Neither one of us speaks as we walk through the living room and up the stairs. I’m hyperaware of every little sound, every breath, every look. The heat of Lincoln’s watchful gaze is about to unravel me. This obvious tension and attraction would normally have me running for the hills. But I can’t run from him, not after all the buildup throughout the evening. If the way he kisses is any indication, I have a feeling he’s going to ruin me in the bedroom.
As we reach my room, I turn to him, about to thank him, when he advances toward me, pressing me against the wall, his mouth covering mine.
I still, momentarily caught breathless by his sudden invasion. But the shock eventually wanes and I melt into him, grasping his face, needing more of him.
Lincoln tears his lips from mine, growling like an animal starved for too long. “You’re incredible, Chloe.”
Throwing my head back, I revel in his unshaven jaw scratching against the flesh of my neck. I scrape my nails down his back, wrapping a leg around him, pulsing against him as he nips at my shoulder. Our heavy and labored breaths fill the silence, every synapse in my body firing.
His hand roams my frame, his touch needy and reverent. As he reaches my waistband, I inhale a sharp breath, my core clenching when he unbuttons my jeans.
He kisses a hot trail along my collarbone, inching his way back up my neck. His fingers swipe a line along my lower stomach, teasing me. Finally, he lowers the zipper and brushes the top of my panties. My muscles tighten in anticipation.
He bites my earlobe, tugging at it. A bolt of need shoots through me as I struggle to maintain my composure. I pulse against him, signaling with my body that I want his hand to go even deeper, for him to give me what I’ve been craving all night.
“Keep going,” I murmur, a slave to his touch. “Don’t stop.”
Growling, his teeth biting down harder as he sweeps a finger under the line of my panties.
“Do you feel what you do to me?” He subtly thrusts against me.
“Yes,” I moan, my eyes rolling into the back of my head. “Yes.”
He inches his hand farther south, my muscles tightening as he nears the spot I need him to touch. When he finds my center, I sigh. “And I can certainly feel what I do to you.”
I bring his lips back to mine, my tongue plunging in his mouth, fireworks erupting in my core. Finally, he pushes a finger inside and I relax, bliss filling me.
“You’re so wet. So tight. So fucking sweet.”
“Just wait till you get a taste. You’ll never want another pussy again.”
“Is that right?” He arches a brow, his expression playful as he continues stretching me.
“That’s right,” I exhale as I move with his motions. “God, that’s so right.” I grab his head again, bringing his mouth to within a whisper of mine, my breathing becoming more erratic with each push, each thrust, each drive. My teeth chatter, my entire body trembling, close to unraveling.
Instantly, he pulls his hand away, releasing his hold on me. I fling my eyes open, staring at him incredulously, a panting bundle of hormones.
“What are you—”
“Suck,” he demands, interrupting me, touching a finger to my lips.
My eyes remaining glued to his, I slowly open my mouth, swiping my tongue against the tip of his finger. The contact is subtle, barely there. The way his pupils dilate tells me he’s on edge, that he needs more, that he’s been fantasizing about this as much as I have.
Releasing a moan, I wrap my lips around his finger, sucking every last drop of me off his flesh, giving each of his fingers the same treatment.
“Tell me how you taste.”
Flirtatiously batting my lashes, I pass him a demure look. “Why don’t you have a taste and find out for yourself?” I force his lips against mine. The second our tongues touch, he groans. He tastes of need, of want, of unmatched desperation.
Too soon, he tears away, chest heaving, eyes dark. “Go. Get in your room. I’ll be with you shortly.”
Before I can do or say anything else, he spins around, heading toward the stairs with determined strides, leaving me a quivering mess.
“Oh, and Chloe?”
I meet his heated stare. “Yes?”
“You’d better not even think about getting yourself off while you wait for me. Tonight, I own you.” His voice becomes deeper, more demanding. The hairs on my nape rise. “And that includes all your orgasms. Do you understand?”
I swallow hard. No man has ever spoken to me this way, so brazen, so confident, so…hot. There’s only one way to answer him.
