Fuel the Fire (56 page)

I scoff. “With what?”

“Honey,” Daisy pipes in.

Lily nods. “Pooh.” She reddens. “I mean Pooh Bear…” She scrunches her face. “Wait…I don’t mean how that sounds. I mean—”

“We know,” I cut off this train wreck. “Winnie the Pooh.”

She nods again, more confidently. “Yes. Pooh Bear. He likes honey, so if we leave jars thirty miles away, maybe they won’t come near us.”

I want to point out that
no one
has even seen a bear yet, but Poppy stretches to look at Daisy beside me. “Daisy?”

“Yeah?” Daisy gives her a smile, to show she’s better. I can’t tell how forced it is, but I’d like to think she’s truly not as morose as before.

“Have you ever thought about taking a break…like I did with Sam?” she wonders. “I just wanted to know your thoughts on it.”

Before Daisy speaks, I hear the
whoosh
of the sliding glass door. We all turn our heads at the same time, and our husbands and Daisy’s boyfriend collect onto the second-story deck. Loren opens the grill, and none of them intrude yet, just cooking and talking amongst each other.

“I have imagined it,” Daisy admits, “but it’s not like you think.” She splashes the lake with her feet. “Every time I picture being alone, I’m traveling backwards to where I once was. I wasn’t happy back then.”

“When were you happiest?” Poppy asks.

Daisy smiles fully as she thinks about it. “The moment I started filling my time with him. I no longer did these fun things by myself. He surfed with me. He snorkeled with me. He jumped off cliffs with me. I had a friend. A
real
friend. I’ve learned more about myself, about my likes and dislikes and my limitations and my expectations, in the company of Ryke than I have all the years I spent alone. And I don’t want to go back.”

I wrap my arm around her waist. “There is nowhere that says once you have a friend, boyfriend, or husband, you lose your independence. They’re not mutually exclusive, and we should all be allowed to have both.” No matter what age.

Poppy nods, more understanding of this notion. “I agree.”

Daisy inhales deeply, staring at the sky. “Some days I can’t even imagine being a year older, and then other days, all I see is the far off future.”

“I better still have a sense of style in your future,” I tell her. “If I’m wearing an oversized poncho, the world has really gone to hell.”

Everyone laughs, and not long after, we all stand together. Daisy holds my hand while we head up the hill, the smell of burgers wafting towards us. We climb the deck steps and reach the top where everyone has gathered. Willow and Garrison sit beside each other on rocking chairs, nursing cans of Fizz Life.

I’m about to approach them when Connor cuts off my stride, Jane on his hip. “Ça a été?”
How did it go?

Ryke informed him, I presume. In the corner of my eye, I see Daisy and Ryke reuniting by the grill. He hugs her with a great deal of support and affection, his love for her so apparent.

Connor tries to remove my smudged mascara with his thumb. I focus back on him. “I’m going to have her baby if she can’t carry one.”

He’s not at all surprised or reluctant of this idea. He agrees with the plan. I see it in his genuine smile. And he says, “You’re a strong woman.”

I’ve been dealt a fuller set of cards than the ones passed to Lily and Daisy. They’re just as strong, if not stronger. I’ve always been here as extra reinforcement, and however old we become, however gray we are, that won’t ever change.

[ 51 ]

ROSE COBALT

“Respirez profondément,” Connor whispers in my ear.
Take deep breaths.

I have imprisoned oxygen in my lungs. My brain is
highly
aware of what Connor’s brain wants to do. We’re leaving the lake house tomorrow, and so it’s not crazy to believe that he wants to push a boundary of ours. I think out of all the trips we’ve ever taken together, we do something “out of the ordinary” near the end.

Like the Alps. I lost my virginity before we left.

Like our honeymoon in Bora Bora. We had sex in a beach cabana the day before our flight home.

And you loved both of those and all the others, Rose.

That knowledge barely extinguishes my anxiety.

I lie on my stomach, and he leans forward, collecting my damp hair off my shoulder and gaining access to the nape of my neck. He kisses my sensitive skin, my body thrumming from the hour of foreplay—already wet, already ready for another climax. I realize all of this, but…even using plugs for weeks, I doubt whether Connor in my ass will be anything other than excruciating.

