Becca Ritchie - Kiss the Sky

Ryke struggles in my grip, and he turns on me for a second. “I swear to whatever fucking weird god you believe in, Connor, if you don’t let me beat the shit out of him, I’m going to fucking punch you in the face.”

But Rose is faster than him. She has a can of pepper spray directed at Julian as a warning, and she pushes his arm. “Get out,” she says. “Or I will burn more than just your eyes.”

Julian raises his hands, the skin above his cheekbone beginning to swell. He shoots all of us one last glare as Rose opens the door and forces his body onto the brick stoop.

“Connor,” she says in a stiff voice. “I need you to lead Julian out and to tell the guards to put him on a blacklist, please.”

“Of course.” I look at Ryke. “If I release you, do not run after him.”

His muscles stay flexed. “Sure.”

He’s not convincing at all.

But then Daisy says, “Sorry guys.” Her voice cracks. We all look at her, even Rose in the doorway. Daisy clears her throat. “I should have broken up with him myself, to avoid this.” She nods and stares at the ground, her blonde hair shrouding her face.

“No,” Rose says, “I’m glad we did it—or at least tried to do it.” Rose’s cheeks redden in guilt. “It’s our fault for not finishing what we started.”

Ryke adds, “I can’t even fucking imagine you breaking up with him alone. He would have probably…” He cringes and shakes his head, pissed all over again. I picture the same thing. Julian saying, Baby, come on, don’t be like that. Don’t listen to your friends. We’re so good for each other. And if she refuted, he’d probably pin her against a wall and scream all the same.

At least we were here to lead him outside.

As I pass Rose in the doorway, my chest brushes her body, and I meet her hot gaze that warms me in a single instant. I’d very much like to be in control right now and have her look at me just like that.

My eyes flit over the length of her in a Calloway Couture black dress, short on the thighs, higher at the collar. And I whisper in her ear, “I know how I’m going to take you tonight, darling.” I skim my hand over her hip before I drop it to her ass, squeezing.

Her breath shallows, and then I walk down the stairs towards the half-ape who kicks over our trashcan.

I can practically feel Rose smiling behind me.

I steady her in my arms, maintaining my intense rhythm. Rose sits on my lap, her legs wrapped around my waist while I lean against the headboard of the bed. Even with her on top, I guide her. I make the decisions and route the path. My hands grip onto the flesh of her hips, and I buck up into her with rough exhilaration.

She moans. I think I hear my name from her muffled voice. She can’t speak, even if she wants to. I’ve shoved her panties in her mouth. And her hands have been tied behind her back with my leather belt.

I stop moving, and her head lolls like she’s been riding a rollercoaster for the past twenty minutes. And maybe she fucking has. I’ve been alternating between taking her by the waist and maneuvering her own body up and down on my cock, and then keeping her still as I thrust my own body up. My chest rises and falls, and I try desperately to ignore the throbbing sensation in my groin. But I want to play with her, not just fuck her into submission.

“Pop quiz,” I say in a ragged breath. “One word to describe what you’re feeling. Only one.” I remove her lace panties from her mouth, and her breathing deepens as if trying to catch the air she didn’t have.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” I tell her. “You have a nose to breathe through. Or have I fucked your anatomy knowledge right out of you?”

Instead of glaring, her lips lift and her eyes lighten. I press my fingers underneath her chin and lift her gaze. “You like that,” I say, not asking. “You like me fucking you so hard that your brain empties of all those traversing thoughts.”

She sways on my lap like she might fall backwards. I hold her tighter, one hand on her back to keep her upright while I slip my fingers into her collar, gripping it forcefully to support her head.

“One word,” I remind her. “Even if it’s as ineloquent as the word cock. Right now.”

She licks her bottom lip and my eyes train to it. Don’t move, Connor. But it’s a struggle. Everything she does makes me want to take her hard and fast. And then she gives me her answer in a single, soft breath.

“Concupiscent.”

My eyebrows rise. “That’s a big word.”

She gleams with pride. Oh no, Rose. That was not a compliment. I pull her collar and she leans forward on my command. My lips brush her ear. “You’re still thinking properly,” I tell her. “Apparently I haven’t fucked you hard enough.”

