Addicted After All

by Krista Ritchie

  My lips press closed. No. I can’t. Never.

  He drops his hand and steps even closer. My breath hitches. Oh my God. Slowly, he fishes my button through my jean shorts. I watch in captivation. Once he loosens them, he lowers the zipper and reaches his hand down the front of my shorts.

  I hold onto his arm. Yes. Please.

  He cups my panties, feeling how soaked I am. I press my head to his firm chest and let out a whimper. Please. More.

  This is torture. Sheer torture. “Harder,” I whisper. It’s my own fault. I was the Peeping Tom who couldn’t walk away.

  He stays still. “How long were you standing there?” he asks, practically reading my mind.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Lily.”

  “Like three minutes.”

  “I was only doing it for three minutes.”

  “Oh. Maybe shorter then.” Lies.

  “Sure.”

  He makes a move to retract his hand, and I cling to his wrist, forcing him still. Before he can say something about it, I blubber out, “It wasn’t porn, right? Like live porn?”

  I glance up and see the concern flash in his amber irises. I’m not sure if it’s from the fact that I’ve taken his arm hostage or my confession.

  “It wasn’t porn, love. I’m your fiancé.”

  Relief lifts my shoulders to a natural state.

  “Can I have my hand back?” he asks.

  Oh. Yeah…I release my grip, and he pulls his hand away from the spot that craves him. My fingernails dig into my palms, resisting the desire to replace his touch with my own. Surrounded by T-shirts, hangers, and boxes of miscellaneous things, I should just go back…to something.

  “I’m ugly,” Lo suddenly tells me.

  “What?” I frown, staring up at him like that’s the most impossible thing of all things.

  He rests his hands on my shoulders, a great deal of space between our bodies. “Just know how ugly I am, and maybe you’ll be turned off.”

  That’s a strong maybe. “You’re ugly,” I say, trying to buy into his words. “So ugly.”

  “Grotesque and smelly. Oh, God, you don’t even want to inhale around me, I smell so bad.” He wafts his hand in front of his face with a mock cringe.

  I bite my lip, suppressing a smile. He smells really good actually. Like soap and citrus. “You stink,” I say.

  “You are incredibly repulsed by me.”

  “I’m repulsed by you,” I say, nodding my head, playing into it. Yeah. Sure. Repulsed.

  “You can’t stand to look at me.” What? “And it even pains you to touch me.” No. I don’t like this game anymore. He must see the hurt on my face because his features shatter. “Lil…”

  I shake my head and tears begin to sting my eyes. “I love you, Lo,” I say. “I don’t want to feel badly for being turned on by you, and I don’t want you to have to work me up into hating you for it.” This feels like another fight, when it shouldn’t be. We have about three weeks and then we can fuck like rabbits again.

  I rub my eyes and inhale a deep breath. “Let’s just forget about it, okay? I’ll be fine.”

  I go to pass him and leave the closet, but he sidesteps and blocks me. That didn’t work. “Please don’t end a conversation with I’ll be fine,” he says, frustration in his voice. “I don’t want you to just be fine. You know that.”

  My throat begins to swell closed. I don’t know what I feel anymore.

  “Come here.” He motions to me, and I walk into his outstretched arms, sinking into his bare chest and warm embrace. I sniff a little bit, and when he draws back, his lips suddenly meet mine. He catches me completely off guard. Lately, he’s been stingy on the groping and kissing.

  He doesn’t hold back.

  His tongue tangles with mine, his hand cupping the back of my head with firm force. A pressure that I’ve missed. I melt beneath his weight, intoxicated by another person. Skin-to-skin. A pleasured noise scratches my vocal cords, and I reciprocate the kiss with extra intensity, probably too much.

  My arms glue to him, my body bucking forward into his. Please…

  He pulls away almost instantly. No. “Relax, love. Take a breath.” He strokes my hair kindly, and I hide my face in his chest, my body trembling against him.

  “Are we going to do anything?” I wonder, hopefully. I am pulsing. Clenching. So very ready.

  “I’m going to rub you some,” he admits. “But my cock isn’t coming out.”

