by Maria Luis
I had my own groveling to do, without adding someone else’s into the mix.
“Sorry, Blondie, you’re gonna have to tell her that yourself.”
20
Avery
I was too old to be sleeping on city streets.
Also too old to have, in the midst of fleeing the scene yesterday with Katie, made the critical error in forgetting my cell phone somewhere in the apartment.
Neither were particular highlights of the last twenty-four hours for me, but hey, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Right? Right.
I shoved my hand into the bag of cheddar popcorn and popped two kernels into my mouth, watching as two patrons meandered down the tiny aisles of Flambeaux. After almost a decade of having Pete pester me into working for him, I’d taken him up on the gig—temporarily—in return for letting me crash on his and Sal’s couch.
Couches I could handle—streets weren’t my thing anymore, and I’d never loved Pete more than when I’d come crashing into the corner store yesterday, holding back tears, and he’d told me to pull up my britches, dry my eyes, and get in his car before he threw me in, head first.
I was twenty-five and more than capable of finding new living accommodations, but there was something to be said about sticking with the familiar when you were bleeding from the heart.
“Y’all got any jambalaya mix in here?” called out one of the guys who’d wandered in a few minutes ago. “Told my wife I’d come back home with it.”
I’d visited Flambeaux enough times to know where everything was located. “Aisle two! Next to the microwavable rice.”
The bells jangled above the door with a newcomer. Hand shoved into my popcorn bag, I turned to welcome the person—and promptly dropped the snack on the floor as a muscular body leaned over the counter, hands wrapping around my biceps, and hauled me close.
Lincoln’s lips crashed down on mine, domineering and possessive.
The other problem about being phone-less meant that I’d had no way to reach him, especially as I didn’t even know where he lived. But, holy hell, he was here and there was no denying the tension that reverberated off his body.
His hands were tight on my arms, his kiss choppy but so damn hot, and I could almost taste his desperation as he devoured me. It was heady, addicting, and like a junkie of the first order, I swept my tongue along his lower lip, wanting more. Needing more.
With a rough groan, he broke away and stared at me, his familiar Haint-blue eyes flashing fire. “We’re getting out of here. Now.”
Beyond his right shoulder, I caught sight of Mr. Jambalaya eyeballing us, mouth gaping open. At my stare, he blushed and waved a hand. “Sorry,” he muttered, “in a dry spell with the wife. I’ll just, uh . . . find that jambalaya she wants so damn bad.”
Before I could say another word, he’d hightailed it down the aisle, and then Lincoln was lowering me back onto my feet, his muscles bunching under the fabric of his shirt as his arms unfurled.
I blinked up at him. “What are you doing here?”
His thumb came up to swipe over his bottom lip, like he was still absorbing the taste of me, and it was . . . I wanted him to do it again—preferably after he settled himself between my thighs.
“Your roommate told me I’d probably find you here.”
My heart twisted at the thought of Katie, and I dropped my gaze to the register. “We had a . . .” A falling out? A breakup? It sure felt like a breakup. I squeezed my eyes shut. “She told me that Ambideaux saw us together, me and you. Outside the precinct. And then again outside the club when we’d—”
Lincoln let loose a rough curse, one hand coming up. “I’m going to need you to back up. He did what? And how the fuck does your roommate know Jason?”
“She didn’t. She doesn’t, not really, but he—”
“Five boxes of jambalaya, please.”
I cut a sharp glance to the right, where Mr. Jambalaya himself was standing. He emptied his basket, tossing box after box of the pre-cooked New Orleans cultural dish onto the counter. My brows lifted, and he offered a casual shrug in return. “I’m praying that each box ends up with another round of sex with the wife.”
“I . . .” Clearing my throat, I picked up the first box and ran it under the scanner. “You know, I really hope that works out for you.”
