Becca Ritchie - Kiss the Sky

“Put your cock away,” she tells me.

“You’re not with me because I’m a doormat,” I remind her. “If you want to walk all over a man, you should have chosen Lewis Jacobson.”

She gags. “God, don’t even. He stared at every girl’s ass when he jogged onto court.” He was a point guard for Princeton—the type of guy who would love to be controlled by Rose.

“Just remember that I’m not going to bend to your will.”

“But you’re waiting for me to bend to yours?” she snaps.

“And now we’re at our five hundredth standstill.” I run a hand through my wet hair, pushing the strands back, and her chest rises again at the motion. “Two cooks in the kitchen.”

“Two dominants, no submissive,” she adds.

I shake my head and try to tone down my grin that is really, really riling her to a bad point. She looks like she’s going to slap me. “No,” I say.

She gapes. “What do you mean no? My metaphor matched yours!”

She doesn’t realize it yet, but she’s nowhere near dominant in bed. It’s a reason why she’s slamming on the brakes. She’s so in control of her everyday life that she expects the same once she straddles a man. But if she truly wanted that, she’d be attracted to a much different guy than me and she’d already have lost her virginity, riding the fuck out of him.

“I think we both know there’s only one dominant here.”

Her eyes flare. “Take it back, Richard.”

I want to make her feel as confident and strong inside the bedroom as she is outside. It’s a goal that Scott Van Wright won’t steal from me, even if he tries.

“Take back the truth?” I frown. “That’d make me a liar. And I know how much you hate liars, hun.” My hands are still behind my back, but I step towards her.

She grips the sink counter behind her and reaches over to grab a towel. She shoves it at my chest.

I haven’t lost yet.

I wrap the cloth around my waist. It hangs low so she has view of my defined muscles. I make time for the gym with Loren and his half-brother, but I’ve always been in good shape. I grew up wanting to reach the peak of physical and mental perfection. It’s an unattainable goal. But one I set. One I seek.

People hope to touch the sky.

I dream of kissing it.

Rose spins back towards the sink. She uses the iron to curl loose waves in her straight hair. Most men would be scared of her—gripping a hot weapon. My cock begins to throb as I watch her through the mirror.

She breathes heavily, trying not to pay attention to me, but it’s a little difficult. I’m six-foot-four. I’m twice her size. She’s small, feminine in comparison to my body that could cloak her easily.

She swallows and says, “Do you think Lily and Loren are having more sex than usual?”

Anytime Lily and Lo’s sex life arises, it closes the door to discuss ours. It’s a ploy, a simple distraction, but Rose is also truly invested in her sister’s recovery. She cares. I do as well, but Rose will always be my number one priority.

“They’re touching more than usual,” I say. “But I think it’s more for the camera’s benefit.”

“He’s teasing her, and she’s going to regress…after all the progress she’s made.”

“You have to trust him.”

She cringes at the idea of putting faith in Loren Hale. They only tolerate each other for Lily’s sake. I’m in a difficult position because I’ve grown to like Lo as a real friend.

“I need a favor,” she suddenly says.

“Favors,” I muse with a smile. “It’ll cost you.”

“I knew being your girlfriend wouldn’t have many perks. I still owe you things.”

“You have plenty of perks,” I tell her. “You just choose not to delight in them.” I edge close to her, setting a hand on the counter, my mouth near her neck as I lean in low. She tenses as my hand dips to her thigh. “What favor do you need?” I ask, slipping my palm beneath her robe.

“I’m going to burn you,” she says, not as a threat. Fear spikes in her voice. She unplugs the curling iron quickly and sets it aside.

I bite her ear and whisper, “Breathe.”

She barely exhales. “I need you to give Lo the talk.”

I hunch over, resting my chin on her shoulder for a second. My expression stays complacent, composed—the face I carry with me throughout the day, the one Rose calls “fake.”

“I think we’re past that talk, Rose.”

She glowers, her entire body responding to the emotion. Her eyes narrow, her stance closes, her shoulders pull back, forcing me to straighten up.

I almost get hard.

“Don’t patronize me,” she says. “Lo’s going to get my sister pregnant on accident. He’s impulsive and careless. So you need to do what you do best and instill some common sense into him.”

