by T. K. Leigh
“You are so beautiful.”
I bask in his ardent declaration, my heart expanding. Then he brings his other hand to my face, his grip becoming harsher.
“Say you want me.”
“I want you,” I whisper.
His lips touch mine, our kiss a tease. “Say you need me.”
I grip the back of his neck, digging my fingers into his skin. “I need you, Lincoln.” I move my mouth along his unshaven jawline, taking his earlobe between my teeth, his taste addicting. “I’ve always needed you.”
With a growl, he forces my lips back to his, his tongue sweeping against the seam. His motions are the perfect combination of desperate and sweet. Greedy and reverent. Chaotic and controlled. His ravenous kiss leaves no question in my mind of how much he needs me.
His rough grip loosens, his urgent kiss becoming tender. He exhales into me, his arms wrapping around me, keeping me safe in his embrace. As much as I want more of him, all of him, I want this, too. These quiet moments between us. These reminders that he hasn’t given up on us.
Our mouths never break from each other as I fall onto the mattress, bringing him on top of me. I can’t stop kissing him even if I want to. He is the elixir for my suffering. The cure to my torment. The remedy to all the tragedy.
My perfect addiction.
As he peppers starved kisses along my jawline, I crane my head, a shudder rolling through me when his two-day scruff scrapes against my throat. I hook a leg around his waist, slowly circling my hips, my pulse increasing.
“Do you have any idea how much I’ve thought about this? How much I’ve fantasized about this?”
“Yes,” I moan as his fingers lift the hem of my t-shirt, my body aching for him.
“Tell me you’ve thought about me.”
“Every day,” I answer without a moment’s hesitation.
“Tell me you’ve fantasized about me.” His voice becomes more demanding.
“Every night,” I pant.
“God, Chloe. Why can’t I stay away from you?”
My fingers rake through his dark locks and he arches his back, relishing in my touch. “Maybe because we’re not meant to be apart.”
Before I can utter another word, his lips are on mine, his hands running along my body, exploring, remembering. We only tear away from each other long enough for him to lift my top over my head. He cups my breasts, his fingers rolling my nipples, eliciting a moan from me. I claw at his own t-shirt, yanking it off.
The instant it joins mine on the floor, he wraps an arm around my waist, raising me to a sitting position, pressing my body to his. Skin to skin. Flesh to flesh. Heart to heart. We take a minute to calm our ragged breathing and temper our racing hearts.
Toying with a few tufts of chest hair, I rest my head against him, this moment more intimate than any other time I’ve been with a man. Because I’d never truly been intimate with anyone else. Not like this. I gave them my body, nothing more. But Lincoln captured my heart, captivated my mind, invaded my soul.
“Your heart’s racing,” I murmur, covering it with my hand, the pounding rhythm comforting.
“I can’t help it.” His deep voice is tranquil as he runs his fingers up and down my back, causing a shiver to roll through me. “It always beats faster when you’re around.” He touches my chin and tilts my face, bringing my eyes to his. “It’s always burned for you.” He brings his lips to mine, his kiss achingly perfect as he lowers me to the mattress once more.
Taking his time, he tastes me, feasts on me, experiences me, his journey down my body torturously slow. My nails scratch his scalp as I pulse against him, my muscles tightening. A low rumble vibrates from him, and I smile. Such a simple, innocent touch, but the sensation of my fingers clawing at his skin has always unhinged him.
I hope it always will.
When he reaches my breasts, he floats his gaze to mine, a hint of mischief within. Then he returns his attention to me, taking a nipple into his mouth.
I close my eyes, my body fusing into the mattress, sparks shooting through me. When his teeth gently scrape against the sensitized flesh, I yelp, then moan, my muscles clenching as I attempt to calm the myriad of sensations filling me.
His hands roam my frame, getting reacquainted with every dip. Every valley. Every curve. Each time he looms close to the waistband of my shorts, I grow hopeful, only for him to retreat.