“Get out of your head, Rose.” He spanks my ass, and I exhale a tighter breath. Then he picks his weight off me.

I look over my shoulder. Completely naked like me, he straddles my thighs that are pressed together, my body supine like I’m just sleeping on my stomach, at peace. He fits a pillow beneath my hipbones, lifting up my bottom for his possession.

“Just relax.”

Relax. It’s not that easy for my high-strung, neurotic mind. I try to focus on him: his confidence that consumes the room and says
this will be pleasurable for you, Rose
; his carved biceps and infuriatingly defined abs, muscles pointing to his erect cock.

And his knees are on either side of
my
body—it’s an image I’ve masturbated to as a teenager. I can’t deny this, but in my fantasy, there was no anal sex at play.

“Shh,” he breathes, his lips rising.

“Shushing me isn’t going to help, Richard,” I mutter.

“Je connais toutes les façons de vous aider. Croyez-moi.”
I know all the ways to help you. Believe me.

Believe him? Trust him? I watch as he rakes my body with his gaze and a slow, desirous hand, drawing the curve of my frame with his palm. My nerves spark beneath his touch, and my legs tremble a little.

I swallow some reservations, knowing that he’ll pull out if I even momentarily show signs of struggle.

You’re a fucking lioness, Rose. Let him mount you.

Something cold and delicate skims my ankles. I crane my neck further over my shoulder, about to turn onto my back and sit up. He places a firm hand on my ass, keeping me stationary. “Don’t move,” he orders.

“What are you doing?”

He turns to me, an item in his closed fist. I bet it’s a duplicate of whatever is wrapped around my ankles. It’s so thin that I think I can tug it off and raise it with my toes, all without shifting onto my back. However, the moment I lift a single foot, Connor seizes my leg, trapping me.

“You don’t want to do that, Rose.”

I glare. “Why not?”

And then he leans forward to reach my wrists. He pulls them higher, clasping them together with one strong grip. “Because if you move, you’ll break this.” He reveals a never-ending, tantalizing strand of diamonds, the necklace fragile and faint like a whisper in your ear. He carefully wraps it twice around my wrists before clipping the tiniest clasp.

I wonder if these are new products for Cobalt Diamonds. Even if they weren’t, I’d hate to shatter jewelry—especially a piece that’s my style, my taste, perfectly me.

“Are you bribing me?” I wonder.

“No,” he says adamantly. “I need you to
not
squirm or bolt upright or spread your legs open. And you’ve grown too used to handcuffs.”

I can still crane my neck over my shoulder to peek at him. He’s in the same position, his hands on my lower back. “Close your eyes.”

“No.”

He spanks my ass. I shudder and bite my pillow, my body aching for more stimulation. His fingers comply, massaging my clit for two agonizing seconds.

“You need to be completely relaxed.”

He’s reminded me before that if I tense up, it’ll cause me pain, so he’s trying his hardest to calm me before he does anything.

“I’m going slow,” he communicates, knowing I can’t be left in the dark with this. “I won’t enter you all at once, I promise.”

Translation:
I know your body. I know your limitations. Trust me.

I do.
I close my eyes and rest my cheek on my soft pillow, attempting to relax. I feel a new temperature, cold but a little warm. Lube, I assume. Not long after, Connor gradually pushes his way inside of me. Just when the expansion begins to pinch, his fingers dip and rub, creating hot friction.

My mind shadows the pain as higher, orgasmic sensations blink in Technicolor. I gasp into the pillow, my lips parting in a staggered breath. He removes his fingers and pushes further in and out, edging his way deeper inside. The fullness (full of him—
oh God
) is unlike anything…

When I’ve stretched to his size, he thrusts in every second, not too rough but assured pumps. The pulsing between my legs grows and seems to time with his movement in my ass.

I open my eyes and glance back at him. With hands firmly clasped to my love handles, his body flexes with each drive forward. I keep watching him. How he’s kneeling, how he’s thrusting into me, how his focus is on my being. The arousal in his deep blues spins me to another sweltering place.

“Connor,” I gasp, my mouth unable to close. I moan into the sheets, resting my spinning head back on the pillow.

