by Callie Rose
River releases me, and the five of us troop down the west wing stairs to the main level, and then down one more flight to the basement. I’ve been down here to clean before, and it’s the easiest part of the house to work on because it barely gets used. Which is crazy, because it’s awesome. There’s a full steam room and sauna, a couple rec rooms, a weight room and a small basketball court, a huge wine cellar, and a mini movie theatre with a dozen plush, luxurious seats.
I’ve never once seen any of the Black family members use the movie theatre, but that’s where Lincoln leads us now. The recessed lights are dim, though the room isn’t as dark as it’d be if we were actually planning on watching a movie in here, and the guys and I all grab seats in a cluster. I end up sandwiched between Lincoln and Chase, with Dax and River in the row ahead of us.
They turn in their seats to face us, and I finally ask the question that’s been pricking at my brain ever since the twins laid out their logic for lying to Detective Dunagan.
“So, you guys are still trying to find the man in the black mask?”
“Yeah.” Dax nods. “But before you get too excited, I should tell you we haven’t got much yet.”
Fuck. I mean, of course not. We didn’t have a lot before my mom was arrested either. So it’d be asking for a miracle for the guys to suddenly get a huge lead just because we need it now more than ever.
But there have to be some clues we can start digging into, some threads we can follow.
“What do you know?” I ask, casting my gaze around at the four boys hopefully.
“We know whoever called in the tip to the police had a reason to pick your mom specifically—though whether it was because of something she knew, because it was convenient, or to send a message to you, we don’t know.” River braces his forearms on the back of the chair, a deadly serious expression on his face. “We’re assuming it was the man in the mask who tipped them off, as a way of trying to divert suspicion from himself.”
“I don’t know how he’s making her look so guilty,” I mutter, a flush of anger making my cheeks heat. “Someone’s planting evidence or something. Her lawyer said the cops found Iris’s DNA on the front grill of my mom’s car.”
“Shit.” Chase whistles. “So it could be someone in law enforcement then.”
“Yeah, or somebody with a few dirty cops in his pocket,” Dax shoots back, shaking his head.
“And you just described half the wealthiest families in Fox Hill,” Lincoln drawls, a note of disgust in his voice.
Jesus.
Is it really that easy to destroy someone’s life? To tear down everything they’ve built for themselves? Just knowing the right people and having the money to buy their complicity?
No wonder Mr. Black’s parties always seem to stink of corruption. My mom laughed and teased me about being a conspiracy theorist, but it turns out I was right to be suspicious. People can be fucking awful, and it’s not that rich people are necessarily worse—they just have the means to act on their depravity and get away with it more easily than people without that kind of wealth at their disposal.
“Well, at least that’s someplace to start. With people who might have the connections to pull this kind of thing off,” I say, trying to cling to the little bubble of hope that grew in my chest when I realized the guys hadn’t betrayed me.
There are five heads working on this now, instead of just my extremely fucked up and confused one. We have to be able to come up with something.
“Yeah. Low’s right.” Chase rests his hand on my knee again, rubbing at his chin with his other. “It might be a pretty fucking massive list, but at least it’s a list.”
There’s a murmur of assent from the other three, and we spend the next two hours sorting through all the people the guys think could match our criteria.
It’s a long fucking list, and there’s a decent chance the killer isn’t even on it. But we have to start somewhere, and action feels so much better than inaction.
At around one o’clock, Dax and Chase have to head out, and River takes off a few minutes later. I never even had breakfast, and I definitely haven’t had lunch, so I stand up, already thinking about what food is still left in my mom’s apartment. But before I can move toward the door, Lincoln’s hand shoots out and catches my wrist.
His grip is firm, and the feel of his skin against mine banishes all thoughts of lunch from my brain as fire shoots up my arm.
When I glance down at him, he’s staring at the blank movie screen on the wall ahead of us, his amber eyes gleaming in the dim, warm light.
“We okay?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah.” I take a step closer to him, standing right next to his chair. “We are.”
His gaze slowly slides from the screen to me. “I’m not quite sure I believe you, Low.”
“What?” I huff a breath. “Why not?”
“Because you’re still looking at me like I’m a stranger. And last time I checked, we weren’t fucking strangers.”
There’s a bit of a growl in his voice that sends a shiver down my spine, and his eyes spark with some emotion that can’t decide if it wants to be anger or hurt.
I look down at him, trying to sort through the complicated feelings I have for this boy. When I speak, my voice is low, my words halting as I try to articulate the emotions bouncing around my chest.
“We’re not strangers, Linc. And I know why you did what you did. I know you were trying to keep me safe. To keep my mom safe. It’s just… hard. My mind is still catching up to what my heart knows, and I—goddammit, I was so fucking mad at you.”
He makes another noise that’s almost a growl, and the next thing I know, he’s pulling me onto his lap. My legs end up straddling him, knees on either side of his waist, and I hardly know how I ended up here, but it’s easier to breathe, easier to think when I can feel the firm lines of his body beneath mine.
His hands settle on my lower back, just above the swell of my ass, and his eyes blaze like twin suns as he stares at me. I could swear the room around us is getting darker, but I think it’s just that Lincoln has eclipsed my vision, has literally blotted out every other thing.
