Ricochet (ADDICTED SERIES)
Ricochet: Chapter 10

MARCH

Back in the states, the March chill makes it near impossible not to layer up. I devise a plan to stay at the house until the very last second. Usually I arrive seven minutes late to class when I decide to go, but I think everyone should have a ten minute grace period. Seriously. It’s cold.

The only other time I brace the weather is for my therapy sessions with Dr. Banning. Today went decently well, I think. I feel like I’m on the road to uncovering why I have this addiction, and she gives me some much needed perspective and guidance.

To preoccupy my thoughts and not obsess over sex, I watch a romantic comedy on Netflix in my bedroom. I closed my canopy so I feel a little like I’m in a jungle, my net keeping me safe from mosquitos. Which is kinda fun. I’d make some safari jokes, but I remember that I’m alone. And no one is around to appreciate them.

The laptop rests on my stomach while I munch on a Twizzler. After abstaining from self-love, I’ve turned to sugar and sweets and generally anything that will rot my teeth. It barely helps, but it’s better than succumbing to the urges.

My phone rings, and I wiggle from my Marvel throw blanket. When I grab my cell, I notice the unknown number on the screen. My chest lightens as I mute my computer and press the receiver to my ear.

“Hey, it’s Lo.”

That’s enough to make me grin from ear to ear.

“Lo who? My boyfriend’s name is Loren.”

“Your jokes have gotten progressively less funny without me.”

I mock gasp. “No way. You should have been here when I made the best giraffe joke. It was hilarious.”

“Doubtful,” he says, but I can sense him breaking into a smile.

I bite a Twizzler, trying to contain my own silly look, even if he can’t see me. “What are you doing? How’s rehab?” Before he called, I made a plan to ask more about him. Last time, the conversation revolved around me, and I don’t want that to happen again. Even if my recovery takes effort from both of us, it doesn’t make his any less important.

“It’s fine,” he says. I imagine him shrugging. “What about you? Did you go to therapy today?” So I have a boyfriend who doesn’t like to talk about his problems. This may be harder than I thought.

“Don’t change the subject. I want to know how you’re doing.” I braid three Twizzlers together to form a giant, delicious piece.

“My life is boring,” he sighs.

“No, it’s not,” I refute. “You’re probably doing all sorts of cool things. Like talking to people. And…playing pool. And…” I have no idea what the hell he does in rehab, which I think is the problem.

“And nothing fun,” he tells me. “I’m not there. I’m not with you.”

“I thought you said we have to start talking,” I emphasize. “That goes two ways you know. We can’t just discuss my addiction and not yours.”

Silence bleeds through the receiver for an excruciatingly long moment before he says, “I was talking to Ryke the other day…he asked me who Aaron Wells is.”

My Twizzler slips out of my hand. I feel like Lo is deflecting, and it’s kind of working considering Aaron Wells makes my stomach curdle. And I was planning on never telling Lo what happened at the Fizzle soda unveiling, especially while he’s in rehab. I didn’t want to give him a reason to turn to booze.

Lo says, “I asked him why he wanted to know. And he wouldn’t give me a straight answer—just said something about how he went to a family event with you. And I thought, why the fuck would she ever want to bring that douchebag to a party? And then I remembered your mother and how she used to set you up before we were dating.” He pauses. “Something happened, didn’t it? Aaron knows I’m in rehab. He probably decided now was a good time for payback, right? You’re defenseless while I’m basically trapped here.”

“You’re not trapped,” I say. I don’t want him to think of rehab as a prison. Not when it’s helping him.

He groans, and I picture him rubbing his eyes warily. “I want to be there with you,” he says. “I don’t want Ryke to be the one to protect you. That’s my job, and I plan to be a hell of a lot better at it than before…” He trails off, and I read the rest: before you almost got raped. Yeah, he was a little too consumed by alcohol to come to my rescue that night. Thankfully I escaped that, but it still hurts to think about. I’ve tried to avoid public restrooms since then, and I try not to be plagued by the fear of being assaulted. Sometimes it creeps in, and I sink into myself in large crowds, but I’ve always been a little recluse in that sense.

I wish I could reply back I didn’t need protection. But that would be an utter lie. Aaron was aggressive that night, and I did need some sort of reinforcement to help me. “Ryke didn’t protect me,” I say softly. I open my mouth to elaborate, but Lo has already jumped to conclusions.

