“Jesus. That’s perfect. Keep swallowing, baby. Your mouth feels amazing.”
I’ve never been rough with Adley. I’ve never talked dirty to her, but I can see now that was a mistake. Based on her eager mouth and the sounds she’s making, I’d say she enjoys a little dirty talk.
“Do you like this, Adley? Does my girl like to have her mouth fucked?”
She blinks up and holds my gaze as I continue to thrust in and out of her mouth. She swallows me farther with each thrust. The tight grip on the crown paired with the suction of her mouth and the sounds and the feel of her fingers digging into the back of my thighs is too much.
It feels too good.
“I’m not going to last.” I expect her to pull back the way most girls do, but Adley’s grip on my legs tightens. She holds me to her, refusing to let me go, and I give it one last hard thrust.
My balls grow tight, and with very little warning, I explode in her mouth. Sharp nails bite into my thighs as she keeps me pressed to the back of her throat. She takes everything I have to offer, and with each swallow, my head dips farther down her throat.
God damn.
Holding the hair away from her face, I watch her throat work, and when she takes down the last drop, I slowly pull myself from her mouth.
“That was perfect. You are perfect.”
I pull my pants up, flick the stove off, and as gently as possible, I scoop Adley off the floor and cradle her in my arms.
She glances over my shoulder and smiles. “What happened to my food?
“You happened. I was trying to do something nice for you—make you a hearty meal—and then you walk out of the bedroom looking all sexy in my shirt and begging to suck my cock. This is clearly all your fault.”
She laughs and wraps her arms around my neck as I carry her toward the bathroom. “We could start over and make a new breakfast. This time I could help you.”
“I think you’ve helped enough. That was seriously the best blow job I’ve ever had, and now breakfast is the furthest thing from my mind.”
“What is on your mind?”
I kick the bathroom door open, settle her on the counter beside the sink and turn the shower on. Within a few seconds of the water running, steam begins to rise, and when I’ve got the water temperature to the perfect spot, I turn to Adley.
She looks like a goddess sitting on my sink, her toned legs dangling down. My veins burn with anticipation when I reach for the hem of the shirt she’s wearing and lift it over her head.
“Right now, all I can think about is taking care of you.”
I’ve never given myself to someone the way I want to give myself to Adley. I want to put her and her needs before my own. I want to take care of her and show her that I can be what she deserves. I’m not sure when Adley’s happiness became connected to my own, but it is, and now is the perfect time to show her how much she means to me.
A nagging voice in the back of my head tries to remind me of my mother’s words, but I push them away. I refuse to let my past ruin this moment.
“You do take care of me,” she says, holding on to my sides. “You’ve been taking care of me for five months.”
“I don’t mean checking your gas tank and making sure you made it home safe or changing your oil.”
“What do you mean?”
Rather than answer, I pick her up and place her in the shower.
She tilts her head back, allowing the water to soak through her hair and run the length of her body. Lifting her head, she wipes the water from her face and looks at me.
“Aren’t you coming?”
She holds out her hand, and it feels like she’s inviting me into more than just a steamy shower.
12
Adley
Lincoln stares at my hand, wraps his fingers around mine, and steps into the shower. Releasing my hand, he pulls me in front of him, my back to his chest, and holds me close as the water rains down around us.
He sighs as if the water just washed the weight of the world from his shoulders, and his hold on me tightens.
Lincoln works hard—harder than anyone I know. On top of that, he cares for his father and watches out for his sister and somehow finds time to spend with me. But who’s been taking care of him?
No one.
My heart constricts at the thought, and I vow to make sure this man is taken care of the way he deserves, the way I’ve failed to do so many times over the last five months.
I turn in his arms, reach around his big body, and grab the shampoo.
Lincoln opens his eyes and looks down at me. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to wash your hair.”
“I thought I was supposed to be taking care of you.”
“You will. But I want to take care of you first.”
“No way.” He holds his hand out for the bottle, but I clench it close to me.
“Please,” I beg. “Please let me do this. You’re always looking out for me and making sure I have everything I need. Now I want to do something for you.”
“You do a lot for me.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t, but that’s going to change.”
His gaze is unyielding, and about the time I think he’s going to yank the shampoo from my hands, he surprises me by turning around.
Lincoln is taller than me, but with his head tilted back, I can easily reach him. I work the shampoo until his head is covered in bubbles. I take the time to massage his scalp. Pushing my thumbs into the skin at the base of is skull, I move them in circular motions down his neck and over his shoulders.
His body is tight, but it relaxes under my hands, and I keep going until the two knots I found are gone. Then I turn him around.
“Rinse.”
He steps under the spray, shakes his hair out the way men do, and finds the bottle of shampoo.
“Your turn.”
I’ve never had a man wash my hair, but when Lincoln’s large hands slide against my scalp, I can easily see why this is a thing. His fingers are gentle as he works the rain fresh scent into my hair before rinsing it out and repeating the process with my conditioner.
“Can you hand me the loofah?”
