Long Way Down (Calloway Sisters 4)

His chest brushes against mine, and he kisses my cheek before lifting me a couple inches. My heart skips, but everything feels good, the friction warming me. I nod for him to continue.

While clutching my hips, Ryke rocks his pelvis up, pushing all the way into me again. My lips break apart, the fullness better. I nod again and watch his cock dip out, only a little, before disappearing again. He repeats the melodic movement, the speed increasing each time.

I find myself lowering onto him, meeting him faster, and he tucks me against his body. Ahh… “Ryke,” I cry.

“Fuck,” he grunts, pounding into me like he promised. Taking care of me. I try to hang onto his shoulders, my body jumping each time he drives in. It lasts so much longer than I can quantify. Every minute, I think, I’m coming now, right now.

Then another minute arrives.

The cycle continues, pure adrenaline coursing through me. Oh my God.

“Fuuck,” I cry in a high-pitched voice, glad I didn’t let fear rule me. The sensations blind me, and my body tightens against Ryke. Holy shit.

I moan against his shoulder, my skin slick and hot.

“Dais,” I hear his deep, gruff voice in the pit of my ear, his arms gripping me.

I explode, limbs vibrating, heart thumping. His muscles flex as he hits a similar earth-shattering peak.

He pumps into me to prolong the high, and I pant against his neck, clutching the back of his head. He holds me like he’s never letting me go.

And even though the universe rarely tilts our way, in this second, on this magical sleigh, I pretend that we’re going to live forever.

That we’ll have a Minnie Meadows.

And no one will smite us for our love.

Just this once.

RYKE MEADOWS

The sheets are tangled at the end of our fucking bed, our hanging paper lanterns dim, and our husky is fast asleep beside our unpacked suitcases, curled on her sunshine-patterned dog cushion.

I sit naked at the edge of the mattress, one of my knees bent. Daisy is fucking naked too, only she rests against the headboard. Her long legs shift every which way until she holds onto her knee for something to do. Her skin glistens with sweat, but not as much as she should be—not as fucking much as mine.

I break the extended, tense silence. “Let’s take a fucking rain check. We just got back from Tahoe—”

“Six hours ago,” she reminds me. “And we can’t take a rain check when you said that I’m probably ovulating.”

I can tell by the color of her fucking wetness, which is almost nonexistent, but yeah—I think she’s fucking ovulating.

“We skipped sex yesterday,” she also fucking reminds me.

I rake a hand through my damp hair, torn up about this. “You’re not aroused. We just fooled around for three fucking hours, and you’re still really dry, Daisy.”

I’m confident and fucking experienced in foreplay and heightening a girl’s arousal, but I can’t make one who’s chemically and psychologically not in the mood to suddenly feel pleasure. If she’s like this now, there’s no way she’ll hit a climax with me inside her.

I fucking hate that I can’t help her, but this isn’t the first time we’ve both decided to throw in the towel. This is just the first time we’re both struggling to defy what her body is saying. Stop. Not today. Get the fuck away, Ryke. That’s what I’m fucking hearing, and I’ve never disobeyed those pleas.

I let out an aggravated breath and then lift my gaze to her. “Do you know the phrase I sometimes fucking whisper to you—il tuo piacere è il mio. That means your pleasure is my pleasure.”

Pain flashes in her eyes. She’s upset.

Fuck.

She sets her cheek on her kneecap. “I told you this might happen,” she says softly, tracing a wrinkle in the sheet, her doleful green eyes eating at my fucking heart. “Do you think Rose would be pregnant already if our positions were switched?”

“Fuck no,” I say forcefully. “Dais, we’re giving it everything we have. We’re fucking trying, and it’s not your fault if it takes longer. There wasn’t something you missed or something you forgot to fucking do. It just wasn’t our time, okay?”

She nods but appears just as mournful as she did three hours ago, exhaustion in the corners of her eyes, but not the kind that’ll put her to sleep. Then she lies down, her back thudding to the mattress. She extends her long legs out towards me and then breaks them open.

