Addicted After All (Addicted #3)(17)

In black boxer-briefs, Lo’s amber eyes descend from my head to my toes. I stand completely naked, my skin reddening the more he grazes me with his sight. “Are you drunk off me, love?” he asks, those intoxicating eyes flitting back to mine.

Maybe. “Just not addicted.” My metaphor was a bad one, I realize.

“Good.” He tugs me to him and playfully bites my neck. “You bath. Me shower.” And then he kisses my nose.

I frown. “Why can’t we both take a bath or shower together?”

He suddenly lifts me in his arms, a cradle. “Because,” he says with a playful tone while he walks, “boys and girls don’t bathe together. Everyone knows this, Lil.”

“We broke that rule a long time ago,” I mention. He sets my butt on the cold edge of the white marbled tub, and he turns the silver handles to the bath.

He tests the temperature. “Did we?” he feigns confusion and stares at the ceiling. “I don’t remember bathing with a Lily Calloway.” He glances back down at me. “What does she look like?”

How do I even describe my features? “Brown hair…” I have a hard time concentrating when Lo’s gaze drops to my breasts that have grown much larger in the past weeks. “Really tiny boobs, a bony butt—”

“You mean the most adorable ass, the cutest boobs and the prettiest brown hair?” He mockingly gasps and says, “I do know her.” He snaps his fingers. “She does this thing…” He lets out a trained, playful laugh.

I smile. “What thing?”

“You wouldn’t understand. It’s between me and her, an inside…” He trails off as he looks back at me, his face sharpening a little. “Put your feet in the bath, love.”

I realize that I’m straddling the edge of the tub. Oh my God. Am I grinding? I lick my dry lips and set my soles into the warm water. To erase this horrible awkwardness that I’ve caused, I just say, “I understand inside things,” I say. “Not in like a perverted way.” Oh my God.

I climb into the half-full tub so I can drown beneath the water and never surface. As soon as I plop down, Lo must sense my plan because he laces his fingers with mine, holding me upright. I reach for the bath foam ball in a basket of beauty products that Rose set out for me.

“She does this thing…” Lo continues, his voice lighter. “…with her nose.”

I frown. “What?”

“There it is,” Lo smiles. And then he pretends to be shocked. “Jesus Christ, you’re her!”

I splash water at him but it hits the side of the tub pathetically, not high enough. “What do I do?”

“You crinkle your nose,” he tells me, “when you’re thinking hard or when you’re confused.”

My mouth falls. No. “I have the ‘who farted face?’ All the time?” I groan and sink into the water. It’s betrayed me, barely rising to cover my breasts. Spigot, work faster! I need a water shield to hide under.

“It’s painfully adorable,” Lo assures me. He rises to his feet and then drops his boxer-briefs. “Eyes up here, Lil.”

Sure. I focus my gaze on his face and not his beautiful package down below. I expect him to share the water with me, but instead, he heads to the shower. “Don’t forget to wash your pretty hair.”

“You’re still not going to share a bath with me?”

“Not this morning.”

“I promise I won’t touch you,” I say, feeling good about this proclamation. I can withstand Loren Hale. I know I can.

“It’s more than tempting. Trust me, Lil.” He opens the glass door and disappears inside the tiled shower. Once the water gushes, I can’t hear him any longer.

Am I that bad that he can’t take a bath with me?

I drop my hands in the water and clench my thighs together, the soreness still present. I crave touch, I do. A part of me wonders if I can clean with a washcloth down there without rubbing my clit.

I can. I find a purple washcloth and do a quick little rub and then toss it aside, not allowing myself to go further. See, I’m not that bad.

I lower into the water as it rises, and after I dunk my head and scrub some shampoo, I relax a little, and drowsiness takes over.

Very gently, I begin to fall asleep.





{ 8 }

LILY CALLOWAY



Today is a big day. Not delivery day. I’m many months away from that. But it’s the one where we find out what Jonathan Hale wants.

I send the Superheroes & Scones store manager, Maya, a quick text about purchasing the new editions of Deadpool while I wait for everyone to meet me at the kitchen bar. I suppose I’m early, the oven clock reading 6:30 p.m. Lo should be back from Halway Comics in a few minutes, breezing through the door.

“You don’t have to come, Dais,” Ryke says adamantly, his rough voice echoing from the living room. I crane my neck to try to spot them, but they’re blocked by the wall.

“Your dad said it’s mandatory,” she tells him, “and I want to be there.”

“I don’t want you to be there because you’re in f*cking pain right now.”

What? I spring off the barstool and rush into the living room.

“I feel amazing,” she says the word like she could run five miles.