A groan sticks to this throat, and he leans back to unclasp the diamond strand from my ankles, never missing a beat. He suddenly seizes my ankle and lifts it higher while he continues to thrust, allowing for fuller, deeper penetration. “Stay still—”

He warns too late. The quick burst, his powerful force, causes me to shift my arm, to brace myself for better support. The diamond chain snaps in two. He never stops to let me fixate on what I did.

With my palm flat on the bed, he grips underneath my bent elbow with the other hand, holding me secure in a slightly altered position. He takes me harder from behind.

He has my limbs. In his grasp. And he never ends the rhythm. I’m so aware of his cock inside of me, more than ever. I’m full of Connor Cobalt, and it’s…

My eyes roll back. My toes curl.

Mount the fuck out of me.

I can’t believe I like this.

But then I can. I’ve liked many things that I never believed I would.

* * *

If Connor is a god during sex, then he’s certainty a god afterwards. He’s so attentive to my body’s needs, to be handled with the strange mix of rough and tender care. He massages my raw and reddened skin, from being slapped, with warm, smooth lotion.

I can tell he enjoyed it as much as I did—his heavy breaths and grin a sign enough. He helps me to my feet and we take a shower together, then put on new pajamas, and I crawl back into clean sheets. I face him and he tucks a damp strand of hair behind my ear.

“You’re going to say
I told you so
and that my limitations are all in my head,” I predict. He was right. I liked it.

“No,” he surprises me. “Everyone has limitations, and I’m certain that some of yours aren’t just constructed by fear.”

My mind is on a slow, tired descent, so I try to imagine what my limitations even are. “You’re not sucking my toes,” I note.

I feel his smile in the dark. “I won’t.”

What else is there?

I realize I say the words aloud because he answers with, “Fisting.”

I cringe. “No.”

“I don’t want to either,” he whispers in the pit of my ear, pulling me closer. Sometimes we cuddle (such a soft word) after sex, and I let him hold me for a little while, drifting in the security of his strong arms.

[ 52 ]

ROSE COBALT

I cup a mug of coffee in bed with Connor, Jane playing with a picture book between us. We brought a newspaper to the lake house, and I hold one end while Connor holds the other. My eyes glaze over some of the words, the weight of our last day here hanging in the back of my mind.

I have to broach the topic. “I’m going to speak after you at the press conference,” I say. “So if you change your mind at last minute, I’ll just go along with whatever you decide.”

Connor tenses, and Jane taps a button on the book, the speakers letting out a sheep’s
baaaa
. I hope he doesn’t feel the irony. Fate is cruel. Why couldn’t the book let out a lion’s roar or a wolf’s howl? No, it had to be a sheep.

He lowers his side of the newspaper. I lower mine and cup my mug with two hands.

“That’s more than considerate, Rose,” he says, “but I’m not going to let you go in there blind and be surprised with the rest of the world.” He angles his body against the headboard so he’s more turned towards me.

“So you’ve made a decision?” I take a sip of coffee.

His calm features never waver, even if his mind does. Connor brushes my bottom lip with his thumb, and I see his thoughts spinning.

So I ask, “To strip naked in front of a crowd or to speak a truth where no one understands you—”

“I’d strip naked,” he chooses before I even finish.

I nod, my chest hurting for him.

“I’m leaning towards
queer
,” he tells me. He plans to define himself then. “It’s an all-encompassing, broad term that has positive connotations. I like how other people proudly identify as queer, and I think it’s a safe middle ground for me.”

Everything out of his mouth sounds practiced, as though he’s been tossing the phrases around in his head for weeks. I hone in on the way he says,
people proudly identify
. He didn’t say,
I identify
. He left himself out.

I straighten up. “If that’s what you want, I’d be okay, and I want you to know that you can’t hurt me either way. And you shouldn’t worry about hurting my father or my mother or
anyone
with your decision.”

He lifts my chin with two fingers. “Believe me, I’ve thought about every possible surface of this choice.” His thumb sweeps my cheek. “I’ve weighed every cost, every benefit, and it’s all pointing to this.”

I stare right at him, my eyes churning hotter than I’d like. I want them to be soft for him. That’s what he needs, isn’t it? My voice isn’t even velvety. It’s harsh and icy. “On what scale do you weigh these?”