“Aaron,” she said, using the name in a sweet way that let him know she’d noticed his irritation at the dude’s cockblock, “brought me the same amount of food he brought you. If I ate as much as you, I’d weigh as much as you—or more, since I don’t have the muscle to burn it off—and trust me, it wouldn’t be pretty.”
“I don’t like my women to be sticks.”
“‘Your women.’” She’d found a wicked drawl.
He grinned. He was having fun. “Uh-huh.”
She let the roll of her eyes speak for her. “I’m a long way from a stick.”
Indeed, a very lovely, enticing distance from stick-hood. He nodded. “Agreed. From what I’ve seen”—he drawled a bit himself there—“and felt.”
The dance. “I’m so glad you remember that.” She waved him on.
“Your body’s prime.”
“Prime? Like a number?”
“Number one.”
“One is, like, a stick.”
He laughed, and again as she forked a small bite of steak and rubbed it provocatively over her lower lip before she took it into her mouth, his gaze following along.
“Did you know I was hard by about two minutes into that dance?”
She chewed slowly. “Mmm.”
That could have been in appreciation of the well-flavored beef. He chose to think not. “Delilah. Am I going to get to spend the night in your bed?”
She smiled and squeezed the knee he’d insinuated between hers before pushing it away.
“No.”
“Dammit.”
She laughed. She was a freaking siren. He wanted her bad. He’d spent the last hour imagining his hands, his mouth, hot on her breasts. His tongue tasting her everywhere. And his cock buried balls-deep in her wet pussy.
Yet it was her laugh that found its way into his heart.
* * * *
They walked on the beach after dinner, and it was cool enough that Delilah didn’t object to the way Lincoln wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her into his side.
His body heat was just too inviting. The just-right daytime temperatures had fallen enough that she needed more than her sweater.
It probably would have been better to come prepared with a light jacket against the evening cool and fog. Linc didn’t need any unnecessary encouragement.
And neither did she.
She got extraordinary pleasure in his company. For sure, she remembered every bit of that out-of-time moment with him back in Boston. She rarely went to bars, and she’d never hooked up with a man in one. She was celebrating with her friends, entirely content being with them, when she’d felt his perusal from across the floor. The rooftop space was lit with garlands of white lights, and she remembered the way they set off the shine of his hair.
Like a tractor-beam, he’d locked onto her. His gaze drew her. And though it was his feet that moved—all except those last steps, those couple that she took to move outside the circle of her friends—it felt as if he was pulling her to him.
When they were close, he’d put his hands on her waist, and she felt it was that touch that settled her feet back to earth. He leaned over her. “Dance.”
She didn’t even know what the music was. It was bluesy, from downstairs inside the bar, but it could have been a heavy metal garage band three feet away for all she was aware.
He’d held her close and moved to some slow, sexy thrum that she learned only through the gentle swaying of his body. He spoke into her ear, and all she heard was the one word, “Name.”
“Delilah,” she’d said.
He murmured something—his name, she guessed, but she didn’t hear it.
Then it was all touch—his warm hands at her waist, and then at the small of her back, drawing her closer. The touch of their bodies—his hard muscle against the softness of her breasts, her belly. And sight—those blue eyes that should have been cool but were warm instead, like a sultry summer sky. The sharp planes of his face, his slightly whiskered jaw. The soft curve of his narrow lips.
They danced for a long time. There must have been more than one song, though Delilah wouldn’t have been able to say. Finally he lifted his head to look at her, and the summer heat of his eyes blazed. He dipped his head and touched her lips briefly with his. He looked up again, searching her gaze through a long, still moment. Then he took her, a deep, hungry kiss. His mouth was hot, wet, greedy. His arms pulled her tightly against him so they shared the shudders of their harsh breaths. Her hands that had rested on his shoulders circled around, firming him against the thrust of her breasts.
She didn’t know when it would have stopped—and, yes, it might well have ended in his bed—except that, eventually, he responded to the nudge that had gotten gradually more insistent. She felt it, the prod into his back from a friend. It traveled through his body into hers.
Abruptly, he lifted his head, and they stared at each other, their breaths the same rough, rapid pace. Slowly he turned his head, an annoyed, distracted brow raised at his friend.
“Come on,” the interloper urged. “Fitz is here. We have to toast him.”
The man in her arms nodded and then looked back at her. “Stay put,” he said, and left her. He looked back at her once when he reached his party.
She stood for a moment, bereft, stunned. Then Sarah was there, taking her hand. “Come on. Jennie’s father sent a limo,” she said. “We’re going downtown.”
She looked over at Linc. He had his back turned to her now and was raising a glass. After a moment she followed the insistent tug of Sarah’s hand.
Now he was here, his body warming hers, the man who’d so wildly attracted her five years earlier. He’d lived in her head as a momentary but enduring fantasy, one that had seemed to set an unrealistic standard for her real life involvement with men.
She’d thought it was unrealistic. She thought she’d accepted that when she said yes to Isaac’s proposal.
But here Lincoln was, every bit as appealing as he’d been five years ago. Every bit as consuming in his attraction to her, for her. Could this be real? She’d walked away in Boston, not trusting.
That might have been a mistake.