“I imagine that conversation blowing over as well as a hurricane.” I twirl her by the waist so she leans against the counter, facing me. “So it’s going to cost you.”

She peruses my body with a sharp gaze. “I’m prepared to pay.”

My lips slowly rise. “Are you?”

“Yes.” But her eyes speak differently, and my smile fades. She’s really, truly scared.

“You’re safe with me, you know that, Rose?” I ask her. “I won’t ever hurt you.” I’ve always treated her like she’s an extension of myself.

The more hostile, torrid side—that is.

 It’s a reason I’ve become so possessive of her throughout the years, even when we weren’t together.

“I know,” she says, relaxing her shoulders.

“Then I’ll talk with Lo.”

“What do I need to do for you?” she asks, too stubborn to back down, even if the unknown frightens her.

“Stop thinking for a minute.”

“What—”

I kiss her, my large hand cupping her delicate face, my lips against her soft. Her breath rises to her throat, and her body curves to meet mine. She rouses, clutching my muscular arms with her free hands. The uncertainty still lingers on her lips, hesitating.

I break apart. “Get out of your head,” I tell her, my hand lowering to her ass. I push her against me, her pelvis tucked neatly to mine. Her robe slips between her legs, revealing the bareness of her thighs.

A moan pushes through her lips. I pin her against the counter, only the towel separating my cock from her body, and she struggles to gain control with me. Her head dips back in arousal, and she desperately grips my arms, her fingers digging into my biceps. But she looks lost on what to do with her legs, one wanting to wrap around my waist, the other half off the ground with the force of my body.

I hold her left leg up to my side, stretching her, and she lets out a staggered breath. “Wait, wait…” she starts, her hands on my chest. She’s flushed and warm to the touch, but she plummets right back in her fucking head.

“Rose,” I chastise and drop her leg to the ground.

She rests her elbows on the counter, confusion lacing her eyes.

You liked that. It’s okay to like that, Rose. My hand returns to her jaw, caressing her cheek as she processes what happened—my dominant movements that trounced her into a puddle. My puddle.

I run my thumb on her bottom lip.

“Je suis passionné de toi,” I say. I am passionate about you.

Her chest falls, understanding me well.

I slip my thumb into her mouth, and a sharp noise catches in her throat. She blushes at hearing herself. I leave my thumb there and press a soft kiss to her neck, and then I suck sensitive spots, trailing up her collar to her cheek.

She can throw me off at any second.

But surprisingly, she closes her lips over my thumb. She doesn’t suck it, doesn’t run her tongue against it. I don’t think she really knows what to do, but I adore her more for trying. I let her off the hook and quickly replace my hand with my lips, my tongue, trying to lose her with the moment.

Her movements are more assured now, her hands drifting to my hair, tugging, clenching, kneading. Her spine curves again, her body meeting mine once more. That’s it, Rose. I have you.

You’re safe with me.

A full minute passes before that all disappears, before she retreats into her head again, before her kisses shorten, before her lips close and she pulls back altogether.

It was a brief, fleeting moment where I almost had her vulnerable and bare. But if I can put my thumb into her mouth without her biting it off, it’s only a matter of time until I’m inside her completely.

Well, I learned what increasing the production value entails.

Here’s a new one for me.

Scott Van Wright somehow manipulated my girlfriend into moving out of her sanctuary, leaving our Princeton house. I really wish I had been there for the conversation and not been stuck in a college lecture hall. I would have rebutted every argument he had that began with “The Real World” and ended with “you’re all living together.”

We all lived together in Princeton, New Jersey.

The difference now: Loren Hale’s half-brother, Ryke Meadows, is moving in for six months. So is Rose’s little sister, Daisy. That’s six people in one house.

I’m trying to be the encouraging boyfriend, but I can’t be at fault for however I act around Scott. I don’t like that he convinced Rose to do something that I would have trouble talking her into. It makes me nervous.

Rose stares up at the open ceiling, microphones and wires dangling from the rafters of our new home. Her forehead scrunches at having to live in a Philadelphia townhouse designed especially for production. Three levels. Five bedrooms. One communal bathroom. No yard. A nice hot tub and patio area. And an even larger dining room and kitchen.