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I thought I blocked her number? I have no idea how she keeps finding ways to text me, but it’s discomforting. And no, my wedding hasn’t happened yet. It’s already May, months have passed since my February 20th birthday, and the world thinks our wedding has passed too. Ryke has to wear his ring, breaking tradition for the sake of a calm ceremony.
Without any remorse, I delete the text.
“Cleo and Harper?” Ryke asks just based off my expression. That’s how much they’ve contacted me.
I nod. “I’ll talk to the lawyer about a cease and desist again.” Maybe they’ll listen to it this time?
Ryke extends his arm over the back of my seat and gauges my state of being. I shelve my animosity towards my ex-friends and inspect the box of donuts on the dashboard. Jelly squirts out of the powdered ones, and we only have a single chocolate sprinkle donut left.
“So I was thinking,” I begin a topic that I haven’t broached yet, “do you think Coconut looks lonely?”
His brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
I shrug. “Like mopey or sad.”
“She licked your fucking face this morning and practically leaped outside first chance she got—that’s not a sad dog.” He pulls back a couple strands of my pink wig to try and see beneath my gaze.
I don’t hide all of what I feel, but I know I hide some.
“Where’s this coming from?”
I shrug again. “I just thought maybe we could go to the animal shelter.”
He goes rigid. “You want to get another fucking dog?” he asks like I’m suggesting relocation to Jupiter.
I tuck my legs to my chest and nod, both of us facing one another. “Don’t you think she’d like another friend?”
His jaw muscles twitch, eyes darkening like an incoming storm. I’m not afraid. “Don’t fuck with me,” he says. “This isn’t about another dog.”
“I’m being serious,” I express, my tone almost rising in a yell. “I think we should consider getting another puppy.” Maybe three hours in a small confined space with almost nothing to do has switched on a silent pressure cooker.
“Why?” he growls.
“Because puppies are cute,” I retort and playfully kick his arm off my seat.
His nose flares. “That’s not good enough.”
I sigh heavily. “Does there have to be a better reason?”
“Yeah because there is one, you’re just not fucking saying it.”
“They’re really, really cute.” I spread my arms. “My reason!” I yell it, not in a nice way.
“That’s not a fucking reason!”
I let out a sound of frustration that I almost never make. “Why can’t you just say no, I don’t want a dog and end the conversation instead of nag me?”
“Because I can’t fucking hear you.”
“I’m yelling!” I shout at him, my body hot with sentiments that I don’t normally ever share, with anyone. “How can you not hear me?!”
“You’re not saying anything, Dais! Puppies are cute isn’t what’s eating at you!”
“How do you know?!” I retort, kneeling on my seat to be closer to his height. “You don’t know what’s going on in my head!”
“I’m trying to get you to fucking tell me!” He sets his arm back on the curvature of my seat.
I knock it off, not wanting him touching my seat for some reason. Or maybe I just want him at an exasperated, blood-boiling temperature like me.
“Daisy.”
Heaviness bears on my chest. I don’t like this feeling. “Just stop talking about it.” I’m shutting down. “I’m sorry I brought it up, okay?”
“I’m not fucking sorry,” he retorts. “What’s so special about another fucking dog?”
“Stop,” I plead. “Just stop.” I’m ready to drop it, but Ryke is too assertive to just let something like this drift off to sea.
Seconds later, a powdered, jelly donut splats against my cheek.
I slowly turn to face him like what have you done.
He has the entire box of donuts on his lap, and he bites into my last chocolate donut. The danger…
I pick the jelly donut off my lap and chuck it at Ryke. I crawl halfway over the middle console and steal every single donut, pelting them one by one at him. That uncomfortable weight flies off my abdomen with each soaring pastry.
“I can’t hear you, Calloway!” he shouts.
I scream so loudly, so ferociously, and gradually the sound transforms into a laugh, especially as his smile envelops his face. As the last donut hits his jaw and falls to his thigh, I hold onto his shoulders. My knees on the middle console, staring right into his brutally honest eyes. Powder and jelly sticks to his cheek, chocolate on his forehead, but I never break from his gaze.
I breathe deeply and everything that I trounced propels towards the surface. I’m just searching for something better. For something more. For something that may replace the grief we’ll come to feel. The disappointment we’ve already met. I’m searching for the lightness in our worlds, and I’m afraid of never seeing the sun ascend again.
