Hothouse Flower (Addicted #4)(36)

She is practically melting on the bed.

Jealousy assaults me, and my face is frozen in a permanent cringe.

My joints won’t unhinge to close the computer. I am torturing myself watching this, but somewhere in my head, I want to see it, maybe to solidify the fact that I need to move on too. You should have just f*cked Ian.

My conscience is mean.

She lets out a pleasured scream as she reaches her climax, gripping the sheets. She must hit the computer again because a text box flickers that says MUTE. I can’t hear anything. She smacks it again. UNMUTE. There we go.

She breathes heavily, coming down from a high that I long for.

“Oh my God,” she says to him with the shake of her head. “That was…”

He lifts his head, and I see him for the first time as he kisses her knee. My insides twist. The look he’s giving her—it’s filled with I want you and you’re beautiful.

If that’s not a sign that he’s moved on, I don’t know what is.





< 15 >

RYKE MEADOWS



Emilia catches her breath. I stand at the foot of the bed, and she eyes the buttons to my jeans. She’s naked, sprawled on my sheets in my apartment, a layer of sweat coating her skin. Normally, I’d f*cking take her right here, without much hesitation.

But what happened last night unsettles my f*cking head, and my body responds by staying completely still.

I met Emilia a few months ago at the gym, and last night, I called her to go to a Philadelphia Eagles game. That was my first f*cking mistake. I’ve only either taken my brother or Daisy to go watch football with me. Yesterday, I turned towards Emilia in the stands, caught off guard by the brown hair, the big tits, everything that I haven’t had in months.

I thought I’d want it. I thought my body would respond in complete f*cking joy.

It didn’t.

Not even a little.

A couple guys with cameras snapped photos of us during the game. So Daisy’s going to f*cking see Emilia hanging onto my arm, the pictures posted online already. And I shouldn’t care how Daisy feels—we’re not together—but it’s been tearing up my f*cking lungs.

For f*ck’s sake, I told Daisy to go screw another guy. Yet, I still hope that she can’t find someone, even if that someone is good for her.

I glare as a horrible image flashes through my head. Of some model f*cking Daisy. Of her hands on his back, nails digging into his flesh as he pounds against her. It’s wrong. It looks wrong, even if she’s getting off. Because she’s not getting off by me. I want to rip the guy from her body. I want to f*cking punch him in the face for separating her from me.

Really—I should be f*cking punching myself, shouldn’t I? Why would you ever tell her to go f*ck another man? I can’t f*cking be with her. I can’t. That’s why I’m here with Emilia. That’s why I have to date again, even if it kills me inside.

But that f*cking picture—of her being intimate with someone else—it’s so f*cking painful. Someone is drowning me, my throat burning with salt water and rage.

“Ryke,” Emilia coos. “You okay?” She sits up, her legs dangling off the bed and she touches my hand. No I’m losing my f*cking mind. I need to go outside, run eight miles and then go climbing. But if I told you that, you’d want to come with me or you’d say I was crazy.

I didn’t screw Emilia last night. She fell asleep right here, too tired to go home, and I crashed on my couch in the living room. She woke up about a half hour ago, appearing buck naked, and then she pulled me into the bedroom.

My cock didn’t even harden.

Even now, there’s nothing. This has never f*cking happened to me before. I’m so knee-ass deep in my f*cking head that I can’t enjoy this.

She looks confused, and a wave of insecurity starts coating her face.

My gaze hardens, and I lean forward and stroke her hair. “Hey,” I tell her. “It’s not you, I f*cking promise.” I even kiss her cheek so she understands that she did nothing wrong. It’s just me. For however f*cking cliché it sounds, it’s true.

“We can take it slow,” she says. “I really don’t mind, Ryke.”

“No.” I shake my head at her. “I’m not in the f*cking mood for slow.” Just f*ck her.

She bites her lip, and then she slides one of my fingers in her mouth, sucking on it. I unconsciously imagine those lips as pale pink, that hair as blonde, that smile as bright, and that laugh as energetic and full of f*cking life as Daisy’s.

I harden. Fuck me.

I feel like utter shit, and Emilia is grinning from ear to ear, my finger between her teeth. She lets go. I’m still hesitating, which is so unnatural for me.

“What do you want me to do?” she asks.

Just f*ck her. “Lie on your back,” I say with edge.

She scoots towards the headboard. My laptop slides down towards me as she accidentally yanks the sheet. She said she was checking her email this morning, but she should have f*cking closed the computer before we started fooling around.

I pick up my laptop, about to set it on my dresser. I glance at the screen—

What the… Daisy. I see Daisy in a Skype window, but she closes out the moment our eyes lock.

What the f*ck.

Did she…

How much did she f*cking watch? I almost chuck the f*cking laptop at the wall, angry at this situation that I’m in, angry at myself. What the f*ck is going on? Why the f*ck does this shit have to happen? The one day that I try to preoccupy my mind with something other than Daisy’s wellbeing and it backfires. I just don’t understand what I’m supposed to do anymore.