Ricochet (22 page)

“Are you serious?
That’s
what you’re fucking nervous to ask me?” he says, slightly offended. “I
thought you wanted to use the cellphone or something.”

What? It takes me a moment to realize what he’s talking
about. I gag and cringe. “Ew.” Now
I’m
offended.

“That’s what you get for not coming clean from the start, love,”
he says with a laugh. His voice drops to a serious tone. “What does your
therapist say about the toys?”

“We haven’t talked about them.”

“Then let’s avoid them for now, okay?”

I can’t help but feel a little dejected by the decision. In
my head, I heard Lo saying
of course, go
pick out the one that looks like my cock.
I guess those days of enabling
are over.

I untangle the knotted canopy and climb back on the bed, the
phone now on speaker. “Where are you right now?” I ask, wanting a mental
picture in place.

“In my bedroom. I have my own bathroom, no roommate, so the
privacy is nice. The comforter is kind of scratchy though.”

“How sexy.”

I see him grinning in my mind, his amber eyes lighting up.
“Aren’t I always?”

God, I miss him. A wave of sadness bears down on me, and the
crash feels so sudden and abrupt that I have to pinch my nose to withhold
tears. I sink back into my pillow and stare up at the top of my canopy. All I
can think about is how much I want to see him. How ironic is that? The one time
we’re about to have sort-of sex, and I’m turning into an emotional spaz.

“Lily, are you crying?” Lo’s worry intensifies.

“No.” I wipe my eyes and keep my phone on my stomach. “Let’s
just do it.”

“Well when you say it like that,” he snaps.

I haven’t had a release in days. I need to collect my
bearings because if we call this off then I’m going to regret it badly in a
couple hours when the urges start again.

“No, really, I’m okay.” I straighten up and the phone thuds
to my comforter. “Let’s go. Who takes off their clothes first?” I cringe. That
could have been way sexier.

“I think we both suck at phone sex,” Lo tells me.

I should find this funny, but instead his words bulldoze
right over me. It’s like someone offered a bag of cocaine to a drug addict and
decided at the last minute to yank it away. I picture tonight, alone in my bed,
fighting the cravings yet again. And the moment will be my fault. Because I
grew mopey and sad and pathetic. Idiot.

“No, we’re good at it,” I defend us. “Pleasepleaseplease,
let’s try again.” But fear shakes my voice and causes me to garble them out
with tears.

“Hey, hey, Lily,” Lo says urgently. “It’s okay.” I can hear
him rustling around, and I wonder if he’s taking off an article of clothing.
Maybe his pants.

“It’s not,” I refute. “It’s not okay.”

“Shhh,” Lo whispers. “You’re fine. I’m fine. I’m still going
to make you come, I promise. Just relax and breathe, love.”

As soon as he says the words, my computer lets out a
ping!
I sniff a little and mumble, “Hold
on a sec.” I pop open the Skype menu. Then I see the alert:
Accept call from Hellion616

My heart immediately jumps to my throat. That’s Lo, of
course. His username has been his favorite Marvel character since he was
fifteen. I’m going to see him, aren’t I? Can this be real? I bite my lip and
click the button.

The screen fills with Lo. He stares right back at me. He
looks the same as I last remember. Almost three months have passed, and he
still has the same light brown hair, shorter on the sides, full on top. The
same sharp cheekbones that make him look menacing and lose-your-breath sexy. He
sits cross-legged on his single bed, the comforter navy blue. He wears a
charcoal gray T-shirt, and a pair of black track pants. His amber eyes actually
stare into mine. I’m
looking
at him. Not
just imagining his body, his eyes, his face. I can’t help it—I instantly burst
into uncontrollable, happy tears.

“No,” Lo prolongs the word and adds a small smile. “Don’t
cry. You’re going to make me start crying.”

“I’m sorry.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. I let
out a long breath and situate the laptop on my bed a little better. Now he’s
not staring at half of my face.

I meet his gaze again, this time more relaxed, but my chest
swells. A part of me feared that he’d return home too changed and too different
somehow. All my terror evaporates and shushes to bed. He’s still Lo. He’s still
mine.

“Hi,” he says in one breath.

