Chapter 7 Lilly #2
Those carnal lips of his, I know all too well what they can do, curl up in a mesmerizing grin as he continues eating.
“So do you like football?” he asks in between bites.
I’m still astounded that he keeps eating my food.
I shrug. “It bonds me with my father. Growing up, he was away a lot and…”
He nods. “I understand.”
“But it’s not like I like to watch football in my spare time.” I opt for sincerity.
“Ouch. Am I not entertaining you?” His voice lowers to that husky rasp, and I could tear my clothes off, offering myself to him to do whatever he pleases.
I trace the rim of the glass. “Oh, you sure are.”
A mesmerizing grin stretches the corners of his lips. “If you watch my next game, I’ll make sure to entertain you more. All my touchdowns will be for you.”
I bat my lashes subtly, hoping for a flirtatious look. “The honor. Do you do that with all the girls you meet?”
“Never had the urge before,” he says, the earnest tone erasing any doubt.
Awareness hits me square in the face. We’re full-on flirting.
I clear my throat, hoping to bring this hazardous game to a close. “We should head to bed. It’s late.”
“Should we?” he chuckles.
I lower my head on the table, banging my forehead a few times. “You know what I mean.”
“Lilly, we’re friends,” he says, brushing a strand of my hair back.
I hastily shoot up from my chair, the plates rattling just like my insides. “Friends don’t…”
Sighing, he stands up and kisses the top of my head. “Good night, flower girl.”
“Good night, reckless guy,” I rasp.
He puts our plates in the dishwasher before he leaves.
In bed, I stare at his name on my phone, tucking the device to my chest.
Oh, Ian, something tells me you’re the temptation of my life, and I am so very weak for you. To resist you is nearly impossible.
I fall asleep with a sigh, but when I wake up, a smile lifts the corners of my mouth—used to these feelings he elicits in me. Or maybe I am going mad. It wouldn’t surprise me at this point.
After I dress, I open the door to find another lily.
I place a gentle kiss on the soft petals and put it in the vase next to the others.
Taking a pic, I realize he’s the only one who has ever bought me flowers.
I love how caring and attentive he is. Imagine if you were more.
I crush that dangerous thought and exit, placing another shot at his door.
Reaching the shop, I stay in the car, not knowing what to do. Should I message him? Do I wait? For shit’s sake, we’re not dating. I am about to send him a message when my phone pings with a text from him.
This is my favorite yet.
I type.
It’s a blend of berries and a sprinkle of vanilla powder.
And tomorrow?
You’ll find out.
Delayed gratification. I don’t like it.
I smile at his impatience and send him a pic of my flowers.
Thank you. I love my daily lily.
I love my daily dose of Lilly too.
My heart pounds a crazy rhythm, causing my chest to double.
There’s a rap at my window, and I shriek, throwing myself back in the seat. Startled, my phone drops and I look at my best friend wearing a knowing smile on her face. I unlock my seatbelt and search for my phone. Finding it behind the gas pedal, I climb out.
Outside, Kat leans against the side of the car, not hiding her smile. “I guess you have his number.”
“Yes, because we’re friends.” I sound like I feel—defensive.
“Ahem. So, what did you do last night?”
Cooking, flirting, being together and there was this one moment… This is what I should tell her, but I obstinately believe that if I don’t reveal too much, the desire for more will fade.
“Not much.”
A confident look stretches on her features. “I give it a few more weeks. Even though you’re stubborn, and he has to be disciplined, I am betting all I have that you’re going to end up in his bed, fucked into Orgasmland again.”
I roll my eyes at her. “Thanks for the jab. And that won’t happen.”
“Suuure.”
Inside LuKo Juice, I thought the hype would subside, but it still goes steadily, infusing me with a new sense of determination.
After interviewing two prospects, I hire one right away, as I need the extra help.
I am serving the last customers when the door opens, and Ian walks inside.
His presence sucks out all the air as everyone openly gawks at him, some taking a few pictures more or less stealthily. He ignores everyone else, regarding only me. To be the center of his attention is sweet torment.
