Ricochet (27 page)

His breathing shallows, as though my tears are driving knots
into his stomach. Mine has already collapsed. I feel utterly destroyed by guilt
and shame and desperation.

His fingers dig harder in my sides, as though reminding me
that he’s here, touching me. “What’s going to happen,” he breathes, “is that
I’m going to carry you through this door. I’m going to draw out every single
moment until you’re exhausted. And I’m going to move so slow that three months
ago will feel like yesterday. And tomorrow will feel like today, and no one in
this fucking universe will be able to say your name without saying mine.”

And then he kisses me, so urgently, so passionately that my
lungs suffocate. His tongue gently slips into my mouth, and I savor each and
every movement. He kneads the back of my head, gripping my hair, yanking and
sending my nerves on overdrive.

His hands fall to my ass, and he effortlessly lifts me up. I
wrap my legs around his waist, squeezing tightly into a front-piggyback. He
guides me inside, just as he promised. I hook my arms underneath his and press
my cheek to his hard chest, listening to the unsteady beat of his heart. We’re
so close, but I still ache to be closer. My breath shallows for it.

He kisses the top of my head and carries me into my bedroom
on the second floor. Well—
our
bedroom.
My white canopy is pulled back, the comforter black and white with red sheets.
Lo rests my back against the mattress, and I reach up to grab a fist-full of
his shirt and yank him on top of me. But he steps back and shakes his head.

Slow
, I remember.
Right.

My legs dangle off the edge, and I prop myself on my elbows
as he stands in front of me.

“I’m yours,” he tells me. “I will always be yours, Lily. But
now it’s time for you to say it.”

I sit up and my eyes flit over all of him. In all our life,
he has never once said to me,
you are
mine
. He has never taken me the way I’ve taken him. He has
given
himself to me. And I realize
,
it’s my time to make this right and give myself to him.

“I’m yours,” I whisper.

The muscles in his jaw twitch, almost smiling. “I’ll believe
you when I see it.”

I squint. “Then why’d you tell me to say it?”

He leans forward, his lips so close to mine. His palms set
on either side of my body, forcing me to fall back a little. I hesitate to kiss
him. He’s testing me, I think.
“Because I love those words.”

My lips part.
Kiss me
, I plead. “I’m yours,” I breathe.

His eyes drop to mine, watching me,
drawing
out the moment. The spot between my legs aches for him. I want the pressure of
his body—to rock against me, to fill me, to say my name over and over.

Kiss me.
“I’m
yours,” I choke, wide-eyed in utter suspense.

And then he sucks on the bottom of my lip, he teasingly
bites it and then sinks his pelvis into mine. I buck my hips to meet him and he
lets me.

Lo grips the hem of his shirt and tugs it off his head,
tossing it aside. Before I run my palms over his taught chest and newly sharpened
abs, he laces his fingers with mine. Simultaneously, he puts his knee on the
mattress and pulls me higher onto the bed, my head finding the pillow.

He climbs on and keeps my hands trapped in his. Then he
stretches my arms high above me, our knuckles knocking into the headboard.

His body hovers over me, no longer melded together. I squirm
beneath the space I dearly hate, my heart thudding and raging to be even
closer. “Lo…” I can’t take it anymore. My back arches a little as I try to meet
his body again, and he tilts his head, disapproving.

So I stay still. I try to let him take control since I need
to go slow. His lips lower but linger from touching mine. He keeps that
distance as he unbuttons my jeans, relinquishing the hold on my hand. He uses
his other to guide my palm to his zipper.
Yes.
It takes only seconds before I have him unzipped and unbuttoned, tugging
his jeans off with familiarity. I wiggle out of mine and he lifts the shirt off
my head, in nothing but a black lacy bra and panty set. I did know he was
coming home today, after all.

He soaks in the curvature of my body with headiness, and he
begins to remove his last article of clothing. “Eyes on me,” he says huskily.

They are permanently fixed to the bulge in his boxer-briefs.
“They are,” I mumble. Technically this is
a
part
of him.

“My eyes, love, not my cock,” he says, a smile behind the
words.

I raise my gaze as he slips off his boxer-briefs. Watching
the way he looks at me nearly sends me into a tailspin. I swallow and can’t
help but catch a glimpse. Oh God, I need him now. He’s hard and as wanting as I
am, but yet, he has restraint.

I do not.