“What?” His breath deepens. “If he fucking hurt you, I’m—”

“Lo,” I cut him off. “I just meant to say that Ryke wasn’t the one to help me…your father was.”

The silence buzzes through the receiver again.

I elaborate, “He saw Aaron giving me a hard time, and he threatened him. It worked. Aaron left me alone after that.”

The phone crackles.

“Lo?”

Then I hear him exhale. “My father?”

Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned anything. It took a great deal of strength to walk away from someone he loves but has hurt him. And to be caught in the grayness of Jonathan Hale makes it difficult to cut him completely out. Even though that may be best for Loren right now.

“Yeah.” Right now, there’s a slim, hopeless chance he’ll open up about his father, and I kind of think he doesn’t even know how he feels about the man. I’d talk to him about it, but he’ll end the call before I even begin to prod. So I want to change the topic before he hangs up. “So what about rehab?” I ask. “You can’t keep dodging this conversation.”

I imagine him squeezing his eyes shut with that familiar agitation, and he groans again in annoyance. “You just put my head on a Tilt-a-Whirl, and you want to know about rehab?”

“Yes,” I say, not backing down. I have to push him.

He lets out a long breath. “I’m sober. I just thought it’d feel different being sober for this long.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was so miserable drunk, and I convinced myself that being sober would be the flip-side of being miserable. I guess, I thought sobriety would be ninety-nine percent knock-your-socks-off amazing. Don’t get me wrong, it is nice. I can think clearer sometimes and filter some bullshit that I’d normally have no problem saying. But it sucks too. It hurts more.”

He has to face the pain now. I’m going through something similar. All of the situations I’d drown with sex and a high are things I have to confront head-on. It’s difficult and makes the urges even harder to restrain.

“But I’m not going back to before. Not for anything or anyone…”

“Your father?” I ask, knowing that has to be the “anyone” he’s referring to. Jonathan Hale took away Lo’s trust fund, his inheritance, and everything that financially secured Lo’s future. All because Lo won’t return to college and live up to his impossible standards.

“Yeah. Him,” Lo mutters. “He’s my therapist’s favorite topic.”

Maybe I can ease into this… “Are you going to talk to Jonathan when you get back?”

“I don’t know anymore…” He pauses. “He’s one of my triggers to drink, but I didn’t need rehab to figure that out.”

My chest constricts. “Am I…” What if I’m a trigger. Oh God.

“No, Lil,” he tells me with a short laugh. “You’re the opposite. You’re my stability…my home.”

I inhale, his words pricking my eyes a little. He’s always felt like home to me too. I clear my throat, not wanting to become all sappy over the phone. I only have so long to hear his voice. And then I’ll be alone again. “When you get back, what are you going to do?” He won’t go to college, and he’ll need to earn money now. Ryke and I both offered to help with his finances, but Lo’s pride squashed the idea.

“I’m not sure. I’ll worry about it later,” Lo says softly. I wish I could hold him or hug him. Anything. He sounds a little lost, but what twenty-something isn’t? The only difference between Lo and me at this point is that I’m still in college. But we’re in the same place really. I’m no closer to knowing what I want to do with the rest of my life. I wish my future bachelor’s degree could magically choose a career path that’s perfect for me. If four years of college bought me that, I’d be sold.

“Can we steer the conversation away from me now?” Lo asks. “How have you been holding up?”

“I’m a little frustrated,” I mutter. “Sexually and mentally.”

“Mentally?” he asks, worried. “Are you okay?”

“Yeahyeahyeah,” I say quickly. “It’s just that the therapy sessions drain me. I want to know why I’m addicted to sex so badly. Dr. Banning says the answer might not be so clear. And I just worry that when I find it…I won’t like it.”

His breath grows heavy over the line, and his words come out as a whisper. “Do you think it’s me?”

It feels like a stab to the chest. I glance down at the Twizzler braid on my lap. “It’s me, Lo,” I choke. “I can’t blame anyone else for my problems. I just have to figure out how it started.”

“When we were nine, we did some things,” he says quietly. “Do you remember that?”

“Lots of little kids do stupid stuff,” I defend, thinking about what Dr. Banning told me. Experimenting, she called it.