“Please, Lincoln,” I beg, my body a slave to his touch.
“Something I can help you with, Miss Davenport?” Lifting his eyes, his lips kick up in the corners.
“I need you,” I pant, my chest rising and falling in a quicker rhythm, the ache in my core only burning hotter with each passing second. “I need to feel you.”
“You are feeling me.” He circles one of my nipples with his tongue, eliciting another moan, before tracing a line in the valley between my breasts, the sensation unhinging me.
“You know what I mean.”
He cocks his head. “I think I do. But maybe you should tell me so I’m certain we’re on the same page.”
It takes all my resolve not to break into a huge smile at the memory of the games we played our first night together. Both outside and inside the bedroom.
His cheeks clutched in my hands, I look at him with a heated stare. “Lincoln, I need you to fuck me.”
He keeps his gaze locked on mine for several seconds as my words linger in the air. Blowing out a long breath, he shakes his head.
“I’m not going to fuck you tonight, Chloe.”
My heart falls as I blink repeatedly. “But—”
He presses a finger to my lips, silencing my protest. “This isn’t just sex for me.”
I swallow hard at his sincerity. “It’s not just sex for me, either.” My words surprise me. Despite trying to convince myself otherwise, it’s never been just sex with Lincoln. It’s always been something more.
“That’s why I’m not going to fuck you. Not now that we’ve finally made it to this place. Tonight, I’m going to seduce you.” He lowers his mouth to my neck, beginning his agonizing journey down my body once more. “Your mind.” He briefly sucks on my nipple before heading farther south. “Your body.” He dips his tongue into my belly button, drawing a line along my waist before meeting my eyes. “Most importantly, your heart.” He holds my face in his hands, our connection strong. “Your heart is what I want more than anything.”
“It’s yours,” I assure him, my voice a whisper as I struggle to speak through the lump in my throat. “It’s always been yours.”
He treats me to a sweet kiss before pulling back and lowering my shorts, leaving me in my panties.
“These look familiar.” He smiles slyly, smoothing a finger along the silky material.
“They should.” Not caring about the pain from my stitches, I manage to prop my legs up, spreading them. He takes the hint and brings his thumb to my center. “They’re yours after all.” Arching toward him, I scrape my lips against his. “Yours are the only panties I’ve worn since you got them for me. I never stopped being yours, even if you stopped being mine.”
He presses his mouth more firmly against mine. “I never stopped being yours, Chloe. Never.” He narrows his gaze on me, allowing his statement to sink in. Then his fingers hook into the waist of my panties, about to pull them off.
“Don’t.” I grasp his forearm, then grin deviously. “Leave them on. Like our first night together.”
“You liked that?”
Biting my lower lip, I nod, my eyes heated. “You know I did.”
“Well then…” He grabs my thighs, spreading them wider, positioning himself. “Who am I to disappoint?”
As he inches toward me, my pulse skyrockets, the seconds seeming to stretch, time standing still when I need it to hurry. Finally, he presses his mouth against me and I moan, my eyes fluttering into the back of my head.
The first time he did this, the unwelcome barrier of my panties only frustrated me. But this is what I need right now. A re
minder of how far we’ve come since that night, but at the same time how we’re still the same people. That nothing’s changed. At least the important thing hasn’t. This connection hasn’t.
“Lincoln,” I moan, scraping my fingernails against his scalp.
“Yeah, baby.”
The vibration of his voice pushes me higher and higher, and I move against him with greater urgency. I never thought it possible to get off without him actually touching me. He proved me wrong back then. Just like he’s continued to prove me wrong.
That familiar quivering sensation fills me, my toes curling, spine tingling, and I hold my breath, my brain unable to focus on anything other than the immense pleasure this man brings me. When I don’t think anything could feel more incredible, Lincoln pulls back the fabric of my panties, his tongue tracing along my center. He pushes a finger into me, then another, stretching and twisting. Lights blind my vision and I shatter, screaming his name as I convulse on my bed, not wanting this euphoric sensation to end. And Lincoln won’t let it, drawing out my orgasm as long as possible until he can no longer control himself.