“Hi.” The hardest part about the whole ordeal has been being
away from him. It has nothing to do with sex, I realize. He’s my best friend,
my whole world, and losing
that
hurts
more than losing a body to grind on at night. Seeing him reminds me that he’s
not gone forever. Even if it may feel like it sometimes.

“You look good.” His eyes flit around my body. “Are you
gaining weight?” he asks hopefully. Maybe he imagined I’d be a withered twig,
so gaunt and gnarly that he’d have to pick me up before I wasted away. Wow,
that would be scary.

Maybe I wasn’t the only one with huge, immeasurable fears.

“I am,” I say with a smile. I lean back a little and snatch
my pack of Twizzlers. I wave them at the screen. “I’m on a new diet. It’s
called Eat Sweets Avoid Sex.”

“That sounds like an awful diet,” he tells me, “and an awful
way to deal with your addiction.”

I shrug and raise the bottom of my cashmere sweater. “I can
do this now.” I pinch my half-inch of fat by my belly-button and show it off to
him.

“That’s nice, but you still have to get healthy the right
way. Binge on your Twizzlers and Ho Hos now because when I get home, I’m abolishing
that diet.”

“How do you know I have Ho Hos?”

He tilts his head, and I see his playful smile envelop his
face. Witnessing it lights up mine. “Please, if you purposefully stocked the
pantry with sugar, you’d have all the best names. Ding Dongs, Sugar Daddys,
Blow Pops.”

“I didn’t buy Blow Pops, thank you very much,” I reply like
I won, even though he’s kind of right. I have three packages of Ding Dongs
waiting for me in the pantry. I have a penchant for names. Why else did I hire
Connor Cobalt as my tutor when I was at Penn?

“Anything else new?” Lo asks gently, but now that I look at
him, I spot the fear pulsing behind his eyes. He worries that
I’ll
be the changed one. I feel the
same, but I know, in time, that I’m going to be different. Everyone eventually
grows up. But if there’s anything I know for certain in this world—I never want
to change without Loren Hale. We have to try to evolve together.

“I found a new freckle on my shoulder.” I try to show him,
but I bump into the screen. “Oops…sorry.” I feel like I smacked him in the face
or something. I tilt the computer back up and catch Lo grinning at me.

“Cute,” he says.

I flush, and he rolls his eyes at my reddening cheeks, but
he’s still smiling. So that’s good.

“I have something new too.”

My eyebrows rise.
Really?
He grips the hem of his T-shirt, and then his eyes teasingly flit up to me,
prolonging the moment.
Please don’t let
it be a tattoo.
Lo hates them, and the last thing I need is for him to
declare his undying love with something he dislikes. And I don’t necessarily
want to stare at my name inked on his chest while we have sex. That’s a mood
killer for me.

I realize I’m progressively moving closer and closer to the
screen. I lean back so I don’t come across as a complete weirdo. “Come on,” I
say with a groan as he just
waits
there
with a silly smile. He’s killing me!

Finally, he tugs the shirt over his head, and he fixes his
hair with his fingers, watching my expression which goes slack-jawed. I squint,
hoping this isn’t some sort of Skype Photoshop enhancement. “Are those real?” I
end up asking, my fingers subconsciously running over his muscles on the
screen. As though I can
really
touch
them. Damn, I want to. I have to back away from the screen again. I think Lo
received a pleasant view of my nose hairs.

He gives me a strange look and then laughs. “No, I painted
these on just for you.” Now shirtless, Lo cannot stop grinning. I cannot stop
staring.
His abs are ripped. Six-pack
definition. He was muscular before, but they were not sharp like
that
. His lean muscles curve and even
have that sexy dip by his waist, as though leading my way to his cock.

This is
so
much
better than a tattoo.

“I’ve been working out,” he explains. “We have a lot of
recreational time. I spend most at the gym.” He licks his bottom lip, his eyes
grazing my body. “Your turn.”

“I knew this was a trick to get me naked,” I say with a
smile. “Just don’t get your hopes up. My boobs have not grown.”

“I love your boobs how they are.”

His husky voice makes me breathless. I blink a couple times
and concentrate on “disrobing.”

