Becca Ritchie - Kiss the Sky

Rose looks slightly regretful, and I leave her side to usher Sadie downstairs. “I love animals,” she says mechanically to make up for it. She smiles icily at the camera, and then adds, “And if anyone ruins one of my fur coats, I’m going to bill you and then rip out your goddamn eyeballs. Because you don’t deserve to look at beautiful clothes, ever again.”

I watch Sadie slink down the stairs while everyone laughs. I smile as I glance over my shoulder, at these people, at my friends.

I wouldn’t want to miss this for Wharton.

I wouldn’t want to miss this for anything.

Right here is where I’m happiest.

I stir to a body rocking against me, my eyes fluttering open in a half-sleep.

I squint at the fuzzy morning light, and my mind starts to collect my position and what’s happening: the fullness between my thighs, the hands on either side of my shoulders, the body that hovers above me with determined thrusts.

I’m still naked from last night’s rough sex, and the collar is firmly snapped around my neck.

My heart quickens as I meet Connor’s eyes. He watches me wake completely, making good on my strange fantasy that I once spilled. I always imagined I’d be aroused right off the bat, but it takes a little while to lead me there.

Connor facilitates my needs, rocking slowly to build up these electric sensations. I grip his biceps that flex with each push inside of me. It’s one of the few times I’ve had use of my hands during sex. When I glance down and watch the way he disappears between my legs, I feel myself start to clench around him.

He bends his head low and kisses me deeply.

I like this.

I can’t believe I like this. But more than that, I can’t believe he was willing to make it happen. I love him for it.

A layer of sweat glistens on our bodies the longer he thrusts. His mouth opens as I squeeze my legs around his waist, tightening the way he fits inside of me.

“Rose…” he groans, his face marbleized in pleasure.

And then he pumps hard, and I turn my head into my pillow and moan, my toes curling. He slowly pulls out while we both catch our breaths. He rolls over and lies beside me, our chests rising and falling together, in unison.

Waking up to a cock thrusting into me—it’s a turn-on that I can now fully admit to.

I summon my strength to meet his powerful blue gaze again. He grins, knowing exactly how much I desired this.

“Morning…darling,” he says with his last heavy breath. He leans over and kisses me once more.

Right as he parts from me, I’m about to tell him how much I loved it, but loud thumping splinters my thoughts. The sounds come from the wall near our dresser, not behind us.

The thunk, thunk, thunk continues, and then there’s the added moans and groans. I frown. “Didn’t they have sex last night?” We have thin walls, and I try to ignore them as best I can.

But there is a perk to having an adjacent room to Lily and Loren. I know how much sex they’re having, which means I know when Lily is regressing in her recovery.

Connor swings his legs off the bed. Completely naked, he walks over to the wall and slams his hand against it. “Hey!” he yells, but even his screams seem calm and assured. “You two, cool it!”

The humping suddenly ends, only to be replaced by a worse sound to my ears—Loren Hale’s voice. (Though it’s muffled from the wall.)

“We’re not doing anything!”

“You had sex last night,” Connor says loudly. “Only one time within a twenty-four-hour period. Remember that?”

Lo and Lily usually only wait twelve hours between fucking, but they’re trying a new rule and asked us to help enforce it if they get weak.

“Then keep your noises down!” Loren yells back. “My girlfriend is a sex addict. She can’t be hearing you two going at it.”

“I promise to be quiet,” Connor says. He turns back to me, and we lock eyes. “Next time, you’ll be gagged.”

I narrow my gaze, but my lower body responds much differently.

Connor just smiles as he disappears into the closet to change. I don’t move off the bed. I grab my binder from the nightstand and start working on my daily to-do list. I have to pick out the music for the wedding today.

1 month – Mom

One month.

It’s almost here. I need a little more time, but we can’t push back the date without the media howling with suspicion.

I asked Lily to help last week and she nearly burst into tears. It’s too close for her.

And the televised event doesn’t help. She confessed she’s had nightmares about tripping down the aisle and the clip being auto-tuned and made into a viral video for YouTube.

It’s hard to appease those worries.

