Hothouse Flower

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DAISY CALLOWAY

We’ve split up.

I’m in a black two-door sports car that Rose had rented with Lily, heading down a freeway with Ryke. Rose, Connor, Lily, and Lo took the SUV. The paparazzi parted. Some following us, others following them.

Ryke shook off the three vans on our ass in under thirty minutes. Our sports car is manual, and Ryke switched gears and cut corners sharply, driving like he owned the road. He wasn’t scared to slam on the brake at the last minute, go in reverse or hit hundred-mile-per-hour speeds. If we didn’t just have sex, I’d think it was the sexiest, hottest thing he’s ever done with me.

Now the open freeway is less exciting, but it is peaceful. And I am thankful for no tail and the crazed paparazzi.

With a bit of decent cell signal, we made a plan with the others to meet up in Utah at the Canyonlands.

I glance over at Ryke. He has his hard eyes set on the road ahead, but his hand has been on my thigh most of the drive. Now that we’re alone, truly, it seems like more of our restrictions are disappearing. I love the freedom, and I want to make it last past this trip.

“Stop, Dais,” he tells me. “That’s fucking annoying.”

I realize I’ve opened and closed the dashboard about fifty times.

“Play with the fucking window.”

“I have,” I say. “It’s revolted against me and no longer rolls down.”

He keeps one hand on the wheel and glances at me. “You have problems.”

“What a true, true statement,” I say with a smile. “Say another.”

He flips me off and then messes my hair.

I laugh. “I can’t help my fidgetiness. It’s boring in a car.” And I’ve downed five Lightning Bolts! to battle my exhaustion. Thank you, insomnia. I’ve already untied my sneakers and braided the shoelaces into bracelets. Now I’m considering playing Cat’s Cradle with the strings.

Ryke’s eyes flit to me, and then he reaches up and presses a button by the ceiling light. The sunroof groans open.

I beam, happy to have air and the wind. I unclip my seat belt and kiss his cheek quickly before standing on the middle console. A gust blows into me first, and I take a giant breath, filling my lungs. The road has very few cars. We’re on flat land with no traffic lights and few cops in sight.

I raise my arms and shut my eyes.

I’m flying.

In this moment, I’m really, really happy.

Ryke is holding one of my ankles, but his hand runs up and down my leg. The friction and mystery of what he’s going to do races my heart. But he won’t…

His gentle movements turn rough, and his fingers urgently find the button to my jeans, and he yanks them down, all with one hand.

Holy shit.

He forces them to my feet, and I clutch onto the roof to keep my balance

He doesn’t swerve the car.

Not even as he pushes aside my panties and plunges his fingers into me, filling me instantly. Oh God. This can’t be happening. I’m standing up. Half suspended out of the freaking sunroof.

He pumps his fingers into me, and my body awakens with delight and exhilaration. I reach one arm down, back into the car, and I put my hand on his, feeling how big his fingers are compared to mine.

He hits the most sensitive place, finding it with ease, and I cry out, my voice lost in the wind. After I catch my breath, he starts building me to a higher peak. I grip his wrist, never wanting him to leave this place between my legs. Dear God, send me Ryke Meadows morning, noon and night.

Then a honk blares. I can barely turn my head, so dazed with these feelings. My lips are parted, unable to close. But I notice a family van behind us. Uh-oh.

I’m about to crawl into the car, but as soon as I duck my head in, Ryke says, “Stay.” He must not be concerned about them filming us on their phones—but it’s not like they can see much. The windows are tinted. Ryke puts his knee on the wheel to steer and he sticks his other hand out the window, flipping them off.

Why is that so sexy?

His fingers move faster inside of me, driving deeper, up and down. Ahhh! I clutch harder to the roof.

Mind officially blown.

His fingers aren’t sweet. They’re rough and hard, and my knees almost buckle with the brilliant force. I’m moaning, hunched over the roof, my eyes watering from the wind.

The van lays on the horn again. And then it switches lanes and speeds to our side. A father rolls down the passenger window where his wife sits. He shouts, “There are kids on this road!”

Ryke yells back, “They’re going to fucking learn about it sooner or later. Might as well learn how to do it the best way.”

AHHH!

I disintegrate. I can’t even support my body any longer. Ryke takes his fingers out, and I drop down onto my seat and breathe heavily. I rest my forehead on his shoulders, my mouth agape. When I look through his window that he’s ignored, I notice that the wife is flushed, the husband enraged.

I don’t care.

That was awesome.

They honk again.

Ryke slams on the gas and takes off, leaving them far behind us. His fingers glisten, and he wipes them on the inside of his shirt before passing me my jeans.

When I finally breathe normally, I slip my pants back on. “Have you done that before?” I wonder. It seemed like he knew what he was doing.

“First time,” he says, trying not to smile. The sudden glimmer in his eyes gives him away though. He liked it too. Maybe not as much as me. But he definitely enjoyed that.

“Your turn,” I say, sitting up on my knees, ready to give him head.

“Later,” he tells me. He turns the car off the exit. “We’re here.”

Wherever here is.