I grab the black loofah from the hook and hand it to him. He squirts on a blob of body wash and motions for me to turn around.
Gathering my hair at the nape of my neck, I hold it up, allowing him to start at the top of my back. Lincoln runs the loofah along my shoulder blades, over my ass, and down the backs of my thighs. He gently grabs my left ankle, and I steady myself with a hand on the shower wall so he can lift my foot. He washes each foot and then glides the loofah up the backs of my calves, stopping at the bend in my knee.
“Open up for me, sweetheart.”
I move my left foot out, creating a wide gap between my legs. I’m completely open to him, all of my most private parts on full display, and I couldn’t be more comfortable because I know that with him I’m always safe.
The loofah glides over each inner thigh before slipping through my folds. His touch is so tender that I close my eyes and will myself not to cry.
Jesus, Adley, get a grip.
I cried during sex, but I refuse to cry during our shower. I just got Lincoln—I mean really got him—and if I’m not careful, he’s going to think I’m a basket case. My emotions have been running high with the end of school and the stress of finals and studying for my state boards and Mo’s wedding and then all this stuff with Lincoln. I’m sure it’ll get better when things calm down, but it’s hard to push the feelings away when he’s being so sweet.
A tear leaks down the side of my cheek, but easily blends into the droplets of water already gathered on my face.
“Turn around.”
I blink away any remaining tears and follow his command. Lincoln washes the front of my body with the same gentle hand he used on my back, and when he’s done, my muscles and bones feel relaxed, and I could easily crawl into his bed naked and take a nice long nap.
Bu
t first.
“My turn.” I take the loofah from Lincoln and squirt on another drop of body wash. Using the loofah and my free hand, I work the soap into his skin, admiring the way his muscles flex and tighten as I roam over his body. When I get to his legs and feet, I look up, and Lincoln smiles.
It isn’t his normal, happy smile. It’s reserved. Almost shy.
I can’t help but think about his past and his childhood and those pictures hidden in his closet. Hasn’t anyone ever cared for him like this? Didn’t his parents love him and bathe him growing up the way most parents do? The thought of a young Lincoln leaning over a tub to wash his baby sister is too much, and I have to look away.
“What are you thinking right now?” he asks.
I want to be honest, but I don’t want to admit to snooping through his closet. One of these days—when he’s ready—he’ll tell me about his past. I want it to be on his terms.
“That we’re pretty good at this shower thing. We should bathe each other more often.”
“I second that idea.”
I stand, rinse the loofah out, and hang it back on the hook. Then my stomach lets out a loud gurgle, causing both of us to laugh.
“Come on, let’s feed you.”
Lincoln scoops me up and steps carefully out of the shower. “I can walk, you know.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you always carrying me?”
“Because you fit perfectly in my arms. Why do you always call me Lincoln?”
“Because that’s your name.”
He nips playfully at my neck and stands me on the rug where he proceeds to dry me off with a towel. “I know, but everyone else calls me Linc.”
“Would you rather I called you Linc?”
He shakes his head and looks up before wrapping the towel around my hair. “No. I like that you use my full name. I was just curious.”
“Do you want to know the real reason? It’s kind of corny.”
“Now you have to tell me,” he says, grabbing another towel for himself.
“You’re kind, honest, caring, hard-working, and you worry about those around you. Remind you of anyone else with the same name?”
With the towel wrapped around his lean hips, Lincoln pulls me in for a hug. He presses his lips to my head and laughs. “I remind you of Abraham Lincoln?”
“Why are you laughing? It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny. He was a president. I’m just a…washed-up bull rider.”
“You’re not a washed-up bull rider. You’re more than that, and he was more than a president. He was a good man.”
Pissed off that he called himself a washed-up bull rider and a little embarrassed that he made of fun of me, I stomp out of the bathroom and into his bedroom.
Lincoln doesn’t let me get far. Once I’m in his room, he grabs my wrist and spins me around. “Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m frustrated.”
Lincoln rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s a compliment, and I shouldn’t have laughed. But I’m still trying to see myself the way you see me.”
“Well, try harder.”
“Can I make it up to you?” he asks, unwinding the towel from my head.
“What’d you have in mind?”
My stomach growls again, and Lincoln laughs. “How about we start with food.”
“And then?”
“And then I’ll go to work, and you’ll have the house all to yourself. It’ll be quiet, and you can study your little heart out.”
“Oh my gosh.” My eyes widen, and I look at the alarm clock sitting on Lincoln’s nightstand. “It’s Monday. You have to work today. Are you going to be late?”
I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before I attacked him in the kitchen earlier. I’m so used to being in school and not working that I forget other people have actual jobs.
“It’s okay. I don’t have to be at The Barn until noon.”
That makes me feel a little better. “How about you get ready for work and let me make breakfast. Or maybe I should make lunch. Which would you rather have?”
“Maybe tomorrow I’ll let you cook breakfast. But today, I’m doing it. You didn’t get to study at all this weekend because I took up too much of your time, so go get your books and get comfy.”
