutch onto his biceps while he begins to thrust deep inside of me. I am so full of Loren Hale, in a public bathroom, where his needs match mine. And he’s feeding into them.
For us.
“Open your eyes,” he murmurs, his breath shallow as he rocks into me. “Lil.”
I didn’t realize they were closed. I meet his gaze, and I nearly lose it at the way he’s looking at me. Lo kisses me deeply while I struggle to hold onto him without coming right there. His parted lips brush my forehead while he quickens his pace, while the intensity in his gaze matches the one in our bodies. My nerves light on fire, and with one last thrust, we both come together.
I breathe heavily while I descend off this giant cliff of bliss.
“I love you,” he whispers, his mouth near my ear.
My lips rise into a small smile. “I love you too.” Everything right then felt too good for words. And as he stays inside of me a little too long, I wonder if it can happen again.
Don’t go there, Lily.
A strangled sound latches in my throat. Like a dying hyena. What the hell was that? I think it’s my body wanting something it can’t have and being angry at my brain.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Lo says. “Lil.” He pulls out of me and lifts up his boxer-briefs and jeans around his waist quickly. Then he holds me entirely, his hand cupping my face.
I shut my eyes. You don’t want anymore. You don’t want anymore. You’re done. I try to repeat the mantra, but I already crave that climax again, one of equal intensity. The horrible thing: I know it won’t match it. I know that the second time won’t beat the first, so I’ll keep wanting to try again and again to reach what I just had.
And it won’t come. Not until I wait longer. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day.
“Look at me,” Lo says forcefully, his voice no longer as sweet-natured.
Just as I comply, someone knocks on the door.
“Someone’s in here!” Lo yells. And then he whispers to me, “I want this to work because if it doesn’t…” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to have another Wednesday like that.”
I remember back to the beginning of the week, where Lo proposed, where I declared how much I wanted to follow the blacklist—the perimeters my therapist created: no public sex, stick to morning and nights, no nooners in sight. I’d never seen the list.
Until Wednesday.
We had possibly one of the worst fights in the history of our fights. It was about our fears. Like a revolving door, we were slammed with the same exact issues we’ve been dealing with for months.
I worry his needs aren’t being satiated.
He worries that I’ll turn to another guy to obtain what he denies me.
I remember his words so clearly. “This isn’t working, Lily,” he said, his eyes bloodshot. We wanted all of each other, but we were purposefully distancing ourselves so I wouldn’t become a crazy, compulsive beast.
The silent, excruciating statement clung to the air: We should break up.
We were both crying at that point, and I felt like it was the end, like someone gutted me. We were both on the carpet, and his arms were wrapped around me. Yet, neither of us could come up with a better solution.
Two hours later, sunken with this immeasurable grief that can’t be justly explained, he whispered, “Be with me.”
My heart clenched. “What?” My eyes burned all over again.
He held my cheeks with his two hands, his face full of pain and love, a twisted mix that reminded me of how wrong we are for each other but how right it felt. “No more rules. Fuck the list. You’re strong enough to handle sex when I’m aroused and maybe even in public too.” He wiped my silent tears that fell.
“How do you know that I’m strong enough?”
“Because you’re better now,” he said, almost convincing me. “And you have me—sober me. I’ll make sure you don’t spiral out of control.” His voice lowered, and his forehead touched mine. “I don’t want to live if you’re not living with me.”
I didn’t either.
And since Wednesday, our new system has actually worked, despite me struggling a few times—which I think is to be expected. But Lo hasn’t fed into my compulsions. Not once.
“I’m okay now,” I say, more assuredly. I can do this. Sex starts to drift in the back of my mind. I hear the phrase: I don’t want to live if you’re not living with me.
I can’t lose Lo. I just can’t.
He scans my features and then kisses my forehead before helping me step into my shorts. Another knock beats against the door. This time, it’s way angrier. “Someone’s in here!” Lo yells back.
The person calls through the wood, the rough voice too familiar, “Your food is getting cold.” I thought Ryke would say something like: You better not be screwing in there. But I remember that there are hoards of people outside, and he doesn’t want to air our dirty laundry.
“I’m still talking to my girlfriend,” Lo shoots back. “Start eating without us, bro.”
I imagine Ryke rolling his eyes. “Is that all you’re doing in there?”
“Yes,” Lo growls. “Fucking Christ, leave us alone for a goddamn minute.”
“I’ve left you alone for twenty minutes,” Ryke retorts, jiggling the knob. “Are you going to let me in?”
“No,” Lo snaps, now facing the door like he’s battling with it and not Ryke on the other side. “I’ll be out in a second.”
I finish dressing, and then I comb my hands through my post-sex hair.
“You have thirty seconds,” Ryke says. “And I’m actually fucking timing you.”
Lo clenches his teeth so hard, restraining from spouting off a string of insults. His hands ball into fists by his side, and it looks painful for him to just slowly turn around and face me, trying to be a better person and leave a fight behind.
My cheeks start to heat with anxiety. “You think they’ll ever find out?” I whisper.
With tension still constricting his muscles, he draws me to his body and wraps his arm around my bony shoulder. “We’re good at keeping secrets,” he murmurs. “How is this one any different?”
