Becca Ritchie - Hothouse Flower

“You can’t touch me.”

I near him, and he takes a couple steps back. “You think I care about going to jail for a few hours? Fucking test me, and your thousand-dollar camera and those fucking pictures will be gone in an instant.”

He stays put where he is.

I’m so heated I can barely see straight. I open Daisy’s tent and duck my head in, careful not to let the cameraman have any view of her. She yawns tiredly, barely awake and really fucking naked. I crawl in and zip the tent back. Her spine straightens as she gets a good look at my pissed expression.

“We’re leaving,” I say, grabbing my shirt that she was in. I pull it over her head quickly.

“What’s going on?”

“Paparazzi.”

“Uh-oh.” She hurries to put the baggy sweatpants back on. They fall at her waist, and I tighten the string so they stay up. “What’s the plan?” she asks, trying not to appear scared. But she still hasn’t told anyone about the cut on her face, and I’m sure she’d rather tell her mom instead of letting her find out from the tabloids.

“I’m carrying you out,” I tell her. “Front piggyback. Put your face to my chest, okay?”

“Like how Lo carries Lily?” she asks.

I didn’t realize…but yeah, that’s how my brother carries Lily in front of the paparazzi. “Yeah, like that.”

“How many are out there?”

“A fucking lot.”

She smiles. “What’s a fucking lot? Ten? A hundred?”

I give her a look.

“What?”

“Just get in my arms.” I hold them open.

She grins wider. “Say that again.”

“Get in my fucking arms, Calloway.”

She mock gasps. “I thought you’d never ask.”

I don’t smile, but my nerves slowly start to subside. She does that to me—calms me. Makes me feel like this worry is one that should be smaller, less significant.

She crawls towards me, and I lift her in my arms, her legs wrapping above my waist and her cheek pressed to my chest. I rub my fingers through her tangled, messy hair. “Hold tight, sweetheart.”

I open the tent and the lights go off like a neon bomb.

DAISY CALLOWAY

We’ve split up.

I’m in a black two-door sports car that Rose had rented with Lily, heading down a freeway with Ryke. Rose, Connor, Lily, and Lo took the SUV. The paparazzi parted. Some following us, others following them.

Ryke shook off the three vans on our ass in under thirty minutes. Our sports car is manual, and Ryke switched gears and cut corners sharply, driving like he owned the road. He wasn’t scared to slam on the brake at the last minute, go in reverse or hit hundred-mile-per-hour speeds. If we didn’t just have sex, I’d think it was the sexiest, hottest thing he’s ever done with me.

Now the open freeway is less exciting, but it is peaceful. And I am thankful for no tail and the crazed paparazzi.

With a bit of decent cell signal, we made a plan with the others to meet up in Utah at the Canyonlands.

I glance over at Ryke. He has his hard eyes set on the road ahead, but his hand has been on my thigh most of the drive. Now that we’re alone, truly, it seems like more of our restrictions are disappearing. I love the freedom, and I want to make it last past this trip.

“Stop, Dais,” he tells me. “That’s fucking annoying.”

I realize I’ve opened and closed the dashboard about fifty times.

“Play with the fucking window.”

“I have,” I say. “It’s revolted against me and no longer rolls down.”

He keeps one hand on the wheel and glances at me. “You have problems.”

“What a true, true statement,” I say with a smile. “Say another.”

He flips me off and then messes my hair.

I laugh. “I can’t help my fidgetiness. It’s boring in a car.” And I’ve downed five Lightning Bolts! to battle my exhaustion. Thank you, insomnia. I’ve already untied my sneakers and braided the shoelaces into bracelets. Now I’m considering playing Cat’s Cradle with the strings.

Ryke’s eyes flit to me, and then he reaches up and presses a button by the ceiling light. The sunroof groans open.

I beam, happy to have air and the wind. I unclip my seat belt and kiss his cheek quickly before standing on the middle console. A gust blows into me first, and I take a giant breath, filling my lungs. The road has very few cars. We’re on flat land with no traffic lights and few cops in sight.

I raise my arms and shut my eyes.

I’m flying.

In this moment, I’m really, really happy.

Ryke is holding one of my ankles, but his hand runs up and down my leg. The friction and mystery of what he’s going to do races my heart. But he won’t…

His gentle movements turn rough, and his fingers urgently find the button to my jeans, and he yanks them down, all with one hand.

Holy shit.

He forces them to my feet, and I clutch onto the roof to keep my balance

He doesn’t swerve the car.

Not even as he pushes aside my panties and plunges his fingers into me, filling me instantly. Oh God. This can’t be happening. I’m standing up. Half suspended out of the freaking sunroof.

He pumps his fingers into me, and my body awakens with delight and exhilaration. I reach one arm down, back into the car, and I put my hand on his, feeling how big his fingers are compared to mine.

He hits the most sensitive place, finding it with ease, and I cry out, my voice lost in the wind. After I catch my breath, he starts building me to a higher peak. I grip his wrist, never wanting him to leave this place between my legs. Dear God, send me Ryke Meadows morning, noon and night.

Then a honk blares. I can barely turn my head, so dazed with these feelings. My lips are parted, unable to close. But I notice a family van behind us. Uh-oh.

I’m about to crawl into the car, but as soon as I duck my head in, Ryke says, “Stay.” He must not be concerned about them filming us on their phones—but it’s not like they can see much. The windows are tinted. Ryke puts his knee on the wheel to steer and he sticks his other hand out the window, flipping them off.

