Becca Ritchie - Kiss the Sky

He stares at me with a hard, possessive gaze, and his arm extends over my shoulder, and his fingers fit back inside me again. But he doesn’t move.

“Elaborate.”

“I…need you…to move.”

He takes out his hand quickly, and he forces me on my knees. The blood rushes to my head, and he spanks me again, the sting more numbed by the booze than before. He must notice because I don’t whimper or moan or flinch forward.

He sighs in frustration and starts untying my wrists.

“Wait, no,” I say. “Stop.”

“Just months ago, you were telling me to stop from touching you. Now you want me to keep on doing so, and I’m still not going to comply with your order, Rose.” He tosses the belt aside and turns me onto my back, my head relaxing into a pillow. “You know why?” he asks, his hands on either side of my shoulders as he hovers over me.

“Because you’re an asshole,” I snap.

He pinches my cheeks with one hand. “Because you’re wrong. I won’t fuck your mouth, your pussy or your ass when you’re drunk. I’ll fuck you when you’re sober.” He kisses me roughly on the lips before saying once more, “Elaborate.”

On what I feel.

I stare into his deep blue eyes. Lost in the power inside them. And I take his hand for a second, and I fit it between my legs, his gaze never breaking from mine. “This is yours,” I tell him. “That’s what I feel.”

I’ve never wanted a man to toss me around how they want, how they like, using me to their desires so much before. And in this moment, I realize it doesn’t matter what I believe outside the bedroom. In life I can be powerful, but here, I can trust him to fill me with his power, his strength. That has to be okay. Because beyond all thoughts, all logic, it’s what makes me feel so fucking good.

His lips rise. “Ca vous a pris pas mal de temps.” It took you long enough.

“How long do we have left?” I ask him softly, his body beginning to blur.

He strokes my hair. “Pour toujours.” Forever.

I smile as everything fades to black.

I dry my wet hair with a towel and button my pants, watching Rose sleep peacefully, tucked in a red and brown quilt. Before I put a shirt on, she stirs with a low groan and squints in the darkness. The only light comes from a sliver in the bear-printed curtains.

“Good morning, darling.” I sit on the edge of the bed and grab the water off the nightstand. “Comment te sens-tu ?” How do you feel?

She slowly rises against the headboard, a hand to her temple. Her hair sticks up in five different places. I try hard to conceal my smile, but seeing Rose this disheveled happens—almost never. And I adore this side of her just as much as any other.

“I have no idea what you just said,” she yawns with a hand to her mouth. “My hangover has destroyed your French.”

“Impossible,” I tell her. “Your hangover can’t defeat me.”

She’s too tired and hung over to banter. She just yawns again. “Really…what did you say?”

I pass her the water and she takes a small sip.

“How do you feel?” I repeat.

“Like I spent five weeks prepping for the Academic Bowl Championships.”

“So not that bad then?” I smile.

Her eyes narrow. “Not all of us were able to study for two hours and retain every single piece of information.”

“I studied more than two hours for the collegiate championships.” I reach over and grab the Advil on the nightstand and pop the cap. “You just weren’t at Penn to see me, which was a shame. We could have studied together.” I pause before I add, “I’m an excellent tutor. Just ask your sister.”

She rolls her eyes but there’s a smile behind them. Because if I didn’t tutor Lily in economics, she believes we wouldn’t be here today. But I make my own fate. We came together because we both wanted to be here more than anywhere else. We both had choices, and we both said yes to this, to us.

That’s not fate.

It’s just desire.

And determination. Ambition. Resolve.

We have it all.

“How much do you remember from last night?” I ask, expecting the answer to be something I hate. I’m almost certain everything with the strawberries and beyond has been swept from her mind by vodka. I’ve already come to terms with it, but before I drifted off to sleep, all I wanted was for those moments to be recorded and ingrained for life. What if they never happen again?

It’s the what if that clenches my heart in five different ways.

“How much can you remember?” she shoots back, drinking more water. I almost have her hostile nature back completely.

“All of it.”

“And how is that possible? You drank more than me.”

“You remember that?” I frown.

“Yes, Richard.”

After a long pause, I say, “I have a high tolerance.” It’s not entirely true. I’ve been on Adderall for a while now. Ever since I returned to Frederick’s office, I went on a one week silent-streak until he prescribed me Adderall again. He caved on the seventh day, wanting to discuss my life so he could analyze all the details.

Mixing Adderall and alcohol is not a good or smart combination. The pills diluted the effects of the alcohol, so I was coherent for longer.

She stares off for a second. “I also remember…” She blushes. “No wonder my ass hurts.”

My chest swells. “What?”

“You spanked me.” She slaps my arm. “…and I liked it.” She adds, “I’ll be sober next time. I promise.”

I break into a smile that turns into a laugh. She remembers. I exhale deeply, my world brightening. I can’t contain the joy that fills me. I kiss her cheek, her lips. She remembers. The words lift me to a new plane of existence. I feel higher now than I did swallowing Adderall.

“What happened after you said forever?” she asks as I kiss her nose.

“You passed out,” I say, “and I tucked you in this bed and made sure you didn’t vomit on yourself.”

She glares. “How romantic.”

“How real,” I retort. “Just remember our romance isn’t the fake kind.”

“Unless you’re watching Princesses of Philly,” she notes with the raise of her chin. Before I can reply back, her eyes slowly widen.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Wait…” She grabs my wrist and her mouth falls as she recalls something.