“It was wrong,” he tells me with added confidence. I imagine him running a shaking hand through his light brown hair. His voice remains firm and determined. “I was older than you.”

“By nine months.” He’s being ridiculous.

“It doesn’t matter, Lil,” he snaps. “I’ve been thinking a lot in this place, and I want to tell you that I’m sorry. For everything that I’ve ever done to hurt you—”

“You haven’t hurt me,” I interject. “You haven’t.”

“Lily,” he says, very softly. “You remember the night before we split up and I came here? The day before Christmas Eve?”

“The Charity Gala,” I say. The night where he broke his short sobriety by chugging mini-bottles of tequila from a hotel room.

“I hurt you,” he says. “I had sex with you so you’d stop focusing on my alcohol addiction…so you’d stop looking at me like I was unraveling. You were crying hysterically, and I fucked you. And afterwards, I was a complete dick about it. What do you call that?”

“You didn’t…” rape me, I think, knowing that’s what’s plaguing his mind. He didn’t. “I wanted it, Lo. Please, don’t think that.” God, we’re so messed up. I listen for his reply, but I only hear silence. “Lo?”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Lil. For that night, for when we were nine. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to take all the blame. I was there too when we were younger, you know. I touched you. Maybe I fucked you up.”

He laughs now, and it makes me smile. “I can assure you that I’m fucked up, but it’s not because of you.”

“Likewise.” At least, I hope so.

He suddenly lets out a long groan. “God, I just want to kiss you.”

I grin. “Welcome to my world. I think I’ve imagined making out with you about five billion times since you’ve been gone.”

“And how many times have you imagined my cock in your mouth?”

My eyes widen, and I lose breath, even though he says it so blasé.

“What about my cock in your ass?” I hear the smile behind the words.

Oh my God. I lick my dry lips and squirm a little on the bed. The spot between my legs begins to pulse with his words.

“In your pussy?”

“Lo,” I croak. Are we having phone sex right now? I eye the door. Should I go lock it?

“Have you been good?” Lo asks. “Did you touch yourself at all?”

“No, I’ve waited.”

“I’m proud of you,” Lo tells me. And I immediately feel a sense of accomplishment wash over me. “You’ve earned something then.”

We are having phone sex! Yes. I crawl out of my canopy, struggling with the net for two seconds too long, and then jump off the bed with the phone still braced in my hand. I race to lock the door. Pausing in the middle of the room, I look to my closet. “Do I need…” How does this even work?

“Need what?” he asks in confusion. Great, he can’t read my mind. What I’d give to be dating Charles Xavier— though the X-Men: First Class edition where he’s played by James McAvoy. Bald doesn’t do it for me.

“Never mind,” I mutter.

“Need what, Lily?” Lo prods again, his voice serious. I don’t answer right away, trying to gain the nerve to say the words. “Am I going to have to guess? It better not be lube. You’ve never had a problem getting wet around me.”

“Stop talking,” I tell him. “You’re making this hard.”

“You’re making me hard.”

I roll my eyes while my lips involuntarily rise. “Please tell me that’s not your best dirty talk.”

“I’ve said better,” he agrees. “You know you can tell me anything. It can’t be that embarrassing.” He pauses. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be embarrassed anyway, but good news is that I can’t see you turn all red.”

I wish he could. I’d give anything for him to be here right now. But then I wouldn’t. Because coming home early means failure on his part, and I want him to succeed. I just feel so conflicted. About everything.

Maybe that’s why I’m still standing in the middle of my bedroom, wavering on whether to venture to my closet or hop right back on the mattress.

“Do you think I should…use a vibrator or…dildo…” I actually stutter. My whole face heats, and I swear little beads of sweat gather on my upper lip. I wipe it frantically, panicked as though someone will see me perspiring.

“Are you serious? That’s what you’re fucking nervous to ask me?” he says, slightly offended. “I thought you wanted to use the cellphone or something.”

What? It takes me a moment to realize what he’s talking about. I gag and cringe. “Ew.” Now I’m offended.

“That’s what you get for not coming clean from the start, love,” he says with a laugh. His voice drops to a serious tone. “What does your therapist say about the toys?”

“We haven’t talked about them.”

“Then let’s avoid them for now, okay?”

I can’t help but feel a little dejected by the decision. In my head, I heard Lo saying of course, go pick out the one that looks like my cock. I guess those days of enabling are over.

