I prefer my hands to be touching him.
“Alrighty, thank you.” I reach out to take them.
“Kiss first,” he says.
I grin and glance down at his cock.
“Not there, love. On my lips.”
Damn. I look back up and he’s smiling. For a second, I wonder if I can postpone the kiss, just to see him smile longer.
He can’t read my mind.
Because he kisses me first.
I realize, though, that I like this just as much.
{ 41 }
LOREN HALE
I never thought I’d see the day where Lily and Rose combine their birthdays into one party. For as long as I can remember, Rose insisted that it’d never happen. You know those people that milk their “special” day until it’s dry? Making others wait on them and do favors, as if they’ve suddenly been born into royalty?
Times that by a million and you have Rose Calloway.
August 5th is my least favorite day on Earth.
The fact that I get to be happy for Lily’s birthday four days before and then head over to hell doesn’t help. So today, August 3rd—exactly two days after Lil turned twenty-four and exactly two days before Rose turns twenty-six—just might live in infamy.
“So Rose,” I say, gripping a can of Fizz and leaning back into the suede couch, “when you imagined your twenty-sixth birthday, I know this is what you had in mind.” I wear a half-smile.
After a five-course meal, we’ve all retired to the parlor for cake and presents. Her parent’s Philadelphia mansion has been decorated in a combination of lilies and roses. A small party. Just family. Our parents sit in the dining room, visible through the archway. They drink champagne and fawn over the babies. It’s a mundane, normal event. Like Samantha Calloway threw one of her usual dinner parties. Nothing special.
I motion to the parlor space. “Perfection, right?”
Rose gives me a withering glare. “Stop talking, Loren.” She had some kind of getaway trip planned months ago, but logistically, with her baby, she decided it was better to stay in Philly. I know a part of her must have cracked when she handed her birthday plans to her mom.
Lily plops down on the couch beside me, barely causing a wave. “This is the fanciest birthday I’ve had since I was eleven,” she comments, scanning the room with big eyes.
Rose clutches a wine glass, Connor’s arm across the loveseat behind her head. “That’s because you never wanted a birthday party,” Rose says. “Mother would’ve thrown you one in a heartbeat.”
“And invited all of her friends,” Daisy adds, ambling over from the dining room with a plate of chocolate cake. Since the couch is full with Sam and Poppy, Lily and me—and the loveseat and chair are taken—she can either sit on the floor or on my brother.
As she lowers her ass to the expensive rug, Ryke grips the hem of her skirt and pulls her onto his lap. Smooth. Daisy eases against him, sharing the cream suede chair.
Poppy counters, “Any of us would have thrown you a party too. You didn’t have to go to Mom for one.” Sam is French-braiding his wife’s hair. It’s distracting, to be honest. Especially because Poppy is next to me.
I’m biting my tongue to keep from making a remark. But I must be doing a shit job since Sam speaks up. “When you have a daughter, you’ll learn how to do things you never really thought about before.”
When I have a daughter? My brows rise. It implies that one day I’ll have another kid. One day I’ll go through all of this again. One day, I’ll love another person with my entire soul.
It seems improbable.
“Whatever, Sammy,” I say dryly, not wanting to start more shit with him. He’s being nice. I’m an ass. I just want to leave it at that.
My gaze accidentally travels across the room, landing on their daughter. Now seven, she entertains herself at the breakfast table, sketching pictures of ball gowns. Maria literally wants to be Rose. I fear for the world.
Lily redirects the conversation back to the topic, thankfully. “I’m not complaining about all my other birthdays. I never wanted a big party. All I wanted was…” Her eyes widen and her cheeks splotch red. I hug her closer, trying not to smile at her embarrassment. But she’s cute, even when she’s a tomato.
Ryke has an arm draped over Daisy’s shoulder. “Yeah, we all know where that’s fucking going.” He nods to Lily. “And for what it’s worth, Calloway. Birthday sex is the best.”
Lily groans. “Don’t remind me.” She stuffs her face in a beaded maroon pillow. She’s still on her post-pregnancy celibacy. Exactly three weeks left now.