She wears her insatiability with every breached moan and grind against me. I feed into it with every coarse, rough movement that slams against her thin body. It’s a hunger that only compulsives and addicts know well. It’s why people look away when we kiss. The raw desire grips my cock, my lungs, my mind. My lips drift to her neck, and my hand perilously rides the edge between her waist and her abdomen.
When we kiss full-force again, my head just explodes and I lose sense of my surroundings. I don’t care about anyone else but Lily. I raise her hand above her head, laced with mine like I’ve done so many times before.
She moans into a kiss, but we don’t stop.
I’m going to love Lily how I want to love her.
Overwhelmingly, uncompromisingly.
Look away if you have to.
My one hand on her hip falls between her legs, and I squeeze. She tries to stifle the cry, but it escapes her lips. I grin into our next kiss while she moves her hands up to my chest and shoves me back.
Her eyes flit to the camera.
That may have been the first time she’s rejected me—since we’ve been an official couple that is.
Jesus, maybe this reality show will actually do some good.
My lips sting. She breathes heavily.
I follow her gaze, and my grin stretches.
Brett’s cheeks are flushed red, and he makes a concerted effort to avoid our eyes.
Lily said she missed the teasing. I didn’t realize how much I did too, until now.
A thin sheen of sweat is gathered on my forehead. “You hot and bothered, Brett?” I ask him.
He makes an uncomfortable noise that sounds like a grunt. “You can’t…”
“Talk to you? Right.” I flash a half-smile.
Six months of a reality show—we can do this. Easy.
Lily’s cell chimes. She takes her flip phone out of her pocket, and her mood clouds. “Rose is asking about cake tasting.”
I try to suppress a cringe, but I’m sure it passes through my features. I’m not Connor Cobalt. I can’t hide what I’m feeling. “What do you want at the wedding?” Our wedding. Now I really grimace. Shit. I train myself not to glance back at the cameras.
We’re being married for appearance’s sake, even though it’ll be real. I love every single part of Lily, but I hate that this day is being dictated by her mom and my dad.
I’d rather just elope.
But that’s not part of the “image rehabilitation” plan.
“I don’t really care,” she says in a small voice.
I shrug. “Me either. Just tell her to choose.”
Lily nods, her shoulders drooped.
When she finishes texting back, I pull her close and wrap her in my arms. I don’t say anything. I just hold her.
Six months until our wedding—yeah, shit just got real.
13
0 years : 05 months
January
LILY CALLOWAY
In just three days, our world has warped. Whether this is a terrible change or a catastrophic one is to be seen.
“Have you checked out the bathrooms?” Daisy asks me, plopping on my bed.
“Not yet,” I say. I’m on another mission.
Empty cardboard boxes litter the floorboards of my new bedroom in a Philadelphia townhouse. I still can’t find my canopy net. Either the movers took it for themselves or Lo tossed it when we were unpacking. I didn’t realize I’d grown an attachment to the thing until I lost it. Pretending to be in a jungle safari at night just won’t be the same.
I cautiously eye the door in case Brett or Ben or Savannah (the camera trio) dart into my new room to film us.
I need to be incognito for a few minutes. I hoist my body on the dresser that the movers just heaved in here. With a broom in hand, I do a piss poor job, but I manage to stand on two feet.
Daisy collects her long blonde hair into a high, messy bun. “What are you doing?”
“Checking for bugs,” I say. The electrical, peeping Tom kind. In the hallways, living room, kitchen and other common areas, rafters make up the ceiling, rigged with so many wires and cameras. Rose said we had to move to the townhouse for better sound, but the contracts say we can’t be filmed in the bedrooms.
I’m not taking any chances.
The world already thinks I’m a sexual nutcase. I don’t want them to have footage of private acts between Lo and me. With the end of my broom, I poke at the wires and a suspicious looking black box. I stand on the tips of my toes.
Oh my God.
There’s so much space between the rafters that a whole body could crawl on top of them, army-man style, and then they can hang down like Mission Impossible and film us while we’re sleeping.
“What’s wrong?”
I spin at Lo’s voice and the dresser wobbles underneath my bare feet. While I concentrate on not falling, Lo scoops me up in his arms and sets me safe on the floor.
“Are you cleaning?” Lo asks with raised brows. “Because I have never seen you pick up a broom.”
“She was checking for bugs,” Daisy tells him, legs crossed on the end of my bed.
Lo frowns. “I thought Rose already hired an exterminator.” The townhouse is old, which made Rose upset more than anyone else. She likes clean areas, not musty, moldy creaks and crannies filled with spider webs and the occasional daddy-long-leg. I don’t mind it so much. Maybe because I’m so focused on the cameras.
“Not those kind of bugs.” I point at the black box. “That’s a camera.”
His frown morphs into a scowl and then he follows my finger. “That looks like a battery.”
Really? My neck heats. “I just wanted to check.” Now I’m a compulsive, paranoid freak. “Crawlers may be up there, too.”
I realize that made absolutely no sense to anyone outside my brain.
Professor Xavier would have understood it.
Lo sets his hand on my waist and draws me to his body. “I’ll check the rafters with Ryke.”
“Crawlers are people,” I say lamely.
He just smiles. “I figured.”
I gasp. “You can read my mind now? Your superpower finally kicked in.”
“No,” he breathes, staring down at me. “I just know you too well.”
Oh. “Will you let me know when you get your superpower?”
He nods, and his fingers slide across the base of my neck. I love that he touches me so much more. “I have to warn you though, I may not have one.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “Sometimes I like the idea of just being mortal with you.”
Lo leans in to kiss me, but a loud clatter tears us apart. Brett tripped over a lamp on the ground, landing on his knees.
“Nice catch,” Lo says dryly. Brett didn’t drop his camera, but it’s strapped to his chest with some weird device that looks like a bulletproof vest, only plastic. I think Connor called it a steadicam.
Ryke passes by our room and stops when he notices Brett. He helps him to his feet and then enters. “Have you checked out the bathrooms?”
Daisy asked the same thing. They must know something that we don’t.
“Not yet,” Lo says, not as concerned as me now.
Daisy rises off my bed, and the four of us stand in more awkward silence.
We’re all living together.
This has never ever happened.
It’s new and weird and something the production company wanted so badly. It’s a big reason why we moved to this townhouse. The six months filming Princesses of Philly just got a lot more interesting.