Becca Ritchie - Kiss the Sky

Before I can think about anything, he kisses me on the lips, his tongue parting mine, his whole body pushing against me. The place between my legs pulses for a heavy force, and my limbs tighten in rebut. Good God…

The music cuts off. And I realize that Connor has stopped rocking against me as soon as the song ended. We’re kissing more passionately than I can ever remember, his fingers grasping my hair, my wrists digging against the leather as I want, so desperately, to touch him back.

“All right,” Scott says. “That’s enough.”

His voice yanks me back into my head. I withdraw from Connor and turn my face before he can kiss me again. My body is flushed and sweaty, and my heart can’t stop pounding.

“Wow,” Daisy says, clapping, “that was hot. Solid 10.”

“How much did I miss?!” Lily cries out, trying to pry Lo’s fingers off.

“It was way too scandalous for your pretty eyes, love,” Lo says with a grin. He drops his hand and kisses her on the temple.

I still try to catch my breath. Connor watches me carefully as he unties the belt. I keep my eyes narrowed at the wall. What just happened?

When Connor stands, I straighten up on the chair, but my muscles won’t cooperate to do more than that.

“We were supposed to see a lap dance,” Scott says. “Not a porno.”

“Did I make you uncomfortable?” Connor asks in his usual impassive voice. He tucks his shirt back in his slacks and begins buttoning it. But he stays close to me.

Scott says nothing in reply.

“Allow me to accommodate your feelings then,” Connor tells him. “There’s the door. You’ll be much happier on the other side of it.”

Loren almost breaks into a giant grin at the diss, but his hot-tempered glare pins to the producer instead.

Scott scratches his scruffy jaw and just nods. Then he heads into the kitchen. On television, I wonder who’s going to come across as the bigger asshole in this scenario.

Ryke stands and says, “Cobalt, were you or have you ever been a stripper?”

“No one would be able to afford me.”

“It was Magic Mike, wasn’t it?” Lily asks. “You had to have seen that movie.” She turns to Lo and gives him round pleading eyes. “Let’s see it just one time. It’s not porn.”

“Channing Tatum’s abs might as well be porn,” Daisy interjects.

 Lo just kisses the top of Lily’s head in reply.

She lets out a resigned sigh, and her eyes trail off in thought. “I do need a shower after watching that.” Her cheeks immediately redden at the slip and her eyes bug. I can practically hear her thoughts: Did I say that out loud? Yes. Yes you did, Lily.

Daisy nudges her arm with a smile. “I totally call it after you.”

Ryke and Lo groan, but Lily relaxes at the idea that she’s not the only one aroused. Hell, I can’t move because I know just how wet I am. Connor basically just electrocuted me with his pants on.

Ryke stands up from the couch. “I’m going to the gym. Anyone want to come?”

Daisy gasps. “You masturbate at the gym?”

He chucks a pillow at her face, and she catches it with a playful smile.

Loren turns to Lily. “You’re really going to take a shower?” His voice is full of disbelief. I’ve heard them arguing about the bathroom situation since we moved in. Lily has yet to bathe, mostly out of fear of Scott walking in. I would coax those fears if I didn’t have the same ones, hence why I shower at five in the morning.

She goes quiet, and Loren drops his voice. “You smell like sex,” he whispers, but I’m still close enough to hear. “You’ve got to take one soon.”

She stares at her hands. “Can we take them together? I won’t do anything, I promise. I’ll feel…safer.”

There’s a long pause before he says, “Only if we wear bathing suits. I just don’t want to tempt you for six months, Lil.”

Her face brightens and she throws her arms around his neck.

I rub my sore wrists, unsure of everything for a moment. Connor suddenly grabs my hand and effortlessly lifts me to my feet.

He stares down at me, and I realize what could have happened today. I could have awkwardly fumbled around him. I could have embarrassed myself on national television. Instead, he made me feel desired and hot instead of mortified and cold.

My eyes blanket in gratitude, the thank you on the tip of my tongue.

But his thumb brushes against my cheek and he says, very softly, “You’re welcome, darling.”

I exhale, glad that I don’t have to struggle to produce the words anymore. The kitchen cupboards clatter loudly as Scott lumbers around.

“You fucked with his plans,” I whisper.

“He’ll wipe his tears and get over it later.”

I’m not as optimistic. “Or he’s going to find something that you can’t screw up.”

It’s still dark outside when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I rub my drowsy eyes and check the clock. 4:30 a.m. I reach perilously for my phone in the dark and knock off a bottle of aspirin. It clatters to the floor, and I look over my shoulder to make sure Connor hasn’t woken up.

He remains unmoving on his side of the bed.

We didn’t have sex. We’ve been amicably sleeping together without doing more than I want—which isn’t quite right. I’m not exactly sure what I want when it comes to sex anymore. But I hesitate to give him that part of me—the part that he may take in triumph and then disappear with.

Carefully, I turn on the phone and cup my hand around the screen, blocking the glow.

5 months and 12 days until the wedding – Mom

Thanks, Mom. I text back, knowing she won’t catch the thick sarcasm.

Yesterday, when she sent me the 5 months and 13 days update, Lily opened the text on my phone. She almost needed a paper bag to hyperventilate into. She wants to be married about as much as a dog wants to be hit by a car. Planning the wedding is like shoving her into traffic, which is why I offered my services.

Planning. Organizing. Preparing. These are things I excel in. I even mediate between my mother’s requests and Lily’s wishes. As far as our parents go, Lily has tried to have little contact with them. The guilt of hurting Fizzle is a wound she doesn’t like to reopen often. So I have become Lily Calloway’s middleman—always reassuring our parents that she’s not bingeing on cock.