I feel her sex tighten around my erection in quick, short pulsing motions. Her mouth needs to catch up with her body. It has no trouble begging for me.

I don’t move yet. I let her soak and squirm while I wait, trying my best to harness my own aching needs. “One word,” I say again. My fingers dig into the soft skin on her hip and then I slide my fingers, edging up the length of her thigh.

“Lascivious.” Her pronunciation slurs on the end and her head falls back, her eyelids fluttering as I begin to thrust again.

I stop after two short pumps. “One word.” I yank the collar and her eyes shoot open.

“Passion.” Better.

I let go of the collar and place both hands on her hips, and then I lift her off my shaft. I watch the way her body responds in distress. Not liking that I’m taking her away from me. When I bring her back down, filling her up, I do it hard. Our bodies make noises together. Flesh on flesh. Groans against moans. Ragged breathing that fills the silent air. I do it three more times, basically bench pressing her on my dick.

It might be my second favorite position. Right behind having her spread apart, tied up, gagged and left soaked and waiting on the bed.

On her third or fourth sharp gasp, I pause again, keeping her motionless with me deep inside.  “One word.”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Fuck.” There we go.

I take her in my arms again and make sure it’s the last word she remembers.

We talk for a while, Rose on her stomach, the comforter at her waist while I have an elbow propped on my pillow. I run my hand over her lower and upper back, massaging any tense muscles and engraining the velvet of her skin in my mind.

I adore these moments after sex, almost as much as the actual act. Her stress has been reduced to a minimum. Even when she talks about her to-do list—her worries and fears—it’s with an easy breath, not a strained one.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep Daisy with us after the show ends,” Rose says softly. “I talked with my mother, and she won’t let her leave.” She has her cheek on her pillow, turned to me. “Maybe if there’s a season two, she’d be able to live with us.”

A season two? Another six months dealing with Scott, with invasive cameras following our every move? “You’d want that?” I ask.

“No,” she says frankly. “I already have what I wanted out of the show. Fizzle stocks are high. A couple retailers are looking to store my pieces. People sympathize more with Lily than they ever have.” This last fact has her smiling. “That’s the best part,” she admits.

It’s hard to deny Lily’s love for Loren or his love for her when they’re always together on the show. “They’re easy to root for,” I say, kissing her shoulder. “You just have to understand them first.” That’s the hard part. Being willing to look past their addictions and see a person.

She shuts her heavy eyes for a second, but I don’t want her to sleep just yet. I have to ask something important while she’s in a complacent mood.

“About the wedding,” I start. And before I can finish, she interjects, her eyes shooting open.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I showed Lily her wedding gown the other day, and she was happy, Connor.” Rose smiles like it’s a fantasy. My stomach twists in knots. She supports her body on her forearms to look at me better. “She squealed and bounced like she was excited. I think she’s finally ready to get married.”

“That’s great,” I say, not able to control my stilted voice. “I’m happy for her.”

She frowns, and then she hits my arm. “You don’t sound happy.”

My hand stops on her lower back. “I’m with a girl who refused to take part in childhood games of marriage, and now you’re fawning over someone else’s wedding.” She’s told me before that when Lily and Lo pretended to get married as little kids, she destroyed all of the flowers by ripping them off the stems, and then she called everyone “stupid” and stormed away.

“If you’re worried whether I’ll mutilate the flowers at their wedding, don’t be. I picked them out. They’re having orchids.”

“I changed them.”

Her eyes jolt further open, and she sits all the way up, holding the sheet to her chest. She points at me. “If my mother swayed you to orange lilies and teal ribbon—”

I cover her mouth. “I didn’t consult your mother on any of the final arrangements, I promise.”

“Then what’s this about?” she asks. “You look like you failed a math test.”

I edge close to her and kiss her temple. “I was just thinking about us.”

She freezes. “And it upset you?”

I’ve always been the most confident, the most prepared, but never the most forthcoming. And all of these are being overturned. How can you be confident when someone else holds your fate? I can’t make my own if she’s won’t deal me some cards.