I untangle the knotted canopy and climb back on the bed, the phone now on speaker. “Where are you right now?” I ask, wanting a mental picture in place.

“In my bedroom. I have my own bathroom, no roommate, so the privacy is nice. The comforter is kind of scratchy though.”

“How sexy.”

I see him grinning in my mind, his amber eyes lighting up. “Aren’t I always?”

God, I miss him. A wave of sadness bears down on me, and the crash feels so sudden and abrupt that I have to pinch my nose to withhold tears. I sink back into my pillow and stare up at the top of my canopy. All I can think about is how much I want to see him. How ironic is that? The one time we’re about to have sort-of sex, and I’m turning into an emotional spaz.

“Lily, are you crying?” Lo’s worry intensifies.

“No.” I wipe my eyes and keep my phone on my stomach. “Let’s just do it.”

“Well when you say it like that,” he snaps.

I haven’t had a release in days. I need to collect my bearings because if we call this off then I’m going to regret it badly in a couple hours when the urges start again.

“No, really, I’m okay.” I straighten up and the phone thuds to my comforter. “Let’s go. Who takes off their clothes first?” I cringe. That could have been way sexier.

“I think we both suck at phone sex,” Lo tells me.

I should find this funny, but instead his words bulldoze right over me. It’s like someone offered a bag of cocaine to a drug addict and decided at the last minute to yank it away. I picture tonight, alone in my bed, fighting the cravings yet again. And the moment will be my fault. Because I grew mopey and sad and pathetic. Idiot.

“No, we’re good at it,” I defend us. “Pleasepleaseplease, let’s try again.” But fear shakes my voice and causes me to garble them out with tears.

“Hey, hey, Lily,” Lo says urgently. “It’s okay.” I can hear him rustling around, and I wonder if he’s taking off an article of clothing. Maybe his pants.

“It’s not,” I refute. “It’s not okay.”

“Shhh,” Lo whispers. “You’re fine. I’m fine. I’m still going to make you come, I promise. Just relax and breathe, love.”

As soon as he says the words, my computer lets out a ping! I sniff a little and mumble, “Hold on a sec.” I pop open the Skype menu. Then I see the alert: Accept call from Hellion616

My heart immediately jumps to my throat. That’s Lo, of course. His username has been his favorite Marvel character since he was fifteen. I’m going to see him, aren’t I? Can this be real? I bite my lip and click the button.

The screen fills with Lo. He stares right back at me. He looks the same as I last remember. Almost three months have passed, and he still has the same light brown hair, shorter on the sides, full on top. The same sharp cheekbones that make him look menacing and lose-your-breath sexy. He sits cross-legged on his single bed, the comforter navy blue. He wears a charcoal gray T-shirt, and a pair of black track pants. His amber eyes actually stare into mine. I’m looking at him. Not just imagining his body, his eyes, his face. I can’t help it—I instantly burst into uncontrollable, happy tears.

“No,” Lo prolongs the word and adds a small smile. “Don’t cry. You’re going to make me start crying.”

“I’m sorry.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. I let out a long breath and situate the laptop on my bed a little better. Now he’s not staring at half of my face.

I meet his gaze again, this time more relaxed, but my chest swells. A part of me feared that he’d return home too changed and too different somehow. All my terror evaporates and shushes to bed. He’s still Lo. He’s still mine.

“Hi,” he says in one breath.

“Hi.” The hardest part about the whole ordeal has been being away from him. It has nothing to do with sex, I realize. He’s my best friend, my whole world, and losing that hurts more than losing a body to grind on at night. Seeing him reminds me that he’s not gone forever. Even if it may feel like it sometimes.

“You look good.” His eyes flit around my body. “Are you gaining weight?” he asks hopefully. Maybe he imagined I’d be a withered twig, so gaunt and gnarly that he’d have to pick me up before I wasted away. Wow, that would be scary.

Maybe I wasn’t the only one with huge, immeasurable fears.

“I am,” I say with a smile. I lean back a little and snatch my pack of Twizzlers. I wave them at the screen. “I’m on a new diet. It’s called Eat Sweets Avoid Sex.”

“That sounds like an awful diet,” he tells me, “and an awful way to deal with your addiction.”

I shrug and raise the bottom of my cashmere sweater. “I can do this now.” I pinch my half-inch of fat by my belly-button and show it off to him.

