“He’s fluent,” Daisy says. She discovered that during her sweet sixteen in Acapulco. Ryke has a proficiency in Spanish due to his prep school upbringing.
He climbs out of the pool and grabs the cup from her. “I’ll order you a fucking drink. Wait here.” He leaves, and whatever Melissa was expecting to happen, this was not it. She pout-glares, which is a scary combination.
While I love that I’m not the only one who’s going to be sexually frustrated this week, Melissa is like a storm waiting to break. And with Lo being surrounded by never-ending drinks and the threat of the blackmailer still lingering, this trip teeters on the brink of chaos.
My only hope is that Rose and Connor, the two level-headed people of our group, can keep us afloat. My gaze hits the pool again. They’re still bickering.
God, help us.
{ 22 }
LILY CALLOWAY
Sleep hates addicts. At least that’s my theory on the matter. While everyone else is well rested and off to explore Mexico, Lo and I have to drag ourselves out of bed.
My frozen muscles barely even stir when a burst of water douses me in the lukewarm shower. I raise my half-asleep arms to scrub the shampoo in my hair, and I find myself leaning a hip against the coldness of the tiled wall for extra support.
Being late sleepers means having the room all to ourselves. We haven’t had sex （and aren’t planning to） but the privacy is nice for a little while.
As I rinse the shampoo, the bathroom door creaks open. Even though I know Lo is the only one still at the hotel, I cling to the tiled wall, wondering if the fog will magically hide my naked body.
I spot Lo through the shower glass door, not enough mist to conceal me. And if I can see him, surely he can see me. I even catch a glimpse of his sharp cheekbones and devilish smile, his eyes flitting up to mine for a brief moment. Then he turns to the sink.
My mind switches into imagination mode. Thinking about all the ways he can do me.
“Morning, love,” he says, watching me through the mirror. He combs two hands through his disheveled brown hair.
That’s so not helping.
“You could have knocked,” I tell him as he pulls off his T-shirt. His muscles ripple down his chest, and he even has those defined ridges that lead towards his cock. “Or, you know, announced your entrance like they do on Downton Abbey.”
He steps out of his drawstring pants, now completely naked. He walks towards the glass shower door and stops. And then he knocks on it.
I have petrified by the tiled wall.
“It’s Loren Hale,” he says, a smile spreading across his lips. “May I come in?”
“We can’t…” I hesitate. No. I do not want to finish that sentence.
“We can’t shower together?” he says in disbelief. “Says who?” No one. Definitely not me.
“You may enter, but I have to warn you the water is being stubborn. There are moments where it’d rather be cold despite my demands.”
He opens the glass door. Don’t look, Lily. My eyes plummet against command, and once I’m staring, I can’t stop. Sensitive-filled places pulse as I imagine him inside of me. His fingers press against my chin, lifting my gaze.
“If I have to, I’ll take a shower with my bathing suit on,” he tells me.
I shake my head fiercely. “It’s okay. I won’t look.” But even as I say the words, I impulsively glance down. Shit. The magnetic force pulls and my eyes betray me for a split second. I look back up, and I throw my hands in the air. “That’s the last time! I swear!”
His lips rise in amusement before he sidesteps to grab the washcloth and soap off the ledge. I now have a perfect view of his butt.
“Same goes for my ass,” he says with a small laugh, his back still turned to me. The lightness and humor in his voice relaxes my shoulders.
“I like your ass,” I tell him as he rotates to face me, a washcloth in hand.
“I know you do,” he murmurs. He laces his fingers with mine and draws me to his body. My thigh brushes his cock, and a breath catches in my throat. “You’re okay, Lil,” he whispers. That’s not what it feels like.
He runs the cloth along my arms and in between my fingers, soaping my skin. I am hypnotized by the slow, lingering movements. And then the cloth dips to my belly and rises to my breasts, circling each one with meticulous care. I stagger forward a little and grip onto his arm.
“Easy,” he breathes. “Think of this as a test.”
“Showering with you?” My eyes widen.
“Showering with me,” he confirms with a nod, “without sex at the end. I’ll wash you and then you can wash me, okay?”