“God, me too. You’d think she would want jewelry or some shit from here, but no, jambalaya was her only request. Honestly, it’s weird, but if she sucks my—”
Lincoln growled, pulling himself up to his full height, and Mr. Jambalaya immediately sucked in a sharp breath. “Damn, man,” he whispered in awe, “you can do that on command? I’m not even into dudes but I’d bang you. Wait, hold on. You think you can do that again while I record it this time? Gonna send it to my wife and see if I can convince her it was me—”
It only took one step from Lincoln in the guy’s direction to have Mr. Jambalaya shoving a twenty in my direction before nabbing his plastic bag off the counter.
He backed up, feet tripping over each other, and he headed for the door. “You two have a great day. Like, have awesome sex for me.” His gaze flicked to Lincoln. “I want to be you when I grow up. Seriously, man-crush status over here.”
Before Lincoln could make another move, the man was out the door and the flimsy door was clanging shut behind him.
“Fucking tourists,” Lincoln grunted, and I held back a snort.
Bending down to grab my discarded popcorn bag off the floor, I tossed it in the trash can. “You’ve got a secret admirer.”
“The only admiring I want to do is with you riding my cock and my gaze on your tits.”
Heat erupted over my cheeks. “They’re small.”
Lincoln leaned in, hands on the counter. “They’re perfect. Especially when they’re in my mouth and you’re moaning my name.”
I hissed out a breath, and then sent a quick glance to the rest of the store. Empty, aside from one grandfather-looking fellow checking out the fridges housing the dairy options. He appeared completely in his own world as I returned my attention to the powerful man before me.
As much as I wanted to keep flirting, I couldn’t quite disguise the worry in my voice when I said, “Not trying to get all Negative Nancy here, but why . . . why would Jason Ambideaux even care to follow me? Us? I mean, you—okay, I can see you, considering everything with Tabby and the others, but me?”
Expression sobering, the heat in his blue eyes cooled to a low simmer. “You’re a way to get to me.”
He said it so simply, so easily, and yet my mouth opened and fell shut in an embarrassing rhythm that was only broken up when I finally muttered, “He invited me to a party tonight. It’s to announce a new mayoral candidate, and to be honest with you, I’m getting the feeling everyone in this city is trying to play the whose-dick-is-bigger contest and throw their hat into the ring.” I paused, then belatedly tacked on, “They should probably be thankful that you’re not entering.”
Lincoln choked out a startled laugh. “My hammer would like to stay out of this narrative, thanks.”
I grinned—it was big, and it was all teeth, and best of all, it was real. He did that to me, for me, and it was pure instinct alone that had me abruptly hooking a finger into the neck of his shirt and pulling him down for another kiss.
He let me, moving freely under my command, and that led to a rush I didn’t expect. My hand left his shirt, skirting up to cup his cheek, and then I was the one who angled his face for a better fit. Lips brushing, tongues tangling.
I wanted to alternatively climb his body and force him to submit to me, just as much as I wanted to beg him to bend me over and take me from behind.
And, as much as I was loath to admit it, I almost wished that I wasn’t on the outs with Nat, just so we could revisit the Basement again and experience more of the rooms.
Dropping back onto my heels, I broke off the kiss and pulled one of his moves—thumb brushing my lip, eyes lifting to meet his gaze.
&
nbsp; He looked ready to jump the counter and fuck me right here, right now.
“We need to get out of here,” he rasped.
“Because we need to talk about Ambideaux?”
Haint-blue eyes glittered. “Because I need to sink into your body, sweetheart. Because I’m fucking dying, and if I thought I could get away with taking you right now, I’d do it. No questions asked.”
I eyed the elderly man again speculatively. “Not going to lie, I’m tempted.”
“You’re supposed to be the voice of reason.”
I swung my gaze back to Lincoln. “When have I ever been the voice of reason?” Lowering my voice, I taunted, “When I let you put your hand down my pants on a not-so-private street? Or maybe it was when you went down on me in front of just about everyone and their mother in a sex club?”
His chest heaved with an inhale. “We’re leaving.”
I gestured to the store. “Can’t go until Pete comes back.”
