Hothouse Flower (Calloway Sisters 2)

“I call you a bitch five times a day and you don’t bat an eye,” Lo reminds her. Then he remembers her outburst tonight and corrects himself, “Well, not usually.”

“They’re not hurtful from you,” she refutes. “That was Vogue.” She touches her chest. “I cried for two days straight when I read that.”

“Vogue is her Bible,” Lily says.

“Does that mean I’m like your saint?” Daisy asks with a smile. She was in Vogue a few months ago. On the front of the fucking magazine.

“You’d be more saint-like if you participated,” Rose says.

Daisy brightens and then stands on the seat of her canvas chair. “Daisy Calloway ‘the baby Calloway’,” she reads and adds air quotes, “has been spotted with another male model at a Gucci fashion shoot. Close sources have confirmed that she’s been seeing him. This is the third guy this month for Daisy. Could this be a clear sign that she’s following in Lily’s footsteps? Only time will tell.” She flings the magazine and it spins to the fire like a Frisbee.

Hearing that—it hardens my face. The Gucci shoot was months ago, and even though I know she couldn’t be with those guys—we slept in the same bed every night—the accusations piss me off. Rose wants to expel bad energy, but I don’t read these tabloids for a reason.

“You go,” Daisy tells me. She tries to kick my chair over with her foot, but she doesn’t have enough strength when she’s standing up high. I don’t rise. I just look down at the magazine in my hands after finding the center article. “Ryke Meadows in another fight with a photog. And they show a picture of me yelling at some cameraman.” I lazily toss the magazine in and lean back in my chair.

“Do you feel any different?” Daisy asks as she hops off her chair.

“Nope.”

Daisy gasps and looks to Rose. “It didn’t work on him. Can we cast a spell to protect him from evil?”

Rose rolls her eyes now and then she looks at my brother. “Loren, please go.”

He reluctantly rises, but only because Lily climbs off his lap and physically pulls him from the chair. When his eyes fall to the magazine I see how they change. They sharpen and turn cold. “Another source confirms molestation rumors. Jonathan Hale and Loren Hale continue to deny them. Jonathan’s first son has yet to comment.”

No one speaks. An uncomfortable tension blankets our campsite. I wait for Lo to throw the magazine into the fire or curse me out or both. But his eyes remain on the tabloid and his brows furrow as he continues to read silently. He starts shaking his head.

“What is it?” Connor asks.

“A psychiatrist specializing in sex addiction was interviewed,” Loren reads, “and confirms that most sex addicts experience sexual trauma. We have confirmation that…” He rubs his lips to hide emotion, his eyes reddening. He shakes his head. “We have confirmation that Lily Calloway spent much of her time with the Hales. It’s suspected that Jonathan Hale might have bene an influence in her addiction.”

They’re implying that Jonathan abused her too.

I can’t see that happening. I shake my head as much as Lo. My dad may be a bad fucking guy, but he wouldn’t do that to Lily, to his best friend’s daughter. It’s something unthinkable.

And if Lo saw that happen, he wouldn’t roll over and stay quiet. He would go absolutely crazy. He would have, without a fucking doubt, killed our father.

“What?” Lily says, gaping. “Lo, that never happened.”

Lo looks up at her and his gaze immediately softens. “I know, Lil.” He doesn’t even hesitate. Doesn’t question her or think otherwise. There’s complete loyalty between them. But it doesn’t break the pain that they share between their gazes. They’re both being dragged through this.

“Throw it in,” Rose says quietly.

He does it. And I watch it burn, right along with my thoughts.

I don’t know what or who to believe anymore.

Everything’s just dark.

RYKE MEADOWS

I am alone with Daisy. In a tent.

“I’m not surprised,” Daisy whispers. I attached a flashlight at the top of the three-person tent and it dangles like a lamp. I can see all of her as she sits cross-legged. I lie on my back, watching her twist her hair into a bun. “Rose thought the shadows were bugs, and she rolled on top of Lily, she was so grossed out.” Daisy smiles at the image. “She’s never been camping.”

“Really? I hadn’t fucking noticed,” I say. Rose was the first to ditch the all-girls tent. She unzipped the one I was in, bracing an axe in her hand like she was ready to murder all of us. I think the thought seriously crossed my brother’s mind.