Although if I said such a thing to my mother, she’d have a coronary.

But every time I ask my sister about invitations or music, she turns pale and mumbles something like you choose. So I’m no closer to planning the wedding than Lily is to wanting to get married. Which infuriates our mother. I’m sure I’ll receive a phone call and lecture about time management later this afternoon.

“Everything okay, hun?”

My heart jumps at Connor’s voice. I roll over to see him wide awake, head propped up by his hand.

“It’s just my mother,” I say in a whisper. “Sorry I woke you.” I’m about to roll back to the far end of the mattress when my phone buzzes again.

Send me the Calloway Couture sales reports from last week. I’d like to have a financial advisor look over them. – Mom

I let out an aggravated growl. “She knows I don’t want her involved in my company anymore,” I say more to myself than Connor. “Why can’t she just back off?”

I don’t reply to her in text again. From experience, I know it’s best not to start an argument over the phone. Especially one at four-thirty in the morning.

“So you do want to talk,” Connor says with the raise of his eyebrows.

“No.” I blink and shake my head. “Sorry. It’s too early…” I go to turn and Connor catches my arm.

“I have time for you,” he says. I watch him sit up, fluff his pillow and lean against the headboard. He waves me on. “Let’s hear it.”

I rise a little, my legs tucked in front of me, and I tug the hem of my royal-blue silk nightgown. “When I told her I wanted to do a reality show to help Fizzle and Calloway Couture, the first thing she said was, it’d better work, and if it doesn’t, then I have two daughters that have ruined the Calloway name.” I stare at the sheets and shake my head. “Who says that to their own daughter?”

Connor is quiet as he patiently lets me vent. Usually, I wait until therapy to unleash my aggravation. But at the end of those sessions, I’m always prescribed anti-anxieties, whereas Connor usually ends our conversations by calming most of my worries.

I continue as I think about her texts. “And even though I’ve reminded her a hundred times that I have Lily’s wedding under control, she insists on butting in. You can’t have red velvet cake, Rose. Make the color scheme gold, like Fizzle, Rose. That venue is too small, Rose. Oh, but that one is too large.” I throw up my hands after imitating her. “I can’t do anything right.”

“Have you tried ignoring her?” Connor asks.

He knows I haven’t. I crumble at my mother’s persistence. And even if she becomes overbearing and a little too much to handle, there is a part of me that loves that she cares. That she’d rather spend her time thinking about her daughters than worrying about mindless matters.

“I love her even if I hate her,” I say, not entirely responding to his question.

“A paradox,” Connor muses. “I like those. They make life interesting.”

My eyes flit to his. We don’t have these heart-to-hearts often. It’s much more fun to debate over Freud’s misogynistic theories. But we’ve spoken about Connor’s relationship with his own mother a couple times. She’s not cold or maternal. She just is. At least that’s how he’s always described Katarina Cobalt. As if she’s nothing more than his boss.

I’d love to meet her, but Connor has lied to me about her being busy for over a year. He doesn’t want me to see her for whatever asinine reason, and even if he won’t tell me why, I respect his opinion. So when she called me a couple days ago, I brushed her off with the same excuse Connor has been using. I’m too busy for coffee and definitely too busy for brunch. It was rude, but if she listens to gossip and socialite mutterings, she’d know I’m a bit of a bitch.

“Mothers are all slightly insane,” Connor says with a small smile. He just quoted J.D. Salinger, and he waits for me to say so. But I keep my lips tight like I lost him somewhere. His smile fades. “J.D. Salinger.”

“Really? Most mothers are instinctive philosophers,” I shoot back.

He grins again. “Harriet Beecher Stowe. And I couldn’t agree more.”

“I wasn’t trying to stump you, so don’t gloat.” I want to hear the truth, not someone else’s words. “Tell me something real.”

And in one swift motion, he tugs my ankle, pulling me flat on the mattress. My nightgown rises to my belly, revealing my black cotton panties. Before I can fix it, he startles me by placing his hands on either side of my body, hovering above me. There’s challenge in his eyes. To stay still. To not be afraid of him.

I inhale, fire brewing inside of me. I don’t shift my nightgown, and my eyes narrow, finding my combative side. “You didn’t answer me.”

His eyes dance over my features. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“I don’t care. Just tell me anything.”

“As long as it’s real?”

“Yes.”

He smiles. “Where do I even start?” His hand skims the bareness of my knee, up towards my thigh. “Besides what I’d love to do to you right now and tomorrow and for the rest of my life, I hope that someday, I’ll watch you grow big and round…” He kisses my belly, and his mouth trails a line to my hipbone, dangerously close to my panties. “…and I’ll hold you in my arms…every…” He traces the skin above the fabric. “…single…night.”

I become so absorbed by his words, and I react how he probably predicted. I put two firm hands on his chest and push him to a sitting position.

His eyebrow arches. “Yes?”

“You want children?” I gape. I wasn’t sure what he really wanted. But the fact that he’s not onboard with me—that we have diverged somewhere has my heart rate at a hundred-and-five. I thought Connor was the male-version of me. But I realize I’m not dating myself. I’m dating someone much different. Whether that’s better is to be seen.

“I told you, you weren’t going to like my answer. You said you weren’t going to care. One of us lied.”

I glower. “You want children.”

“Does saying it twice make it more real?” he asks, his fingers touching his jaw. He’s smiling, loving this way too much.