Hothouse Flower (Calloway Sisters 2)

On a motorcycle.

With a girl I fucking love.

I would smile if my body wasn’t so pent up, ready to drive into her and fuck her hard and sweet. I unzip my pants, lowering them below my ass along with my boxer-briefs. And then I grab her legs and spread them wider before I guide myself inside her, slowly. I watch her reaction, making sure I don’t hurt her.

She clutches my neck and starts rocking her hips before I’m even halfway in. So I go all the way. She cries and stops pushing forward, her noise seriously fucking messing with my head. It’s high-pitched and full of unbridled pleasure, full of torrid lust.

I burn when I watch her, when I hear her, my senses blistering into ash.

“Dais,” I say forcefully, reaching above her to grip the handlebar. It allows me to push deeper. Once. Twice. My erection fitting perfectly inside of Daisy.

She cries, her eyelids fluttering.

I lift her leg higher around my waist, and she breathes like she’s having a panic attack.

“I can’t…” She shakes her head from side to side.

I kiss her lips and slow down for a second. “You can, Dais.” I know. It’s fucking intense. These feelings are blinding.

And we’re on a bike, straddling it together. I drop her leg and pull her closer to my chest so she’s in a sitting position. Instinctively her feet rest on the seat behind me, her legs tucked around my waist.

She tightens around my cock as I thrust against her. I put my hand on her lower back, a grunt scratching my throat. Fuck.

“This is—” she starts and then she cries out, her sudden climax forcing her body to me, I hold onto her and only have to thrust two more times before I release, my mind breaking into a million fucking shards. As she pulses, descending off that cliff, she begins to laugh with so much happiness.

It’s a full-bellied, world-altering laugh. Even as she takes a moment to engrain this image in her head, the two of us, as intimate and close as you can be, on this sportbike, she still smiles like it’s the best picture in the world.

She meets my gaze. “This was the best ride you’ve taken me on so far.”

I kiss her strongly and then say, “Want to go again?”

She answers by wrapping her arms around my neck and scooting closer, her grin brightening the universe.

The red dust whips around us. I don’t give a fuck. I make love to her like it’s the most primal experience in the world.

Like it’s what our bodies are created to do.

RYKE MEADOWS

I ride through the night. Daisy sleeps in my arms for some of it, straddled backwards and facing me. I think she averages about four hours of sleep a day, which is better than what she had been doing off Ambien. But I wish I could hold her in my arms through the night, with no restlessness, no moment where she wakes and struggles to return to that peace. I just want what she had—before the media, before the mental trauma.

She is making more progress. We stayed at a hotel one night, and I didn’t have to do our routine, showing her that I locked every single door and checking the shower. She could sleep for a couple hours without that knowledge and feel safe.

I kiss the top of her head and drive on.

The sunrise breaks across the horizon, oranges and reds spilling together. Out west, the quiet atmosphere tranquilizes me, clearing my head. I thought I could show this to my brother. I thought that we could share it, but circumstances or fate or whatever split us apart.

To have this time with Daisy means just as much, but I do recognize that each moment spent with her is a moment away from Lo during his recovery. A part of me is glad to be in Utah, meeting up with him, so I can be there if he needs me.

The other half selfishly wants to go back to the fantasy I had with Daisy—to hide for just a few hours longer before reality comes crashing into us.

I turn a corner and the bike rattles on a gravel road, stirring Daisy from her sleep. I park by a lookout point and remove her helmet before I take off mine.

She rubs her eyes and squints against the sunlight. “What time is it?” she asks with a yawn.

“Morning.”

“Very…” she yawns again. “…accurate.” She turns her head to catch the sunrise, the warm glow bathing her face in color. “It’s gorgeous…”

It has nothing on her.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and she wraps her arms around my waist while I check it with one hand.

We’re in the Canyonlands. I’ll send you a pin. You can meet us there – Connor

I receive the pin and check the map. “We’re ten minutes away,” I tell Daisy. “They’re already there. You ready to see your sisters?”

She nods, but I can see the slight apprehension in her eyes. Outing our relationship to them is the first step before she has to tell her mom. A woman who fucking despises my guts, and I worry once she sees Daisy’s face, she’ll hate me even more.

We put our helmets back on, and she changes positions, sitting behind me. I take off, heading in the right direction.

Seven minutes later, I roll up somewhere by the Green River, not very much traffic around. Mammoth canyons and red rock structures landscape the area. I recognize the black SUV parked by the start of a hiking trail, but I don’t see any of them around.

I check the pin again and realize they’ve hiked towards one of the arches, made from the same red rock. They’re popular formations, so I’m not surprised they’re beside it. I’m just surprised Rose would walk in her five-inch fucking heels to go there.

It takes us about five minutes trekking across the red dirt to find them underneath the large rock that juts to the sky. As the hot sun begins to rise, larger shadows disappear, increasing the temperature.

“Hey guys!” Daisy waves to them, and they all spin around, but none come to meet us halfway. They all just stare.

And it’s at this moment that I know something is very fucking wrong.

My gut knots with every step, and I can’t tear my eyes off my brother’s. His cheekbones are sharpened, his eyes cold and pissed. He can’t still be angry at me for the paparazzi? I thought Connor would have talked him down from that. But Lo likes to harbor a lot of fucking resentment towards me. Yeah, I fucked up. The paparazzi found our campsite in Tennessee and destroyed my promises to him. His fury though, it looks like it’s on another level.

Deeper.

Rawer.

From years and years of pain.

“Love the hair, Dais,” Lily says as we get closer, but her voice breaks, like she knows something bad is about to happen.

And my brother—he breathes heavily, pure malice coating his amber eyes. His nose flares, and then he starts walking towards me.

I stop in my place. “Daisy,” I tell her. “Go to your sisters.”

“Ryke—”

“Fucking go,” I growl.

She backs away from me, not joining her sisters. But she gives me enough space as my brother approaches with a frosty glare.

I don’t know what this is about.

Maybe our father.

Maybe Daisy.

Maybe something else.

Maybe all of the above.

I have a laundry list of bad fucking deeds with good intentions.

“Lo.” I hold out my hands in defense, surrender, mercy. I’m raising a white flag. I don’t want to hit him. I can’t hit him. “What’s wrong? Let’s talk about this.” He’s only ten feet away now.

“You wanna talk about it?” His voice is full of pain. “I gave you a million fucking chances to talk about it,” he sneers. “I’m so done talking to you.” His fist flies and hits my jaw hard. I go down when his knee drives into my stomach.

I cough roughly.

“Lo, stop!” Daisy screams.

I turn my head, and my heart pitches to my throat. She’s running towards us, but Connor is faster and stronger. He picks her up while she thrashes in his arms.

My eyes soften in thanks. I barely prod

uce that look of gratitude before Lo punches my face again. I turn my head and spit blood onto the dirt.