“I need to be inside you,” he states in a gruff voice, a man obsessed.
With haste, he yanks my panties down my legs, then lowers his own jeans and briefs. I don’t take my eyes off him, admiring his beautiful physique. I want to pinch myself to make sure this is really happening, that I’m not dreaming. It all seems surreal, considering a little more than a week ago, he looked at me with absolute disgust as he kicked me out of his office.
He returns to me, crawling up my body. His motions are tender as he brushes the hair away from my eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“Newsflash.” I smirk. “This isn’t the first time I’ve done this. This isn’t the first time we’ve done this.”
“True. But there’s no looking back after this. There’s a lot more at stake now.”
I gaze at him thoughtfully, trying to find a way to assure him I’m ready for everything that follows. “Are you familiar with the story of Orpheus?”
He cocks a brow, releasing a small laugh. “This may be the first time someone’s brought up Greek Mythology during foreplay. At least, it doesn’t seem to be a common topic in my circles.”
I give him a sardonic look before my expression turns serious once more. “When his wife, Eurydice, died, he went to hell to bring her back from the underworld, risking everything. Hades and Persephone were so entranced by his musical ability that they permitted him to go into hell and bring her back with him, on the condition she walk behind him and he not look back.”
“I know the story.”
Grabbing the back of his neck, I bring his lips within a breath of mine. “He lost the love of his life because he made the mistake of looking back.” I shake my head, emotion choking my words. “I won’t make that mistake here. Not now that I know what living without you feels like. You’re the only one who’s ever quieted the chaos, who’s made me feel I have worth. I’m never looking back again.”
Overwhelmed, he covers my mouth with his, his hold on me tightening in a way that makes me think he’ll never let go. “I’m never looking back, either.”
“Promise?” I ask, allowing him a glimpse at my vulnerable side.
“Promise.” He touches his lips to mine, then steps off the bed, fishing his wallet out of his pants’ pocket. A condom in hand, he starts to tear the wrapper open.
“Wait.”
He stops mid-rip, giving me a questioning look.
“I want to feel all of you. Like we were about to…” I trail off, averting my eyes.
“Hey.” He drops the condom to the floor before returning to me, cupping my face in his hands. “I am so sorry about how I treated you that day. I never should have…” He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “I guess I was just scared.”
“I get it. You’re risking a lot by being with me.”
“That’s not what scares me.”
“Then—”
“I was scared of what I felt for you. What I still feel for you. I needed to know you were all in, that you wanted this…whatever this is. That you wanted more than you’ve ever wanted before.”
With a grin, I pull him on top of me. “I can unequivocally say I want more. Lincoln Moore.”
“Because I’ve never heard that one before,” he jokes.
“Hey!” I playfully slap him. “You’re not supposed to allude to past girlfriends when you’re about to have sex with the new woman in your life. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”
“Possibly.” He smiles a devilish smile. “But I’m happy to have you teach me that lesson.” Lifting his arousal to me, he spreads my wetness around, then pushes into me. Slowly. Deliberately. Perfectly. “Over. And over. And over.”
“God, I like the sound of that.” I bring him closer to me, meeting his rhythm.
I expect him to pick up the pace, but he doesn’t, drawing out his motions in an agonizingly slow rhythm. He was right. This isn’t sex. This is a seduction. Of my mind. My body. My heart.
He buries his head into the crook of my neck as I wrap my legs around him, needing him closer. But no matter how tightly I squeeze, how deep he drives, it’s still not enough, still can’t extinguish the flame building inside, the fire that’s been burning for him since the first time our eyes locked.
I scrape my nails down his back, which elicits a groan, causing him to increase his pace. I meet him thrust for thrust, our bodies a tangled mess of legs and arms as we share this beautiful moment, propelling each other higher and higher until we both shatter in an explosion of ecstasy and bliss.
