Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5) (59 page)

My heart sputters, and without pause, I hook my pinky with his.

Lo kisses me urgently, deeply. My lips swell beneath his, a moan tickling my throat. His hand slides beneath my muscle shirt, kneading the soft flesh of my breast.

I run my hands over his arms, his abs. His cut muscles are the product of many workouts that help him combat stress better than a bottle of bourbon. I kiss him just as vehemently, my legs tightening around his waist. He’s still too far away.

Lo disconnects from my mouth. “Lil.” His voice is low and hoarse. “You. Naked. Now.” He lifts my muscle shirt over my head while my dazed mind has already imagined him inside of me.

“You…aren’t naked?” I try to tug at his boxer-briefs.

He groans as he attempts to pull my panties off my legs. I won’t disentangle from his waist. We’re a hot mess, but my mission is his cock, not undressing myself.

Lo pries my gangly legs off his waist.

I make a noise that may be a whine, but it’s an
I want you
whine and
come back to me!
plea.

Lo handles my body like someone nurturing and stimulating an animal in heat. His narrowed eyes flit to the ceiling, very briefly, to contain his own arousal. I could pounce on him and fuck him, and as I squirm for Lo and only Lo, the muscle in his jaw tenses.

He quickly pulls my panties off my ankles, and I clutch his lean build. I want to be a koala clung onto the Loren Hale tree, but so much space still separates his body from mine.

He’s knelt between my legs.

My breath hitches, my skin hot and beginning to glisten with just my thoughts. I unsuccessfully removed his boxer-briefs. He pulls
up
the black fabric, air and that article of clothing separating us. Without panties, I’m exposed and empty. I need his hardness, the pressure right up against me.

“Lo,” I moan in desperation.

Sex might be more complicated for him than me. I’m on
reach orgasm
mode while he’s on
focus on Lily’s health, don’t come before Lily, nurture and protect and then fuck her good
mode.

Anyone else could easily take advantage of my addiction, but he doesn’t. Lo would never propel me to a bad place just because I’m willing to do anything in bed. I need restrictions. I need slow.

I need him.

Lo seizes my hips that rock upwards. “Easy, love.” He pushes my abdomen down, and then his hand drifts between my legs. I tingle and clench, even before he slips two fingers inside.

I shudder so fast, and he deserts me just as quickly. “Lo,” I whimper. I don’t realize my hands are sliding down my thighs until he grips my wrists.

He kisses the edge of my lips and whispers, “Take a breath.”

Fuck. Fuck. I want to fuck. I inhale a short breath, my head slightly leveling. In the middle of the bed, he stays on his knees.

I sit up. “Please,” I beg. I just need his skin on my skin. I wrap my arms around his frame, tucking my body against Lo.

He does something out of the ordinary.

Lo slowly lies backwards, his shoulders meeting the champagne comforter.

I splay my palms on his chest, lifting myself up just a little in realization. I’m on top of Loren Hale. I’m straddling his waist.

I rarely ever end up on top or in control because I take it too far.

My lips part while my whole body shakes. Lo watches me. His amber eyes bore through my soul. He also lies here for my pleasure, but my brain only sees this body that can offer me the
best
orgasm of my life.

I can’t just stay motionless. Not in this position. I dig against the hardness in his boxer-briefs, grinding only twice before my otherworldly orgasm throttles my mind. “OhmyGod,” I gasp. My fingers scrap his chest, and I bury my cry into the crook of his arm.

Yesyesyes.

I’ve barely calmed before my hand dives down his boxer-briefs, about to pull out his cock for my own use.

He seizes my wrists again.

“Lo…
more
,” I beg, grinding. I’m grinding again.

He then grabs onto my hips. “Lily.” His low, hoarse voice reveals his growing
need
too. “You can’t steer this ship, love.” If I want to be on top, he has to push into me and he has to be the one to move me. The rules blink in and out.

I reach for my clit.

“Hands,” he forces and then sits up suddenly.

I raise my hands to his face, my pulse bursting. I’m on his lap. His dick is halfway out of his boxer-briefs. I barely intake his sharp concern. Too needy. Too horny.

“Look at me,” he says.

I try to focus on his eyes.

When I do, he tells me, “Arms above your head. Repeat it, Lil.”

“Arms…above me.”

He stretches my arms upwards so I understand. “Let me take care of you.”

I nod and keep my arms hoisted.

He lies back again, shoulders on the comforter. I do as he asked, but my elbows definitely bend, mostly due to my poor arm-strength than me not listening.

Lo rocks
his
pelvis up and back-and-forth against me. I clench, so wet against him that I soak his boxer-briefs. Lo understands that the longer foreplay lasts, the longer I can bask in the journey instead of being disappointed by the end of the destination.

My own body revolts against this concept, just seeking the high, the rush, the climax, but I appreciate what Lo does for me. My compulsive self feels strained and teased, but in the end, it’s so much better and healthier for me this way.

My arms droop, but I clutch onto his thighs inside of mine. My head tilts back and my eyes shut, trembling at all the heightened sensations. “Yes,” I murmur.

He sits up, his mouth against my breasts, taking my nipple between his lips. He kisses with eagerness that thrums my bones. When he lies back again, he pushes his bulge against me until the pressure blinds my senses.

My toes curl and a noise tickles my throat. I hold onto his arms like I’m falling off a cliff.

He stops moving and waits for me to come down.

I pant at the second orgasm, and his cock isn’t even in me yet. My body just kind of splats against his chest, no strength left.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, blood rushing back to my head, unable to pick myself up. I was a little compulsive. “I thought I could wait until you were in me.” He hasn’t come yet, but he can easily if I just kiss his cock and look up at him.