And I whisper, “I don’t want another dog…I want a baby.”
His gaze says, I know, Dais. He cups my cheek, the one with the scar.
“I’m scared,” I breathe.
“I’m always going to fucking be here,” he reminds me. “You won’t be alone, sweetheart.”
I nod repeatedly, his words comforting me. Easing me. Wrapping me tightly.
Ryke kisses me, so passionately that I careen into his body. He tastes like strawberry jelly and my lips tingle at the new friction. He pulls me, my chest to his chest, and then rolls me over, so my back lies flat on the seat. I tug at his shirt, wanting him closer and nearer. Right up against me.
My heart beats faster in this second than when standing on the precipice of a cliff or edge of a bungee jump. I want him so badly. I buck up towards him as he kisses me stronger, harder.
Beneath my lips, he mumbles, “I fucking love you.” I love you. I love you. I love you. My soul says in kind. I try to express this through my lips, but I want him to hear the words from me too.
“I love you,” I whisper in his ear. His coarse hands run down my back, and he kisses the hollow of my neck. Then he sheds my clothes, unclips my bra, and I tug off his shirt, my body singing.
My pulse screaming. I grip his hair, realizing that I’m straddling his lap now while he sits on the seat. Naked, powdered sugar and strawberry jelly all over our skin.
Our breaths tangle together and fog up the windows. Effervescing sentiments prick my eyes, water squeezes out of the corners. I coil my arm around his neck and pant against his jaw.
“Ryke.”
His hands burn trails along my thighs and lower back, his tongue parting my lips. Ryke. I pulse and clench for him, and he rubs between my legs, lighting up the sensitive parts of my body.
Ryke lifts me up in a front-piggyback, bringing me to the passenger side. He leans the seat at a lower angle. My head dizzies, and my ragged breathing tries to catch up to his endurance. He rests my shoulders along the back of the seat, and he hovers over me, one hand clutching the headrest. He splits my legs apart with his knee, and his two fingers fill me.
I hold onto his wrist, my thighs trembling.
“Ryke,” I cry.
His head hangs to avoid colliding with the ceiling. The car is so cramped, nowhere for us to go but towards one another. Thrillingly close. Ryke rests a hand on my back, lifting my body against his instead of forcing his weight on me.
What upper-body strength you have. I could smile, but I’m paddling in the heat of these bursting sentiments. Shared between us.
I cling to him, and my lips swell and tingle beneath his lips. My breasts pressed to his chest and pelvis right in line with his hardness. His fingers quicken rapidly, pricking my nerves. My toes curl and sweat builds across my skin.
I clench again and come slowly but surely.
And as I rise up the peak, I watch his erection dr
ive all the way into me. Connecting us together. He cups my face again, and his forehead meets mine. Our parted lips ache to touch, but they linger as he rocks in and out.
Tears leak out of the corners of his eyes. The weight of our emotions crack like lightning, intensifying the way his skin touches my skin. He pounds harder, like he needs to be further, deeper inside. Like he is burrowing to the core of me.
I clutch his hair, breath shallow. “Ryke!” I cry. “Ryke.”
“Dais.” He pushes back the pink strands of my wig, choking on a groan. “Fuck.” Deeper. Deeper.
My eyes roll back. “Ry…” I pulsate around his cock, and when my head lolls, I see how fast, how far, how deep he goes. His erection in me. He’s inside of me. Seeing it gets me off on another level.
His ass flexes with each thrust.
My parted lips press to his shoulder, blinded.
“Fuck,” he grunts, hitting his own climax. He pushes more forcefully on my lower back, so I’m right up against him. He holds me there while our bodies throb with pleasure.
He kisses my cheek, and our gazes lock for a moment, both filled with acknowledgement and love. I’ve never had emotional sex like that, not with anyone but him. He’s told me, more than once, that I’m the only one he’s ever fucked this way. This deeply, this fully.
Even as we come down, I still feel sensitive. My skin and arms and—
Someone pounds on the steamy window.
I jump and wrap my arm around my chest. Ryke protectively pulls me closer against him and holds me, both of us sticky with sweat and strawberry jelly.
Another knock against the window and then a loud voice that says, “I need you two to step out of the vehicle. This is the county police.”
Oh.
My.
God.
