Krista Ritchie

“Kiss the sky with me,” Connor whispers, a beautiful smile pulling his lips, “and don’t ever come down.”

Rose constantly fights for the right to go stag, since no guy can ever live up to her impossible standards. But our mother insists on dates, believing that if you arrive without a man, you look cheap and unwanted. Something that I disagree with—Rose even more vehemently than me.

“Did you feel like you couldn’t talk to me?”

I’ve never had a problem unburdening myself on Lo. It’s what we’re both good at, but turning to anonymous sex felt like a natural progression once our dynamic started to shift. “Things were changing,” I mutter so softly that I think he’s missed the words.

When he doesn’t ask what I said, I suspect he heard. “I know I can be a royal asshole. But I love you. You’re my best friend, and the only person I’ve ever told that I have a problem. It doesn’t matter if we’re in a fucking fake relationship. We’re supposed to talk to each other. Come to me before you go off the deep end, okay?”

I wipe the last of my tears and sniff. “How’s Cassie?”

“She hasn’t been in the apartment in days, Lily,” he says, reminding me of all the time I lost in my hazy state.

“What happened?” My chest lightens, and I hate that I’m taking pleasure in his aloneness.

“There’s this girl who ran out of my apartment.” He pauses. “She looked like a bat out of hell. She barely combed her hair, not unusual for her”—he shrugs—“but she seemed pissed, and the only difference in our relationship had been this new blonde girl on a bar stool. So I dumped her, figured it may solve a problem or two.” He waits, tilting his head at me while I process what he just said.

My chest swells.

“Did it?” he asks.

I should be the better person and say no, let him have a normal life with a beautiful blonde bombshell. But I’ve never been good at the morality bit. “Maybe.”

He actually smiles and rests a hand on my neck. He kisses my forehead before I can form thoughts, and when he pulls away, his lips brush my ear. “I’m here for you. Always.”

“You’re supposed to lick your finger,” Daisy protests like he’s a moron, “not put your tongue in her ear.”

“I agree,” I say, even though I don’t, not really. My body heats at the image of Lo so close to me, the whole ordeal sexier than I’ll let on.

“Oh, you do?” Lo says, with the tilt of his head, an eyebrow quirks up, unbelieving. “If I recall, you were not complaining that day.” He stalks towards me. “You were all flushed.”

“I’m always flushed,” I retort, my breath hitching as he nears, his lips pulling in that playful smile. I point a threatening finger at him. “Don’t.”

My back hits the counters, trapped in the corner, and I wonder if this is a real or if I’m lost in my head, fantasizing. I don’t want to find a way to escape his hold, and I forget about my sister who remains near the living room, scoping out years of history—fake and real—on shelves and tables.

“Take it back,” he demands. “You liked it.”

“I did…not,” I breathe. He sets a hand on either side of the counter, on either side of me, blocking me in with his build.

I blink. I’m dreaming. I know am. This isn’t real. Lo looks me over, undressing me with his intrusive gaze, and when his eyes meet mine, I feel as though he knows I’m confused about his true intentions. And that makes this game all the more fun for him. At least right now he seems to be enjoying it.

Suddenly, he kisses me. Deep, hard. Oh…this can’t be just in my mind.

My back digs into the counter, but he wraps an arm around me, bringing me to his chest, tugging me closer than close. His body melds against my legs and torso, and I succumb to his tongue that finds mine. His large hand caresses my neck, and I submit to our eagerness as he drives closer, to the fire that ignites us both.

He blinks in confusion. “What?” And then he realizes what I’m asking. “Fuck no, Lily. I’m not saying it’s okay for you to have sex with him.”

My eyes glass. “Why are you doing this to me?!” I scream. “I’ve never once ripped a glass out of your hands. I’m sorry you hate this guy, but there’s no one else. You want me to sleep with the old bartender? He’s my father’s age!” I do have some standards.

He scowls darkly and then touches his chest. “I’m clearly an option, and yet you still can’t ask me. I don’t fucking get it. Am I that revolting to you? You would rather go through withdrawals and bang some asshole than sleep with me?”

I gape, choked for a response. He wants to sleep with me? “I’m not going to use you like I do these other guys,” I murmur.

“Goddammit, Lily,” he curses. “I am standing here telling you that I want to have sex with you, and you still can’t accept it. Was it that terrible the first time, is that it?”

The rest of the trip, I no longer question the validity when Lo reaches out for my hand or when he slips his arm around my waist. It’s all one-hundred percent, real affection that I can enjoy without constant confusion.

“I’m confused,” I say truthfully. “I think I’ve been confused for a long time. I haven’t known if you’ve been playing into our lie or if you really mean to touch me the way you do.” Saying that feels really good.

He looks at me deeply. “I’ve wanted to have sex with you again since the first time,” he admits. “But you had all these rules, and I didn’t want to be the clichéd horny guy trying to abuse your addiction. So I was waiting for you to ask me to do it again.”

The world lies to you. They say that you become this independent, self-sufficient creature when you turn eighteen, severing the familial ties once you enter collegiate society. But in our economy, nine times out of ten, you’re financially dependent on them until you join the real workforce. Even me—daughter of a multi-billionaire tycoon—has to rely on family for support. There’s something vitally wrong with this system, and I don’t have to be fucking good at economics to know it.

His nose flares, breathing heavily. And he starts closing the distance between us.

“Lo,” I warn.

“Have you ever thought about it?”

I watch his feet near, my pulse racing.

“Have you ever thought about me inside you?”

I almost stumble back, but he hooks an arm around my waist.

“Have you ever thought about us together?”

I can hardly breathe. “Together?”

“Where I don’t share you with any other man.”

All the time. “Yes.” I keep expecting to wake up.

“If I could be enough to fill you, would you let me?”

I look at him. “Yes.”

“Then let me try,” he says, his hand cupping my face. “Let me try to be enough for you.”

“That’s a big undertaking,” I tell him, my body swelling.

His lips brush mine as he whispers. “I’m big enough to take it.” Oh… “Let me. Help you.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to…you never said anything,” I stumble. My lungs struggle for air, three years of tension bursting.

With a shuffled step, he draws me even closer and then guides me backwards to the bed. “How the hell could you not know?”

“I’m dirty,” I refute, hot tears brimming. “You don’t want me.”

His face twists in pain. “I don’t think that. Neither should you.” His lips graze my neck and then find my ear. “Lil, I want you to ask me. I need you to.”

He presses his forehead to my temple, gently edging me closer to the mattress, his hands tight on my hips. I continue to struggle for breath. I know what he wants now.

He wants this to be real.

So do I.

“Help me,” I say, breathlessly.

He grips the back of my neck, hard, plunging his tongue in my mouth. My legs hit the mattress, and my back slams into the bed. He lifts me up, all while keeping his lips hungrily on mine.