“That’s nice, but you still have to get healthy the right way. Binge on your Twizzlers and Ho Hos now because when I get home, I’m abolishing that diet.”

“How do you know I have Ho Hos?”

He tilts his head, and I see his playful smile envelop his face. Witnessing it lights up mine. “Please, if you purposefully stocked the pantry with sugar, you’d have all the best names. Ding Dongs, Sugar Daddys, Blow Pops.”

“I didn’t buy Blow Pops, thank you very much,” I reply like I won, even though he’s kind of right. I have three packages of Ding Dongs waiting for me in the pantry. I have a penchant for names. Why else did I hire Connor Cobalt as my tutor when I was at Penn?

“Anything else new?” Lo asks gently, but now that I look at him, I spot the fear pulsing behind his eyes. He worries that I’ll be the changed one. I feel the same, but I know, in time, that I’m going to be different. Everyone eventually grows up. But if there’s anything I know for certain in this world—I never want to change without Loren Hale. We have to try to evolve together.

“I found a new freckle on my shoulder.” I try to show him, but I bump into the screen. “Oops…sorry.” I feel like I smacked him in the face or something. I tilt the computer back up and catch Lo grinning at me.

“Cute,” he says.

I flush, and he rolls his eyes at my reddening cheeks, but he’s still smiling. So that’s good.

“I have something new too.”

My eyebrows rise. Really? He grips the hem of his T-shirt, and then his eyes teasingly flit up to me, prolonging the moment. Please don’t let it be a tattoo. Lo hates them, and the last thing I need is for him to declare his undying love with something he dislikes. And I don’t necessarily want to stare at my name inked on his chest while we have sex. That’s a mood killer for me.

I realize I’m progressively moving closer and closer to the screen. I lean back so I don’t come across as a complete weirdo. “Come on,” I say with a groan as he just waits there with a silly smile. He’s killing me!

Finally, he tugs the shirt over his head, and he fixes his hair with his fingers, watching my expression which goes slack-jawed. I squint, hoping this isn’t some sort of Skype Photoshop enhancement. “Are those real?” I end up asking, my fingers subconsciously running over his muscles on the screen. As though I can really touch them. Damn, I want to. I have to back away from the screen again. I think Lo received a pleasant view of my nose hairs.

He gives me a strange look and then laughs. “No, I painted these on just for you.” Now shirtless, Lo cannot stop grinning. I cannot stop staring. His abs are ripped. Six-pack definition. He was muscular before, but they were not sharp like that. His lean muscles curve and even have that sexy dip by his waist, as though leading my way to his cock.

This is so much better than a tattoo.

“I’ve been working out,” he explains. “We have a lot of recreational time. I spend most at the gym.” He licks his bottom lip, his eyes grazing my body. “Your turn.”

“I knew this was a trick to get me naked,” I say with a smile. “Just don’t get your hopes up. My boobs have not grown.”

“I love your boobs how they are.”

His husky voice makes me breathless. I blink a couple times and concentrate on “disrobing.”

I stole Rose’s cashmere sweater because I’m all out of clean clothes, and laundry is very low on my list of things I like to do. I situate on my knees and tilt the screen up so he has a better view of my top-half. My heart thrums as I watch the rise and fall of his chest in anticipation. I’ve been naked so many times with Lo, but never over a computer screen. It’s a little different—the distance, the inability to physically touch. But maybe it’s a good different, almost more exciting.

I gradually pull the sweater over my head, my breasts pushed up in a black bra. My breathing deepens as I watch the way he stares, his eyes lowering and then trailing back up, as if his lips make their usual descent along my breasts and belly.

I want him to take me in his arms and push his whole weight on me. I want to feel his hardness against me—his muscles pin me to the mattress. To be buried beneath his love and his warmth.

“Where are you?” I whisper, plans to find him, to curl up in his arms, invade my mind.

“Right here. With you,” he whispers back, not offering me anymore, but those words are enough to steal my breath and cause my mouth to open. I keep my eyes on him and imagine his hand doing what mine does. Unclipping the clasp of my bra. Letting the straps slide down my shoulders and to the keyboard.

He looks at me like he wants to tug me into his hard chest and hold me tightly, like he’s seconds from sucking on my bottom lip, from biting and then plunging his tongue inside. He’ll rock against me and whisper my name until my back arches. Until I cry into his shoulder.

