Wicked Games: A Forbidden Romance

by T. K. Leigh

  I glance at the contents, my cheeks flushing at the dozen or so pairs of panties before reading the rest of the note.

  They’re all laundered and ready for you to wear. It was torture sitting here, thinking about you not wearing any panties. No one’s allowed to steal a glimpse of what’s mine. And rest assured, Chloe, you will be mine.

  I’m already yours…

  Lincoln

  P.S. - In addition to the panties, there’s a little extra something for you. I’d love to see you in it. Whenever you’re ready.

  I place the card on my desk and rummage through the box, pushing the panties aside. My pulse increases when I find a sexy black lace negligee with a matching thong. The thought of Lincoln’s reaction to seeing me in this has my blood pumping, electricity coursing through my veins.

  Phone in hand, I type off a quick text.

  What makes you think I’m interested in seeing you again? A little cocky, don’t you think?

  Not a little cocky. At least I think it’s impressive. It gets the job done.

  I burst out laughing as my fingers fly over the screen.

  It certainly does.

  I’m about to type out another reply when my cell rings, Lincoln’s name appearing on the screen. My heart catches in my throat, face heating as I bring my phone up to my ear.

  “Hello,” I answer as seductively as I can get away with at work.

  “Say thank you.”

  His deep voice murmuring those words brings me back to that bar in Vegas when he picked up my tab.

  Say okay. Say thank you.

  It hypnotized me, and I succumbed to his request without a moment’s hesitation. That spell is still cast over me.

  “Thank you.”

  “Good girl.”

  A shiver rolls down my spine, renewed desire igniting deep within. This feels so surreal. How far will I take this? Will I always do what he demands? The idea doesn’t scare me. It excites me. I want him to tell me what to do. I like not having to think about all the potential ramifications of every single one of my actions. It’s refreshing to turn it off for a minute. To quiet all the noise and drama that usually clouds my mind.

  “Now, tell me… Do you want to see me again?” he asks, his voice as calm and collected as ever.

  I picture him in a large office sitting behind an impressive wooden desk, one wall lined with AmJurs and the CJS, much like in my father’s own office, despite no one using hard copies of legal encyclopedias these days. Everything is probably impeccable. It’s not stacked high with boxes containing evidence or notes or other case material. There’s a place for everything, and everything’s in its place. A far cry from my cubicle, which on a good day looks like a bomb went off.

  “Or are you having second thoughts about giving me a chance?”

  “Never,” I admit breathlessly.

  “Good answer. Then I look forward to seeing you…soon.”

  “You’re not going to ask me when?” I blurt out after a beat.

  “No, I’m not. I understand this is new territory for you, so I won’t push. When you’re ready, so am I.” His tone lightens. “Although I hope you don’t wait too long, because now that I’ve had a taste, I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to go without you in my arms.”

  A flutter erupts in my belly and I feel like I’m floating, the force of the butterflies’ rapid wings lifting me up.

  “Have a good day, Pixie.”

  “You, too.” I linger on the line a moment longer, about to hang up when I call his name. “Lincoln?”

  “Yes?”

  I chew on the inside of my cheek. “How did you know where to send my…gift?”

  It’s quiet for a beat before he answers, “What would you say if I Googled you?” I can hear the smile in his voice.

  “You…Googled me?”

  “I wanted to surprise you. I don’t know much about you, other than your name, what you do for a living, and that you make the most adorable sound when you’re about to come.”

  “Yeah. It’s called a moan.”

  “No. It’s not that. It’s more like a…mewl.” His voice grows heated, wanton, lustful. “This excited mewl I can’t get enough of. So please, don’t make me wait too long to hear that again.”

  “I won’t,” I respond before I can stop myself. “Promise.”

  I imagine him smiling at my response. Hell, I’m smiling at my response.

  “Goodbye, Pixie.”

  “Goodbye, Lincoln.”

  I stay on the phone a moment longer, then end the call. With a sigh, I try to return my focus to what I was working on, but all I can think of is Lincoln.