There was a very good chance this was the first time I was seeing him close to coming undone. Stoic Lincoln, hard-ass Lincoln, dangerous Lincoln, reached down to subtly adjust himself. “How long?” he demanded roughly.
“How long until what?”
“Until Pete comes back.”
I rocked onto my heels, thrusting my chest out, and peered at the digital clock on the wall. “Another hour.”
“Another—” He broke off with a curse, hands going to the counter like he needed physical support.
I didn’t know what possessed me to do it, but I patted his chest—like he wasn’t the most feared man in the city—and drawled, “Must be karma.”
Blue eyes narrowed on me. “Karma for what?”
I shrugged. “Tossing my taser into the Mississippi? Stealing my underwear? Or how about—”
“Who’s your friend, Avery?”
Pete.
I turned to the man who’d been a friend to me since I was a teenager, and although it wasn’t at all like introducing a man to my father, nervous butterflies erupted in my stomach anyway.
Swallowing nervously, I made the introductions as quickly as possible. Awkward, so awkward, especially since my core was still throbbing for Lincoln.
Lincoln, who ditched his badass persona long enough to exchange a word or two with Pete about the Saints and the NFL draft.
Lincoln, who grinned just slightly when he asked if he could steal me away early.
Lincoln, who ushered me out of Flambeaux five minutes later, gently nudged me into the driver’s seat, and then climbed in behind the wheel.
We weren’t even two minutes into our drive to Destination Unknown before he turned down the volume of the car radio and husked out, “Drop your panties, Avery. Karma is making me so hard that I can’t even see straight, and I’m in the mood to return the favor.”
21
Avery
Startled, I twisted my head to stare at Lincoln.
Mouth feeling parched, I croaked, “What?”
Fingers white-knuckling the steering wheel, he slid a quick glance over to me. “Underwear, sweetheart. Lose ‘em.”
Lose them? I laughed shortly. “Excuse me a moment while I have a flashback to me dropping ten feet from a fire escape stairwell while being completely bare below the waist.”
“You enjoyed every moment that came before that.”
“Yeah, before it.” I watched the buildings pass us by as we left the French Quarter. “I can’t say that I enjoyed everything that came after, especially the whole being-held-at-gunpoint bit.”
“That shit isn’t happening again.” He flashed me a dark, serious look. “I promise. None of them are going to touch you. Not again, not while I’m here.”
I thought of what Katie had said about Jason Ambideaux . . . about him watching us. A shiver of trepidation slid down my spine. It was one thing for Lincoln and me to hook up at Stage One, when we’d willingly participated in everything that was happening.
It was something else entirely to know that Ambideaux had followed us, watched us, and had gone so far as to even approach Katie about me after no doubt seeing us talk while she’d tended the bar.
That sick feeling returned, pushing aside the lust, the need, to settle like lead in my stomach. And that—that made me angry. That I could so easily let someone else taint my experiences with Lincoln that I hoarded like shards of treasure.
Sex with Lincoln was like piecing together fragments of my broken soul.
Without giving myself the chance to rethink my decision, my fingers went to the button of my jeans. I flicked it open.
The zipper coming unhinged was what caught his attention—his nostrils flared at once, his cheeks hollowing out.
It was the right side of his face that was presented to me, and it seemed almost fitting that he gave me his worst, unflinching under my perusal, and I barely noticed his scars. They were there but they weren’t my sole focus. No, I just wanted him. Any way that I could have him.
I shimmied my jeans down to my knees, butt lifted off the seat, underwear going with the denim.
Lincoln hit the brakes a little too hard, and the car behind us let loose three consecutive beeps.
“Distracted?” I teased in a low murmur, drawing my finger up the length of my inner thigh just to play the seductress and make him sweat. Watching him lose control was hands-down my favorite part of sex with him. Besides the orgasms, of course. “I wonder . . . can you drive when you’re focused on me?”
“Hands on the back of your seat.”