He could easily take advantage of my eagerness, most guys
would. But in order to help me, he has to control my impatience and my
compulsion to go again.
And again.
Because my
addiction isn’t entirely a one-way street the way his is. I need his body in
order to satisfy these unhealthy desires.

So he must say no at some point. I just don’t want it to be
soon.

 
He leans forward
again, and his lips begin their descent from my neck to my belly button,
sucking, nibbling—teasing. My hands grip his back while I hold a moan deep in
my throat.

He kisses my hipbone and gently slips off my panties, the
cold air nipping the most sensitive places. I expect his lips to warm the spot,
but he eases off me and unclips my bra, sliding the straps off my shoulders so,
so slowly. The light touch taunts my nerves and my sanity. His tongue runs
between my breasts and then dips back into my mouth. And that’s when his arms
scoop around me and lift me up in a tight embrace, my breasts melding into his
muscles, my limbs nearly tangled in his. My legs wrap around his waist, and I
ache to lower onto his cock. But he keeps his arms locked around my chest,
forcing me above his lap.

“Sit on your legs,” he tells me.

“But…”

He lightly kisses me and tears away while I try to go in for
another stronger one. “Sit on your legs, Lil. Or I’ll do it for you.”

That sounds better. He sees the glimmer in my eyes, and he
picks up my right leg and bends my knee so my heel is underneath my butt. As he
goes for the left, his hand skims up my thigh and to the crease of my ass.
Holy…

Okay, I’m sitting on my heels now, trying not to come before
he enters me. What if my therapist wrote that I can only climax
once
? Besides that sounding like
torture, I hope to have sex with Lo today. I will not ruin that by going crazy
with foreplay.

I’m still sitting straight up, and his body has not drifted
from mine. His heart pounds against my chest, and he cups my face in his hand.

“Breathe,” he tells me. “Just remember to breathe.”

And then with measured unhurriedness, he gradually rests my
back onto my comforter and slowly begins to slip inside of me. The position
allows for such deep entry that I cry out and grab onto his shoulder for
support.

His forehead rests near mine, and he raises my chin, kissing
me forcefully, just how I like it, before he begins to rock agonizingly slow.
Each movement mimics our heavy breaths. My parted lips brush his as he digs deeper.
I whimper, my toes already curling, my head already flying off my body.

His hand massages my breast, but his eyes never once leave
mine. Hot tears seep from the creases, the intensity and emotion driving me to
a peak so high that every time I breathe in, he breathes out, as though keeping
me alive for this moment. I melt into his slow movement, the way he disappears
inside of me, and the pace that causes my body to light on fire.

His forehead presses to mine, and I breathe in every breath
that he exhales. I lose track of where his limbs start and where mine end.

“Don’t stop…” I cry. “…Lo…” I tremble, and his arms slip
around my back again, holding me tighter.

He speeds up a little, and I feel the top of the hill. I see
us climbing together.

And then he thrusts and holds inside of me. I buck and cry
and claw at his back. My whole body pulsing, my heart thrumming—I am his.

I collapse back onto the bed, too exhausted to lift an arm
or a leg. He takes care of me, bending my knees and stretching my legs out from
the last position. He rests his hands on my kneecaps, and leans forward to kiss
me again. I taste the salt from our sweat, and I raise my hand to grab the back
of his hair, my eagerness suddenly replacing the tiredness from our emotional
sex. But he laces his fingers into mine, stopping me.

I frown. “No?”
Only once?

He shakes his head and then kisses my temple. “I love you,”
he whispers, his breath tickling my ear.

“I love you too,” I tell him. But I do want to wrap my legs
tightly around him, giving him no choice but to harden and take me again. He
scrutinizes me closely, and he must see my impatience for round two.

His eyes narrow. “Not now.”

I bite my lip. “Are you going to tell me what’s in the
envelope?” What did my therapist restrict? The answer is killing me right now.

“Nope,” he says. “You’ll just want it even more if you know
it’s forbidden.”

I squint at him. “You’re getting too smart.”

He grins. “When it comes to you, I am.” He kisses the
outside of my lips. I love and hate when he does that. “Just so you know,” he
whispers, “I’d love nothing more than to fill you again. I’d do it a million
times a day if I could.”

“I know,” I murmur.

He brushes my sweaty hair off my face.

And I inhale a deep breath. “I’m just glad you’re home.” I have
Lo back. That’s all that should matter right now. Not a round two or a three,
but just him present, on the road to being healthy, and in love with me. That’s
all I should need.