Spent, Lincoln collapses on top of me, breathing labored. I wrap him in my embrace, kissing his sweat-stained brow.
“Thank you.” He brushes his lips against mine.
“For what? Not making you use a condom?”
He chuckles. “No. I mean, it’s certainly much more enjoyable without one, but thank you for letting me in. For choosing me.”
“It was never a choice with you.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Light filters into my bedroom as I stir from a restful sleep, my mind quiet for once. My muscles sore, I stretch, yawning, then steal a glance at the clock on the wall, expecting it to be maybe six or seven in the morning. When I realize it’s after noon, I shoot up, scrambling for my phone. I never sleep in like this, especially on a weekend. Hell, most weekends I don’t sleep. I shudder to think of all the stories I missed last night.
Last night…
I dart my eyes to the opposite side of the bed, finding it distressingly empty, despite the evidence of a body having slept there. Maybe it was too good to be true. Maybe in the light of day, the reality of the risk he’d have to take finally hit Lincoln and he left.
I can’t blame him. He’s seen the mess that is my life. Alcoholic mother. Disappointed father. I just thought things would be different this time. Thought we’d connected in a way we never had. In a way I never had. I actually fell asleep feeling something I hadn’t in so long… Hope.
I bury the notion, needing to focus on the more pressing issue of my mother’s current condition. I step out of bed, yanking a t-shirt over my head before pulling on a pair of yoga pants. When I spy my panties lying on the floor, I stop, a pang squeezing my heart.
On a hard swallow, I pick them up, staring at them. Every other time we’ve spent the night together, we didn’t part ways without him stealing my panties, claiming them as his. This solidifies my original suspicion.
“You’d better not be thinking about keeping those.”
I whirl around, my breath catching when I see Lincoln standing in the doorway, hair mussed, a lazy smile on his face.
His green eyes narrowed, he strides toward me. “They are mine, after all.” With a wink, he reaches for the panties, taking them out of my hand and shoving them into his pocket. When I don’t react with a snarky comment as I normally would, all the playfulness disappears from his expression. “Are you—”
/>
“I thought you left,” I admit, my voice small. “That you realized this was a mistake.”
“Oh, Pixie…” He wraps his arms around me, pulling me against him. I inhale his comforting scent, savoring in his use of my nickname again. “Nothing about you has ever been a mistake. Well, except the way I treated you.” Gripping my chin, he forces my gaze to his. “And I won’t do it again. I will never make you feel like you’re a mistake. Like you’re not worth the risk. Like you’re not enough.”
I swallow hard at the sincerity in his promise, doing my best to stop the tears from forming in the corners of my eyes. I should hate that I’m letting him see my vulnerable side, but it’s cathartic. Around Lincoln, I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not. I don’t have to be this resilient person who’s unaffected by anything. I can lower my walls and let him in. I can finally be me.
“I meant what I said last night. You’re more than enough, Chloe.” He kisses away the tear sliding down my cheek before bringing his lips to mine. “You’re…more.”
“You’re more, too.”
He skims his mouth against mine, the touch light, making me want it deeper. But responsibility dictates otherwise. With a sigh, I break away. “I should go check on my mom.”
“She’s fine,” he says nonchalantly, as if it’s perfectly normal for him to be here during one of her relapses. “Well, as fine as she can be.” He lowers his voice. “I hope you don’t mind, but I called my mother.”
I furrow my brow. “Your mother?”
“She’s a nurse. Used to work in OB, but once she went into recovery, she changed paths and now works in a rehab clinic. I figured it would be good to have some sort of medical professional around.”
“Medical professional?”
He blows out a long breath, running his hand through his hair. “On my mother’s advice, I found your mom’s keys and went through her place this morning.” He brings his hands to my biceps, his expression grave. “Chloe, I think your mother’s been drinking a lot longer than you’ve been led to believe. Definitely much longer than just a few months. Possibly years.”
