Thrive (Addicted, #4)(129)

Out of all the reactions I imagined he’d have, this was the one I least expected. But the one that I love the most. It’s the one where he is indisputably committed to us, as a team. I wouldn’t ask anything more from him.

My hands crawl up his toned back, and his palm falls to my bottom, the other cupping my face. His amber eyes fill me whole. He leans so close, his mouth pausing an inch from my neck. A cry escapes before he even presses his lips against me.

But when they close over the tender skin, I buck into him, my leg rising around his hip. The thick fog makes it hard to breathe, my body heating with the water and his touch, sensual and slow.

His lips meet mine, his tongue parting them, sliding in a hypnotic movement. I dizzy in his hold, and he raises my other thigh over his waist, lifting me off the tiles. My heat pulses like blood pumping in my veins.

He kicks open the shower door while we kiss deeply, my hands snug around his neck. He carries me back into the room, not caring that water drips off our wet bodies and onto the floor. All of a sudden, he sets me flat on my back, our soft, warm comforter beneath me. We barely part long enough to stop kissing. Every nerve melts, my heart oozing with this pace.

My legs are already split open around him, and he breathes heavily the longer he draws out the inevitable. And his hand disappears between our pelvises, my lips swelling against his. I can feel how wet I am before his fingers do.

I moan, my head tilting back. He kisses my jaw, and then he slowly, slowly slides his erection deep, deep inside of me. As his other hand returns, I grip both of his forearms, his palms on either side of my head. He rocks against mine in a melodic rhythm, and a groan breaches his lips. He rests his forehead against mine, his hot breath entering my lungs.

“Lily,” he chokes as he thrusts forward. Again and again.

My eyes roll back the longer we continue, the higher we go.

It feels like eternity, like hours upon hours and years upon years. An embrace that lasts lifetimes.

When we slow down, when I arch against him and our lips part in a bright, overwhelming climax, we lie on the bed, our legs tangled together.

My head rests on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“I love you,” he whispers, combing my damp hair off my forehead.

I lift my chin to look at him, about to say I love you too but it sounds too practiced, not encompassing even half of my sentiments.

He sees it in my eyes. “I know,” he says, lifting me higher on his body so he doesn’t have to stare down. We’re eye-level, our heads on the same pillow, turned towards each other. My ankle rubs against his leg, and his hand strokes my arm.

“Lil…” he says softly, but it’s my turn to read the answers behind his gaze.

“I’m scared too,” I admit. “We’ve never even been able to keep a goldfish alive. Do you remember BJ?” I ask. He begins to smile at the memory. I add, “He didn’t even last a week before he floated to the top of the tank. I think I overfed him.”

“He probably died in realization that you named him Blow Job,” he says, his eyes light. “Though you definitely overfed him.”

“We don’t have the best track record,” I conclude, “but this time can be different.” We couldn’t keep a goldfish healthy because we were too consumed with our addictions. We’ve done a one-eighty, so what’s to say that this won’t fall into place?

He stares deeply into me and says, “I just don’t want our kid to be damaged like us.”

My breath catches and it takes me a minute to collect the right words. “We can’t live in fear of that. It’ll cripple us.”

He pulls me closer, and he kisses me so strongly that the air is vacuumed from my lungs. A head rush of epic proportions.

When we break apart, his forehead on mine, he whispers, “You and me.”

I smile against his lips. “Lily and Lo.”

“And someone else,” he says.

And someone else.

I have many more months before I meet that someone, but we’re beginning to accept this new world, a new reality where we’re no longer allowed to be selfish. It’s our greatest test yet.





{ 65 }

2 years : 03 months

November





LOREN HALE


I draw circles on a paper napkin at the kitchen bar, Ryke on the stool next to me. The girls are huddled in the living room, tension stretching the air. But it has nothing to do with me. Or Lily. Daisy has finally let her sisters focus on her for once.

Something happened. Months ago. A year, maybe with Daisy. It’s bad. I can see it written all over my brother’s face. Connor watches us from across the counter, drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup.

The mugs are packed in cardboard boxes, all the cupboards bare. Everyone is moving back to Philly when Lily graduates, but we have no idea if we’ll be splitting apart from Connor and Rose.

Ryke rests a hand on my shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

“Ask me again when it fucking sinks in,” I say.

“That you’re going to have a kid?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “And I already feel fucking awful for the thing.”

Ryke pauses. “He may not have addiction problems, Lo.”

“No, it’s not that.” I stop drawing and point my pen at Connor. “Our kid is going to have to compete with theirs. It’s already fucked and it’s not even born yet.” I selfishly wish they weren’t having a baby. Then I’d know, for certain, that we’d have their undivided attention, their help with every misstep we make. It’s going to be a bigger challenge without that. It’s going to force Lily and me to take full responsibility. Maybe it’s better this way, even if it’s harder.