  There’s this mysteriousness about him, which makes me want to learn even more. Was he born in New York? Where did he go to law school? Does he have brothers? Sisters? What’s his family like?

  These are all things I’ve never cared enough to learn about any other man. Now I’m desperate to have a fuller picture of Lincoln Moore.

  Navigating to my Internet browser, I type his name into the search bar. I hit enter just as a voice startles me.

  “What is this?”

  I quickly close out of my browser before I have a chance to look at the results, snapping my eyes up to see Evie hovering in my cubicle, staring at my gift.

  “I was low on underwear and didn’t feel like doing laundry,” I lie nonchalantly.

  “Bullshit.” When she reaches for the card, I don’t fight her. It was only a matter of time before she found out anyway. We spend over forty hours a week together.

  She takes a few seconds to read. Then her wide eyes dart to mine. “Who’s Lincoln? How does he know you’re not wearing any underwear? Is he the one you went to go see about your panties last night? And why is he…yours?

  “He’s…a guy.”

  “I gathered, but—”

  I hold up my hand, cutting her off. I take a deep breath, summoning the strength for the conversation that’s about to follow. “He’s a guy I like. And yes, he’s the panties guy.” My lips quirk into a smile. “A panty thief.”

  Evie stares at me, her mouth agape, her response similar to one she’d have if she just learned I’d been leading a double life as a sex abstinence advocate. Then she squeals, her words coming out a mile a minute.

  “Who is he? Where did you meet? What’s he like? What does he do? What does he look like? Where’s he from?” Her questions come like rapid gunfire.

  “Evie… Evie… Evie!” I say in between each question, having to shout the last one to get her attention.

  She snaps her mouth shut. “You’re right. This calls for reinforcements.”

  “Reinforcements?”

  “Exactly.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Oh my goodness!” Nora squeals, placing her hand over her heart as we sit in a row of spin machines, sweat dripping from our bodies. Upbeat music blares, overpowering the sound of wheezing breaths and the whirring of the wheels on the stationary bikes. “It’s better than any movie! It was meant to be!”

  I roll my eyes at her reaction to the story I’d just told, slightly breathless, about meeting Lincoln in Vegas.

  “It’s a total fairy tale.”

  “Fairy tales all end with ‘And they lived happily ever after’,” I taunt, using air quotes, imitating her light, dream-like voice. “That’s not us.”

  Nora scowls, an adorable pout on her face, as if she’d just learned a car had hit her childhood dog. “What makes you think that?”

  “It’s too soon to be planning a future with him.” I pedal harder, pretending to focus on my workout when, in reality, I want to flip off the instructor, who seems to get off on people’s anguished expressions. If I hear her say “Pain is weakness leaving the body” one more time, I’ll show her some real pain. “We agreed to take things slow.”

  Evie snorts a laugh. “Yeah. Him practically telling you he owns your pussy is really taking things slow.”

  “He didn’t say he owns my pussy,” I protest, somewhat
loudly.

  A few people glance in our direction, the women scrunching their nose in disgust at my use of the word “pussy”. It makes me want to shout it repeatedly at the top of my lungs.

  “He’d stolen yet another pair of my panties, and I haven’t been home long enough to drop off my clothes at the laundromat, so I had to go commando.”

  When an attractive man in his thirties looks our way, I flash him a smile, then notice the wedding band on his hand as he not so subtly adjusts his shorts. Facing my friends, I lower my voice to avoid any more stares.

  “Once I told him that… Well, you can fill in the blanks. He didn’t want anyone to catch a glimpse of what could be his. But don’t worry. It’s not his yet. I still own this pussy.”

  “And his cock, by the sounds of it,” Nora chimes in.

  “I don’t own his cock.”

  Evie and Nora share a look before fixing their gazes back on me. “You do,” they say simultaneously.

