Kiss the Sky (25 page)

“You wanted to play this game,” he reminds me. “Somewhere in
your heart, you wanted these things to be revealed.”

I did. And that’s why I had the alcohol. To build my
courage. I take another small sip, my lips wet with the liquor. He rubs his
thumb across them, slowly. As my breath hitches, he puts his thumb in his
mouth, tasting the tequila.

“My strangest fantasy?” I repeat, studying him like he’s the
most interesting specimen in the universe. To me, he most definitely is. When
the answer suddenly hits me, I pale. I’m not even close enough to being
that
drunk to tell him. But I can’t lie.
I hate cheaters so damn much. “Ask me something else.”

“No,” he says, not making this easy for me. He rests a hand
on the back of my neck, so near now that his chest touches mine. He inhales
strongly, my body closing in on him. The tension winds me in a taut strand, the
place between my legs beginning to pulse for touch. He kisses right outside of my
lips. “Answer me,” he murmurs with a deep, husky voice.

“Define strange,” I breathe.

He’s abandoned his wine bottle somewhere. And I don’t even
care to search for it. “Not normal to society’s traditional standards.”

Yes, my fantasy is definitely abnormal. I’ve thought about
it a few times before, and I have no idea why it aroused me. “I shouldn’t be
turned on by it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He brushes my hair out of my
face again, his gaze steadily and slowly skimming every inch of me, heating me
up more than the alcohol now.

“I think my fantasy is weird, even for your standards.”

He stops stroking me and his eyebrow arches, pure curiosity
pouring through his gaze. “Now you have to tell me.”

“I picture you.” My vocal cords freeze.

“Good. Keep going.”

I smack his arm.

“I picture you as well,” he says. “I have since I was seventeen.”

“Really?”

“It wasn’t fair to the other people I was with, but you’ve
been the most fascinating person to me. And no one could really compare in my
mind.”

 
I rephrase his words
and hear
I love you
. Even if
he
won’t ever say them. This
proclamation inflates my courage. And I sit up a little straighter on his lap.
I lick my lips and continue, “I picture you and me.”

“We’re getting somewhere close, I suspect.”

I glare. “We can move on if you don’t want to hear it.”

“Rose,” he says affectionately, “I would sit here for eighty
more years and listen to you talk. I love the sound of your voice and every
meaning behind your words.”

“So you love my voice but you don’t love me?”

He grips my butt hard, and a gasp catches in my throat.
“Maybe
you
should be labeled smartass
after we fuck.”

I actually laugh.

He smiles with me. “Tell me,” he whispers, his lips tickling
my ear. “
N’ai
pas
peur
.”
Don’t be afraid.

I swallow. “I may not like it, even though I’ve imagined
it.”

He groans, half in frustration, the other half in arousal.
He breathes more heavily than before. “You’re killing me.”

He hardens beneath me. I really, really love that power.
“Maybe I should draw out the suspense then and
never
tell you.”

“
No.
” He cups my
face in a strong hand. “If you could live inside my mind right now, you’d
realize how crazy you’re making me.”

“I want to be in your mind,” I say honestly, the alcohol
doing its trick as I run my hands across his chest, popping the buttons of his
white shirt.

“You’re almost all the way there.”

That
does it. I
take a deep breath and I tell him. “I’m always sleeping when it happens.” I
don’t break his gaze. I stay strong. I can tell him my fantasy. I can do this
without balking like a coward. “And I wake up to you inside of me…thrusting…” I
trail off as I try to read his expression that stays blank.

I can’t tell whether he thinks I’m weird or not.

His hand rises from my neck to the back of my head, and he
kisses my unmoving, frightened lips before he whispers, “I’ve done much
stranger things, Rose.” I hear the smile in his words, and I immediately relax.
“Your turn,” he says. And just like that, he brushes it off so I don’t keep
fretting.

It felt good to share that, to be more open sexually. I
think I could do this more often with him. It’s not so hard. “Truth or dare?” I
ask, my knuckles whitening as I grip the bottle of my Patron, pent up the
longer he touches me.
 

“Truth.”

“What rouses you more, my body or my brain?”

