I mentioned bad editing once and she scoffed and told me to stop using excuses. So I just said, “I’m sorry, Samantha. I’ll be better about it.” And she threatened, “You better. Or I’ll convince Rose to give Scott another chance, which he deserves.”
She truly believes that they dated before. It’s…a new level of insanity for me.
I hate Scott.
But at least he never ruined some of the best sex I’ve ever had. I just want to go home and fuck Rose, forget about all this bullshit and do something that makes both of us feel good. But time isn’t on our side. I fight for more constantly. Wharton is killing me. Cobalt Inc. is manageable. But I’m lucky to make it home by two a.m. each night before she falls asleep.
I stand and gather any papers, stuffing them into a briefcase. Before I leave, I flip through the channels one last time and land on a rerun of Princesses of Philly. I caught a portion of it before, but not this part—where Lo pins Lily on the couch at the cabin. Where he passionately kisses her lips, bringing her into his arms each time he draws her up with a strong inhale.
But his eyes lock on the camera as he does it. As though he’s literally fucking the viewers with his mouth. I rub my lips and try not to laugh. Rose would be infuriated, but Lo has done this so often. I’ve seen a few bumper stickers around Philly that say Fuck me, Loren Hale. Especially after Lily’s latest interview aired. She went into a lengthy explanation about how Loren is the only man able to satisfy all of her sexual needs.
Celebrity Crush even wrote an article, trying to determine the size of his dick. It was horrible journalism, but it’s articles like those that really put into perspective how popular the reality show has become.
And how famous we all suddenly are.
Lily can’t even watch herself make out with Lo during these segments. He covers her eyes. It’s that arousing for her.
I shut off the television, flick off my lights and swallow a couple Adderall. I have a half-completed Wharton project for a management class left to finish. I want to say “hell with it” and have rough sex with my girlfriend instead.
Tying her up and watching her come beats every other task on my to-do list. My body heats just remembering her face the first time I filled her with my cock. Her mouth fell open, and she choked on some of the most gorgeous sounds.
I’ve never felt like she belonged to me more than in that moment. She let me do whatever I wanted to her body, all trust, no barriers or restrictions. I took her as hard as I knew she could withstand, her tightness gripping my cock in a vice that I don’t ever want to forget.
Which is why I plan to go home and do it again.
The elevator is in sight, and I’m already picturing what position I’ll put her in. Face down on the mattress. Hands tied behind her back.
I think I’ll spank her.
“Connor!”
I stop dead in the hallway. There’s only one person who could ruin these beautiful thoughts. Only one other person who’d be working while the janitor finishes his routine. I turn around to confront my mother who quickly approaches me with determined steps.
“I just put my proposal on your desk,” I tell her. Let me go, I silently plead.
“I got it,” she says breezily. “I scheduled a reservation at L’Bleu on Saturday. Seven o’clock. Bring Rose.” She spins and disappears down the hall, leaving no chance for an excuse.
Something foreign presses against my chest. I think it might be anxiety. I open my phone to call Frederick, but I see a missed text instead.
Come home now, please. We have a Lily and Loren problem. – Rose
Shit.
I don’t let my imagination try to predict what kind of problem that could be. I just make a quick exit to the elevator and brace myself for what’s to come.
*
As soon as I walk through the door, I spot Lily and Lo curled up on the couch, reading a comic silently together. “Problems” with those two usually involve screaming, maybe even crying. It’s odd. But I try not to pass judgment until I know the facts.
Before I can even begin to question them, Rose marches down the stairs and grabs my wrist with a lot of force, fire blazing in her eyes. I should be more concerned about the shit storm she’s going to unleash, but my cock has its own agenda, painfully begging for her to redirect that pressure. She tries to lead me to the second level, but I pry her fingers off my wrist.
“I think I know where the bedroom is,” I say.
Her lips tighten in a line, and she blushes. “We’re not having sex right now.”
I tilt my head, my brows pinching. “All I meant was that I can lead myself upstairs. I said nothing about sex.” I pass her on the stairs and walk in front of her.
She huffs. “We don’t have time to accommodate your ego.” She’s pissed that I took precious time away from the dire situation.
She tries to pass me on the stairs, and I hold out my arm and give her a look.
“Move faster!” she commands.
“Is the townhouse on fire? Did someone steal your shoe collection?” I ask with a growing smile.
Her neck is so stiff. She barely even inhales. “I’m going to slap you.”
I actually think she may.
I’m too curious about the Lily and Lo drama to start that fight, but it’s really tempting. I can already see her hand scorching my cheek. And then I’d shove her against the wall, bite her lip, and fuck the anger out of her, replacing it with content, vulnerable submission.
She finally exhales as she watches me, so deep that I know she must see the longing in my eyes. But we can’t have sex in the hallway. It’s rigged with cameras.
I break her gaze and go to the bedroom without another word. She shuts the door behind us, and I notice Ryke already here, pacing in front of the bed with clenched fists. I recognize Savannah’s Canon Rebel on the mattress. Before I can ask what the camera is doing here, Rose explains.
“The tequila and wine are gone,” she tells me, her hands planted firmly on her hips. She says she searched the house, and then Ryke found the bottles in Lo’s closet—empty and hidden beneath a pile of dirty clothes.
I blink a few times, trying to ignore emotions that want to pummel me backwards. I’m not used to feeling so much from something that has no direct effect on me, no cost that’ll weigh down my benefit.
“There wasn’t much in the tequila bottle. We spilt most of it on our bed,” I remind Rose with an even voice, but a lump scratches my throat. I have to cough into my fist to clear it.
“It doesn’t matter.” She points a finger at the door. “He’s been sober for sixteen months.”
“I know.” Breaking his sobriety—it’s a big deal.
I turn on Ryke who fumes, trekking forwards and backwards with hostility.
“And you haven’t stormed downstairs to confront your brother?” I ask in disbelief.
He stops in the middle of the room and points at the door just like my girlfriend did. “I’m so fucking close,” he growls. “But that’s exactly what those dickfuckers want.”
I cringe. “Can you not use that curse word? It’s ridiculous.”
Both of them glare at me.
“I’ll take cocksucker for one-hundred,” I banter, hoping to ease Ryke’s flexed muscles and Rose’s hot-tempered eyes. But I realize it’s more for me. I’m dodging. I never dodge. I just don’t want it to be true. I don’t want Lo to drink again and go down that dark path. I can’t save that kid from his demons, and watching him drown is not a show I want a front row seat to.