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He messes my hair and then wraps his arm around my shoulder. I whistle and Coconut bounds ahead of us up the stone steps.
“What’s your fucking theory?” he asks as we near the front door.
Oh right. “If I stay out in the cold long enough, my eggs will freeze and last forever,” I say theatrically and outstretch my arms like I’m catching snowflakes.
Ryke is not amused. As we enter the house, he slams the door a little too loudly. The crystal chandelier rattles from the vaulted ceiling. We stand beneath, and Coconut plops down on the fairytale staircase beside us.
Voices echo from the nearby living room, but Ryke’s focus is all on me.
“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve heard from you all week.”
I set my hands on my hips. “Lily told me that Captain America was frozen for years and never aged when he woke up.”
“You can’t freeze your fucking eggs when they’re still inside of you.”
Egg retrieval and my egg reserve have been troubling me a lot, especially since pregnancy seems more unlikely without IVF. “I like Lily’s logic more than yours,” I say. “No offense.”
He suddenly clasps my hand and leads me rapidly, almost in a sprint, down a dim hallway, towards a backdoor. My pulse picks up speed, and I already begin to smile.
Before I ask where we’re going, he says, “Let’s go do something fucking crazy, Calloway.”
Something fucking crazy.
I like the sound of that.
RYKE MEADOWS
We’re really fucking freezing now.
After catching Daisy around the waist and throwing her in the Cobalt’s glacial-cold pool—I never took my arms off her, so I jumped in too—we ran back inside, straight for the laundry room. Sopping wet, teeth chattering.
Smiling.
I undress her fast, pulling off her cold clothes, and her fingers move quickly all over me. Shedding mine. We don’t speak, but our hands do. Caring about her fucking warmth, I squeeze out her drenched hair and then yank off her jeans and roll down her panties. She steps out of them.
After less than thirty seconds, we’re fucking naked, and I don’t see any nearby towels—
“These look clean.” Daisy refers to the stack of folded laundry on top of a granite counter.
I push my wet hair out of my fucking face. “Don’t hand me Cobalt’s underwear.” I’d never hear the end of it, even more than when I wore Lily’s panties.
She grins mischievously and then tosses me something black while she picks out an article of clothing for herself.
I unfold the black material. Drawstring pants. I quickly step into them, beads of water still rolling down my chest and abs.
Daisy shivers as she tugs on an extra-large shirt with the black and gold Fizzle logo. After living with Rose, I’ve seen her wear these outdated and faded nineties shirts when she cleans bathrooms. I’m not surprised one is in the stack of clothes.
As soon as the shirt falls at her thighs, I lift Daisy up onto the dryer. I throw all of our wet clothes inside, and she presses start. The machine rumbles to life, and I rub her arms, trying to create more fucking heat.
She kicks her feet back and forth, watching me fervently. Her hair still soaks into her shirt, by the tops of her breasts, so I twist the brown strands again. Wringing the water out.
She’s fucking grinning.
And then her legs part to accommodate my body between them.
I harden, the length of my cock clear in Connor’s drawstring pants. I watch her eyes dip down and then back up. She must notice mine doing the same to her, lingering on her thighs. Her skin is chilly, and I stroke her bare leg, reaching towards her ass.
We lock eyes and then I feel a tug on the strings of my pants, drawing me even fucking closer.
The laundry room is adjacent to the living room. Muffled voices filter through the closed door, but everything drowns out. Because Daisy is in front of me.
She vibrates on the dryer, eyes alight.
I hold the side of her head, my other hand caressing her thigh.
She stops shivering, color in her cheeks. Her palm slides beneath my waistband and onto my cock.
Fuck. I let out a low grunt, pressure welling in my dick, and I lean forward, my breath warming her neck. “Dais…”
“In the wild,” she says, “animals use sex to heat up their bodies.”
I imagine myself deep between her legs, listening to her fucking cries. The ones that puncture with I can’t, only to be reinforced that she can.
I comb her cold hair out of her face. “Is that fucking so?” I ask.
She nods slowly. “Those are just the rules of the animal kingdom.”