  “Impossible. We haven’t even known each other a week. Not to mention, I didn’t know his name until Tuesday. That’s only three days ago! Hell, the only thing I know about him is that he’s a lawyer. I don’t even know what kind of law he practices…” I trail off as I shift my eyes to the large mirrored walls, the reflection of dozens of people’s legs cycling on their spin machines dizzying. “But there’s one way to find out.” I grab my phone off the bike and navigate to the browser.

  “What are you doing?” Evie asks, a brow quirked up, slowing her pedaling.

  “Googling him.”

  Her eyes widen as she shares a look with Nora yet again. In a heartbeat, she snatches the phone out of my hands. “No. Don’t.”

  “Wha—”

  “I get that you’re a curious person by nature, that you love digging for dirt on every celebrity out there. And you’re damn good at it.” She waves my phone in front of me. “But don’t do that here.”

  The instructor increases the resistance on the bikes and we all pedal even harder, the ache in my legs a temporary distraction.

  “When I agreed to that first non-date with Julian,” Evie continues, panting, “I had no idea who he was. And it’s probably a good thing. I’m not sure I would have gone. I probably would have second-guessed the entire scenario. Hell, I did that anyway, but having no clue who he was allowed me to relax and get to know him. I never looked him up, apart from that one time you showed me his Wikipedia page. I got to learn about Julian from him, not the Internet.”

  She exhales a breath, her face reddening. “And who the fuck decided spin classes were a good idea?” Her eyes dart to Nora. “It was you, wasn’t it? Sadist. Why can’t we have girls’ time with ice cream instead?”

  “That’s a different situation, E,” I argue when Nora simply shrugs in response to Evie’s accusation. “Julian Gage is well known. Lincoln Moore isn’t.”

  “How do you know?” Nora asks, then does a double take, brows furrowed. “Wait a minute. His name is Lincoln Moore?”

  “Yes…,” I answer in a drawn-out voice.

  She stares at me, mouth agape. I brace myself to find out he’s now officially off-limits due to the girl code. Before she settled down with Jeremy, her fiancé, she was a date-aholic. We often compared “war stories” about what it’s like finding someone you feel a connection with in the New York City wildlife. I never cared about the connection, not like Nora, although she claims she didn’t, either. That she was simply enjoying her twenties. Secretly, I could tell she was looking for more than a fleeting romp in the sack.

  Maybe I was, too, but I didn’t realize it.

  “Damn, that’s a great name. Lincoln Moore.” She fans herself, continuing to pedal, making it appear effortless when everyone else in the class is ready to stick the instructor’s head on a spike in revolt. I suppose owning a yoga and meditation studio has its benefits. “Does he have you begging for more?” She grins mischievously.

  “No.” I pause before breaking into a smile. “More like screaming.”

  “That’s my girl.” Nora reaches toward me and we bump fists. Some may find our conversation inappropriate, but we’ve never shied away from topics some consider taboo. That’s probably why I’ve remained friends with Nora and Evie…and even Izzy…for as long as I have. They’re as comfortable with discussing sex as I am.

  “Scream for more all you want,” Evie interjects. “Just promise you won’t Google him.”

  “He Googled me first.”

  “I bet he did,” she says under her breath.

  “To send you underwear,” Nora reminds me. “Not to figure out who you are. I know how you work. You’ll find something random and convince yourself not to pursue him. Don’t. Get to know him. Don’t assume he has some weird fetish because you misread something while stalking his social media profiles.”

  “Well, he does have a weird fetish.”

  They perk up.

  “For my panties.”

  We all erupt in laughter, eliciting a few glares, but we ignore them.

  “I’m happy for you, Chloe,” Nora says in all sincerity.

  “Me, too,” Evie adds. “And, for the love of a magical penis, will you take some of your own advice?”

  “My own advice?”

  “Exactly. When I wasn’t sure what to make of Julian going from hot to cold in three point five seconds, do you remember what you told me?”

  I don’t immediately respond.

  “You told me to enjoy the ride.”

  “On his rocket,” I add to cut through the tension.

  She smiles for a second before fixing her expression once more.