“Yes, Lincoln,” I respond in a sultry voice as I walk the few feet toward where he stands at the top of the staircase. “I completely understand.” When I reach him, I stand on my tiptoes, feathering my lips along his neck. “Hurry back.”
I remain motionless for several protracted moments, my breath warming his skin. His chest rises and falls quicker, and I notice him clench and unclench his fists. I can’t help but grin at how much he wants me. Then I lower my heels to the floor and turn, walking into my darkened room and closing the door behind me without a single look back.
Game night really is a lot of fun.
CHAPTER 12
I’ve officially worn a path in the lush carpet.
I thought Lincoln would only be a few minutes, especially once I heard Izzy come upstairs. I took a lukewarm shower, needing the tepid water to dull the flames building inside me. I figured he wouldn’t be much longer once I got out, considering how needy he seemed.
But as I pace in front of the window overlooking the patio, I can still make out the gentle sound of Asher and Lincoln each strumming a guitar. As if Lincoln weren’t delicious enough, he has to play the guitar, too. My ovaries all but exploded when I peered down into the yard and saw how effortless he made it look. Yet another puzzle piece of who Lincoln Moore truly is.
Finally, the music stops. Any other time, I’d be upset over that, but not tonight. Not when that means Lincoln’s that much closer to knocking on my door. If he’s even planning on doing that. I wouldn’t be surprised if he simply barges in.
I walk up to the window, doing my best to remain out of view so neither one of them realize I’ve been snooping. I strain to listen for the telltale sound of the French doors closing. When they do, I light up, knowing it’s only a matter of time.
My jitters increase as I continue to pace the room, unsure what I should do. Should I lay on the bed in a provocative pose, beckoning Lincoln to come in if he knocks? Should I put on something a bit sexier than my t-shirt and yoga pants? Should I be wearing anything at all?
As turned on as I am about the prospect of answering the door naked, I don’t want to miss out on Lincoln undressing me. We only have one night together. I need to experience everything he has to offer.
When footsteps sound on the stairs, I snap out of my thoughts, my eyes zeroing in on my door. My heart ricochets to my throat as they grow closer and closer, stopping outside. Then I hear the knock I’ve been waiting for echo in the room.
I rush over, pausing to inhale a calming breath to settle my nerves. But the instant I open the door and see Lincoln standing there, holding a bottle of wine and two glasses, I can’t stop my stomach from doing backflips.
“May I come in?” he asks politely, yet seductive at the same time.
“Of course.” I step back and allow him to enter. Using the flashlight on his phone to light the way, he walks toward the desk by the window, placing the bottle and glasses on it. He yanks out the cork and pours a deep red liquid into each glass, handing me one.
“To blackouts,” he offers as he raises his wine.
“To blackouts,” I repeat, clinking my glass against his, then taking a sip.
“I hope you like it. I wasn’t sure what kind of wine you prefer, but remember you drinking a red when I saw you Sunday night.”
I allow the robust flavor to dance on my tongue, a nice change after the beer. “This is more than acceptable,” I say with a
smile, unable to mask the tremble in my voice. “Shiraz?” I arch a brow.
He smiles over his glass, lowering it, licking the wine off his lips. “You have a rather refined pallet. How could you tell from just the taste? Apart from a professional sommelier, I don’t know many people who could do that.”
I shrug nonchalantly. “Like you said, I have a refined pallet. I know my wine.”
“Really?”
I hold his gaze, trying to act serious. Then I laugh as I nod at the bottle, the light from the moon casting a glow over the label. While most people would have to get a better look, I’d recognize the familiar script of that logo anywhere.
“Penfolds,” I say. “If there’s one thing Australian winemakers are known for, it’s a fantastic shiraz.”
“They certainly are.” He brings his glass back to his lips, but his gaze never leaves mine. I’ve never felt so exposed, as if Lincoln’s doing more than mentally undressing me. Maybe that’s what makes him so different. He looks into my eyes, instead of everywhere but, as I’m accustomed to.