Grabbing the knot of his towel, I tug him forward. “You could never take up too much of my time.”
“You undo that knot and you might change your mind about that.”
That’s tempting. He could have me flat on my back and be buried balls deep in my body within seconds.
“I’m trying to be good here, Adley, but that look in your eyes is making it difficult.”
I blink through the haze and look up.
“Tonight,” he promises. “We’ve got all night.”
13
Adley
There’s a delicious ache between my legs, a handsome, naked man sprawled out beside me, and I’m convinced this is the only way to wake up. This must be why Mo and Claire are always so damn happy in the mornings.
I stare down at Lincoln. His leg is draped over mine, a thick arm rests low across my hips, and his head is nestled between my bare breasts. He’s zonked out cold.
As he should be.
We went at it hard last night. He came home from The Barn at six o’clock with a cheese pizza and a two-liter of soda. We ate at the coffee table while he quizzed me on endocrinology, and then he carried me to bed where we made love not once, but twice before falling asleep in each other’s arms.
He did mention that he had to get up a little earlier this morning because he needs to make a stop by his dad’s, so I set an alarm. It’s not due to go off for another thirty minutes, but there’s no way I’m going to fall back asleep now—not with his warm breath blowing against my nipple and his hard-on pressed against my hip—so I reach an arm out and shut it off.
I run my fingers through Lincoln’s soft hair and watch his chest rise and fall. We’ve slept together countless times over the last few months, but I’ve never taken the time to sit back and just watch him. We’d occasionally wake up twisted in each other’s arms, but most of the time I’d wake up and he’d already be gone, or I’d be out of his bed long before his alarm was set to go off.
But I like it this way better.
Lincoln stirs beside me and pulls me deeper into his arms. I smile when he buries his face in my neck and hums deep in his throat.
“You smell like me,” his sleepy voice rumbles.
“Hmm. I wonder why?”
“You staying home and studying again today?” he asks, his hand sliding down my leg.
“Yes. But I’ve got a study group this afternoon. I probably won’t be home until late.”
“With Abby?”
“And a few other people from class.”
“Where?”
“Where we always study, the Houston Public Library.”
When I was in school I used to study at the college library in Heaven, but my study partners either live in Houston or closer to Houston than Heaven, which is convenient since I’ve been staying with Lincoln.
“Who will be there?”
“The normal group. Abby, Emily, Taryn, Jack, Tyler, and Phillip.”
Hooking his hand under my knee, Lincoln draws my leg up and back, draping it over his. His fingers slide between my folds. “Christ, you’re wet.”
I reach for his cock and guide it to my entrance. “And you’re hard.”
“I’m always hard when you’re around. What are you doing, babe?” he asks when I arch my back, allowing the tip of his cock to dip inside.
“I want you inside of me.”
His big hand kneads my breast, which is surprisingly sensitive. “Is my girl horny?”
“I’m always horny when you’re around.”
“No way in hell am I letting you go to a study group with a bunch of dudes when you’re turned on.”<
br />
“Are you jealous?”
“Fuck yeah, I’m jealous. I always hated when you went to those damn study groups. I’d be stuck at home wondering if they were looking at you and craving you the way I do.”
“They weren’t.”
“Bullshit. Today I want you to smell like me when you sit down at the table with them. I want them to know you’re taken and who you belong to.”
I don’t know why I like that so much, but I do.
“I want that too.”
He slides into me from behind, his thick cock filling me completely. But it’s when he rolls me over onto my stomach, pressing all of his weight down on me that I really feel the strength and power of his body, as well as the hold he has on me. My blood fills with an unfamiliar need, a need to be taken—owned. And I welcome the burn that simmers just beneath my skin.
With a hand on either side of my head, he props himself up and starts to push in and out of me, but it isn’t enough, so I tug on his wrist causing him to fall on top of me. Lincoln is huge, much bigger than me, and the weight of his body forces me into the mattress.
“Babe, what are you doing?”
He tries to push back up, but I don’t let him.
“I want you on top of me, Lincoln. I want to feel your whole body pushing me into the mattress as you fuck me.”
Lowering his lips to my ear, he nibbles the lobe. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Yes, I do. I don’t think you understand how bad I want you to claim me and fuck me and own me. I want it to hurt so bad it feels good. I want an ache between my thighs every time I sit down, knowing it was you who put it there.”
“I’ll crush you,” he whispers.
“No, you won’t. I trust you. Please. Please, just fuck me. Mark me. Show me how bad you want me.”
“I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.” In one thrust, his cock bottoms out against my cervix, and I try to arch my back, but I can’t because his two-hundred-pound body is forcing mine into the bed. I’m paralyzed, unable to move as he pounds in and out of me in harsh, unforgiving movements.
It’s raw and carnal and the best damn thing I’ve ever felt. He’s taking something from me he’s never taken before, and I happily let him. With each thrust, my hips are shoved forward, causing my clit to rub against the sheet, and I know I’m not going to last long.
Crazy, Stupid Love Page 8