I stole Rose’s cashmere sweater because I’m all out of clean
clothes, and laundry is very low on my list of things I like to do. I situate
on my knees and tilt the screen up so he has a better view of my top-half. My
heart thrums as I watch the rise and fall of his chest in anticipation. I’ve
been naked so many times with Lo, but never over a computer screen. It’s a
little different—the distance, the inability to physically touch. But maybe
it’s a good different, almost more exciting.

I gradually pull the sweater over my head, my breasts pushed
up in a black bra. My breathing deepens as I watch the way he stares, his eyes
lowering and then trailing back up, as if his lips make their usual descent
along my breasts and belly.

I want him to take me in his arms and push his whole weight
on me. I want to feel his hardness against me—his muscles pin me to the
mattress. To be buried beneath his love and his warmth.

“Where are you?” I whisper, plans to find him, to curl up in
his arms, invade my mind.

“Right here. With you,” he whispers back, not offering me
anymore, but
those
words are enough
to steal my breath and cause my mouth to open. I keep my eyes on him and
imagine his hand doing what mine does. Unclipping the clasp of my bra. Letting
the straps slide down my shoulders and to the keyboard.

He looks at me like he wants to tug me into his hard chest
and hold me tightly, like he’s seconds from sucking on my bottom lip, from
biting and then plunging his tongue inside. He’ll rock against me and whisper
my name until my back arches. Until I cry into his shoulder.

My nipples stand at attention, his gaze intensifying parts
of my body that haven’t been lit up in months. His eyes return to mine, and
they’re swimming with eagerness. Phone sex could never work with us. I would
miss the looks and glances and the way he devours my body with his amber eyes.
He makes me feel utterly and unequivocally gorgeous.

He alone can claim that feat.

Slowly, he begins to slide off his track pants, and I start
unbuttoning my jeans. We glimpse each other often, trying to catch the other’s
sensual, measured, unhurried movements. Everything below my waist is blocked
from his sight, and likewise, the screen cuts him off at his lower abs. The
allure of what lies beneath heightens my pulse, heat gathering across my brow.

Clumsily, I wiggle out of my jeans and kick them off the
bed. Now on my knees, Lo has a nice view of my green cotton panties. I plop
back on my butt so he can only see me waist-up. While Lo undresses, I catch a
view of the bulge in his black boxer-briefs. The spot between my legs starts to
throb again, aching for something hard to fill it and to thrust for a long,
long while.

The silence drags out the tension, nothing but our heavy and
shallow breathing. I wait motionless while he removes his last piece of
clothing. My eyes fix on the screen in case I can glimpse his cock. But it
doesn’t make an appearance. Lo successfully strips off his boxer-briefs without
flashing me.
Boo.

He raises his boxer-briefs to the camera, dangling them from
a finger victoriously before tossing them aside. His eyes meet mine in
challenge.
My turn.

With one hand, I brace myself on the mattress, and with the
other, I roll my panties down my ankles. I bend forward to pull them over my
feet, and I think I end up giving Lo a full-screen shot of my boobs in the
process. He’s getting way more out of this deal than me. That’s for sure.

My panties rest in my hand, but they are
way
too soaked for me to lift them up in
triumph. I’m about to fling them on the floor when Lo says, “You’re not going
to show me?”

Great.
I turn them
around so he has a view of the butt and hold them to the camera for a split
second.

“Let me see the crotch,” he urges in a soft voice. So
demanding.

My eyes widen, and I shake my head quickly. No, no that will
not be happening.

The corner of his lip rises. “Come on, Lil,” he breathes. “I
can’t touch you. How else am I going to know how wet you are?”

I exhale a long, deep breath. I swallow hard and have the
sudden longing to run my fingers right over my sweet spot. To feed the monster
inside of me.

I take a trained breath and focus on Lo. “Let me see your
cock first.” My voice comes across more pleading and desperate than I intended.
I don’t even know why I want to see it. It’s not like he can enter me through
the computer screen. Really, it’ll only torture me more.

“Not yet, love,” he tells me sweetly.

“Then I’m not showing you my panties again,” I refute
stubbornly. I cross my arms over my breasts. For as long as I can remember, I
always get what I want during sex. Or at least, I try to. And since I’ve been
with Lo, he’s been more than welcoming to give in to my desires. I didn’t
realize how difficult succumbing to his orders would be until now. I have to
relinquish my control to him—to trust him, to put all my sexual needs into his
care.