I take another sip of my wine as I attempt to shake off my nerves. This isn’t the first time I’ve slept with a guy I just met. But I’ve never been this nervous, this desperate.
When I lower my glass, he reaches for it, not saying a single word. I allow him to take it and he places them on the desk, then faces me. My chest expands with my increasingly irregular breathing, my body aching to feel him. Finally, he palms my lower back and tugs me against him. He leans down and I crane my head, inching my lips toward his. But instead of feeling his mouth cover mine, he changes course at the last second, bringing his lips to my neck, clamping his teeth against my highly sensitized flesh.
I yelp, struggling to make sense of the sensations filling me, the pleasure, the pain, the everything in between. I now know where that saying “it hurts so good” comes from, because Lincoln… He definitely hurts so good. I don’t even care that the harshness of his bite will most likely leave a rather prominent mark. I want him to mark me. I want to walk around, have people stare and know what I did, what I let this stranger do to me. The idea makes me burn even hotter.
His beard is rough as it scrapes against my jawline. When his lips land on mine, his kiss is jarring, intense, lust-filled. He tastes of mint, spice, and wine. He clutches my face, keeping me in place, his grip powerful, demanding, confident. Everything I believe this man is.
Pulling back, his eyes meet mine once more, the fire in his gaze replaced with a hint of amusement.
“What?” I ask, pinching my lips together.
His smile only grows as he reaches into the pocket of his shorts and pulls out something. He opens his palm, revealing Izzy’s dice. “She let me have them. Said she already has some of these back home.”
“Is that right?” I pass him a flirtatious grin.
He nods. “That’s right.”
“Well then…” I lift myself onto my toes and brush my lips against his. “Let the games begin.”
I abruptly pull back, spinning from him and walking toward the bed. When I feel the heat of his stare on me, I glance over my shoulder, a shiver rolling through me from the lust in his eyes.
“Coming?”
“I hope to.” With determined strides, he walks toward me, only needing four steps to close the distance.
I lower myself to the mattress, scooting up toward the headboard, the only light coming from the moon. Lincoln’s hooded eyes lock on mine as he crawls onto the bed, advancing toward me like a lion stalking its prey.
Apart from our breathing, not a single sound can be heard in the room, the lack of any electricity leaving everything silent. You don’t realize how many sounds a house makes — air conditioning, refrigerator, whirring hum of computers — until you no longer have electricity. Every little thing seems more noticeable, more intense, more amplified. Like the way Lincoln stares at me in a way I can’t recall a single person ever admiring me. Like the way our chests seem to rise and fall in perfect rhythm with each other. Like the way his tongue swipes along his lips, causing them to glisten, leaving me desperate for another taste.
Clutching his cheeks in my hands, I pull him up to my mouth and press my lips to his, exhaling into the kiss. It’s gentle, yet bubbling with a passion that’s been missing from my life for too long now. He tangles his fingers through my hair as I wrap my legs around his waist, needing to feel all of him. When I circle my hips against him, he groans, his tongue brushing mine with more need, more ferocity, more desperation.
He pulls back, taking a minute to get his breathing under control. Then the corners of his lips curve into a salacious smile. “I don’t remember you rolling the dice.”
“Those dice don’t have what I want to do on them.”
“Is that so?” He lifts a single brow. “And what’s that?”
I run my fingers up and down his back, my nails digging into his skin. He arches into my touch, biting his lower lip as he closes his eyes, a look of bliss washing over him. The rippling of his muscles against my hands makes me want to explore every single inch of his warm, firm body.
Curving toward him, I nibble on his earlobe. “I want to taste you.”
He stares down at me, his expression playful. “You can taste me if you roll LICK and FINGER.” He winks.
I slowly shake my head, my gaze unwavering. “That’s not what I want to taste.”
He takes my bottom lip between his teeth. I grow lightheaded, wanting him to keep doing that, but harder, and to other parts of my body.
“Tell me what you want to taste, Chloe,” he demands in a growl.
“You.”
He loosens his bite, shifting his position. “Oh, come now. I didn’t take you for being shy, Pixie.”