“I need you to trust me, Low,” he murmurs. “I need you to know that no matter what I do, whether it makes sense to you or not, there’s a reason behind it. It’s to keep you safe.”
My palms find his chest, the movement automatic, unconscious. My fingers gather the soft fabric of his t-shirt in a tight grip as our gazes stay locked.
“And you need to trust me,” I shoot back.
The last bit of my anger flares, and I press my mouth to his, hard, biting his bottom lip before pulling away. His body stiffens beneath me, and his grip on my hips tightens. Both of us are breathing faster, our bodies beginning to work against each other.
“I need you to trust me enough to tell me what the fuck you’re thinking,” I continue, nipping at his lips again. “Even if you know it’s gonna piss me off. Even if you think it will hurt me. No more fucking secrets, Linc.” I jerk my head toward the door the others vanished through, bracing my arms on his shoulders as I rock against him. “Those three trust you without question, and I want to give you that too. But the only way it’ll be possible is if I know you’re not playing me.”
“No more secrets. I promise.”
The words are a low rasp. The second they’re out of his mouth, his lips claim mine, and he stops letting me dictate the terms of our kiss. His tongue delves into my mouth, and he slides his hands down to my ass, hiking me tighter against him, grinding my clit against his thickening cock.
Our teeth clash, and he’s biting at my lips too, like both of us are still working out some residual anger toward the other person—or the world in general. I can’t catch my breath, and my heart is thrumming so hard and fast in my chest I can’t make out the individual beats anymore.
It’s almost painful, and I wonder fleetingly if this is what heartache feels like. If this is what it’s like to want someone and be terrifie
d of how much you want them.
My hands slip under Lincoln’s shirt, tracing patterns over the smooth, hot skin of his chest and abs.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he groans into my mouth, thrusting his hips up harder against me, his large hands kneading and massaging my ass through my long sweater.
“It’s only been a week,” I mutter under my breath, although I’m still pawing at him possessively, my eyelids half shut and my core clenching.
Without warning, one of his hands leaves my ass, moving up to grab a fistful of my hair close to the roots. When he tugs my head back, breaking the contact of our lips, it doesn’t hurt, exactly, but the slight sting in my scalp makes a jolt of sensation rocket through me.
“Uh uh, Low.” Our faces are so close together our noses almost brush as he shakes his head, amber eyes burning. “There is no only between us. Ever. When we’re talking about how long it’s been since I’ve been inside you, that word doesn’t exist.”
Oh shit.
His proclamation and the desperate, demanding tone of his voice make me wriggle against his tight grip, straining toward him so hard that the pull against my scalp really does hurt.
When he finally releases his hold on me, I kiss him like I’m trying to consume him alive, grabbing his face with both hands to give myself the perfect angle, dipping my tongue into his mouth over and over.
My body is like an inferno, burning so hot I’m certain my clothes are about to catch fire.
They don’t.
But they do get destroyed.
Lincoln’s hands shove my long sweater up and out of the way, and the next thing I know, he’s found the waistband of my leggings. With a violent rip, he shreds them down the middle seam, and when I let out a surprised yelp, his answering smile is hungry and feral. He pulls the two pieces apart even farther before eviscerating the delicate lace of my panties.
Jesus. I either need to get sturdier underwear or stop wearing them altogether.
Before I can give Linc shit for destroying yet another pair of my panties, his fingers find my clit, and I forget how to speak. He sits up straighter in the large chair, his hand wedged into the small space between us as he massages me in tight, fast circles. There’s a look of intense, almost angry concentration on his face, like he’s trying to show me—show my body—how much it needs him.
“Oh… fuck,” I whimper, biting my bottom lip as my toes curl and my muscles shake.
I start to drop my head, but his free hand moves up to grab my chin, holding it in a tight grip so he can watch my face as he makes me come. His gaze catches mine, and I can’t look away, not even when the pleasure peaks and sweet agony rolls through me like a wave.
He sees it. All of it.
And he takes all of it. My sounds, my stuttered breaths, the look on my face as he breaks me apart and puts me back together.
I’m still sucking in gasping breaths, my body still quaking with aftershocks, when he uses his grip on my chin to pull me in for a kiss, sweeping his tongue into my mouth like he can capture the last vestiges of my orgasm there.
My hands scrabble for the button and fly of his jeans, and I work them down carefully as our lips stay fused together. His cock is hard and smooth in my palm, and God, I really did miss this.
He’s right.
There is no only.
I could’ve fucked him yesterday, and my hand would still be shaking, still moving over the velvet-smooth skin with ravenous need. I glide my fingers up and down his shaft a few times, and Lincoln’s hips jerk. He shakes his head, a deep noise rumbling in his chest.
“Goddammit, Low. Get on my fucking dick.”
I grin against his lips. “Sweet talker.”
But I’m already moving to obey his command, his plea, rising up on my knees as he shoves his pants a little farther down. Then I sink down onto him, and for just a second, all the bullshit—all the fear and uncertainty and helplessness of the past week—fades away.
We fit.
We just… fit.