He holds me to his chest, and in seconds, I’m on my back and he’s on top. He hoists his body weight off me. “There’s no limit on orgasms. You can take as many as you want.” Meaning I can still feel him inside of me tonight.

We usually have sex until he comes or when we both decide that it’s enough. It varies every night, but I’ve been doing really well. We set boundaries together, and he makes sure I don’t cross any promises I’ve made to myself in the heat of the moment. Which is why he told me to raise my arms.

Loren Hale used to be synonymous with the word
selfish.
Every time we’re in bed together, I’m reminded of his selflessness. He always puts my needs high above his, and every night I settle down in his arms, I feel lucky to have him.

“Lil.” His voice cracks. “Why are you crying?” He rubs my tears with his thumb, concern and hurt crossing his beautiful face.

“I don’t deserve you,” I say softly, our legs tangled together.

His glare could murder a family of geese, but the familiar sight is more than comforting. “Then we’re two undeserving individuals because I sure as hell don’t deserve you, Lily Hale.
You
help me every day stay sane and sober. I couldn’t live this life alone.” His thumb skims my wet cheeks. “And you know what?”

“What?” I whisper.

“The world went and fucked itself because the two most undeserving people got more than they deserved.”

I laugh and rub my eyes. My gaze drifts to his hard-on. I’m not always an equal opportunity girl in bed, and Lo knows this. I’ve already surrendered to my faults.

“Does that hurt?” I wonder.

“Like hell.” He takes off his boxer-briefs, so erect that I tighten at the sight.

“I can blow you,” I offer.

He’s already breaking open my legs with his knees. “I’d rather be inside you.”

Third orgasm, here I come.

His arm stretches towards one of the nightstands. Birth control has made me feel too bloated and too nauseous recently, so I stopped with the pills a couple months ago. I’ve been searching new forms of birth control in the meantime, and we’ve been vigilant about condoms.

Lo opens the drawer but then hesitates and shuts it. No condom.

I frown. “Are we out?”

He shakes his head and kisses my cheek. “Let’s not use it,” he whispers.

My heart thumps. “What?”

“Let’s not use it, Lil,” he repeats.

“I heard that, but I don’t…understand…?” Is he saying what I think he’s saying?

Lo puts his hands on either side of my head and stares right into me. “One more kid,” he says. “Just one more and then we’ll be done. I can get a vasectomy and you can do whatever you need to do.” His gaze never drifts off mine. “What do you think?”

I think this is crazy.

We carefully planned out Luna and Xander’s births. We gave ourselves
time
between each of our children. We never talked about a fourth. Maybe because there was a silent agreement that four is a big number.

Bigger than we’d ever imagined.

Bigger than us.

But is it?

“Four,” I mutter, expecting chills but only warmth bathes me. What do we expect for ourselves?

No children.

Unhappiness.

Loneliness.

Frequent misery.

No self-worth.

Loveless lives.

No.
I think.
No.

Loren Hale is on top of me,
telling me
that we should expect more for ourselves. “We can do this,” he says strongly. “I know we can.”

I smile. “I know we can too.”

He leans in for a kiss, but he teases, stopping a breath away. “We have the perfect name if it’s a boy or girl.”

“What?”

“Keller for a boy,” he breathes. “Kinney for a girl.”

I smile wider into my tears. Julian Keller and Laura Kinney from
X-Men
comics. Hellion and X-23. His two favorite characters in all of Marvel. Characters that I love immensely out of his love for them. Why we didn’t think of these names for our third baby—maybe because we knew these characters are the most precious to us. And our story wasn’t closed yet.

One more.

“Yes,” I agree to our future, to everything.

His body and lips press against mine with new desperate vigor. He pulls me up into his chest, stretches my leg around his waist, and he’s in me. Thrusting deep like this is where he was always supposed to go.

I cling to Lo.

Our eyes, our bodies, and our souls—they never abandon each other.

< 37 >

March 2024

Manhattan Medical Hospital

New York City

DAISY MEADOWS

I’ve had many theories, but the theory I have today overwhelms all others.

I have a theory that, together, sisters can do extraordinary, miraculous things. People will underestimate us, undervalue us, maybe even forget us, but together,
together
—we succeed.

About an hour ago, Rose scooted over on her hospital bed, urging me to be beside her, and I am. We lie towards one another, a delicate, precious baby cradled in my arms. Rose post-thirteen-hour-labor is one of the most emotional Roses there ever could be. Tears have been running down our cheeks, and we’re quiet, listening to Winona breathe softly.

Rose gently sweeps her finger across the newborn’s nose. “She looks just like you, Daisy.”

I rub the heel of my palm over my wet face. I tilt my head towards Rose. She tilts hers towards me. And I say, “Thank you.”

Tears cascade harder. For us both. Rose tries to wipe mine with her thumb, and then she kisses my cheek. I love my sisters more than life itself, and what Rose did for me digs to the
very
core of love. It exists entirely and soulfully within Winona.

I’ll never forget being by Rose’s side during the labor. Holding her hand. How Ryke and Connor were with us. I’ll never forget how much we all cared. We picked out the middle name
Briar
because we wanted to honor Rose—she cried the day we told her, but not as much as we cry now.

Rose brushes my tears away before she finishes drying her face with the corner of the sheet. “Ryke was fated to be surrounded by women.”

I laugh and rub my nose with the back of my hand. “He’d say
thank fucking God.
”