In a soft, begging voice she says, “Please.” Her knees sway. “I don’t want to fight with you on this anymore. I just want it to happen.”

“Were we fucking fighting?” I ask roughly, standing from the bed.

She watches me. “I think there was a fight there.”

This is probably more serious than anything else we argue about. I open the end table drawer, retrieving a red bottle of lube. Then I kneel on the bed between her legs, and she musters a smile that looks forced.

“Don’t fucking do that,” I tell her, rubbing lube on my hardened cock.

“Do what?” Her throat bobs, and her smile wanes so fucking fast.

“Pretend to be enjoying this.” I worry that she’ll start a routine of faking it, thinking it’ll please me more. It does the exact opposite.

“So you just want me to lie here with a frown?”

“If that’s what you’re fucking feeling, then yeah.”

Her chest rises in a sharp inhale. “I can turn on my stomach?”

“No.” I want to be able to tell if I’m hurting her, so I need her fucking facing me.

“Please don’t be mad.” Her voice cracks.

I lean forward. “Hey,” I say quickly, brushing a tear that squeezes out of her eye. I kiss her cheek, her forehead, her nose. “Dais, I’m not fucking angry at you. Look at me.”

Her glassy eyes meet mine.

I can’t soften my features. I can’t rid my fucking scowl or the lines that crease my forehead. “I would never fuck you while I was mad at you.” For fuck’s sake, it’s almost impossible to be angry at Daisy for longer than a couple minutes. I end up empathizing more with her than with anyone else.

“Tell me what I should do,” she says quietly. “I want to make this more enjoyable for you.”

My hand trails the outside of her smooth leg, my other forearm resting beside her head. I raise her ass just a fucking fraction of an inch, enough to be in line with my erection. “You don’t have to do a fucking thing. Just relax.”

She tries, her hands running along my abs, but her body is stiff, joints locked.

I push inside of Daisy, careful since she’s not wet. Fuck. Her tightness wells pressure around me, and I fucking throb, blood pooling. I rock against her, and she clutches my biceps. I watch her closely, my temperature escalating, and she does as I asked, not pretending to be aroused.

She shuts her eyes and turns her cheek onto her pillow.

It’s a sign that she’s waiting for this to end, and it fucking kills me for a moment. Don’t think about it. Instead of agonizing over her reaction, I have to increase my pace. My ass flexes each time I thrust deeper. When I kiss her temple, her eyes flutter open. Sweat beads along my body, and she watches me pump inside of her for a minute.

Then her lips meet mine. I kiss her back, more aggressively, and a weak smile pulls at her mouth. I hear her mumble, “My wolf.”

She’s my fucking sun, and even though she’s set tonight, she means nothing less to me. I love her just as fucking madly.

My pace quickens, rapid-fire, until I come with one last thrust. She nips my lip in a feral kiss, and I tuck my hand against her head, bringing her off the pillow and kissing her strongly.

After I pull out and my heartbeat slows, I turn on my side and then draw her back to my chest. I wrap my arms around her, and she clutches them.

I’m fucking glad that’s over. I’m not happy that I’ll eventually have to do it again, but hopefully there’ll be a time where we’re holding a kid.

r /> Where we look back in remembrance and think, we did everything we fucking could to have this.

DAISY CALLOWAY

Three-sixty views of New York City on New Year’s Eve. A sight currently held by me and hundreds of socialites at Connor Cobalt’s black-tie charity event in a city high-rise. We’ve all gathered in the classic ballroom, waiters passing around trays of pink and gold champagne.

I drank too much water on the limo ride here, so I break from my sisters to go to the restroom. A sea of people part as though creating a runway to the bathroom, their gazes hot on me.

I tug the long sleeves of my glittering white dress that has a plunging neckline and thigh-high slit. With red lips and actual eye makeup, I probably resemble “supermodel Daisy” more than just “regular ole Daisy” but I wanted to dress up for the formal event.

Five feet from the bathroom, someone abruptly cuts off my path. I almost smack into his chest, but I take a step back.

I raise my head.

And I go cold.