  I focus on the positives. He’s going to rub me. My heart starts to hammer in excitement. Wait… “You’re rubbing my clit, right? Not my boobs or something else?” I have to be clear, even if my red-rash returns with embarrassment. I’d rather not be disappointed.

  His lips rise. “Your clit, yes.” The words from his voice have lit me up in a whole new way. My legs want to buckle. I do end up dropping, and he catches my waist and begins to lie me gently on the carpet of our closet. My head rests on a pile of clean socks.

  “Wait…” I stop him again, just as his hand moves to my belly. “We can’t.” I wince. “My sisters made that pact for me; I can’t break it.” But I worry about not having this release at all. Lo knows how much it’ll plague my mind and body. It’s going to be painful. For hours. Nothing. And…and…

  “Shh, love, don’t cry,” he breathes, wiping beneath my eyes. “This isn’t sex. And if it concerns you that much, just tell your sisters they can start having sex or that dry humping is game.”

  Okay. Okay. He’s right.

  He sets his hands on either side of me, positioned right over my small frame. “You ready now?” His voice is all playfulness.

  I nod fiercely, my gaze dropping to his towel.

  “That stays on, Lil,” he reminds me.

  “IknowIknow,” I say quickly, slurring my words.

  My shorts are already unbuttoned and unzipped. He keeps his body weight off me, even though I need it. I want it. I’m too greedy. And he likes to tease.

  His hand lowers down my shorts again. I’m about to watch, but he kisses me deeply, slowly, making me lose concentration of his other languid, hot movements.

  That is, until I feel his fingers brush against my wet panties. I break the kiss and whine, straight up. My legs quiver. “Please…”

  His lips touch my ear as he whispers, “You’re soaked for me.”

  I nod rapidly. Yes. Yes. “I need you,” I whimper. I arch my back, hoping that my pelvis connects with his. Something harder. Deeper. His body is snug between my legs.

  “Shh, Lil,” he breathes.

  I’m afraid he’s going to sit up, away from me, so I cling to his body, latching myself onto him.

  He rests his forearm on the ground, less distance between us, and he combs my hair back, his lips a breath from mine. Kiss me. He does. Oh. He does so much. The earnestness in his lips heats my core, a kiss like he’s supplying me oxygen to live one more day on this Earth. Thank you, Loren Hale.

  I’m fueled with love and lust.

  He rocks his body forward, grinding against me. Holy shit. I cry, “Lo, Lo.” And his fingers begin to rub the outside of my panties. Oh my God.

  I need his fingers. Not the cotton. Skin-to-skin. I whimper even more. Desperate and horny.

  “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, and then he kisses my neck, sucking on the tender place. Between my thighs, his finger hooks in the cloth, and he finds the small, throbbing bud. As soon as he touches the sensitive skin, I jerk and buck up. He presses his body harder against me, keeping me still and adding more pressure.

  God. Yes.

  He whispers, in a deep, edged voice, “I’m inside of you.” His fingers quicken. “Slamming into you.” Yes. “Filling you.” His pace quickens, building me so high that my eyes flutter closed. My head lulls. Please. I hold onto his wrist. And then I place my hand on top of his, feeling the way he’s moving his fingers against the spot. Feeling how small I am compared to him.

  “Deeper,” I plead.

  He only rubs my clit.
And he says, “I’m so deep inside of you, love, that there’s no more room to go any further.”

  I cry into his shoulder, my body reaching a high. Nerves electrify, my pulse speeding to new levels, and I constrict multiple times. I stop breathing and float up to the clouds. From here on out, every touch on my sensitive flesh has me twisting and spasming. Lo presses on my clit, the intensity numbing me, and then he removes his hand and collects me in his arms, bringing me on his lap.

  My breathing is like an out-of-shape whale. I can feel his hardness beneath his towel. “Again?” I question with a pant, longing in my eyes. I know the answer though. I shake my head at myself.

  “No more, Lil.” He carefully raises my shorts. I didn’t even notice them fall to my thighs. He buttons and zips them back. No more. I’m trying to be satisfied with this. I am.

  “Are you going to…” I stare at his crotch. “…touch yourself again?”