I blinked. Then blinked again. “What?”
“Karma.” Slowing to a stop at a traffic light, he took the extra second to look my way. “I get to tell you a little story—and you get to wait until I let you touch yourself.”
“That seems like a bullshit deal.”
“You’ll like it.”
Doubtful. But even as the thought crossed my mind, I couldn’t help but think I was lying once again—this time to myself. There hadn’t been a single thing Lincoln had done so far that I hadn’t enjoyed.
And it was for that reason alone that my hands slowly lifted to the seat, as he’d said, and wrapped around the back of the headrest. Nails digging in, I glanced down—my legs were as wide as they could be with my jeans still hiked around my knees. It was a heady sensation, knowing that each time he dragged in another breath, it was on account of the fact that I was half-naked and driving him crazy.
“How long are you going to make me wait?” My arms flexed in the position, fingers re-clasping the seat. “Until we get wherever we’re going?”
“If it came down to me circling the block ten times just so I could get you off first, I’d do it.”
“I knew you were a gentleman under all that . . . bad-assery.”
He shifted in his seat, his gaze momentarily landing on my legs with enough heat that I was surprised my skin didn’t singe. “I’m no gentleman, sweetheart. Never have been, never—”
“Will be,” I finished for him with a wink he didn’t catch. “Let’s stop ahead of the clichés, what do you think? I’m pretty much naked, the AC is cranked a little too high and I can tell down there, and I’m waiting to be wowed by whatever you have up your sleeve.”
That brought out a startled laugh from him. “I think I liked you more when you were a virgin.”
“I can’t say that I feel the same.”
“Fuck,” he worked out after another bark of laughter, “you were made for me. I didn’t laugh until you. Didn’t see a glimmer of light within all the darkness.” One big hand lifted from the steering wheel to run over the scruff along the bottom half of his jaw like he was embarrassed. “And now you’ve got me spilling my soul like I’m some sort of poet.”
I couldn’t deny it—cliché or not, my heart fluttered at the awkward way he continued to glance over at me before quickly fixing his attention on the road again. Smiling, I offered up, “I don’t mind poetry. Are you any good with haikus?”
Adam’s apple bobbing as he s
wallowed, Lincoln directed the car off the main throughway and onto a side street with a row of townhouses that were all identical. Painted brightly hued colors like they were straight from the Caribbean, each one was complete with a small area of grass out front and a narrow driveway.
Neat.
Orderly.
Cute.
For whatever reason, I’d pictured Lincoln living on the cusp of the bayou where wilderness thrived and the only thing more untamed than the man who owned the land were the feral animals that prowled the swamp.
“Change of plans,” he said as he pulled up into one of the driveways in front of a teal house, “we’re taking this inside.”
My hands unclenched from the headrest, biceps sore from holding the position. “The disappointment is real, Sergeant. Here I am willing and waiting, bare to the world, and—”
The rest of my sentence ended in a gasp.
His big body invaded my space, seat creaking under his weight as he leaned over the center console, his warm hand between my legs. His thumb flirted with where I wanted him most, hovering just above ground zero. Palm squeezing my inner thigh, his lips grazed my ear. “Playtime’s over, Ave. You like to be pushed to the edge. You like it when I’m rough. So, let’s put it this way—pull up your jeans and go inside. I can promise you that the only disappointment you’re about to feel is when you’ve come too many times and your body is too tired to go for another round.”
Lips parted, I met his gaze as he pulled away.
Then I confessed: “I liked what we did at the Basement.”
Thumb cresting over my clit, making me twitch with want, he lifted his hand and cupped my jaw, that same thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “I know you did.”
“Is it wrong that I’m annoyed that we can’t go back?” Even the pad of his thumb was calloused, and it was such a contradiction between the gentle way he touched me and the innate roughness that was so very much him. Giving in to pure lust, I licked the tip of his thumb just because I could. “Not unless we’re keen to find ourselves jumping from a fire escape again, obviously.”