But Connor reached out for her, and she melted, like a feral cat turned into a soft kitten. Before I left, his arms were wrapped around her, and she seemed content. Lily showed up next, too frightened to be alone with just Daisy in the all-girls tent. In Lo’s words, Rose could scare off a “wildebeest” and without her, Lily decided to seek comfort with her boyfriend.

Which left Daisy all by herself.

And it gave me a necessary excuse to sleep in her tent. No one really wanted her to be alone in the middle of the woods. Not even my brother.

“Lie down,” I tell Daisy. I can tell she’s having trouble sleeping. She doesn’t want to take Ambien tonight, and I can’t push her to take that pill anymore. The side effects are too intense. There has to be another way to combat her insomnia.

Instead of lying down, she straddles my waist. She’s wearing my track sweatpants that are baggy on her legs. I fucking love her in my clothes. “I can’t sleep,” she says.

“It’s two in the morning,” I whisper, sitting up fully. I’m taller than her in this position. Being this close to her, my chest an inch from hers, strains the air and stiffens my muscles. “Have you ever imagined me fucking you?” Curiosity compels me to the question. My fingers glide along her bare hips, underneath my Penn shirt that she wears.

Her breathing shallows, probably wondering if tonight will be the night. “Yes.”

“When?” I prod. I pull the T-shirt over her head, leaving her topless, her nipples already erect. It’s over for me. I harden in a fucking instant and a large breath catches in the back of her throat as she feels me underneath her.

“A bunch of times,” she says in a whisper, the air tensing. She tugs on my shirt, wanting me bare as much as she is. I help her pull it over my head, and then she starts to trace the outline of my tattoo with her fingers. “By myself. But usually…” She pauses, her green eyes flitting up to mine. “When I was with other guys. I thought it’d help.”

She thought about me when she was screwing other guys.

Not just masturbating to the idea of me.

I just want to fuck you harder.

My surprise sits beneath an intense arousal that literally forces my body to hers. I grab the back of her head. She grabs mine, and I kiss her hard and urgently. I think about every night I spent in her bed. The restraint. Every time I pictured Daisy underneath my body, my muscles cloaking her in safety and so much fucking power. Driving into her. Releasing. Fuck. I need inside of her.

Our lips and hands and bodies connect like a bomb goes off between us, nerves screaming, lungs barely fucking breathing.

I move roughly with her and she moves wildly with me.

Our legs tangle together, and her hands roam my abs with eagerness, settling on my back, gripping my flesh while my weight bears down on her. She cries out as I grind into her. Fuck… I want to hear her again, but I have to stifle her noises. So I cover her mouth with my palm, and I keep grinding against her, my cock throbbing. Push into her.

Not yet.

She mumbles against my hand, trying to speak while I slide the track pants off her long legs. I remove my hand and shed down to my boxer-briefs.

“Push into me,” she whispers, her lips swollen from our embrace, her breathing ragged. The flashlight swings above us. We must have knocked into it, and neither of us attempts to t

urn it off. I want to see all of her, every reaction and every limb.

Instead of outright answering her, I undress Daisy, slipping off her panties and shirt. We kiss again, just hammered with these intense feelings. She rolls her hips against me, and I slam my weight back into her. She cries out, and I grip her hair.

She lies on her back, her shallow breaths slicing the silence. Her eyes pin on my dick, and I can tell she’s imagining every inch of me inside of her.

“Please,” she breathes.

I comb my fingers through her hair and then hold her face in my large hard. She’s small beneath me, fragile. Even if she thinks she’s experienced, she’s not experienced with me. Not yet, at least. I kiss her while my other hand descends to her clit. She bucks her hips up to meet me as my fingers move up and down and then circular.

She writhes beneath me, her nails clawing into my back. Just as her lips part, I slide my hand over her mouth, her hot breath heating my palm.

I scan her from head to toe, the way she unravels in pleasure, the way her legs spasm, and her body arches towards me, her hips thrusting to try and find a pressure that I have yet to give her. Watching Daisy come is like watching a person discover a new world, seeing fireworks for the first time, lit up and awed. Knowing I helped her achieve it—I fucking ache to be closer, to fill her with happiness and me.

Her toes curl and her fingers press deep into my back, her head tilted, my hand enveloping her face to muffle the cry.

I sit up and let her catch her breath, which is all over the fucking place.

She watches me, but my dark gaze lets little through besides I want you. You’re so fucking beautiful. She quickly matches my position, sitting, and I spread her legs wider around me.