She tries.
I kiss the base of her neck while I free my erection. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her forehead pressed to my chest. My blood stirs. My lips trail up to her ear, and I whisper the same truths. I’d never hurt you. You’re safe with me, Rose.
I cup her face and grip my shaft. I’d like to fuck her hard until she collapses against me, but she’s pregnant.
Not with your baby.
The single thought tries to gnaw at my unyielding logic.
Not with your baby.
With Ryke’s.
Here’s another truth: I’m possessive when it comes to my things. So is Rose. But I don’t like sharing. She does. It’s why she’s carrying her sister’s baby and why the situation fucks with my mind.
I choose not to hesitate. By the time my lips skim hers in a deep breath, my hand clutching the back of her head, I drive my erection into Rose.
She comes immediately.
I shield her staggered moan beneath my palm. I rock deeper in, building her to another climax before she finishes the first one.
“Connor,” Rose breathes, a tinge of fear in her voice. She’s putty and she’s pregnant.
“Shhh.” I kiss her forehead once more. “Vous êtes en sécurité avec moi. Vous êtes en sécurité avec moi.”
Rose gives herself completely to me, and I honor that trust to the fullest degree. I hold her waist and grip her hair. I take care of her needs. Soft and slow as she quivers. Deeper when she clings tighter to me.
I whisper rapidly in her ear, my unwavering declaration arousing her. While she arouses me. Rose clenches around my cock so frequently that my head lightens, blinding.
I hit a peak with Rose, and while I gently milk the rest of my climax, I hold her against me, her body collapsed in exhaustion and submission. Cheek to my shoulder.
I comb her hair off her face and tuck the strands behind her ear.
Tiredly, she whispers, “Je t’aime.” I love you. As her eyes flit up to me, a spark returns to those yellow-green orbs.
I grin.
Je t’aime.
{ 35 }
December 2023
Dalton Elementary Philadelphia
LILY HALE
“Moms and Dads, I think it’s about time. Let’s begin our December meeting.” Maggie Hollybaum clutches a wooden clipboard like it’s a second appendage. Hair in perfect blonde curls, pearl earrings clipped tight, a yellow monogrammed purse perched on the teacher’s desk—I wonder how she looks so clean and neat.
I can’t even keep stains off my clothes. Right now, I think I have peanut butter on the collar of my shirt.
At least…I hope it’s peanut butter. Please let it be peanut butter.
I don’t check.
We all quiet down while Maggie scans her clipboard.
As the head of the PTA, I initially thought Maggie would be the most stuck-up, judgmental parent of them all. I was prepared for her disdain to rain down on me. Then she made a fart joke to Daisy and laughed when her own son picked his nose.
I like Maggie, but it’s not to say the rest of the PTA like me.
I currently sit in the back row of the elementary classroom. I feel like I’ve stepped into some fucked-up time machine.
Maggie clicks her tongue in thought. “Okay, here we go. Annie and Summer have already agreed to head the annual ornament painting festival. We still need someone to organize the cookie fundraiser.” Her finger runs down the roster of parents.
One desk over, Daisy whispers to me, “Don’t look her in the eyes.”
Connor sits on my other side. He halfheartedly followed us to the back row of desks. Apparently his inner honor student withers away the longer he’s in the “apathetic” row. Personally, I love Apathetic Row.
At least when it comes to school.
I try to follow my little sister’s instructions and stare at the surface of my desk. I squint at a faint marker doodle. Did someone draw a dick and balls? Noooo. This is just my dirty mind. It could be a weirdly shaped hot dog?
I whisper to Connor, “Is this a dick doodle?” I point at my desk. I’m glad he doesn’t question why I asked him. Ryke definitely would’ve, and I’d have to explain that since he has a penis, he’d be a better judge than me. Even though I’ve seen my fair share.
Connor examines the doodle in about one second flat. “Yes but it’s crooked.”
“Lily Hale.”
I jump at my name, my neck roasting. They didn’t hear you talk about a dick doodle. For some reason, I rest my arm across my desk, covering up the crooked penis like I’m the one who drew it.
“Yeah?” I look to Maggie.
“You’re not signed up for anything.”
“Really?” I stare at the ceiling. “I could’ve sworn I signed up for that…thing.” Lo and I made an agreement not to be swept up into too many activities. We already have enough on our plate that we don’t need to add ornament painting to it.
“How about you head the holiday cookie fundraiser?” Maggie suggests nicely. It nearly sways me to say yes.
Then Frank Kale, the only other man here besides Connor, interjects, “You shouldn’t give that much responsibility to someone like her.”
He’s the second worst person in the PTA. Moffy tried Little League for one season (he likes swimming more), and we all saw Frank scream at the coach to make his son pitcher. The coach asked his son if he wanted to be pitcher. To which the boy said, not really. Frank dragged his son by the arm and took him off the team.
Lo called him a helicopter dad.
Ryke called him a fucking prick.
Connor called him Frank Kale.
His whole persona makes us all cringe. So Connor ended up being the most accurate. Like right now, I cringe at Frank and wish he’d turn his judgy eyes onto the whiteboard.
Before I can respond, Maggie sticks up for me. “Lily helped with the Easter Egg hunt last year. There were no issues, Frank.”
“Because Rose handled that event, not her.”
“I helped.” I stick up for myself. Though the truth: the cookie fundraiser might be too much responsibility for just me. So the heart of what Frank said is correct. I hate that it is, but it is. I have a baby that’s about to turn one. A bouncy four-year-old. And an eight-year-old with a crazy swim practice schedule.
I love cookies, but I don’t know where to squeeze in an entire cookie fundraiser between all of that and Superheroes & Scones.
I suck at multitasking. I’d willingly give myself an F. So there.
Then Justine whatever-her-last-name-is physically swivels in her seat to cast a snide comment my way. “Where are you even going to bake the cookies?”
She is the absolute worst. To my face, Justine said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but you probably shouldn’t have children.” It hurt, and it hurts worse when she tries to spread lies to her gaggle of friends. They don’t keep a clean household.
Kids shouldn’t hear sex. Or see it.
She’s disgusting. We should have her children kicked out of the school.
They’ve tried and failed. I have a secret weapon called Rose Calloway Cobalt and Connor Cobalt. No one can defeat nerd stars.
Connor speaks before I find words to reply. “Bake implies kitchen, which most commonly implies house. It’s simple language skills.”
Justine purses her lips, brown hair in perfect waves from a curling iron no doubt.
“I haven’t signed up for anything either,” Daisy says to the PTA-filled classroom. She tries to spin the spotlight on herself and off me. Rose and Connor never signed up for an event this year too, but they haven’t been called out. I’m just an easy target sometimes.
Frank tightens his silver-plated Rolex watch in front of Connor. “Then you should do the fundraiser instead of her.”
“I have a name,” I mention softly. My shyness escalates to eighty-percent functionality. I’m just happy I’m not hiding beneath my desk.
“I can do it with Lily,” Daisy says.
“The three of us can,” Connor notes.
I relax at the sound of teamwork. I truly love the concept, especially when the guys are better bakers than us (especially Ryke), and it’s likely they’ll just take over. That’s my idea of excellent teamwork.
“But at which house?” Justine asks.