  “Yes. And I’ll give you the same advice here. Chloe, I’ve known you five years.”

  “And I’ve known you ten,” Nora pipes up. “I’ve never seen you this excited about a guy.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you excited about a guy, period,” Evie offers, then adds quickly, “Don’t get me wrong. It’s not a bad thing. I just… I want you to be happy. If that means pursuing something serious with Lincoln Moore, great. If you want to keep things casual, that’s great, too. Don’t think too much. Let life lead you down the path you’re meant to travel.”

  I take a swig of my water, giving her a smug grin. “Strange words coming from a woman who, six months ago, used to plan every minute of every day down to the nanosecond.”

  Evie playfully punches my bicep. “I did not. At least not down to the nanosecond.” She winks. “But you know what I mean. I understand how it is when you find yourself in uncharted territory. You over-analyze everything. I know I do. And as much as you’d like to think we’re opposites, we’re more alike than you think. So have fun with Lincoln Moore—”

  “You can just call him Lincoln.”

  She pauses, her eyes scrunched together in contemplation, before she quickly shakes her head. “Nope. Can’t do it. His name rolls off the tongue too perfectly.”

  “She’s right,” Nora agrees. “It does.”

  “It really is the perfect last name for a sex god.” Evie giggles.

  “I never said he was a sex god.”

  “You didn’t have to,” Nora states. “It goes with the territory.”

  “What territory?”

  Nora and Evie share yet another look. It makes me wonder if they have a secret code when it comes to me. I’ve never exactly given them a reason to focus on me.

  For the past five years, our friendship has focused on Nora’s seemingly never-ending search for Mr. Right while insisting all she cared about was a decent lay, although we all knew she wanted more. To our surprise, she met someone on Tinder who felt the same.

  Then there was Evie’s breakup with her long-time boyfriend and her whirlwind fake relationship with one of Manhattan’s most eligible bachelors, which ended up being a lot more real than either intended. Compared to them, my life is boring, mainly because I tend to keep the details to myself.

  Evie pinches her lips together before answering. “You have high standards
.”

  “Says the girl who once berated me for sleeping with anything with a pulse.”

  “To which you replied you were sampling the buffet before you went back for seconds.”

  “Precisely.”

  “My point exactly, Chloe. You rarely go back for seconds.”

  “I’ve seen a few guys more than once,” I argue.

  “True,” Nora says, finally piping up. “But I think this time’s different.”

  I roll my eyes. “All I promised him was a chance to get to know me. He left the ball in my court, so to speak.”

  “Well, if I were you,” Evie begins, “I wouldn’t wait to throw that ball. I’d toss it now. Hell, I’d spike it to show him you’re not stringing him along.”

  “He knows I’m not.”

  “Trust me,” Nora interjects. “A single, attractive man who’s interested in more than a quick fling is a rarity, especially in New York. Most men you’ll meet are either married to their career, married to their bachelorhood, or married to their wives. Yes, you say all he’s asking for is a chance to get to know you, but he’s giving you a chance, too. Don’t fuck it up.”

  “Gee, thanks for the words of encouragement.” My tone oozes sarcasm.

  She shrugs. “What are friends for?”

  Nora’s and Evie’s warnings seem to play on repeat in my mind for the rest of the afternoon and evening, festering, making it impossible for me to concentrate on anything other than Lincoln and what he’s doing. Is he out with friends? At work? Having dinner with another woman he’s also sent panties to?

  The idea of him stealing another woman’s panties is all the motivation I need to get off the couch, shower, and make my way to his apartment. He surprised me with a present at work today. What better way to spike the ball back onto his side of the court than by showing up at his apartment wrapped in a present for him?

  Bringing my hand up to the door, I knock softly, my insides vibrating with anticipation of how Lincoln will react. I strain to listen for any sound coming from within. At first, there’s nothing but silence. Then I hear a faint rustling. Shoeless footsteps gradually grow closer. There’s a pause, and I assume Lincoln’s checking to see who could be here at ten on a Friday night.