Thrive (Addicted, #4)(4)

And then his lips meet mine with carnal desperation, stealing the oxygen from my lungs. He lifts me up around his waist, his hand lost in my hair, his other keeping me firm against him. My palms disappear beneath his black crew-neck, dying at the ridges of his abs, at his closeness. I don’t unbutton him.

Not yet anyway.

But the spot between my legs pulses, and I tighten my thighs around his waist so hard that he groans in arousal. He stares at me while we both catch our breath for a second.

My lower back digs into the porcelain sink, and Lo never removes his narrowed, intense gaze from mine, the one that unravels me completely, that soaks my panties and leaves me bare.

He skillfully unbuttons my jean shorts and adjusts me so they slide off both legs. His slow pace speeds my heart, fearful that it’ll end at any second.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper, practically panting for oxygen.

“I’m not going anywhere.” And then he leans closer to me, one hand braced underneath my leg so I don’t fall, the other gripping the porcelain sink behind me. He pulls my panties to the side. I didn’t notice him unzipping his pants—not until his erection slowly (so, so slowly) eases into me.

I gasp, my eyes almost rolling back in my head. I clutch onto his biceps while he begins to thrust deep inside of me. I am so full of Loren Hale, in a public bathroom, where his needs match mine. And he’s feeding into them.

For us.

“Open your eyes,” he murmurs, his breath shallow as he rocks into me. “Lil.”

I didn’t realize they were closed. I meet his gaze, and I nearly lose it at the way he’s looking at me. Lo kisses me deeply while I struggle to hold onto him without coming right there. His parted lips brush my forehead while he quickens his pace, while the intensity in his gaze matches the one in our bodies. My nerves light on fire, and with one last thrust, we both come together.

I breathe heavily while I descend off this giant cliff of bliss.

“I love you,” he whispers, his mouth near my ear.

My lips rise into a small smile. “I love you too.” Everything right then felt too good for words. And as he stays inside of me a little too long, I wonder if it can happen again.

Don’t go there, Lily.

A strangled sound latches in my throat. Like a dying hyena. What the hell was that? I think it’s my body wanting something it can’t have and being angry at my brain.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Lo says. “Lil.” He pulls out of me and lifts up his boxer-briefs and jeans around his waist quickly. Then he holds me entirely, his hand cupping my face.

I shut my eyes. You don’t want anymore. You don’t want anymore. You’re done. I try to repeat the mantra, but I already crave that climax again, one of equal intensity. The horrible thing: I know it won’t match it. I know that the second time won’t beat the first, so I’ll keep wanting to try again and again to reach what I just had.

And it won’t come. Not until I wait longer. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day.

“Look at me,” Lo says forcefully, his voice no longer as sweet-natured.

Just as I comply, someone knocks on the door.

“Someone’s in here!” Lo yells. And then he whispers to me, “I want this to work because if it doesn’t…” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to have another Wednesday like that.”

I remember back to the beginning of the week, where Lo proposed, where I declared how much I wanted to follow the blacklist—the perimeters my therapist created: no public sex, stick to morning and nights, no nooners in sight. I’d never seen the list.

Until Wednesday.

We had possibly one of the worst fights in the history of our fights. It was about our fears. Like a revolving door, we were slammed with the same exact issues we’ve been dealing with for months.

I worry his needs aren’t being satiated.

He worries that I’ll turn to another guy to obtain what he denies me.

I remember his words so clearly. “This isn’t working, Lily,” he said, his eyes bloodshot. We wanted all of each other, but we were purposefully distancing ourselves so I wouldn’t become a crazy, compulsive beast.

The silent, excruciating statement clung to the air: We should break up.

We were both crying at that point, and I felt like it was the end, like someone gutted me. We were both on the carpet, and his arms were wrapped around me. Yet, neither of us could come up with a better solution.

Two hours later, sunken with this immeasurable grief that can’t be justly explained, he whispered, “Be with me.”

My heart clenched. “What?” My eyes burned all over again.

He held my cheeks with his two hands, his face full of pain and love, a twisted mix that reminded me of how wrong we are for each other but how right it felt. “No more rules. Fuck the list. You’re strong enough to handle sex when I’m aroused and maybe even in public too.” He wiped my silent tears that fell.

“How do you know that I’m strong enough?”

“Because you’re better now,” he said, almost convincing me. “And you have me—sober me. I’ll make sure you don’t spiral out of control.” His voice lowered, and his forehead touched mine. “I don’t want to live if you’re not living with me.”

I didn’t either.

And since Wednesday, our new system has actually worked, despite me struggling a few times—which I think is to be expected. But Lo hasn’t fed into my compulsions. Not once.