My best friend bumps into me, gawking at him with wide eyes. “Girl, you not throwing yourself at him is beyond me. You’re some different breed, I swear.”
I elbow her, and he maneuvers himself through the obstacles on his way to me. How fitting. He stops briefly to take some pictures with a couple of kids and when he’s at the counter, a mischievous glint sparkles in his eyes. “Hi. I came to see my friend.”
“Hi, I’m Kat. Her best friend.” She thrusts her hand out, and he takes hers in a friendly shake.
“Ian. Her other best friend.” He glances at her before his gaze returns to me.
“I like him,” she whispers.
He smiles at her, surely hearing that.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” he tells her good-naturedly.
“Thank you.” Kat beams, showing him the ring. “I can’t wait to tell my fiancé that I met you.”
And then Ian does something truly dangerous for my heart. He unzips his jacket, plucks something out from the inside pocket, and offers her two VIP tickets for his game and one for me.
“As an engagement gift.”
“Thank you.” Then she stabs me with a harsh look, mouthing, “He’s great. And you’re stupid.”
I suppress rolling my eyes at her as she rounds the corner and hugs him before she leaves.
Closing the cash register, I smile. “I see you wanted to entertain me live, apparently.”
“Yes, apparently. That’s what I want,” he says in a deep voice that causes a hormonal explosion inside of me.
Flammable goods. Retreat.
He waits for me to lock the store, and once outside, I look for his car when he says, “I took a cab. Wanted to ride back home with you.”
I gesture toward mine. “I hope it’s good enough for your star quarterback status.”
“We’ll make it fit.”
A wave of heat crashes in my core. Good god, I’ve been a good girl. Why are you tempting me?
“I’m sure we will.” Don’t think of his dick. Too late.
He made it fit, because he’s big and thick and I loved feeling the stretch, every ridge of his shaft massaging my walls.
That I don’t cause an accident on our drive home is my biggest achievement of the month.
I am still squirming by the time I park, the throb between my thighs increasing to unbearable.
It doesn’t get better when we’re in the elevator. In close confinement, the tension only thickens. He’s raking his heated gaze all over me. Something tells me he knows exactly what he does to me.
“You look pretty flushed, friend,” he taunts me.
I fan myself to ease the searing heat. “It’s hot.”
As soon as the elevator opens, I dash out, locking myself in my apartment.
I sink against the door, trying to gather myself. This guy can make me hot with just words. No wonder he made me come more times in one night than I thought possible.
A bath will help relax me, and that’s exactly what I do next.
Absentmindedly, my fingers trail down my breasts. I roll one nipple, tugging harder to feel that pinch. The other hand glides down my belly, and when I reach my pussy, my fingers are slick with my wetness. Don’t think about him. As if it ever worked before.
Ian has been starring in my fantasies on repeat as the main character. Just this one time. One last time. He won’t find out. Our friendship won’t be at risk. I can almost feel his hot breath grazing my sensitive neck, whispering filthy words that only make me hornier.
“Yeah, just like that. You’re doing so well. Be my good girl and take every inch. I know you want to be stuffed full of my fat cock.”
I moan, sliding a finger inside me, recalling his words from that night about being his good girl who can take all of him. I did.
The praise pushes me to slip in another one, rubbing my clit with the heel of my palm. It’s not enough, so I snatch the shower head. The jet hits my clit again and again, bringing the coveted release.
“Come for me, flower girl.”
Gripping the edge of the tub, I arch my hips, coming on a stuttered breath.
Breathing heavily, I lean back, submerging into the water up to my chin.
My orgasm did nothing to curb the desire for him. It’s not enough. Nothing ever does it like him.
I climb out—tingly and barely satiated. It must be enough, though. I am not in the mood to date. The third one must be the right one. That’s my goal. It has to.
After my second relationship ended, I realized I’d rather be single than be with the wrong person.
Remaining in an unfulfilling relationship that produced more emotional harm than good, affected me deeply.
