Becca Ritchie - Kiss the Sky

So while Lo believes he’s protecting Daisy from his half-brother, he’s really creating a barrier between Daisy and the only person here who’ll look out for her first rather than last.

And yet, I can’t say a word about it. I have to let these things play naturally. My interference won’t do any good. My words wouldn’t resonate with Lo the way I’d want them to. So I stay silent on the matter.

“I’ll fucking room with Scott,” Ryke says, speaking loudly so we can hear him from the hallway. “Daisy can take my room. Or I’ll stay down here and switch with her. I don’t give a shit. None of the girls should be around this.”

“And what if she hears Lily and me fucking through the walls? There’s a reason she’s on the lowest level.”

Ryke says nothing, but I can practically feel him fume from far away. Lo looks over his shoulder at me, asking with hard eyes whether he’s right or wrong.

“You can’t censor a girl who’s nearly seventeen, especially not a high fashion model,” I tell him, my words not harsh like his or rough like his brother’s. I’m one-hundred percent even-tempered, calm. At ease. It gets him off the defensive. “She’s heard and seen everything you have, if not more. I’ll call someone to look at the crawl space, but until it happens, Rose would want her sister somewhere clean.”

After a minute digesting my words, Lo sighs and lets go of the argument. “Ryke, you’ll room with Scott?”

“I said I would.”

“Fine. More eyes on that prick, the better, right?”

Ryke says something in affirmation, but I can’t quite hear. He thumps around too much. “Fucking A,” he curses, his voice much louder. He tries to pull his body out of the tiny space.

Lo grabs Ryke underneath his arm as he squeezes through the door.

When he’s on his feet, he holds up the trap with the dead rat, the tail mangled like it dragged the weight from its backend.

“Have we found you a new profession?” I ask, my lips rising.

“At least I can get my hands dirty, princess.” He waves the trap (and dangling rat) at my face.

I don’t even flinch.

Ryke rolls his eyes and goes to toss it into the garbage bag.

“Wait,” Lo calls. “Maybe we can do something with this thing.”

“No,” Ryke and I say together. I contain my grimace. Even though Ryke may be one of the smarter people living in the apartment, I don’t enjoy agreeing with him. It’s like siding with a guard dog instead of a human.

“You didn’t even let me finish,” Loren says angrily.

“You want to use it against Scott,” I reply.

“He’s the fucking producer,” Ryke reminds him. “You start a war with Scott and he could turn you into a psycho on the show. Just fucking relax.”

“He made Lily bawl!” Lo yells. “I’m not going to sit here for six months and ignore all the shit he says. This is different than social media and gossip blogs. We’re living with this bastard.”

Footsteps sound on the staircase, and all of us go suspiciously quiet. When the body rounds the corner, Brett emerges, breathing heavily with the steadicam attached to his chest, and he only sprinted down one flight of stairs.

“Scott wants…you all in the living room…for the lap dance,” he pants.

Scott Van Wright is dictating everything. When. How. Where.

I fucking hate him.

Lo looks to me, waiting for me to nod in approval of his methods to fuck with Scott.

I may hate Scott, but I’m not to that point yet. I won’t do something malicious or cruel that’ll have him checking into a psychiatric hospital, mentally torn to shreds.

I fight my battles much differently than Loren Hale. And while it may not be as quick or effective—I have to trust that I have the power to keep my friends from falling tragically apart.

When we climb up the stairs to the main level, I find Rose and Daisy talking in hushed tones near the fireplace mantel. Daisy shifts her body to block the camera, sidestepping every single time Ben tries to get a shot of Rose.

I rub my lips as I study my girlfriend. She holds in a breath, her neck stiff as she listens to her sister.

And she actually wears pants, dressed in a Calloway Couture black sweater and a different brand’s skinny jeans. She’s afraid of flashing the cameras, and she’s expressed, more than once, that the only dances she knows are from cotillion. The waltz and foxtrot.

Grinding is out of her repertoire.

Lily suddenly appears and slams her fist into Lo’s shoulder.

He mock cringes. “Ow, what the hell was that for?”

“For making this stupid bet,” Lily hisses, lowering her voice as Brett zooms in on her, a boom mic attached to his steadicam. But it doesn’t matter if he captures her words or not. We’re all wearing microphones that’ll pick up her voice. And the house is littered with sound equipment.

Scott sits on the leather couch. His eyes meet mine, and he plasters on a smug smile.