  “Don’t think about it,” he tells me. Maybe it’s better that I don’t know what he does. I want to offer my services, but his jaw sharpens in this no-nonsense Loren Hale look. Something that shrivels people. It only steals my breath.

  I try not to think about blow jobs or hand jobs or any kind of job. I clear my throat. “Do you know where the handcuffs are?”

  His eyes narrow.

  “They’re not for me,” I say quickly, realizing this was bad timing. “I have to show Rose.”

  His expression does not soften. “Why?”

  “Long story.”

  He shakes his head and lets out a breath. He lifts me up to my feet just as he stands. And then he squats back down by his rack of Vans. He reaches for a box and pops it open. The silver cuffs are simple, but they have this black leather that makes them softer. We don’t use them often. Maybe like once every few months.

  I prefer my hands to be touching him.

  “Alrighty, thank you.” I reach out to take them.

  “Kiss first,” he says.

  I grin and glance down at his cock.

  “Not there, love. On my lips.”

  Damn. I look back up and he’s smiling. For a second, I wonder if I can postpone the kiss, just to see him smile longer.

  He can’t read my mind.

  Because he kisses me first.

  I realize, though, that I like this just as much.

  { 41 }

  LOREN HALE

  I never thought I’d see the day where Lily and Rose combine their birthdays into one party. For as long as I can remember, Rose insisted that it’d never happen. You know those people that milk their “special” day until it’s dry? Making others wait on them and do favors, as if they’ve suddenly been born into royalty?

  Times that by a million and you have Rose Calloway.

  August 5th is my least favorite day on Earth.

  The fact that I get to be happy for Lily’s birthday four days before and then head over to hell doesn’t help. So today, August 3rd—exactly two days after Lil turned twenty-four and exactly two days before Rose turns twenty-six—just might live in infamy.

  “So Rose,” I say, gripping a can of Fizz and leaning back into the suede couch, “when you imagined your twenty-sixth birthday, I know this is what you had in mind.” I wear a half-smile.

  After a five-course meal, we’ve all retired to the parlor for cake and presents. Her parent’s Philadelphia mansion has been decorated in a combination of lilies and roses. A small party. Just family. Our parents sit in the dining room, visible through the archway. They drink champagne and fawn over the babies. It’s a mundane, normal event. Like Samantha Calloway threw one of her usual dinner parties. Nothing special.

  I motion to the parlor space. “Perfection, right?”

  Rose gives me a withering glare. “Stop talking, Loren.” She had some kind of getaway trip planned months ago, but logistically, with her baby, she decided it was better to stay in Philly. I know a part of her must have cracked when she handed her birthday plans to her mom.

  Lily plops down on the couch beside me, barely causing a wave. “This is the fanciest birthday I’ve had since I was eleven,” she comments, scanning the room with big eyes.

  Rose clutches a wine glass, Connor’s arm across the loveseat behind her head. “That’s because you never wanted a birthday party,” Rose says. “Mother would’ve thrown you one in a heartbeat.”

  “And invited all of her friends,” Daisy adds, ambling over from the dining room with a plate of chocolate cake. Since the couch is full with Sam and Poppy, Lily and me—and the loveseat and chair are taken—she can either sit on the floor or on my brother.

  As she lowers her ass to the expensive rug, Ryke grips the hem of her skirt and pulls her onto his lap. Smooth. Daisy eases against him, sharing the cream suede chair.

  Poppy counters, “Any of us would have thrown you a party too. You didn’t have to go to Mom for one.” Sam is French-braiding his wife’s hair. It’s distracting, to be honest. Especially because Poppy is next to me.

  I’m biting my tongue to keep from making a remark. But I must be doing a shit job since Sam speaks up. “When you have a daughter, you’ll learn how to do things you never really thought about before.”

  When I have a daughter? My brows rise. It implies that one day I’ll have another kid. One day I’ll go through all of this again. One day, I’ll love another person with my entire soul.

  It seems improbable.

  “Whatever, Sammy,” I say dryly, not wanting to start more shit with him. He’s being nice. I’m an ass. I just want to leave it at that.

  My gaze accidentally travels across the room, landing on their daughter. Now seven, she entertains herself at the breakfast table, sketching pictures of ball gowns. Maria literally wants to be Rose. I fear for the world.

