Ricochet (Addicted #1.5)(53)

I settle on clicking the remote and clearing my mind of everything. I massage my breast underneath my gray cami-tank. Running my finger over my nipple, I pulse my hips rhythmically against the device. Heat gathers across my arms and legs, and my body throbs for a strong release. I slide my hand along my stomach, past my belly button and to my swollen and tender spot that aches to be touched. My fingers rub against my clit, causing my hips to buck and my breath to catch. Yes.

Please make me come. Please make me come. I chant over and over in my head.

Please. I alternate between rubbing slow and fast and speeding up the vibration of the bullet with my remote.

I turn my head and cry into the pillow. Please. I beg my mind. Lo… Too gone to this hunger to think about the sadness that accompanies his name.

Please. And then my insides writhe, my toes curl, and my head floats, a balloon ready to drift away and pop. I pant heavily and stay still for a little bit. The high begins to leave, and I desperately want to catch it—to bring it back and relive it all over again.

It was too quick, too fleeting, too insignificant to replace the hole in my heart.

So I start again.

An hour later and soaked in sweat, I am in no hurry to stop. Each time I come down from an orgasm, I wait a couple minutes and crave the next one before I start again. I’m dripping and wet and sore and none of those things wills me to quit. I just kind of want to exhaust myself so much that I pass out.

An urgent knock sounds on the door, and my heart drops. I fumble with the remote, trying to turn off the vibrator, but it slips from my fingers and onto the floor. I lean over to grab it without uncovering my lower half with the plush comforter, but as I reach, my fingers brush the remote and knock it underneath the bed. Ohmygod.

“Lily!” Ryke says loudly. “I’m coming in. You better be fucking decent.”

I am not decent. I am not even three-quarters decent. I am semi-freaking-the-fuck-out decent.

“Wait!” I scream back. I have no time to think. I straighten out my tank, covering an exposed breast that somehow popped out. Oh shit. The door opens before I can even search for my underwear beneath the depths of the huge gold comforter. I hug it to my chest and gulp as Ryke walks in.

I try to give him a glare, but my paranoia ruins its full power. Why didn’t I lock my door?!

The bullet vibrator silently buzzes inside of me, and my embarrassment hits a new peak. I never thought that was possible. I catch the distressed look on his face as he runs two nervous hands through his brown hair, a little thicker than Lo’s. I frown at his rare expression. Something has unsettled him.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. Is it Lo? What if something happened in rehab? What if he’s hurt? I straighten up, my pulse hammering.

He crosses his arms over his bare chest and leans his spine against my dresser, slumping forward a little, his eyes darkening. “One of the girls just crawled in my bed.”

Not Lo, but this is still pretty disturbing. “What do you mean?”

“I woke up,” Ryke says angrily, “to a sixteen-year-old groping me.” His fingers go through his brown messy hair again. “I can’t deal with that shit. I trust myself not to do something with a high school girl, but I don’t trust them. I almost got raped, Lily.”

I can’t help but snort.

“It’s not funny,” he says flatly.

“I know. I’m sorry.” But this…was kind of unexpected.

He goes to the Victorian chaise and squishes a pillow in his hands, tossing each one on the floor.

“What are you doing?” I squeak out. He cannot be staying here. I need to pull this vibrator out. I need privacy.

He keeps one of the softest pillows on the head of the chaise. “I’m not going back there.” He lies on his back, wearing no more than a pair of drawstring pants that show a little too much definition in the crotch. Seriously, why do Lo and his brother wear those things to bed? They’re so…sexy…leaving my imagination to roam towards bad, bad places.

He fidgets a little, smashing the pillow to get more comfortable. This can’t be happening.

The vibrations make me lose focus. I can’t just sleep here with this inside me all night. Action must be taken. Even if it will be the most awkward (possibly embarrassing) moment of my whole life.

I manage to reach down under the covers and hook my finger on the string to the vibrator, pulling it out and cupping it in my hand. I can’t leave it on the bed, not when it makes noises, and in the silence of the night I’m too terrified that Ryke may hear and think I intentionally tried to get off with him in the room.

So now comes the hard part, I try to feel around for my panties without being too obvious. When I touch the fabric, I pull them up around my thighs, trying not to wiggle so much. When they’re on, I mumble, “I have to pee.”

I grab the plush comforter that weighs a freaking ton and wrap it around my body like I’ve seen in all the movies. Only when I crawl off the bed, the heavy comforter takes the sheet and an extra blanket underneath it. Basically, I just stripped my bed. Good job, Lily.

I’m not smooth at all. I must look like a snowman wrapped in a cocoon. At least it hides my half-waddle and the vibrator in my left hand. Ryke says nothing about my strange behavior. Maybe he’s fallen asleep from his traumatic event or I’m stealthier than I think.

Then…I face plant.