Fuel the Fire (8 page)

Lo frowns and looks down at his wife. “Are you crying?”

Lily wipes her eyes.

Rose is trying not to cry.

Daisy looks upset.

I didn’t predict this. I couldn’t have.

“It’s just,” Lily begins, “you can count on so few things in life and one of them is Rose’s hair.”

“Jesus Christ,” Lo groans.

“It’s true,” Daisy nods.

I never knew her hair was so special to her sisters. “She wanted to change it,” I tell them. “Can you all be supportive of this?”

Lily frowns in deeper confusion. “You really wanted to change your hair, Rose?”

Daisy keeps shaking her head. “This doesn’t feel right, does it?”

Rose takes a sharper breath and pulls back her shoulders, getting in the game. “Call it what you want,” she replies, “a quarter-life crisis or a change of scenery—I just felt impulsive and destructive and…” Her nose flares. She lifts her chin. “And I did what I wanted. So
there
.” If we were alone, I would fuck her.

“So there?” Lo gives her another look like her body has been hijacked by fictional creatures. “Didn’t you used to brush your hair three-hundred times a day?”

“I can still brush my hair even if it’s blonde, and the absurd frequency is a rumor that one of you”—she points between Daisy and Lily—“started behind my back.”

Lily crinkles her nose. “Might’ve been me.”

Daisy stares up at the ceiling. “Or me.”

“And I think we said one-hundred brush strokes, didn’t we?” Lily asks Daisy and mouths,
when was this?

Daisy shrugs and shakes her head. “New Year’s?” she whispers.

Rose snaps her fingers repeatedly. “Concentrate.”

Lily and Daisy spin back to her sister, both of them standing taller like her minions or soldiers, when in fact they’re her adoring, admiring little sisters. I can see, between them, why Rose would want this for Jane. I want it for her too, someday. It’s what we’re fighting for in the end.

“I am blonde now,” Rose says proudly. “Deal with it.”

My lips rise.

“Queen Rose has spoken,” Lo banters.

“I’m going to wash Rose’s hair and then we can head out,” I announce to the room.

Lily nods, stealing one more look at Rose before she departs. Daisy follows suit.

Loren reaches the doorway but doesn’t leave. Instead, someone else walks in. I rub my mouth, frustration pulling my brows. When I meet Rose’s eyes, she’s smiling at me, the smug kind of smile that I always have for her. She’s gloating at my distress.

I nearly turn towards the counter, my erection worsening. When I need one fucking second, I lose five more. Time is rarely on my side.

Ryke walks further into the bathroom, holding lime-green Nikes by the neon blue laces. He stops short, jaw unhinging at the sight of Rose. “What the fuck.”

Rose crosses her arms, tightening the shirt which unfortunately pops a few of her buttons, unbeknownst to her. I restrain myself from pinching the bridge of my nose.

I motion between the two of them. “Rose has decided to dye her hair. Of the events we’ve all shared together, this is really mundane.”

“It’s fucking weird,” Ryke mutters, his gaze lingering on her breasts.

After Rose’s warped image of me sharing her with another man, one I don’t celebrate at all, I’m not really in the mood for a wandering male gaze. I almost walk in front of her, which would piss her off more than it would help any situation.

Lo smacks the back of his brother’s head before I move a muscle. 

“Fucking A, let me process this,” Ryke says, rubbing beneath his hair.

“Process what?” I ask. “Rose’s hair or her breasts. You do know that women have them, right? Or are you just now figuring out basic human anatomy?”

Ryke flips me off.

“Oh good, he knows where his fingers are,” I banter. Rose begins to button her shirt.

“Fuck you,” he curses.

“No, fuck you.” My facial muscles tighten. Definitely, not in the mood.

Ryke raises his hands now, understanding that I’m not playing around. “Look, I don’t fucking care what anyone does to their hair. I just wanted to give these to Rose.” He nods to her. “I know you won’t rent rock climbing shoes or wear any kind of footwear that’s been previously used, but Daisy had an extra pair. I figure she’s your sister, so it might be different. She said you two were about the same size.” He still has one of the shoelaces looped on his finger.

They’re not rock climbing shoes, but they’re slender sneakers with what looks like good tread, a decent alternative.

Rose drills a hole in them, like they’ve offended her. “What are those?”