Because I can see it happening.

Besides the wedding, I’m swamped with Calloway Couture inventory. The show has sky-rocketed my line, but this isn’t the first time I’ve seen a spike in sales. I used to be booked for campaigns, even Fashion Week at the height of my career. My triumphs have been so up and down. Every time my line goes in a store, it gets pulled right out. I can’t enjoy this sudden success, not when I know how fleeting it may be.

There is no happiness in ambition.

Only fear of losing it all or belief that it’s never enough.

I wish I could settle for something less. Connor seems content without his MBA, but I don’t expect the same outcome if I compromise my dreams.

And I don’t know how to change what I feel.

“You okay?”

I look up from my binder and see him towering close to me. He sits down on the edge of the bed and tilts the binder in his direction to read my to-do list.

“I’m just stressed,” I confess. “Too many things to do, not enough hours in the day.” I wave my hand like I’m brushing off the worries. “You know how it is.”

“I can help.” He taps the second chore I’ve written down. Reorder the ugly centerpieces that Mother picked out. “This looks like something I’ll ace.”

I give him a look. “You quit Wharton,” I remind him, “not to help me plan a wedding. You have a job. Go to work.” I push him off our bed.

His feet hit the floor and then he snatches the binder from my lap. I give him a hard stare and he returns it. “Just so we’re on the same page—I quit Wharton to be with you,” he rephrases. “Not for Cobalt Inc.”

I tighten my robe around my waist and stand, ignoring his admission. I motion for my binder, which might as well be my sanity at this point. “Hand it over.”

He flips open the binder and scans the list once more. “I think…” he muses. “I’ll take all the wedding responsibilities, and you can have your Calloway Couture tasks.” He looks up. “Sound fair?”

“No, Richard. It sounds like your bailing me out of my problems.”

I reach for the binder and he holds it up over his head. “We’re a couple. I want to bail you out of as many problems as I can. And I’m not asking for you to accept my help, Rose. You’ll have it whether you agree to it or not.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “What if I don’t like your taste?” I argue. “You could choose even uglier centerpieces than my mother.”

He raises his eyebrows like I said something truly stupid. I let out a huff and drop my arms. Fine. He has good taste. His shampoo costs more than mine for Christ’s sake.

“Consult Lily before you make the final decisions, even if she doesn’t really give you a straight answer,” I say. He grins, totally reveling in the win.

When his eyes fall back to the binder, his smile disappears. “Why do you have Scott’s name on here?”

I don’t even have to refresh my memory to know about number twenty-seven on the list. “It was a reminder,” I tell him. “I wanted to ask you if Scott seemed different this past month.”

“How so?” he asks. But I think Connor has his own theories, he just wants to hear mine first.

“At the beginning of the show he was a misogynistic pig, making disgusting comments and always in my face. But ever since the Alps, or maybe a few weeks after that, he’s backed off. I thought maybe it was because you and I had sex. Somewhere, deep down, Scott has a sense of respect.”

Connor’s already shaking his head.

“Yeah, I know,” I say. “It doesn’t add up.”

“Timing is everything,” Connor tells me. “I think he’s just waiting.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Shivers run up my arms.

One month left.

I wonder if Scott has been waiting for the wedding. Or if he’s planning on fucking something up sooner.

For the first time, I’m as nervous as I was when we first started the show.

I didn’t think that was possible.

“Don’t do this,” Daisy pleads. “I beg of you.” She cups her hands together in a praying fashion as her head whips from Rose to me. She sits on the edge of her paisley green bedspread while we stand in her room, the door shut so no leering cameras can peek inside.

“We gave you three whole days to break up with him,” Rose reminds her little sister. “If it hasn’t happened already, it won’t be happening in the near future.”

The Marco Jeans campaign ended almost a week ago, which means Daisy can break up with Julian without fearing “bad” chemistry at the shoot. But Daisy has a weakness for hurting people’s feelings.

 I’m supposed to escort Julian out of the townhouse when we deliver the news. And I am greatly looking forward to it. I no longer have to be nice and put on a façade that hurts my fucking jaw. He’s of no use to me anymore.