She shakes her head. “I’m not going to have sex again. I have more important things to do. Like wash my hair.” She flashes him a dry smile.
“That’s a shame then,” he tells her. “You’d probably enjoy it with the right guy—maybe even realize that it’s better than fucking chocolate.” He smiles a little. “That’s cute, you know, you should tell that to the next boy you meet.”
“Sure,” she says, her tone still skeptical, probably knowing that Ryke isn’t flirting with her now. “Maybe I’ll even tell him to try out four fingers.” She shares his smile for a brief moment.
“That, I would not advise,” Ryke declares, leaning back on his recliner. “But I’m also not a girl. Lily?”
My turn to interject? Oh goodie. “Yeah, no,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t either.”
“Noted.” She stands and tells us thanks before she goes inside to use the bathroom.
I immediately spin around and confront Ryke. “In-appropriate,” I break up the words for emphasis.
He slides his wayfarers over his eyes, leans back, and rests his hands underneath his head. “I was educating her.”
“You were embarrassing me.”
“Sounds like a personal problem.” His lips twitch into a smile. “Anyway, I’m better than Connor Cobalt. Imagine him here diagramming the reproductive system for her. Would you rather have that happen?”
“No, no, I’d rather all penises stay a thousand feet away from my little sister, that’s what I’d like.”
“Not going to happen, Lily. She’s almost sixteen. She’s already had sex. And she’s a fucking supermodel.”
“High fashion.”
He laughs under his breath. “Whatever. She’s gorgeous, looks older than you, and plenty of guys will see that if they already haven’t. She shouldn’t be uncomfortable talking about sex just because you are.”
Ouch. I let it go because…he’s right. I cringe as I think it. “Don’t tell me you like her.”
“Did I mention that she’s sixteen?” he snaps.
“Just making sure.” I relax a little.
Maybe I’m going about everything the wrong way. Sex is okay to talk about. Sex is not something to fear or to condemn. I just need to find the healthy way to do it. With Lo, of course.
And then, everything will be okay.
*
I usually pop a sleeping pill to battle my warring thoughts, but I do as Dr. Banning suggested and stay far away from prescription drugs. Instead, the darkness and quiet begin to open the doors to my suppressed emotions. I curl up in my bed—the ocean waves not enough to rock me to sleep. I end up staring at the empty place beside me, wishing for the warmness of another body.
Being away from Lo for three months is extremely difficult, but over time, it’s become manageable. The part where he returns freaks me out the most. All this anticipation courses through me, and I imagine the moment where he’ll stand in my doorway and gently tell me that we’ll have to break up for good. That he’s moved on, reached a healthy stasis, and figured out that I’m the giant cancer in his life.
I press my forehead to my pillow. Don’t. Cry. I force, but hot tears seep in the creases of my eyes. I take two trained breaths the way Rose showed me.
Lo made me promise to wait for him. Maybe I should have made him promise to return to me. At least to give me a fighting chance.
Ten minutes later, sex invades my mind like a relentless enemy. These feelings will float away with a better high, and my nagging thoughts will tumble and fall. I welcome the urge, too emotionally drained to care about anything other than drifting away from this state. I crawl off my bed and zip open my suitcase, rummaging around the bottom before I find my black travel bag of toys. They’re all the same brand from a luxury line, and it kind of reminds me of Lo’s preference for expensive liquors. Great…
Quickly, I pick a small pink bullet vibrator and hop back on the bed. I wiggle my black cotton panties to my ankles and then slide the device inside. I debate on whether to concentrate on Lo. On one hand, he’s the sexist guy in my spank bank. On the other hand, tears build whenever I imagine his amber-colored eyes staring at me, with his body thrumming on top of mine. I just end up missing him and wishing he was here. In the flesh. Holding me.
I settle on clicking the remote and clearing my mind of everything. I massage my breast underneath my gray cami-tank. Running my finger over my nipple, I pulse my hips rhythmically against the device. Heat gathers across my arms and legs, and my body throbs for a strong release. I slide my hand along my stomach, past my belly button and to my swollen and tender spot that aches to be touched. My fingers rub against my clit, causing my hips to buck and my breath to catch. Yes.