I remove her hand from my cock, not having enough control in this fucking second to let her rub me. I hold her other cheek with my hand and kiss her tenderly. Then more strongly and ardently. Parting her lips with my tongue.
My hand returns to her thigh, kneading and rubbing her flesh.
A moan catches in her throat, causing all my blood to rush down. I play with her tongue again, and then slowly, my thumb trails up and brushes her clit. Lightly. Harder.
She trembles against my chest, not soaked but not dry either.
I slip one finger inside her warmth.
She bucks at my touch. Fuck, Dais. My body grinds against hers.
“Ryke,” she breathes, a cry attached to my name. She clutches onto me, and I kiss the base of her neck, her collarbone.
About to drop to my fucking knees. I freeze as my lips press to her nipple on the outside of her shirt.
Chatter, out in the living room, amplifies. Coming closer and closer. Fuck—and not the fucks I like. I swiftly break from her, pushing her legs closed.
Daisy’s lips are puffy and red, but she gives me the biggest lopsided grin and hangs onto my waist. I keep an arm around her shoulder, just as the door swings open.
“Serious question.” Lily appears, but she’s on her phone staring hard at the screen. “Should I post the video of you two to Snapchat, Instagram, or Twitter?”
Daisy’s eyes bug, probably thinking her sister just filmed me finger-fucking her. “What video?”
Lily looks up, puzzled for a quick moment. “Did I…interrupt something?” Her cheeks flush, and she peeks at my crotch.
I angle my body more towards the dryer—so she can’t see the outline of anything.
She relaxes some but her ears turn red.
Just then, my little brother passes through the open door, a bowl of chips smothered in salsa in hand. He pops them in his mouth. “They wouldn’t fuck in Connor and Rose’s laundry room, love. It’s far too clean in here.” He motions to the spotless room, except for water puddles. “There’s no dirt and there’s not a view of the moon. Definitely not their thing.”
“Fucking hilarious.”
He flashes me a half-smile and eyes my clothing. “Looks like you love Connor enough that you’ll wear his pants. They look good on you, bro.”
I flip him off and then nod to Lily. “What fucking video?”
I’m not sure how many she’s snapped so far, but she has permission from us to take as many and as much as she can all night. We’re documenting the party for social media.
For a fucking reason.
If the world believes we’re having our bachelor and bachelorette party now, they’ll think our wedding will be within the week.
We’re marrying July 15th, not even close to February. The day we chose fit around everyone’s work schedules and Rose’s September due date. She’ll be pretty fucking pregnant by our wedding, but she says it won’t bar her from flying. Her doctor has the final say-so, and we’re all crossing our fingers.
And social media tonight is our chance to have a paparazzi-free ceremony. They’ll think they missed some secret event and just move on from the topic.
Lily spins her phone to us and plays a video.
In the short clip, I pretend to toss Daisy into the pool but
hold her back once, then twice. She’s not fighting to stay on the cement. She kicks towards the water with a laugh, and then I throw her in while she’s still in my arms. Her voice fades with our splash.
I can hear Lo in the background saying, goddamn.
Daisy smiles and tightens the strings on my pants, tying it into a bow.
“I’m thinking Twitter, but I don’t know,” Lily contemplates.
“Whatever is fine,” I tell her, bending down to check our clothes in the dryer. My shirt is still soaked. Daisy’s panties are too damp to wear, and I slam the door shut, a little pissed I didn’t think to strip before we jumped.
Not like I wanted to fucking skinny dip at Connor and Rose’s place.
Lo crunches on a chip. “Hashtag Raisins Need More Love.”
I shoot him my middle finger again and then lift Daisy off the dryer, setting her on her feet. She quickly tugs the hem of her shirt down, covering her ass and thighs.
“The problem starts with your ship name,” Lo tells us.
Lily peers up from her phone. “It’s Raisy.”
Here we go again.
Ignoring her, Lo says, “You know what happens when I see raisins in a cookie or a slice of bread? I think, get the fuck away from me. You’ve ruined my food. You don’t want that negativity attached to your ship name.”
His logic is as fucking weird as his wife’s. I hate to even think it, but I’d prefer Connor’s right now.