My nipples stand at attention, his gaze intensifying parts of my body that haven’t been lit up in months. His eyes return to mine, and they’re swimming with eagerness. Phone sex could never work with us. I would miss the looks and glances and the way he devours my body with his amber eyes. He makes me feel utterly and unequivocally gorgeous.

He alone can claim that feat.

Slowly, he begins to slide off his track pants, and I start unbuttoning my jeans. We glimpse each other often, trying to catch the other’s sensual, measured, unhurried movements. Everything below my waist is blocked from his sight, and likewise, the screen cuts him off at his lower abs. The allure of what lies beneath heightens my pulse, heat gathering across my brow.

Clumsily, I wiggle out of my jeans and kick them off the bed. Now on my knees, Lo has a nice view of my green cotton panties. I plop back on my butt so he can only see me waist-up. While Lo undresses, I catch a view of the bulge in his black boxer-briefs. The spot between my legs starts to throb again, aching for something hard to fill it and to thrust for a long, long while.

The silence drags out the tension, nothing but our heavy and shallow breathing. I wait motionless while he removes his last piece of clothing. My eyes fix on the screen in case I can glimpse his cock. But it doesn’t make an appearance. Lo successfully strips off his boxer-briefs without flashing me. Boo.

He raises his boxer-briefs to the camera, dangling them from a finger victoriously before tossing them aside. His eyes meet mine in challenge. My turn.

With one hand, I brace myself on the mattress, and with the other, I roll my panties down my ankles. I bend forward to pull them over my feet, and I think I end up giving Lo a full-screen shot of my boobs in the process. He’s getting way more out of this deal than me. That’s for sure.

My panties rest in my hand, but they are way too soaked for me to lift them up in triumph. I’m about to fling them on the floor when Lo says, “You’re not going to show me?”

Great. I turn them around so he has a view of the butt and hold them to the camera for a split second.

“Let me see the crotch,” he urges in a soft voice. So demanding.

My eyes widen, and I shake my head quickly. No, no that will not be happening.

The corner of his lip rises. “Come on, Lil,” he breathes. “I can’t touch you. How else am I going to know how wet you are?”

I exhale a long, deep breath. I swallow hard and have the sudden longing to run my fingers right over my sweet spot. To feed the monster inside of me.

I take a trained breath and focus on Lo. “Let me see your cock first.” My voice comes across more pleading and desperate than I intended. I don’t even know why I want to see it. It’s not like he can enter me through the computer screen. Really, it’ll only torture me more.

“Not yet, love,” he tells me sweetly.

“Then I’m not showing you my panties again,” I refute stubbornly. I cross my arms over my breasts. For as long as I can remember, I always get what I want during sex. Or at least, I try to. And since I’ve been with Lo, he’s been more than welcoming to give in to my desires. I didn’t realize how difficult succumbing to his orders would be until now. I have to relinquish my control to him—to trust him, to put all my sexual needs into his care.

It’s not so easy for me.

“That’s not how this works,” Lo says. “I’m in charge. If I tell you to come, you’ll come. If I tell you to stop, you’ll stop.”

I need boundaries to harness my compulsions. We’ve talked about this, I remind myself. I drop my arms, exposing my breasts again for him. That’s a start. Lo will provide the guidelines for my limits so I don’t overdo it. I just need to learn how to accept them.

Lo has given himself completely to me. It’s my turn to let him have me.

I obey his first command and turn my panties inside out and raise them to the screen, silently hoping the computer isn’t high-definition. Though, clearly, they’re soaked.

“Satisfied?” I ask after a few seconds.

“Immeasurably.” His grin softens my heart, and my stomach flutters, weakening my resolve. This taunting can’t go on for much longer.

I toss the panties on the floor, and he shifts a little on his bed. But I still can’t see below his waist.

“Hold up your hands,” Lo orders.

I frown and raise my palms to the computer. He gazes at me for a long moment, and I suddenly realize what he’s about to do. I open my mouth to complain, but he cuts me off. “I want us to come together,” he says seriously. “Keep your hands up and when I tell you to touch yourself, you can.”