“Rose?” My heart lurches. She shoots to her feet, and I follow suit, grabbing her waist.

“My sisters,” she says. “I promised to sleep in their room. But I’m here. I woke up here. Which means…” She bolts out the door, wearing the same black cotton dress from last night.

I walk after her with ten times less alarm. As soon as we pass the kitchen to go upstairs, Ben hurriedly stands from the breakfast table, deserting his cereal. He grabs his camera and rushes after us. Of the cast, we must be the first ones awake.

Scrawny Ben fumbles with his Canon, and he tries to bypass me on the staircase and film Rose, but I keep an arm out so he has to stay behind. I’m going to be the closest to her in this situation. He can take a backseat.

She swings open the door to Lily’s room, stampeding inside. I lean on the door frame, and Ben stays in the hallway, his camera pointed at me since he can’t film inside the room. He’s nice enough to keep his distance.

Rose comes screeching to a halt at the sight of her sisters. Daisy is sprawled on the bed, the comforters kicked all around her. Lily is on the other side, lost within a mound of blankets. Untouched. Unharmed.

Two guys sleep on the floor.

Ryke wakes at Rose’s thunderous entrance. He lifts his head off the pillow and kicks off a quilt. Lo holds his knees and rubs his eyes, trying to get oriented to the light from the hallway.

“What the fuck?” Ryke whispers, trying not to wake the girls. He glares at me. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

 I give him a look. “And she would have believed me?” Even if I said, Lo and Ryke decided to camp out in Lily’s room to keep your sisters safe, there’s a hundred percent chance she would have barged in here regardless. Plus, I was reveling in the fact that she remembered last night’s events.

Ryke glances over his shoulder, checking on his brother who watches Lily yawn and stretch her arms. When Ryke stands and heads over to the door, Lily slides out of bed, wrapped in a blanket.

She finds Lo on the floor and beams at his appearance. She bites her lip and then impulsively straddles Lo, his back leaned against the wall. She kisses his cheek and they talk softly, but she digs into him as she leans forward. I’m not even sure she realizes she’s doing it, but Lo’s neck tenses as he holds in a groan.

And Rose—she’s watching them with pursed lips.

She’s going to cock-block him for about ten minutes. It’s one of her favorite hobbies. I’d stop her, but her cold, bitchy attitude amuses me far more than people ever understand.

I nod to Ryke. “I’m surprised you slept on the floor. You’re usually a walking billboard for REI. No hammock in your suitcase?”

I smile and wait for the perfunctory fuck you. But it doesn’t come. He catches me off guard by stopping in the doorway, his face shadowed with worry and anger. I see it in the hard cut of his jaw.

“I need to talk to you,” he says under his breath. Daisy shifts on the bed, waking with all the chatter. He quickly hands me his phone, a text conversation popped on the screen.

I scroll through it.

I’m going to come inside of her wet pussy before I hand her off to you. I may even get a few friends to join. – 212-555-9877

I try not to jump to conclusions, but my heart begins to speed, the Adderall not helping slow it down.

Who the fuck is this? – Ryke

Julian – 212-555-9877

The conversation ends there. My eyes flicker up to him. “Did you punch him last night?” I whisper so only he can hear.

“No.”

“I can’t imagine you reading this…” I check the timestamp. “…at four in the morning and doing nothing.” I picture Ryke slamming doors, darting to Julian’s bedroom and beating the shit out of him. But I forget that Ryke isn’t a testosterone-fueled idiot. He’s intelligent in ways that most aren’t.

“I’m hoping it’s not his number. I was waiting to see if you had Julian’s so we could match them.”

I grab my phone from my pocket and scroll through my contacts quickly. Ryke looks over his shoulder and meets Daisy’s gaze while I search.

“Don’t look at her,” I advise. “She’s going to know something’s wrong.”

“She won’t,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“You’re wearing your emotions.”

Ryke tries to blanket his face with contentedness.

I stare at him with raised brows. “Now you look constipated.”

“Fuck you.” There it is. I smile while he goes back to his brooding self, not masking his concern.

When I read both numbers side by side, the bottom of my stomach falls.

“Now who’s wearing their emotions?” Ryke retorts. “It’s the same fucking number.” He shakes his head. “I should have beat the fuck out of him last night.”

“Lower your voice,” I whisper. “Ben is right here.”

Ryke glances out of the door frame and spots Ben hanging in the hallway. He eases back inside and says, “What are we going to fucking do?”

“What’s wrong?” Daisy slides between us. She’s about to go into the hall, but both Ryke and I stick out our arms to stop her here.

Rose, Lily and Lo bicker behind us, deeper inside the room. I ignore their voices as best I can. But I hear Lo say, “Go vomit in your Gucci handbag, you’ll feel better. And maybe you’ll expel some of that bitch inside of you.”

“Says the guy who’s more sloth than human. Go hug a tree and eat an ant.”

I tune out the rest. Ryke and I exchange a look before staring back down at Daisy.

She rubs her temple, her long hair tangled at her waist. “I feel really short when you guys do that whole towering over me thing.” She swallows. “I think I need some water.” She tries to leave again, but we block her. “Okay, really, what’s going on?”

I hand Ryke’s phone to Daisy. We both know that she can handle this information. Lo and Lily don’t need to hear it, which is why Ryke has kept this to himself.

“Wait…” Daisy frowns, her brows scrunching. “…this has to be a wrong number.”

“It’s not,” I say. “We just checked.”

She shakes her head. “He wouldn’t say this to me. He’s not that crude.”