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Chapter six
Holy shit, I was sore.
But I wanted more. I wanted Lincoln again. And again. It felt like I would never have enough of him, even though he stretched and filled me until I wanted to cry.
It was like he split me open and this whole new part of me emerged—like the girl I used to be was now a woman.
I felt invincible. Insatiable. It was like every cell in my body was constantly vibrating with need. He thought he needed to be gentle, to hold back the beast I knew was underneath. I showed him I wasn’t delicate. I wanted everything he had to give. If his demons were hungry, I wanted to be the one to feed them.
After he fucked me, he ran me a bath full of hot water and red rose petals and took his time washing his cum off my stomach and the whiskey off my body. Then he carried me to bed and fucked me again.
He left just after the sun came up this morning because I’d promised Tatum I would help her with some disaster relief thing she was volunteering for at Our Lady of Perpetual Hope Community Center.
All the volunteers were gathered in one big open room that reminded me of a school cafeteria. There were rows of tables lined up and people filling boxes with clothes, medical supplies and food. Everything was going to a third-world country that had just suffered through a massive earthquake. Kipton Donahue, of all people, had organized the whole thing. He was Caspian Donahue’s father, and one of the richest men in the world. Every time I saw him, a chill shivered up my spine. Caspian had a calm confidence about him. Anywhere Tatum was, he was there watching over her. He was intimidating, but not in the same sinister way as his father.
My dad used to say rich people had no morals.
I always wondered what he meant.
Tatum was rich and she was one of the purest people I knew.
My dad and I lived in a three-million-dollar penthouse in Manhattan. He was a platinum-selling musician who traveled the world in a private jet, and I was his blonde-haired, blue-eyed daughter who documented her life in Instagram stories. We weren’t saints. But we did have morals.
I shoved a first-aid kit into one of the boxes, then snapped a picture.
Tatum stopped folding t-shirts and glared over at me. “Are you seriously taking pictures right now?”
I mocked surprise. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”
The first time I met Tatum was at Crestview Lake in upstate New York for the annual regatta. She was wearing a baby blue sundress and her long dark hair was pulled up into a ponytail, just like mine. She was looking out over the water. She looked lonely. Just like me.
I was an outgoing little girl all hyped up on sugar from the snowball I’d been eating.
I held the Styrofoam cup out, offering her a bite of my snowball. “Sour apple. Want some?”
She twirled the hem of her sundress. “I’m good. Thanks.”
I pointed at myself and told her my name. “Lyric. Like the words of a song.”
She smiled. “I’m Tatum.”
“Whatcha doin’ out here, Tatum?” I looked out over the lake. There were boats lined up along the wooden dock. Not big boats. These were small, kind of like canoes. Everyone else was up on the bank eating fancy food and drinking champagne underneath some big white tent. I wasn’t here for the regatta. I was only here because my mom disappeared…again…and some rich people had hired my dad to perform for their kid’s birthday. He was just starting out and this was a big gig for him. It was either turn them down or bring me along, so here I was.
Tatum shrugged a shoulder. “Just looking for someplace quiet. You?”
I scooped a bite of colored ice into my mouth, then immediately regretted it when razor-sharp pain shot through my brain. It took me a minute to answer her. “My dad’s doing a concert for some rich kid’s birthday, and my mom flaked, so I had to come.” I pointed at the boats lined up on the launch. “What’s that?”
“Those are racing boats.”
“Boat racing? Like, with oars?” Must be a rich people thing. “That doesn’t sound like fun.”
“My brother rows.” She paused a beat, then smiled. “And it’s his birthday, so I had to come.”
“Oh, god. Your brother’s the rich kid, isn’t he? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
She laughed and waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. He’s been called worse.”
“My dad says rich people don’t have morals.” I took another bite of my shaved ice. “You’re cool, though. You’re not like the rest of them.” She wasn’t. I’d already been up in that tent and those other girls wouldn’t even talk to me.