I surrender at the words come together. I can’t stop nodding, and another smile quirks his lips. Slowly, his hand lowers, and his eyes flicker down a little. His camera is still angled so I can’t see anything below his waist. Maybe that’s the point. Some things are hotter left unseen.

His eyes rise back to mine, penetrating me, not tearing away even as his breathing deepens, the rise and fall of his ribs quickening. His body rocks forward a bit, and small grunts escape his parted lips. My eyes dance around his arm that moves in fast succession, his chest glistening with a layer of sweat, sultry and hot.

“Hands up,” he says in a hoarse tone. I raise them again, not realizing I even dropped them.

I squirm on the bed as I feel the wetness slide down my inner thigh. I grab a pillow and press it between my legs, the spot throbbing for more pressure, more weight, more friction—begging for touch.

“Hands,” he orders.

I raise them for the third time, practically tearing out my hair. I tremble and let out a small whimper.

I can’t wait anymore.

“Lo,” I cry out.

“Hold on, love,” he encourages kindly, but his eyes say something different. Hold the fuck on. He’s testing me. I know it. And I want to pass and succeed and show him that I can fight my compulsions.

I keep my eyes on his and try not to look anywhere else. It barely helps since he stares at me like he wants to be deep inside of me. God, what I’d give for that…

After another long moment he says, “Drop your hands.”

That’s all it takes.

My hands fall and slide down, feeling the wetness for the first time. I gasp and moan all at once and nearly collapse backwards onto my pillow. I need you, I want to scream. Please.

“Eyes on me, Lil.”

I prop my body on a weak elbow and try to keep my focus on him without tilting my head back, without my eyelids fluttering closed. I am so…close to being completely and utterly gone. I alternate between rubbing and sliding my fingers inside. The pressure mounts, spiking my nerves on every surface of my skin. Even though he wants me to look at him, his eyes begin to drift from mine. They lower from my breasts to my abdomen to my wrist where the screen ends.

At the same time my hips buck, he jerks forward a little. Our breathing synchronizes with our heady movements. And all of a sudden, it feels as though he’s really here. Inside of me.

He reaches up and tilts the screen down. For a mere second, he lets me see what he’s doing—his hand grips the base of his cock and runs up and down along the shaft. The camera moves back up to his face, and I’m lit on fire. I need to come. I need to release now.

His arm quickens, and my moans grow louder. I hear him groan in a deep husky breath. My body tightens, clenches and squeezes while my toes curl. The whole world rotates. I claw at the sheets with my free hand and ride the high out.

A few moments later, I flop against the bed, my elbow giving way to exhaustion and my staggered, heavy breathing. My stomach, breasts, thighs and ass are slick with sweat. God…that was incredible.

I want to feel it again.

Impulsively, my hand trails down my body and touches my tender mound. A moan escapes my lips, and I rub harder.

“Lily.” Lo’s voice fills my head. I close my eyes and slip my fingers inside.

Yes.

“Lily. Stop.”

My eyes snap open, but I keep my hand between my thighs. Gently, I prop myself up to look at the screen. In the little box to the left, I see myself sprawled on my bed in this position, but Lo only has a view of my belly button up, my legs drifting past the computer. But I suppose it’s obvious what I was doing.

I avoid his gaze. “Give me a second,” I tell him in a soft, guilty whisper. I lie down and disappear fully from his sight, the screen tilted towards my headboard, not the mattress. My fingers move once more. I need to feel it again.

“Fuck,” Lo curses. “Lily! I said stop.” I hear him. I do, but listening is so fucking hard. And a selfish, horrible part of me wants to kick the computer closed to drown out his demands. The pressure intensifies as I stand on another precipice, preparing to jump. Oh God…

“Lily, sit up so I can see you,” he orders.

I can’t. I rub faster and harder and longer. I need more. I’ve always needed more. I cry, my bony shoulders digging into the mattress, my body writhing. I want his hands to pick me up, to throw me into his chest, his muscles to meld into me. My eyes clench closed, and I imagine it all. That he’s hard against me—that he’s inside, waiting for me to come, whispering in my ear that everything is going to be okay if I just release while I’m filled with him.

Yes! I scream, my spine arching, my body prickling with a fire so hot that I can barely breathe. I hit it. Again. And then…I begin to come down. My open mouth closes, and my heartbeat slows, moving past the irregular, erratic pace and towards something I hate.