Right. I exhale deeply, wiping some of the wetness by my eyes. Curse Wednesday. That moment still feels fresh, even remembering brings waterworks.
“It helps that you look upset,” Lo tells me under his breath. “He’ll believe we were just talking.”
Good.
No one knows we’re having more sex.
Not my sisters.
Not his brother.
Not Connor or even our therapist.
We don’t think they’ll understand, and we’re both exhausted from all the voices in our lives. For once, we just want to do this together. Alone.
Lily and Lo.
Like it was before.
Only better this time.
We’re stronger now.
Lo unlocks the door, but Ryke is the one to open it. The chatter from the crowded diner almost blasts me backwards, but Lo keeps me close. I realize that they’re both glaring at each other—that is until Ryke scrutinizes me, trying to spot the stain of debauchery on my clothes.
My jeans are zipped and my shirt is straight and wrinkle-free, thank you very much.
“We were just talking,” Lo snaps.
Either Ryke trusts Lo enough to believe him or Ryke has very bad sleuthing skills. He could never be a private investigator. Maybe ditching journalism was a good idea.
His concern shifts off his younger brother and pins to me. “You okay?” He even takes a step closer, and at the nearness, the girls in the room shriek uncontrollably and start clapping.
Someone yells, “Love tr
iangle!”
Oh my God. No, no, no. I push Ryke back with two firm palms, and he raises his hands in defense.
Ryke sighs heavily, almost growling, and agitation hardens his jaw. “So now I can’t even be concerned about you?”
“I’m not cheating on Lo with you.” I hope everyone in Lucky’s heard that. I almost want to stand on a chair and scream it. That’s something my little sister, Daisy, would definitely do. But while the idea sounds awesome, I can’t bring myself to execute the task.
What if someone throws a hamburger patty at me? Oh my God—what if they chucked a hot dog at my face? That would be my luck.
“Lily!” Lo shouts. He shakes my shoulder. “Calm down.”
“I…I am calm.” Am I not calm?
“You’re panting like you’re being chased.”
I glance between the two guys who’ve blocked my view of the diner with their bodies, literally creating a manly wall right in front of me. I’d find it sexy if I didn’t know what was behind them.
And then someone else shouts, “Three-way!”
Oh my God. No. I start, “I am not having sex with—”
“Let it go,” Lo tells me with a dark gaze, matching his brother’s. “You can scream and shout but those tabloids are going to run a fake story tomorrow and the next day. I want to fucking eat.” He turns to Ryke. “Do you?”
Ryke nods. “Yeah I’m fucking starved.”
Lo looks to me again. “I’m not letting anyone run us out.”
They’ve teamed up against me.
I think I like when they’re united more than when they’re against each other. It gives me the confidence I need to trek over to the booth, sit down, and order the food I want.
A hot dog.
{ 3 }
0 years : 01 month
September
LOREN HALE
Lying to everyone we love, it’s not as difficult as it seems. Maybe because we’ve spent more time lying than we have telling the truth. Or because I love her more than anyone else in my life.
I’m tired of having third-party opinions about Lily’s sex life. She’s fucking me. The only opinions that should matter are mine and hers.
And so that’s how it’s going to be.
Fuck everyone who thinks I’m the same self-indulgent kid who begged her to date me without letting go of my booze.
That guy is dead.
I try to ignore the comics that litter my desk in unorganized piles. Connor Cobalt would shit his pants if he sauntered into my office right now. Last week, he spent an entire hour helping me file my work, but it arrives faster than I can manage.
Halway Comics, a small indie publishing company, exploded on the internet with the headline: Loren Hale Starts a New Business Venture. Now I’m flooded with proposals from aspiring artists—and no matter how hard I try, I can never keep up.
Maybe if I gave one-hundred percent of myself to the business it’d be easier. But I’m giving maybe forty percent. I happily give the rest to Lily.
“What kind of buckle is this?” Lily fumbles with my belt, her knees on the carpet in front of my desk. The leather chair squeaks as I roll back and push her hands away.
“You’re out of practice,” I tease.
She gasps. “Am not.” She points to my belt buckle that I slowly undo. “You’re either wearing a chastity belt or you put a spell on it so it won’t open from outside forces…Alohomora.”
I freeze and give her a look. Did she…she did. She just tried to unlock it with a fucking spell. Her cheeks redden.
“I was there when you didn’t receive your Hogwarts letter,” I remind her. She cried on her eleventh birthday, and to make her feel better I got her drunk off my dad’s expensive scotch.
I was a fucking idiot.
“Oh whatever, I know you try out spells when no one’s around.”
I don’t deny it.
I unhook my belt and she points. “Look, it worked,” she says with a smile.
“Ha ha,” I say dryly, but I’m staring at her grin. That happens so rarely now with the press bearing down on us.
She concentrates solely on my pants, making them her mission. She tugs the jeans to my thighs, and her eyes grow big at the sight of my erection, pressing against my dark red boxer-briefs. I watch her inhale more sporadically than before.
Even if this arouses her, she’s learning how to be less compulsive and insatiable. She hasn’t looked at porn, masturbated or gone off the deep end in a while. That’s a fucking success, especially after her rapid decline when her addiction was first publicized.