I can’t wait to reach that place. I just hope it’s
attainable.

He relaxes next to me, and I rest my head on his chest,
listening to his heartbeat while he runs his hand through my hair. This is
nice.

I almost drift to sleep, but the chime of a cellphone snaps
my eyes open. “Whose is it?”

He reaches over onto my nightstand. “Mine.” He flips the
cell in his palm, and I crane my neck over his shoulder and see a text box.

I know your
girlfriend’s secret.
– Unknown

I shoot up, fear snapping me cold. Did I read that wrong? I
snatch the phone out of his hand, and he grabs it back.

“Lil, calm down,” he says, trying to shield the screen from
me as he types a reply.

“Who is that?” I’ve been so careful. I’ve never told anyone
I had a sex addiction other than
Lo
, and now Rose,
Connor, and Ryke. Did they let my secret slip to someone else?

I bite my fingernail, and Lo clasps my hand while texting
with the other. His eyes flicker to me, narrowing in disapproval.
 

When the
ping
sounds
again, I basically climb on top of Lo so he can’t hide the message. I read
quickly.

Who the
fuck are
you?
– Lo

Someone you hate.
– Unknown. Okay, that does not narrow anything down. Lo’s enemies from prep
school and college are numerous and vast. It happened when he retaliated
against all the people who thought they could bully him into submission.

Lo tries to push me off, but I have my arm wrapped around
his neck, close to choking him, so he lets me be. We’re still naked, but I’m
too frantic to be aroused.

Fuck off
– Lo

“That’s your response?” I say, wide-eyed. “You’re egging the
person on.”

“If you don’t like it, then you shouldn’t be reading my
personal texts or spidering me like a koala bear.”

True.

And lose out on all
the money the tabloids will pay me when I tell them Lily Calloway is a sex
addict? …Never
– Unknown

I blink. Reread the text. And gawk. No.
 

“Lil,” Lo says, shutting off his phone. “It’s okay. That’s
not going to happen. Look at me.” He holds my face in his hands, forcing my
eyes to his. “That’s not going to happen. I won’t let it. I’ll hire someone to
go find this asshole. I’ll pay him off more than he’ll get from the tabloids.”

He’s forgetting something. “You’re broke,” I say. His father
took away his trust fund because he dropped out of college. Lo hasn’t spoken to
him since he left for rehab. He’s alone and poor and all my money
is
tied up with my family. And they don’t know about my
addiction either. I’d rather not tell them.
Ever.

His features darken, remembering. “I’ll think of something
else then.”

The shame that my family will feel if they
find out—the hurt and disappointment—I can’t bear to even
think
about it.
A female sex addict?
A slut.
A male sex addict?
A hero.
How much will I tarnish my father’s company with the
news? Sure, not a lot of people outside of our social circle know my name or
who I am, but could this make tabloid news? Why wouldn’t it?
Lily Calloway: daughter of the founder of
Fizzle, a sex addict and a whore.

It’s juicy enough to satiate gossip columnists everywhere.

“Lo,” I say as tears threaten to fall. “I’m scared.”

He hugs me, drawing me close. “Everything is going to be
okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

I hold onto his words and repeat them over and over, hoping
that will truly be enough.

...To Be Continued

ADDICTED FOR NOW

COMING NOVEMBER 2013

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The overwhelming support for
Addicted to You
propelled this book into its final creation. What
was first supposed to be a short novella turned into so much more because of
your enthusiasm for our
work.
So first, we’re thanking
all of you: readers and friends.
For taking this wild,
emotional journey with Lily and Lo.

We also have to thank all the bloggers who helped us promote
Addicted to You
. I’m not sure the
response would have been even half of what it was without you all. Krista and I
would love to name you personally, but honestly, there are just so many. As
book bloggers, we knew the community was supportive, but the amount was just
above and beyond what we expected. Thank you so, so very much.

A big
thanks goes to our family for
reading the series, most importantly to our mom, our aunts and cousins. Without
your constant praise, we might not have mustered the guts to share this
sensitive work with the world.

And for anyone who suffers from an addiction or has
experience secondhand that has thanked us,
we
thank you for reading. Someone recently said how people call it tragic when
celebrities die from addiction, but they mock those that are currently
suffering. We hope that this speaks to some people. We know it’s not for
everyone, but we do appreciate even reading this far.