Why is that so sexy?

His fingers move faster inside of me, driving deeper, up and down. Ahhh! I clutch harder to the roof.

Mind officially blown.

His fingers aren’t sweet. They’re rough and hard, and my knees almost buckle with the brilliant force. I’m moaning, hunched over the roof, my eyes watering from the wind.

The van lays on the horn again. And then it switches lanes and speeds to our side. A father rolls down the passenger window where his wife sits. He shouts, “There are kids on this road!”

Ryke yells back, “They’re going to fucking learn about it sooner or later. Might as well learn how to do it the best way.”

AHHH!

I disintegrate. I can’t even support my body any longer. Ryke takes his fingers out, and I drop down onto my seat and breathe heavily. I rest my forehead on his shoulders, my mouth agape. When I look through his window that he’s ignored, I notice that the wife is flushed, the husband enraged.

I don’t care.

That was awesome.

They honk again.

Ryke slams on the gas and takes off, leaving them far behind us. His fingers glisten, and he wipes them on the inside of his shirt before passing me my jeans.

When I finally breathe normally, I slip my pants back on. “Have you done that before?” I wonder. It seemed like he knew what he was doing.

“First time,” he says, trying not to smile. The sudden glimmer in his eyes gives him away though. He liked it too. Maybe not as much as me. But he definitely enjoyed that.

“Your turn,” I say, sitting up on my knees, ready to give him head.

“Later,” he tells me. He turns the car off the exit. “We’re here.”

Wherever here is.

RYKE MEADOWS

We can’t drive in a car all the way to the Canyonlands. She’s too hyperactive and ADD—which is an actual fucking problem right now, even if we joke about it. No matter if I’d love to finger fuck her all the way there…and with half her body out of that fucking sunroof. Fuck. My cock despises me right now. I should have let her suck me off in the parking lot before I went into the store.

She gives amazing head.

But that didn’t feel right. And I usually don’t jump into things when my gut says no.

I shake hands with the sales person, and I step back out into the parking lot. Sunglasses on, shielding the bright afternoon light from my eyes. The wind picks up and I pull my leather jacket tighter. It’s getting fucking cold. But what do you expect from October?

Daisy walks out of the gas station next to the dealership. She eats a Little Debbie brownie, a shopping bag hung over her right arm while wearing bright blue, flower-shaped sunglasses that I’ve never seen. They look like cheap plastic, but they’re really fucking cute on her.

She waves when she sees me and starts walking over.

“Miss me?” she asks.

“I was fucking devastated.”

“You look it.” She nods, and I hook a finger on her plastic bag and peer into it. Hair dye. Lots of it. I spot pink and purple. I glance up at her, and she looks a little worried. Maybe she thinks I won’t be into her if she dyes her hair. But I don’t fucking care about shit like that.

Hair color. Skin color. Big. Small.

I like her. Not the body she comes in.

“Are you indecisive?” I wonder. “It looks like you have the rainbow in there.”

“Precisely.” She smiles, licking the chocolate off her fingers. “Unicorns love rainbows. I love unicorns. Therefore thy hair must be a rainbow.”

“Interesting fucking theory.” I start walking further down the parking lot and she follows me.

“One of my best?” She catches up to my side.

“No it’s fucking stupid.”

“It can’t be interesting and stupid. Those are exclusive.”

“You sound like Rose.” As soon as I say the words, she brightens. I know she looks up to her sisters, and in a way she reminds me a little bit of both of them. The rest of her is just Daisy. Just wild.

We stop by a black sportbike that I just bought from the dealership. Like I said, we can’t ride in a car anymore. I have the means to buy a motorcycle to appease Daisy’s restless state, so I’m going to fucking do it.

“We’re riding together?” she asks me with a smile.

“Yeah.” I take her plastic bag and shove it into my backpack. “You okay with that, sweetheart?”

“Will you let me drive some?”

“I’d let you do whatever you want, as long as you pay attention so we don’t fucking highside.” Last thing I need is for her to fly off the fucking bike.

“What about lowside?” She’s already done that once before: slid off the back of the motorcycle while it raced off without her.

“How about we don’t ever fucking crash?”

“But if I crash,” she says, slinging her leg over the seat. “I’d rather crash with you.”

My brows rise and she smiles bigger, brighter, pulling her scar. “You tell that to all the guys you’ve hooked up with?” I ask her.

“No,” she says, “because you’re the only one I’ve dated who rides motorcycles.”

I shake my head. “Your list of pickup lines, sweetheart, is insane. And I fucking swear you’ve used most of them on me.”

“I have?” she says, eyeing my muscles with a little more desire than before. I can tell she’s remembering the tent, when we had sex for the first time. “Looks like they worked.” Her eyes flicker to mine. “I have you.”

Her bedroom eyes are going to fuck me over like they never have before. I toss her a white helmet, not alleviating the moment. With us, the tension will probably stick around for seven whole days.

Everyone is taking their time driving to Canyonlands, so yeah, we have a week.

A week alone with Daisy.

For the first time, we’re going to see how we are as a couple. No restraint. Very little boundaries.

I sense the excitement.

But I also see the trouble.

DAISY CALLOWAY

I don’t mind when I ride behind Ryke, on the same seat, not the one steering or revving the throttle. He speeds as much as I would on a two-lane highway with very little traffic and no hills in sight. The farm lands we pass remind me that we’re in the Midwest, heading towards Utah at a leisurely pace.