“Goddammit, Lily,” Lo snaps. “Sit the fuck up, now.”

My eyes widen in horror at what I’ve done, burning with guilty tears. Everything feels different this time. I pull my hand away and mechanically hoist my sluggish body to a sitting position. I hunch forward and hold a nearby throw blanket to my chest. “I didn’t mean…” I bite my fingernail and wipe an escaped tear. Shame crashes into me like a hundred pound wave. I can’t even look at the screen to meet Lo’s disappointed gaze.

I understand now. Why he wanted me to listen to him from the beginning. So we could avoid this. What’s even worse is beneath the festering shame and guilt, there’s a small part of me that wants to do it again. Maybe after we end the Skype conversation…no!

“Did that feel good?” he asks in a tense voice.

Which part? And why do I have to ruin everything? I stare pathetically at my hands. “Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper.

“You haven’t even looked at me yet,” he murmurs.

I inhale a strained breath and finally embrace the courage to meet his gaze. No judgment crosses his features. Instead, his amber eyes swim with empathy that I do not deserve. And I see the worry, as though I broke his heart, as though the extremity and horror of my compulsions just fully registered in his head.

“I’m sorry,” I choke. I rub my tears before they fall. “You don’t have to…” be with me. I am a monster.

“I love you,” he says. “We’re going to work on this together.” Translation: I’m not going anywhere.

“I want to do it again,” I admit in a small voice.

“I know.” He rubs his lips in thought.

“So…then can we do it together again…tonight?” He’s just mad I did it without him, surely.

“We’re done for today,” he says, each word like a mountain he has to climb.

“But I only came twice.” Fear pushes into my chest, making it difficult to breathe.

“And I was only going to let you come once,” he says. “I tried to exhaust you with foreplay, but it’s hard. I should have made you wait longer, and you should have listened to me afterwards. We’re going to get better at it though, but it’ll take time and practice.”

So that’s it for me. I’m not allowed to have any kind of self-love, and Lo is done for the night. I don’t want to do something moronic when he leaves. Don’t think about it, Lily. I let out a deep breath, but it barely calms me.

“Talk to me,” Lo says urgently. He rests his forearms on his bent knees. “What are you thinking, Lil?”

“I’m scared,” I mutter. “…I’m so terrified of what I may do.” I feel hot, searing tears scald tracks down my cheeks.

“I know it’s difficult. I can’t imagine someone giving me one beer and forcing me to stop there. I get it, Lil. I so fucking get it,” he says. “But you have to find the strength to wait. I know it’s there. You just have to dig.”

I let his words sink in for a full minute. A pain weighs on my chest, and it explodes with my next proclamation. “I wish you were here.” My chin quivers, and my voice gives out. I press my forehead to my knees, hiding my shattered expression.

“I am there, love,” he murmurs. “I’m right there with you.” I hear the hurt in his voice. He tries to relax as much as possible, but it’s as though I’m gripping his heart as much as he’s clenching mine. “You’re in my arms,” he tells me, “and I’m kissing your lips, your cheek, your nose…” I shut my eyes and drift to his voice that begins to settle my torment. “Your head leans against my chest, and you listen to the beat of my heart as it slows. I hold your wrists, allowing you to gently come down from your high on my terms. You collapse against me.”

I look up to meet his gaze. It’s filled with hope, with longing and something more. Something that I think can only be shared between two broken people.

“And you stop struggling,” he whispers. “I watch your body relax against me, and then I kiss you on the top of your head. I tell you how proud I am of you, and how making you come once lasts a lifetime.”

My last tear falls. I can’t move to wipe it. I am transfixed by Loren Hale, my everything.

“I love you,” he says again, “and no other man will ever say those words and mean them the way I do.”

My chest hurts so badly. His words are beautiful and painful at the same time. Like us, I suppose. I have to be strong. For him. For me. For us. My throat has swollen, but I find the resolve to reply. “I’m going to spend the rest of the night with Rose.” I nod, solidifying the plan in my head.

“That’s a good idea,” he agrees. “How about you clean yourself up. Get dressed. Tell me goodbye, and then I’ll call Rose and make sure you’re with her.”

I nod again. I’d like that. So much. Having him on my side makes the unbearable feel tolerable. I just hope in the future our struggle will become easier.

Hope. Such a silly thing.

Sometimes it doesn’t come true.