I’m more used to infiltrating their guy group than I used to be. Paris was the start of it all, and I know every start must have an ending. I just can’t imagine one yet. I know I don’t have to.
Suddenly, Ryke catches me by the waist and brings me in his arms, rolling on his side and mine. My blonde hair tangles and frizzes some, and his large hand slides through the strands. In the background, Lo and Connor discuss the state of his eye, so it’s not entirely quiet.
Ryke says lowly, “Your husband must be the luckiest fucking man.”
I smile. “He’s definitely the kindest.”
“Yeah?” Ryke can’t hold out any longer. He kisses me strongly, and my body surges with tingling heat. His lean muscles wrap around my build, and I run my fingers through his thick hair and down his rough jaw, his gruff masculinity so, so attractive to me.
I whisper against his lips, “He’s going to be so mad.”
“Who?”
“My husband,” I tease. “I’m kissing another man.”
Ryke raises his brows at me, and then he slides his hand down the back of my jeans, cupping my bare ass. I have good days and bad where my sex drive is concerned, but lately they’ve been really, really good. Like now, my nerves nearly twitch in response, welcoming his advances and his coarse hands.
Ryke’s lips tickle my ear as he whispers, “How’d he fucking feel about this?”
“Very, very jealous.” I grab his wrist and push his hand deeper in my pants, and his fingers curve towards a more sensitive area. “I can’t be sure, but I think he likes another part of me more than my ass.”
“I know which fucking part.”
I smile at the danger of his hand, creeping lower and lower. My pulse races. “Which fucking part?”
He tucks me closer to his chest, and he murmurs, “The part that makes you come so fucking hard.”
I almost shudder in his arms. Go for that part…right…now.
“It’s out.” Connor’s voice nearly startles me.
Lo stretches to a stance, and neither Ryke nor I shift out of our tangled positions on the carpet. “What was it?” I ask all of them.
Connor answers, “A piece of a contact.”
I frown. “When did you start wearing contacts, Lo?”
“When I got a job that consists of staring at little words in little panels.” Halway Comics. Lo is on his way to the bathroom, and he suddenly sees me and his brother. He shakes his head. “My eyesight didn’t get fucked up enough for this.”
“You and your wife are fucking worse,” Ryke retorts.
“But I love my wife. I only kind of love you.” Lo gives him a half-smile, but then he laughs at his own joke, much more lighthearted than he would’ve been in the past.
Ryke even smiles, just as Lo turns into the bathroom.
Connor collects their shopping bags to change, not even batting an eye towards us. He just disappears into the bathroom and shuts the door. I dropped Ryke’s bag nearby, and he also needs to change clothes.
Rolling on top of him, I pull off his gray shirt, his dark eyes carving up and down my body. I tug his black track pants to his thighs and then playfully bite the waistband of his boxer-briefs to draw them off. I don’t get far.
His muscles flex. “Fuck.”
This is an urgent stop kind of fuck, so I stop.
“You’re fucking trouble.” He picks me off his lap and then stands. He must see the confusion in my eyes because he adds, “I can’t get hard right now, sweetheart.”
I mock gasp. “Men get erections?”
He finds a nearby thing to throw at me, which is his shopping bag.
I catch it on my lap and then toss my hands in the air theatrically. “He loves me; he really, really loves me.” I fall backwards.
Ryke snatches the shopping bag, effortlessly sheds his track pants entirely, and he chucks those at my face. I smile and pull them off while he finds his “wardrobe” for the photo shoot.
I have no idea what Rose picked out for each guy. She designed a really small line of men’s underwear for the summer, and all the proceeds go to charity. The marketing team said more women would buy the underwear for their significant other if Ryke, Lo, and Connor modeled them.
“I wasn’t involved in the choices,” I say. “I was just told to bring them to you.”
Ryke holds up a pair of white briefs.
He never wears briefs. He checks the label on the shopping bag, thinking I mixed him up with his brother or Connor.
I didn’t.
“What the fuck are you smiling at?” he asks, but if you saw Ryke, you’d see that a shadow of one begins to lift his lips.
“You.”
He gets naked and flings his boxer-briefs at my face. My smile stretches, and on the floor, I sit up against the bed. I give him a long once-over: his lean, sculpted body only rock climbers could share. I land on his cock, and my nerves stir awake.
He has to force his gaze off me. Then he puts on the white briefs, tucking in his junk, and fixing the elastic band. They barely fit him.
“Do you want any modeling advice?” I ask to distract his penis.
“No.” This cemented word originates from hating what modeling did to me. Any memories I do have contain painful sentiments he wouldn’t want to dredge up.
I think about Sullivan for a second, but I try not to let it consume my focus. Frederick, my therapist, told me not to fixate on her health when I’ve left her in the care of family. I need to put myself first more and focus on my health too. Not just for me but for Sulli.
This is the very first time I’ve left her alone with my mom. I was only a little nervous when she kept saying, look how gorgeous and look at her eyes. This is the first granddaughter she’s had with green eyes, and I know it’s insane to think she’d model off my baby. I just hear my mom, petting my hair, and saying, your hair, look at this gorgeous hair.
I trust that she won’t take photos or post them online or even share them with her friends. Ryke told her really bluntly not to, and I seconded his declaration.
Lo and Connor emerge from the bathroom about the same time my phone buzzes in my pocket. His little brother starts laughing. Connor’s grin could capsize the Titanic. It might be the combination of never seeing Ryke in white briefs and how tiny they are compared to his package. Lo and Connor were given black and navy boxer-briefs that fit them better.
Lo puts his fist to his mouth, still laughing uncontrollably.
Ryke shakes his head like his brother is the one with the issue. It’s impossible to shame Ryke out of an outfit. He’ll wear anything with the same amount of confidence he always exudes.
I stand up and click into my text.
Left waxing kit + shaving cream + razors for Ryke in the shower. Shave thighs, around the underwear line, legs to his ankles. Thanks! – Tiffany (event coordinator) Lo is already snapping a photo of his brother, who has no care in the world about the briefs. Even though I’m pretty sure if Ryke shifts the wrong way, something is popping out.
“Stop!” I tell Lo.
All the guys freeze.
Ryke’s brows knot. “It’s alright, Dais.” He clearly gave his brother permission, but that’s not why I shouted.
“If you post a pic now, you’ll have a ‘before’ and ‘after’ picture.” Fans would definitely put them side-by-side and compare his hairless legs to the original. I doubt Ryke would personally care, but Rose would be upset if all the headlines about the photo shoot read: Ryke Waxes!
Lo swings his head to Connor while lowering his phone. “What’s she talking about?”
“Ask Ryke to translate,” Connor says. “That’s his puppy.”
Ryke gives them the middle finger.
I explain, “Tiffany left wax in the shower for Ryke.”
“Why the fuck for me?” Ryke questions over Lo’s second batch of laughter.
“Oh, man.” Lo has to prop himself against the wall, a stitch in his side. “You better believe I’m pulling a strip off.”
“It should be obvious to you,” Connor tells Ryke before I can speak.
I take a seat on the edge of the bed.
Ryke outstretches his arms. “I have hairy fucking legs. Tell me why that fucking matters?” Two fucks in one rant. He’s upset.
“Society hates body hair,” Connor says. “Even occasionally on men.”