I answer first, “Sneakers. Tennis shoes. Running shoes. There are a plethora of useless names for them in my opinion.”

When her eyes ping to me, they narrow. And I grin, any sort of annoyance starting to seep into better sentiments that I enjoy.

“
Your
opinions are useless,” she retorts.

“And your opinions are biased. Do you want to keep going?”

Lo cuts in, “Please don’t.”

It takes Rose an extended moment to detach her gaze from mine, fixing it on Ryke. “You can leave those things by the door.”

Lo elbows Ryke’s arm. “You’re a common serf in their kingdom, bro. Don’t take it too personally.”

Rose frowns. “You know what serf means?”

Lo rolls his eyes. “Jesus, I’m not an idiot. I may’ve been expelled from college, but I can count to one-hundred and multiply and divide too.”

“A borderline genius,” I quip.

Lo winks. “I knew all this time you were scared I’d beat you.”

“You have a way with words,” I say honestly. “Most men should be frightened of you.” I’m not most men, but this is the truth. Once he has confidence in himself, he should be unstoppable.

Lo digests my statement with a nod, hearing my sincerity.

Ryke brings us back to the point. “You have to wear these, Rose. I’ll put them right here, but you can’t show up in the car or at the gym with high heels on.”

Rose sighs heavily. “What if—”

“No,” Ryke forces.

Rose glares. “You suck.”

“How old are you?” Lo interjects.

Rose flips him off.

I grin. “I’m the oldest here—”

I can’t even finish my statement before Rose interjects, “I’m twenty-six too.”

“Yeah, me too.” Ryke sets the Nikes by the door.

We all look to Lo, who’s just twenty-five “What?” he snaps. “Do you three have some sort of older kid’s club.” Slightly, yes. We talk about Lo and Lily and Daisy all the time. Right now, no one says anything, and he glowers. “I was joking.”

“I’ll wear the sneakers,” Rose diverts the conversation.

“Thank you.” Ryke taps the door frame on his way out.

Lo walks backwards as he begins to leave. “Ten minutes? Will you be ready then?”

I need more than that, but clearly we’ve lost time. “Fifteen,” I amend. “We’ll meet you downstairs.”

Lo nods, and as he disappears into the master bedroom, I lock the door behind him.

* * *

Rose immediately spins towards the sink, drumming her nails on the marble counter. I come up behind her, the pungent bleach watering her eyes. I suspect it burns her scalp, but she won’t complain of pain until she has third degree burns.

While I tower above her, inspecting her hair with sight alone, she says, “Rape me.”

I set a hand on the counter, beside her waist, my confusion pushing me towards her when it should do the opposite. Her eyes are blazing through the mirror. I’m not sure I heard her correctly. I say, “Parlez clairement.”
Speak clearly.

She licks her red lips. “
Rate
me,” she says slowly, “on my performance.”

That sounds more like Rose. “I give you a B minus. You struggled with your sisters.”

She crosses her arms, popping buttons on her shirt again, no bra, and this time, I notice her nipples hardening. My cock digs closer to her ass. She stiffens, her collarbones protruding.

Her cold voice never changes temperatures. “Well, I give you an F.” As expected.

She keeps flunking me today—with challenges that I’m certain I’d win, given any circumstance. “Are you trying to incite me, darling?” That’s usually my job.

“I speak the truth.”

She sounds like me. Those are my words. Swiftly, I spread her legs open with my feet, breaking them apart. She chokes on a pleasured noise, and I grip her ass beneath the button-down, my lips to her ear. “You’re plagiarizing me now.”

That one comment riles her, not in the way that I like. She spins on me, forcing her ass out of my clutch. Her back digs into the counter. I cage my arms around her, slyly turning on the faucet.

“So now you have a monopoly on truths?” She rests her palms flat on my bare chest as a warning, enraged. “I
never
plagiarize. You can’t copyright facts.”

This is all true, ironically. “Why did I fail?” I ask.

She raises her hand, to scratch at her hair, and I catch her wrist right before she succeeds. She exhales shortly and says, “You cursed Ryke out for real. You broke character, Connor.”

It’s not like that directly hurt our ploy. “I was me,” I state. That was a real reaction, an emotional one, she’s saying.