I hide everything in my features—especially the anger that threatens to surface.

“What is Daisy doing?” Ryke asks.

Lily holds onto Loren’s hand. “Giving Rose advice.”

Ryke’s brows furrow. “You’re the fucking sex addict. Shouldn’t you be giving the advice?”

“Hey,” Lo warns with a glare.

He extends his arms. “It’s an honest question.”

“It’s also rude.”

“I’ll ask nicely then.” He looks back at Lily. “You’re clearly more experienced than your little sister. So why the fuck aren’t you instructing Rose?”

Lo shakes his head. “Pathetic.”

“That’s the best I have.”

Lily touches her chest. “I like club dancing, but I’ve never personally given a lap dance.”

“And Daisy has?” Ryke asks in disbelief.

“She said she did it once.” Lily relaxes against Lo’s chest, and he holds her close.

Ryke lets out an angry breath. “You do realize that ninety-percent of a lap dance is basically the same thing as when a girl fucks on top? You know, riding the guy.”

“I don’t think Rose wants to take the lap dance to that level on camera.”

Our talk is cut off by a scraping noise. I watch Scott drag a dining chair into the living room, the legs scratching the hardwood.

When he places it in the center, he taps the frame of the chair. “Take a seat, Connor.”

I don’t take kindly to orders unless there’s a greater benefit for me. And in this instance, there’s none.

All eyes and cameras hit me, waiting for my reaction, wondering, quietly, if I’ll adhere to Scott Van Wright’s simple request. Rose stands impeccably straight, her bones hardened and stiff. All I see is fear, something that I desperately want to take away.

I stare right at Scott and break the strained silence with a few words. “Take a seat, Rose.” My gaze never leaves Scott, not even as the humor abandons his eyes.

“That wasn’t the bet,” Scott says.

“I’m amending the terms.”

Rose’s heels clap against the hardwood as she struts to the chair. She sits down with her shoulders pulled back and her ankles crossed as if she just took her fucking throne.

My body heats just watching her.

I redirect my attention to Lo, who has his arms splayed over Lily’s shoulders. “You’re still going to see a lap dance. You okay with that?”

“That’s all I want.”

“Wait.” Daisy holds up her hands and then points at me. “You’re giving Rose a lap dance?”

“Yes.” I untuck my black button-down from my slacks.

She smiles brightly. “Okay, we have to record this.” She turns as if she’s going to get a camera, and her elbow knocks into Savannah’s Canon Rebel. “Oh…right…never mind.” Only Daisy, a girl who’s swarmed by photographers for her job, would momentarily forget that we’re all being filmed.

“This I have to fucking see,” Ryke says, settling on the couch next to Scott. Everyone takes seats, ready for the show.

But I lock eyes only with Rose as I approach her. She white-knuckles the side of the wooden chair, afraid and anxious and aroused.

She trails my body as I unbutton my shirt, and her breathing deepens.

The unknown is frightening for her.

But it can be the wildest, most tempestuous out-of-body experience she’ll ever have.

Get ready, darling. This may spin your head.

Oh.

My.

God.

Connor slowly pushes the last button through his black shirt, club music blaring in the background from a pair of speakers. He stands confident, tall and domineering, like a perfect marbled statue, never once looking away from me.

I refuse to cower and crumple into a frightened ball. So I sit stiffly, waiting for him to near me. Waiting for—I don’t know what. I have no idea what Connor Cobalt plans to do after that.

“Shake your ass, sweetheart!” Loren yells over the bass.

Connor doesn’t give in to Lo’s wish, and I feel Scott’s penetrative gaze on me as he watches from the couch.

The moment Connor’s legs brush against my knees, all the air tightens in my chest, chained deep inside my ribcage. He places his feet on either side of my chair, still standing and towering above me. I absorb his position, and my heart has decided to dance on its own, clenching and flipping and fluttering. Basically spasming. My heart is doing an idiot dance, the equivalent of shaking stupidly on the floor.

And then he tilts my chin so I look into his bottomless blue eyes.

Power radiates in his motionless stance.

My neck grows hot, and he pries my hands off the chair, guiding them to his ripped abs. I feel him in ways I haven’t before, the lines and hardness of his muscles. I warm the longer I run my hands along his body. I’ve thought about this so much. About what it would be like to be beneath someone as strong as him. I just never allowed myself to give him that victory, in fear that he’d run off with it and leave me behind.