I don’t even know exactly what I want, but I’m sure I know what I don’t.
I deserve more: respect, being treated right, passion, and feeling like I matter, being someone’s priority—a balanced relationship.
I am done giving while receiving the bare minimum.
Maybe it’s a risk or maybe I’m done being treated as a matter of fact, someone you don’t try for, I’m just convenient.
My first boyfriend didn’t even ask me, but expected me to move with him across the country because his career as a future lawyer trumped my own dreams.
My second boyfriend was like, “You should prioritize me and not your little project, babe.” He went out with his friends every night. And on one of those nights, he cheated, blaming me as if I put his dick in another woman.
In hindsight, both were egotistical assholes whom I put up with for longer than I am comfortable admitting—desperate to make it work.
My need for stability has been both a hindrance and a blessing.
I slip under the sheet when my phone pings.
Sweet dreams, flower girl.
They’re always sweet when you’re in them, Ian.
I spend every Tuesday morning at the shelter my father funds through his foundation, serving food to the homeless. It’s my dad’s heart project, giving something back to this city that means so much to both of us.
The line lengthens, and I smile at every single one, chatting and hoping to make a slight difference in their lives.
Four hours later, I am helping my dad and the other volunteers wash dishes. He tells me all about their latest win.
A big grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You should have seen it. The players outdid themselves. This year, we have the winning team.”
I saw it.
Pride etches in his eyes. “Ian and Levi are the duo every coach dreams of having on their team. We’ll win the Super Bowl this year. Can you believe it will be their third while it will be my second? I need these guys for at least another season.”
There it is. Another reason Ian and I would be a bad idea. He’ll test the market as a free agent in a year or so. Money talks in this business.
“I mean, a few hundred million for them is doable.”
I don’t even blink at the outrageous sum.
When we leave, I glance back at the empty space, smiling.
Helping others is always worth it. Not everyone is fortunate, and it’s the responsibility of those who do better to aid others.
My parents raised me with that credo, and I will continue this path.
My dad sponsors this homeless shelter, and I allocate 10% of my profits every month to help as best I can.
We’re at our usual steakhouse restaurant not far away, and I muster the courage to ask, “Dad, why didn’t it work out between you and Mom?”
His body instantly goes taut. “Who is he? I want to know.”
“Dad, no. Oh my god. Just curious.”
A beat of silence follows. He looks out the window as if the answer is there.
“It was too much.” Regret echoes in his gruff voice. “A footballer’s wife doesn’t have it easy. And football players tend to put their family obligations off until later. Later usually ends in a divorce.”
“And I am old enough to date who I want,” I say hollowly. Not even to my own ears do I sound convincing.
He sends me an intent look. “Not one of my players, though, right?”
Why did I even bother asking him that? He’ll never budge.
He told me his reasoning when I was starting to date, and he never changed his mind.
It would be awkward coaching someone who is your daughter’s boyfriend.
I get it. There would be an authority shift, and the power imbalance would lead to my father treating him differently.
“So, you wouldn’t mind me dating a football player who’s not on your team?” Yet, here I am insisting.
His forehead creases, the line as clear as his disapproval. “You were never interested before.”
I wave him off, trying to act cool while I think my cheeks turn a hundred shades of tomato.
“You’re awfully curious today.”
That I am.
It doesn’t go past me that he doesn’t answer.
After lunch, I hug him outside the restaurant, promising him I’ll bring him some juice shots tomorrow, then I walk away, doing my best to keep my thoughts Ian-free, but my brain spins back to him as if he’s a master weaver.
Stop thinking about Ian, damn it. Subject closed. My heart doesn’t care at all, and latches onto him with greedy little fingers. That’s genuinely terrifying.
I wake up thinking of him; I fall asleep thinking of him. I cannot cope with this unbearable yearning. It’s like my soul is Ian imbued, spilling over my insides and getting me inebriated on him. Submit or go mad. Those are my options. Madness, here I come.