Krista Ritchie - Hothouse Flower

“Fine,” I tell her easily. I near her Ducati, and she stops fiddling with the keys. I swing my leg over and straddle the fucking seat like I normally would, facing the handlebars. She’s the one who’s all turned around.

Our knees knock together, and I’m satisfied with the fact that I can’t near the handlebars. But she’s not ready to give up. She lifts her legs on top of mine and scoots down towards me. Fuck.

She’s straddling me, her back against the gas can, lying on the motorcycle. I touch the fucking throttle and brake easily, extending my arms over her, and her chest rises and falls in a shallow rhythm, acting like I’m about to push into her. Like this is about to go somewhere it is definitely fucking not.

“You’re a wicked girl, Calloway,” I tell her. My cock is pleading with me to thrust forward, and in this moment, I visualize the one thing that keeps me down. My brother beating the shit out of me. And if that doesn’t work, I imagine Lily’s whiny voice in my ear. She’s admitted to thinking about me to stop her sexual cravings, so I don’t feel fucking bad about it.

It works. I don’t move. And my face remains dark, never letting on anything past pissed —and I kind of am. This doesn’t feel fucking good. And yet, I always end up back at this place with her because I love her company so fucking much.

“You’re right. It’s kind of uncomfortable in this position,” she teases. “We don’t fit well at all.” Her lips lift in a mischievous grin again. “I know how we could fit better—”

Fuck me. “Don’t,” I say, sitting up before her head nears mine and subsequently her lips. We’ve never kissed. I don’t plan to start now. Her feet are hiked on the back of the bike, her legs still split open to allow us room.

I fucking swear if she rocks her hips against mine one more time, I’m going to throw her off the bike. And it won’t be nice.

She smiles even wider at the risk that’s clear in my eyes. “I was just going to suggest taking off my boots. What were you thinking?”

My tongue in your mouth. My cock so far inside of you.

My gaze darkens, and I try to ignore her silly smile and roaming hands that grip the bike seat and then drift to her thighs. Some part of her is always moving.

I say, “Something that’s too fucking dirty for your virginal ears.”

She sits up like me, and her chest is only an inch or so from mine. I set my hand on her knee to keep her from scooting any closer.

She says in a more serious voice, “I lost my virginity when I was fifteen.”

“I meant that you haven’t popped your cherry on a motorcycle. I know you aren’t a virgin.” She asked her sister for sex advice on her sweet sixteen trip, and I was there to help Lily chaperone. I was filling in for my brother who was in rehab, and Daisy pretty much said that she already had sex. I just wish her first time wasn’t so fucking awful.

And I kind of wish she stopped at the first guy and waited for someone better. Like…no one. I don’t think anyone is good enough for her. Yeah, it’s fucking selfish. I don’t care.

I add, “I’m not surprised that you lost it that young either.”

She nods. “Because my older sister is a sex addict.” As if that fucking makes her one?

“No, because you try a lot of stuff, and I’m sure you felt like you were missing out on something.”

Her lips rise a little. “When did you lose it?”

“I was fifteen too,” I say. “I was with an eighteen-year-old girl.” My first time was on a fucking golf course at three in the morning.

Daisy digests this. “So you like older women then?”

“I like all women, sweetheart.”

She wears a crooked smile. “You like me?”

Fuck me. “Daisy—”

She holds up her hands, her palms touching my chest because there’s no fucking room. I go rigid beneath them. “I know, sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” She drops her hands quickly, her breath heavy.

I try not to look at her as anything more than she can be. But she’s gorgeous, not because she has this natural fucking beauty—no makeup and bold green eyes, smooth skin and a delicate face.

She’s beautiful because she can make the saddest person in the world grin. And she can make the loneliest guy feel something more. She’s youthful and wild. Primal and really fucking innocent. She’s all these things that scream big fucking risk.

“You know, I’ve only had sex with six guys in my entire life,” she announces.

I stiffen. “Yeah?” I don’t really want these details, even though a part of me masochistically craves them. “For some, six guys would be a lot at eighteen.”

She shrugs. “I was testing out the waters.”

“And how were those fucking waters?” I snap. I shouldn’t have asked. But I do. And I’m not going to take it back.

I wait for her to answer because I know she will.

DAISY CALLOWAY

I should really rethink hashing out my sexual history to my sister’s boyfriend’s older brother. (Yeah, it’s a tongue-twister.) But you know, I started so now I have to finish. I try not to half-ass things. Go full force, Daisy. No hitting the brakes. Yeah, I can do this.

I stare at his eyes that are hard and harsh, never softening for me. Our close proximity doesn’t really alleviate anything between us, but I like his closeness too much to jump off the motorcycle. And hey, he’s not moving either. Good signs, I think.

“The first guy sucked,” I tell him. “We did it once. It lasted like thirty seconds.” I should probably blush, but that time feels ancient. I just remember sitting up in his bed and being like that’s it? That’s sex? What the hell is so awesome about it?

Ryke keeps his face unreadable, just dark and brooding. Okay. I can continue without crumbling under his intense silence. Go, go, go.

I lick my lips and say, “And the second guy, we did it a couple times. He lasted maybe three minutes.”

“How old were these guys?” he asks.

“Only a few years older than me. I mean, I’ve dated guys in their late twenties, but we couldn’t have sex. I wasn’t eighteen yet.” And I wasn’t about to break the law and have a guy thrown in jail for sleeping with me.

“I’ve met most of the older guys you’ve dated,” he reminds me. “They were complete fucking morons by the way.”

“They weren’t that bad.”

“Julian?” he says. “You think he was better than a fucking rat?”

“Connor called him an ape.”

“Connor gave him too much fucking credit.”

“Connor also called you a dog,” I say with a crinkled nose. “Do you think I’m the cat to your dog or am I like a squirrel?”

“How’d we get to this place?” he asks like this is the stupidest ‘fucking’ conversation.

“I’m a hamster, aren’t I?” I stick out my bottom lip.

“You’re not a fucking hamster.” He rolls his eyes and runs his hand through his hair. I don’t think he realizes how hot he is when he does that. “You’re a bird.”

“A bird.”

“Yeah a fucking bird that won’t stop flying or squawking.”

“Like an eagle?”

“You’re prettier than an eagle.” He rolls his eyes again. “Fuck.”

“You called me pretty.” I poke his chest, my smile overtaking my face.

He stares at me hard. “Julian,” he finds the beginning of our conversation. “You still like him? Because if you do, we need to have a heavy fucking talk.”

I shake my head quickly. “No, I don’t like him.”

Julian actually really scared me. He went on a trip to the Alps with all of us. I didn’t realize how in over my head I was until I tried to break up with him, and he wouldn’t listen to me, as if I was too young to really understand. Maybe I was. I don’t know anymore. All I know is that I don’t want to be afraid of the person I’m with. That isn’t a danger I like.