“Pixie?” I lift my brows in question.
“Exactly. You’re so tiny, like a fairy, or an angel.” The mood changes as he touches his lips to mine, treating me to a delicious kiss, so different from the way he just had his teeth clamped on me. “My angel.”
“I’m not shy,” I insist, pressing my hand to his chest, forcing him onto his back. Straddling him, I circle him, my motions greedy, insatiable, wanton. He groans, grabbing onto my hips, controlling me. “And I am certainly no angel. Especially not in the bedroom.”
He cups my face in his strong hands. I can’t help but marvel at how large they are. Everything about us seems to be polar opposite.
He’s larger than life with an intimidating physique. I’m tiny with a stature that makes me often feel overlooked.
He’s a professional, intelligent man who seems to have his life together. I’m a bit of a drifter who’s still trying to figure out who she is.
He looks like the quintessential all-American boy who probably played football in high school and could have his pick of any woman. I was the troublemaker, the promiscuous girl with piercings in her eyebrows, nose, and tongue.
He probably has a family who loves him, who’s always supported his decisions. I often feel like my mother blames me for the divorce, a heavy burden to bear as a teenager. And it’s only grown heavier now that I’m an adult.
“Is that right?”
I nod. “That’s right.”
“Prove it. Tell me what you want, what you want to taste.”
I open my mouth to respond when he cuts me off.
“And don’t just say ‘you’. I want to know exactly what you want to do.”
I press my mouth to his, my fingers digging into his scalp, my tongue brushing against his. He instantly hardens beneath me, sending my body to the brink once more. Panting, I pull away.
“I want to suck your dick.”
If I thought my kisses turned him on, that’s nothing compared to the bulging muscle I feel between my legs when those words leave my mouth. He stares at me for several seconds, his jaw hardened, eyes on fire. Then he slams his mouth against mine, his tongue pushing through my lips, his kiss ravenous and greedy.
When he pulls away, he grabs my hips, lifting me
off him and onto the mattress beside him. Standing, he extends his hand toward me. I swallow hard at his harsh, demanding stare, but it sets my entire body aflame. Placing my hand in his, I allow him to help me off the bed.
“Lift your arms,” he says in an even tone.
Not saying a single word, I simply follow his demand. I’d normally protest, insist on remaining in control. But we’re in the bubble. Maybe the bubble’s my own personal Wonderland, a place where I can lose all control and live out the fantasies I’ve been too scared of in the real world.
He grabs the hem of my t-shirt and pulls it over my head before tossing it to the floor. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as his eyes zero in on my bra. “Turn around.”
Excited nerves simmer in my veins as I obey, facing away from him. The echo of my pounding heart reverberates through the room as I wait in painful anticipation for his touch. When his lips feather that place where my neck meets my shoulders, I moan.
“That’s the spot, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his fingers traveling toward my bra, unhooking it with practiced expertise. His hands go to my shoulders and he pushes the silky material down my arms. “Does that turn you on?”
He returns his mouth to me, making me squirm. I subconsciously squeeze my legs together, the pressure building to a level I didn’t think possible.
“Yes,” I whimper, my eyelids fluttering closed as his hands find their way to my stomach.
He takes his time caressing my flesh, as if using touch to memorize everything about my body. Every time he nears the swells of my breasts, I hold my breath, only for him to change direction and return to my stomach. I squeeze my thighs together tighter, biting down on my lower lip. I’m on the brink of telling him to bend me over the desk and fuck me already, seduction be damned. But he won’t do that. He’s the tortoise, not the hare. This is a marathon, not a sprint. And I have a feeling he wants this race to last all night long.
“Spread your legs,” he orders when I continue to squirm. I don’t immediately comply, needing something to dull the ache. He tugs my body against his, pushing a knee between my thighs, parting them. “I need you as desperate for me as I am for you.” He brings his hands to my breasts, tugging at my nipples. “Because I’ve spent the past weekend desperate for a taste of you, Chloe.”
Blackout: A Romance Anthology Page 38