I relax back against my leather chair, and she licks her lips. My blood heats when she reaches for my cock underneath the fabric. I brush her hair away from her face, bunching her brunette strands in my fist.
Her hand works my cock just right—not too hard, not too soft. I let out a harsh breath when it springs from my boxer-briefs and her tongue barely touches the head. I reach out on my desk with my free hand and turn up the music on my iPod dock, electronic, heavy bass. I think it’s Skrillex, but my mind isn’t focused enough to know for sure.
Her eyes glimmer with nothing but desire, and it takes my entire energy not to fit all of me inside her mouth. She lightly squeezes my shaft, and a groan penetrates my throat, even as I try to stifle the noise. Her lips rise, and she plants a delicate kiss on my dick before slowly taking it in her mouth. Jesus Christ. I grip the chair with one hand, my other still holding back her hair.
She begins skillfully sucking me off. “Right there, Lil,” I encourage.
My nerves light up, and I clutch her hair harder. Before I can drown in this pleasure, my door swings open. No knock. No anything. I keep my hand on her head, alarm clenching my jaw, and she quickly stops giving me a grade-A blow job.
Her mouth is permanently open in panic, and she scuttles further underneath my desk.
I have just enough time to roll my chair closer to the desk, pull up my boxer-briefs, and prepare a verbal onslaught for whatever stupid fuck just barged in here.
“You need a goddamn assistant,” my father tells me, walking straight into my office without pause.
I suddenly question the attack I’d planned. Jonathan Hale would swallow my insults like he does his bourbon. Unflinchingly. Always ready for more.
“I’m sorry, did we have an appointment?” I ask roughly, not able to hold back right now, even if I wanted to.
Lily punches my shin, silently telling me to be nice. But it’s my father’s scowl, the one hardened and cold, that does more damage.
“Don’t be a little shit,” he sneers. “How are you supposed to take meetings if you don’t have a waiting room with an actual living, breathing soul outside these doors?” He scans my office, appraising my bookshelves with scorn. As if they’re not organized correctly.
“Maybe I’m not planning on taking any meetings,” I retort. “Therefore, I don’t need a waiting room.”
“Sometimes I wonder if one of my fucking nannies dropped you on your head when you were a kid,” he says.
My childhood “nannies” that he claims he’s banged. All ten of them. “No,” I say, “I’m just this way because of you, Dad.” I flash a bitter smile that my father matches quickly.
“I came here to discuss your business.” He drags a chair from the wall over to my desk, positioning it in front of me.
I go rigid, and my eyes flicker to Lily who’s hiding right below. Her eyes bug, and she holds her legs to her chest. She mouths, he’s right there?
I don’t affirm her suspicions because it’ll freak her out more. Instead I watch my dad pick up a plastic X-Men action figure that sits beside an array of other characters. I could laugh at this moment, especially as he moves Sunspot’s arm, but his curiosity is layered with a dark frown and narrowed eyes. I sense the biting disapproval even before he speaks.
“You’re a little old for this shit, don’t you think?” Surprisingly, he sets Sunspot back where he found him.
“I ru
n a comic book business,” I remind him. “I like this shit.”
“That doesn’t mean your office should look like an eleven-year-old’s bedroom.” He shakes his head at the rest of the superhero paraphernalia. “Your new assistant can redecorate for you.”
“I don’t have the energy to deal with an assistant,” I refute. I can’t handle interlopers. I’d shred them apart. According to Brian, my therapist, I drive people away before they have the chance to hurt me.
If I think about how many lies I’ve been fed in my life and the abandonment of two moms, I start believing he’s right. I have trust issues. But I accepted Connor, a complete stranger. I welcomed a half-brother who had lied outright to me.
Isn’t that enough?
Why do I need to add more people into my fucking circle?
“Is that it?” I ask my dad. “Because you’re irritating me, if you haven’t noticed.”
Lily shifts uneasily and tugs my pants. She wants me to calm down. I’m not going to go drink after this. I may throw something at my dad on the way out, like a pen. Or at least imagine it. But I won’t drink.
“The assistant is at the bottom of the list,” he says, his breath smelling of bourbon. “What about this store downstairs?”
Shit. “Superheroes & Scones,” I clarify. “Lily’s running it.”
“And I’m financing it,” he reminds me. “When is it opening?” His gaze drifts to the pile of papers on my desk. He grabs the nearest manuscript, toppling over a mug that’s branded with the Halway Comics logo. I lean forward and put it back.
My father’s face literally hardens to fucking stone the longer he flips through the comic book.
My head spins, trying to think five steps ahead of where he’s at. But this is a chess game that I’ll always lose. “Lily wants to take things slow, so we’ll probably open it after she graduates.” Which could be in a few more years.
And I like that she can hang out downstairs without crowds. I’m afraid that once we open the store, it’ll be too crazy for her. Like how it’s been at Lucky’s. Only worse.
Because it’s ours.
My dad scoffs and tosses the comic back on the table. “That’s a terrible fucking business plan. You’re in the press now. You need to capitalize on the exposure as quickly as you can.”
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