It’s hardly logical, it barely makes sense, and it doesn’t negate the fact that sometimes this boy pisses me off so much I can hardly see straight. But when we come together like this, none of that other stuff seems to matter. It’s like being in the eye of a hurricane. The most peaceful place in the world, surrounded by violent chaos.
As he buries himself inside me to the hilt, the expression on his face changes in a way that makes me positive he feels it too.
“Fuck. Yes, Low,” he murmurs, rocking his hips against mine as I rise up and sink back down, finding a rhythm.
One of his hands splays across my back, keeping me steady as I move, and the other slips up under my sweater, pushing the cup of my bra down so he can roll my nipple between his fingers. Shocks of sensation zap through me, and I press my chest into his hand, demanding more.
The room is quiet and still, except for the muffled sounds of our breaths and voices as we tease each other, push each other, worship each other. We’ve barely taken off any clothes, and even though I miss the feeling of his warm skin pressed flush against mine, there’s something almost more intimate about the fact that we’re only connected in one place, in the place where he’s filling me.
The rough fabric of his jeans rubs against my thighs as I ride him, a delicious contrast to the smooth skin of his cock gliding in and out of me.
We’re not quite fucking and we’re not quite making love.
We’re… reuniting.
My clit rubs against Linc’s pelvis every time I impale myself fully on his length, and I chase the tingling pleasure building inside me, shamelessly using his body to get myself off. When I come, I grind hard against him, burying my face in the crook of his neck and circling my hips over and over.
“Oh God. Lincoln!”
I’m clenching him tight, my inner walls squeezing and contracting around him, making him feel thicker than ever inside me. As my movements slow, he grunts and grabs my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he holds me in place. He thrusts upward in short, sharp movements, using my body like I just used his.
Now we’re fucking, hard and fast.
Then a stream of curses falls from his lips, and I feel his cock swell inside me, jerking rhythmically as his cum floods me.
He bands his arms around my back and presses his lips to my hair, breathing roughly. His hips are still pressing up into mine in little pulses, as if he’s not quite ready to stop fucking me yet, even though he just came.
“Just for the record,” I breathe against his skin, “I don’t do that with strangers.”
He chuckles, and I feel the vibrations in my own chest. “I should hope not.”
I pull back a little to look at him, making no move to climb off him yet. “So we’re good?”
“We’re good.” He tucks my slightly disheveled hair behind my ear. “No more secrets. What I know, you’ll know.”
A smile tugs at my lips, and I gaze down at his face, trying to connect the boy in front of me to the one who stared at me so impassively the night my mom was arrested.
He’s got a solid poker face. He’s a good fucking liar, and that still scares me a little.
But what Dax and Chase told me makes sense. And as much as I still want to cling to my anger, I know it’s possible the guys saved my life with what they did. Saved my mom’s life.
“You’re important to me, Low.” The dark-haired boy licks his lips and his amber eyes darken, as if he can still taste me on his skin. Then he shakes his head, amending his statement. “You’re important to all of us. We won’t let you deal with this shit alone.”
His words and tone, the way he says “all of us”, does something strange to my heart, and my core clenches hard around him, making him groan and tighten his grip on my ass. Thoughts of the other three kings of Linwood—of the way they look at me, talk to me, and touch me—filter through my head, sending a cascade of emotions through me.
“No more secrets, right?” I murmur, catching Linc’s gaze.
He cocks his head, narrowing his eyes. “Right.”
“Then can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Have the four of you ever… shared?”
The movement of his pelvis stops for a second, and his face freezes. Then his lips curl upward slightly as hunger and amusement gleam in his eyes. “Shared what?”
“You know what, you asshole.” I pinch his nipple through his shirt.
His cock hasn’t softened at all. He’s still hard as steel inside me, and when he starts thrusting into me again, I move against him, fucking him even as I keep my gaze glued to his face, waiting for an answer.
“Dax and Chase share girls all the time. Have since the beginning, I think.” He’s watching me intently, watching the effect his words have on me as we move in sync. “And River and I have shared before. It can be hot as fuck.”
I bite my bottom lip, trying not to show how turned on I am by that. I don’t even know quite why I asked the question, but now all I can picture are a pair of intense blue-gray eyes and twin sets of blue and green ones alongside Lincoln’s, all focused on me.
Hands all over my body.
Lips on every inch of my skin.
My movements against Linc become harder and more desperate, and I squeeze around him so tight he lets out another grunt.
“But never—all four of you?” I mutter, my breath coming faster as another orgasm builds deep inside me.
“Not yet.” His voice is a rasp, and his fingers dig into the flesh of my ass as he impales me so deeply I swear I can feel him everywhere. “We hadn’t found anyone worth sharing.”
Hadn’t. Not haven’t.
Past tense. Not present.
Holy fuck.
Oh, fuck.
I can’t stop it. I can’t fight it. I can’t hold it off any longer.
Another orgasm tears through my body, so intense and prolonged my vision actually goes a little fuzzy around the edges. I let out a sobbing cry, and Lincoln palms the back of my head, smashing his lips against mine and devouring the sound as he pulses inside me. I feel liquid seep out from the place where we’re connected, sliding down my thighs as I shake in his arms.