His eyes drift to the tops of my breasts while one hand
slides up my nightgown, settling on my bottom above my panties. “Both,
equally.”

If I wasn’t so intoxicated by his presence and the liquor, I
would make him give me a definitive answer, but I let it slide.

“Truth or dare?” he asks.

The last truth was difficult, and I know he won’t make it
any easier. So I say, “Dare.”

He exhales deeply, so very aroused. Places in my body are
clenching that have never clenched before. “I dare you,” he says, “to let me
take off your nightgown.”

Before I even nod, his hands slip all the way beneath the
silk, and he slowly lifts the fabric over my head, my breasts visible for his
intense, heady gaze. My nipples already stand at attention.

I love the way he’s staring at me. It makes me feel more
than just beautiful. I feel like I’m his. Like no one else could possibly
compare to me. He doesn’t even have to say the words. I see it in his eyes. I
can practically read it in his mind.

I sit on his lap, only in black panties, while he’s fully
clothed. I want to strip him, but when I try to take off his unbuttoned shirt,
he grips my wrists hard in disapproval. Right, we’re still playing the game.
“Truth or dare?” I ask him.

“Truth.”

My eyes narrow. “You were supposed to pick dare.” I’d love
to see his cock again, but it stays hidden in his pants. Just staring at the
large bulge makes me wet.

“But I didn’t.”

“Fine. If you could cut off any part of my body and store it
in a jar, what would it be?”

“Your eyes.” He doesn’t miss a beat.

I glare.

“And they’d look at me just like that.” His fingers glide
across my hip, but he stays away from my breasts on purpose. I’ve never wanted
him to press against me so badly. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”
I’ll do
anything.

“Let me play with you for…” He checks his charcoal Rolex.
“…ten minutes.” It’s as ambiguous as he wants it to be. And before I can ask or
accept (which I would have), he has me pinned flat on my back.

His lips touch mine in a big inhale, causing my body to buck
up and meet his.

And then his hand descends towards my belly, his mouth
trailing my jaw to my breasts. He sucks my nipple and bites the bud, the
pressure grasping my throat.

I want more force on my neck, but I can’t speak to ask for
it.

I’m lost in these feelings.

He sits up for a second, on his knees. And then he splits my
legs open. In one swift motion, he slides me forcibly towards him, my heat
digging into the hardness beneath his slacks.

Holy shit…

I don’t want to shut my eyes, but my lids flutter with each
rupturing nerve. His hand disappears beneath my panties, and he slips two large
fingers inside of me, pulsing them with mastered speed.

“You’re incredibly wet, darling,” he says with a heavy
breath. “You’ve been a bad girl, not giving your body what it craves.” He lifts
me a little higher and rocks against me while he’s fully clothed. The force
feels so damn good. He slaps the side of my thigh.

Fuck me.

My limbs are tight in his clutch, and it’s everything I can
do not to scream. All the noises just lock tight in my chest. I think I’ve
spent so much time holding in sounds when I touch myself that it’s hard to let
go.

“Let me hear you.”

He rocks harder. I wish his pants were off. I wish I could
see his ass that tightens as he pounds into me, in sync with his fingers.

He slaps me again, more towards my ass this time. I let out
a wrangled cry that even surprises me.

“You liked that,” he says.

“God…yes…”

“God’s not in this bedroom, Rose.”

My arm covers my eyes. I barely hear his words. “Fuck…” My
lips part in a silent scream. I clench my comforter, and a wetness seeps
beneath my ass. I look up and see the tequila spilt all over the bed.

And I don’t even care.

“Connor,” I breathe. “…Connor…harder.”

I see his lips lift before my lids close again. And he
obliges by quickening the movement of his fingers and slamming into me. Then
his hand finds the length of my neck. I open my eyes as he wraps his fingers
around my throat and squeezes so tight.

I can’t breathe.

All the blood rushes to my head. He chokes me, not hard
enough to hurt me, but enough to be lightheaded. This is what I wanted only
minutes earlier. The fact that he understood this without me asking—it drives
me to a new point, a new climax that I have never, ever experienced before.