  Lily redirects the conversation back to the topic, thankfully. “I’m not complaining about all my other birthdays. I never wanted a big party. All I wanted was…” Her eyes widen and her cheeks splotch red. I hug her closer, trying not to smile at her embarrassment. But she’s cute, even when she’s a tomato.

  Ryke has an arm draped over Daisy’s shoulder. “Yeah, we all know where that’s fucking going.” He nods to Lily. “And for what it’s worth, Calloway. Birthday sex is the best.”

  Lily groans. “Don’t remind me.” She stuffs her face in a beaded maroon pillow. She’s still on her post-pregnancy celibacy. Exactly three weeks left now.

  “Can we please talk about this abstinence pact?” Sam asks as he ties off his wife’s hair. She passes him his champagne and then leans into his chest.

  “Yes, please,” Connor agrees, sipping red wine like Rose. I’m more aware of the alcohol today than usual, and my eyes keep flitting to Ryke as a reminder that he’s sober too. Lil’s not drinking either, but it’s different.

  My father always made it seem more masculine to grip a fucking whiskey. To drink at parties. If I didn’t, I was a pussy. I’m still trying to rewire my brain and not feel less than Connor and Sam. I’m consuming soda. But so is my brother.

  “Wait,” Ryke says, confused. He points at Poppy. “You’re doing this too?”

  I laugh at that realization. Goddamn. This is a big deal for the Calloway sisters then.

  “Six weeks isn’t that long,” Poppy declares, her wooden bracelets clinking together as she reaches for her gin and tonic.

  Behind her, Sam chugs his entire champagne, not agreeing.

  “This is rich,” I say under my breath. Lily hears me and smacks my chest. I mock wince, and her eyes drop to my lips. I’m about to kiss her when Poppy leans forward, just to make eye contact with Lil.

  “Before you know it, Lily, it’ll be over.”

  Lily is rigid as hell, the spotlight on her. And now it’s about sex. I whisper in her ear, “Relax, love.” I feel her blow out a breath, her chest collapsing.

  “Dry humping shouldn’t be allowed,” Rose snaps with an icy tone. Her glare is set on me. Like I violated some contract written in blood. “It should be all or nothing.
Be strong.”

  “You take pacts to a whole new psychotic level,” I retort. “Rules are meant to be broken, Magdala.”

  “You’re a child,” she shoots back.

  “Weak.”

  “Children,” Connor interrupts now, staring between us both. “Can we return to the issue or move on from it, whichever will stop this first?”

  Daisy raises her fork in the air. “I approve of dry humping.”

  “Done,” I add, definitely siding with whoever sides with me. Even if it’s Lily’s little sister, someone I’ve never wanted to imagine dry humping anything living or inanimate.

  Daisy makes a chopping motion with her arm. “Case closed.”

  I watch Lily hug that uncomfortable beaded pillow, which is meant for decoration. I steal it from her and toss it on the floor. She looks at me like I stole her vibrator. And I’m intimate with that look. I’ve seen it every time I trashed her toys.

  I pull her onto my lap, and her expression morphs into content. Though I watch her catch glimpses of our parents, and her anxiety flares. My father has Maximoff in his arms, taking the most interest in him. Greg Calloway is a close second, sitting near.

  I think they just connect more to the boy.

  Maybe that’s why Samantha only pays attention to Jane. I haven’t seen her hold Moffy or anything like that. But I have to believe it’s his gender and not because he’s Lil’s baby. Even if it’s an option, it’s just too terrible to entertain.

  Rose and Connor speak quietly in French, but Rose keeps nervously glancing at Ryke.

  “I’m not fucking listening to you,” Ryke growls back. “Stop staring at me.”

  Rose lets out an irritated breath and switches to what sounds like German. Although she speaks far slower and her accent isn’t as polished or fluid as Connor’s.

  Lily leans into my arm. “Can Ryke speak German?”

  I shake my head. “I have no clue.” The only languages I’m certain that he speaks are Spanish, Italian, and French. I ask all the time what else he knows, but he shuts down. It’s not important, he says. Why does it fucking matter?