“You can’t be you,” she reminds me. “That’s the point of this. We play up the dramatics, be fodder for the media, be salacious and scandalous for popularity. We’re something else. You taught me this.”

You taught me this.
She taught me how to be real. I taught her how to be fake.

I wish I could take pride in this part, but I have none. I don’t want to discuss it anymore. “Lean over,” I say. “Your eyes are watering.”

She rotates back around, leaning over and dipping her head into the sink’s basin, and without stepping away from her, I put on a new plastic glove, using one hand to wash her hair. I massage her scalp as I rinse the bleach. She tries to close her legs, but I keep my foot inside of hers, forcing them apart.

Her eyelids flutter open.

“Keep your eyes closed,” I command, worried that bleach and water will run in them.

She reluctantly shuts them again. “My neck hurts.” She tries shifting her shoulders.

With my free hand, I adjust her, turning her head a fraction, so she isn’t staring straight at the sink. “Better?”

“Mmmh.” She relaxes into the head message. With the bleach almost gone, I notice the color of her hair isn’t blonde—not yet at least. We needed to let it set longer than we had, and the strands are tawny, the color of rust.

Rose will call it orange.

She’s beautiful no matter what color hair, no matter if she had none, but she’ll be pissed. I just need her hair to smell good, so she won’t feel uncomfortable. When the bleach is rinsed, I discard the glove and lather shampoo along her scalp, her body loosening even more.

My cock has been patient enough. With my dry, clean hand, I skim the hem of her panties. And I rip them off.

Her eyes snap open. “Connor.”

“Close your eyes.”

She does, partially because shampoo begins to slide from her forehead to her nose. I wipe the soap away and continue kneading her scalp, washing off excess shampoo.

I run my fingers between her thighs. “You’ve been standing here this fucking wet?”

She breathes shallowly. “Connor…”

I drive two fingers inside of her, and she reaches out for something to grip for support. I guide her hands to the counter, so she can clutch the marble. Her wrists drip with water as I return my hand to her hair.

I lean closer to Rose, my hard cock digging against her ass and my lips brush her ear, my breath low and hot. “You better be ready for something bigger.”

She squeezes her eyes tighter closed and reaches for my hand between her thighs. “Wait…”

I retract my fingers and guide her hand
back
to the fucking sink. “If you have something important to say, then say it now, otherwise, I’m pushing into you.” I clasp the back of her head with more force, causing her throat to bob in arousal.

“Shut off the water,” she requests.

I turn the faucet off, so she can concentrate on us and not fear drowning. Then swiftly, I turn her around to face me, her back pressed against the lip of the counter. I grip her face in a strong hand and kiss her lips. “C’est tout?”
Anything else?

She lets out another breath. “Ne soyez pas gentil.”
Don’t be gentle.

I can’t even remember the last time that I was. “I wasn’t planning on it.” I lower my gym pants and compression shorts, finally free. In assured, hard movements, I lift her left leg high around my waist, her head tilted back and supported by my other hand. Then I grip my shaft and ram all the way into her.

She cries, her back arching off the counter. I keep her body stationary, and I thrust into her with deep, fast strokes, needing to do this quickly.

My body heats with hers. I push harder.

“Fuck,” Rose cries, her legs quivering. She has trouble catching her breath, her mouth open. I groan when she pulses against my cock.

I unbutton her shirt, her chest exposed, breasts bigger and fuller than before her pregnancy. It grips me even more, and I kiss her nipple before biting once. She moans and mutters a word that sounds like
yes.
I kiss the top of her breast before holding onto her waist, curvier—I thrust deeper.

“Connor,” she gasps.

I watch my long, throbbing cock disappear between her legs. Over and over. Inside the woman that I love. Inside the mother of my child. Inside my teammate and equal. A grin pulls at my lips. One more thrust and a blinding sensation washes over me. And her.

She shudders, her pulse quickening. I can almost feel her heart pounding.

“Oh God,” she mutters.

I straighten up and arch a brow at her.

She still has her eyes closed.

I slap her ass.

She moans again.

“I need to find a new way to reprimand you. You enjoy this too much.” I grip her ass, which I’d love to fuck one day. For another time, I know.

She props her body on her elbows, half of her still in my possession. “Honestly,” she breathes, “I’m not sure what I said.”