I come in a turbulent, blissful wave. I can feel myself
contract around his fingers as he keeps them inside of me. A thin layer of
sweat coats my body, and when he pulls out his fingers, he grips my chin,
forcing me to look at him.

He makes me watch as he puts his fingers in his mouth,
licking off the wetness from between my legs. The image kick-starts my sluggish
breathing into a rapid-fire pattern.

When he takes his hand out, he says, “Just as I thought.”

“What?”

“I love the taste of you.” He leans over me and slips those
same two fingers into my mouth. He licked most of me clean, and I taste mostly
him—his mouthwash and minty breath. I
suspect
he knew I’d
taste
more of him than myself.

He checks his watch. “Three more minutes.” His lips skim my
neck and he whispers, “What I could do to you in that time…”

And just as he slips his tongue into my mouth, a huge crash
bangs against the wall. I jump in fright, accidentally biting him.
Shit.

Connor places a hand on my collar, keeping my back to the
mattress while he sits up. “I’m fine,” he assures me.

But I taste the bitter
iron
of
blood. And I know it’s his. Before I can inspect his tongue, something else
slams behind us again.

I flinch, but I glance back at him. “Let me see your
tongue.”

“No.” In a single word he reminds me that I can’t push him
around. “And my tongue is fine. You barely sliced it.”

Good.

The next crash in the wall comes with muffled yelling.

Connor stands from the bed, no longer hard. As he changes
pants and underwear quickly, I realize he came too. I hadn’t even noticed. I
was too enamored with my own climax.

“It’s probably just Lily and Loren screwing,” I tell him.

His eyes narrow at me. “I must have fingered the brains out
of you.”

I frown.

“That’s Daisy’s room.”

I bolt upright and spring off the bed, grabbing a black silk
robe. I slip it on and knot the tie at my waist. Another bang hits the wall
hard. My heart leaps to my throat.

“You should stay here,” he tells me, zipping his black
slacks.

I glare.

“It was worth a try.” He places a hand on the small of my
back. “After you.”

* * *

The moment I reach the door frame with Connor, we
find Scott standing here, watching the scene with crossed arms. Not doing a
damn thing to stop whatever’s happening.

And then I look, and my jaw hits the floor.

A glass lamp is shattered on the ground, a bookshelf toppled
over, any fragile knickknacks destroyed on the hardwood.

Ryke
wrestles a medium-built guy
in the center of the room. I discern his age quickly. Forties. Red hair that
sticks up from being pummeled. His lip is busted, and he manages to put up a
good fight against
Ryke
, who’s shirtless in a pair of
track pants. The man shoves
Ryke
back and flings two
punches, one connecting with
Ryke’s
jaw.

“Get the fuck off me!” the guy yells.

And then
Ryke
socks him right in
the gut. The man crumples forward, coughing.

Daisy is in the corner, smashing something on the ground,
hidden behind her bed. I give Scott a long agonizing glare for being a horrible
human being and just standing here. And I go to my sister’s aid while Connor
tries to separate the guys.
 

“You motherfucking pervert,”
Ryke
sneers, grabbing him around the throat. He’s about to slam his head into the
ground, but Connor grips
Ryke’s
wrist hard and throws
him off.

All I can think is that
Ryke
found
Daisy’s boyfriend. Who’s a gross older man. That’s my first assumption.

“Don’t wake up Lily and Lo,” Connor says in a hushed voice.
“Calm down.”

Ryke’s
features are so dark. He’s
almost hard to look at.

And then the man tries to escape, about to sprint out the
door, but Connor snatches him by the shirt and drags him in front of his body.
The man struggles in Connor’s forceful grip.

Right when I reach Daisy, I realize what she’s smashing.

A camera.

Now on her knees, she slams the device repeatedly on the ground,
little plastic pieces flying in every direction. She screams furiously each
time the mangled lens meets the floor.

“Daisy,” I whisper, but I grab her arms before she hurts
herself with the sharp debris.

She drops the remains of the broken camera and slowly sits,
shivering in my arms. It wasn’t her boyfriend in her room, I realize now. It
had to have been the paparazzi—what looks to be a stupid one, a loser who
obviously has no concept of the law. I glance over my shoulder at Connor and
Ryke
.