If it was, it wasn’t the only one she’d made. And falling for Isaac, letting him seduce her too easily into his bed, had been a big one. One she hadn’t forgotten.
So she girded her loins—despite the big “go for it” signal she got from that direction when he walked her up her steps—and put a tight leash on her libido as he turned her into his arms.
They’d already secured her bike on the small porch, lit now against the dark. The condos were well designed, with private entrances. The units on either side had roomy front porches. Her space was mainly on the second and third floors, and her outdoor areas were her big second level deck and a small, entirely private one off her bedroom.
He followed her as she went to her door and loosely grabbed her fingers before she got all the way there.
“You still owe me half a kiss.”
“Do not.”
His lips curved. “Do, too.”
“Okay, then.” With a smile she went up on tiptoes and gave him a quick smooch. “Goodnight.”
But the grasp on her fingers wasn’t all that loose. No surprise, he tugged her back. “Nope. That wasn’t the kiss that got interrupted. We’re going back to that one, and I intend to finish it.”
Linc watched her as he anchored his free hand in her hair. With the other one he squeezed her fingers and then circled their clasped hands to her back.
Except for that initial good-natured curse, he’d seemed to accept that she was turning down a night of hot sex with him. But she knew he was going to collect his kiss. And she didn’t expect him to stint.
He tightened his grip in her hair and brought her close, his hand pressing hers warmly into the small of her back. She was fully aware of how that grip arched her back, causing a little thrust of her breasts. He dropped his head so his lips were hovering over hers, his breath al
ready rough—like hers.
“Delilah,” he said. “Remember, we’re starting this one in the middle.”
She moaned a little even as he took her. Immediately she recalled the taste of him, as though he’d branded the memory of his essence into her. He tasted like…home, like the completion of her heart, her soul.
His lips were exquisitely soft and rough at the same time. There was heat in the taking, in the rapid possession, the intrusion of teeth and tongue.
At first, and for a long time, it was simply the kiss. Well, not so simple, no. But then she felt the siding of her house against her spine. He’d walked her back, that way he had of moving her bodily without her even being aware of it. His body pressed into hers, a hard, hot surface from chest to knees. He pulled their hands out from behind her back, her body secured against his now by the force of the wall behind her.
“Lilah,” he murmured, his lips lightening their touch for just that brief, low sound. He pressed her fingers again, and entwined, he brought their hands between their bodies. He rotated them, his knuckles circling over her clit with warm pressure, her fingers stroking over his hard—big—cock.
She whimpered, nervous, afraid, even.
“Shh, baby,” he whispered, gentling the pressure of his lips. “We’re just touching.” There was no “just” about it. She was so sensitized that the stimulation from his fingers almost had her coming already, and she was sure he was deliberately chafing his chest over her tight nipples. She arched, wanting more, and with a satisfied huff he moved his hand from his clench in her hair to cover her breast. Unerringly, he found her nipple, grasping it with thumb and finger like he was tuning a radio dial.
It was so sweet, so overwhelmingly pleasurable she nearly sank to her knees. To save her, anchor her, he pressed one thigh hard between her legs.
He released her mouth and shuddered out a breath, burrowed into her neck. “Delilah. God, this feels so good. Like nothing ever—” He ran his lips along her neck. “Nothing’s ever even come close, Lilah.”
He disentangled their fingers and left hers there on his cock. He used his to rub her clit and she cried out, an anxious breath he captured with his mouth. But she moaned, moaned. And rocked herself against the hot stimulation of his fingers.
“Lilah, please,” he begged, drowning her in overwhelming pleasure. “Please don’t make me go.”
She’d put one hand over his on her breast and clutched him closer. Her head pushed against the side of the house while she arched her body into his. “No.”
He paused just a second before scraping his teeth, sucking with his lips, down the side of her neck. “Does that mean yes?”
“Yes.”
He took her mouth again, fucking her with his tongue like she knew he would do with his cock. He grabbed her ass and humped into her, his breath harsh, loud.
Then he broke from her, putting a hand between her breasts to keep her nailed against the wall. His expression was fierce, feral, and triumphant.
She was still moaning, still so incredibly needy that she’d have thrown herself back on him if he didn’t have her hard-armed in place.
He’d kept her keys when they’d locked her bike. He found the one for her door and looked inside as he rattled it into the lock. Her entrance was just a narrow hall that went back to her garage area and the stairs that led to the living space on the second floor. “This is all yours, yeah? No one else will be coming through?”
“No,” she said. “Yes. No.”
Too many questions, and her brain scattered. She couldn’t make sense of it.
“Turns out I don’t care what that means.” He pushed her through the door the second he got it opened, then pressed her up against the wall beside it. He flicked off the switch for the hallway light as he fell to his knees in front of her.
He clutched her thighs under the hem of her short skirt and buried his face in her center. “Tell me you’re on birth control.”
“Yes.”
His hands pushed her skirt up, and then his mouth was there, his tongue stroking her, finding her clit right through her panties. “Open,” he growled, and she spread her legs even as he thrust his fingers into her pussy. “You’re wet.”
Yes. Yes, she was. And became more so as he sucked her clit and pushed inside her, his fingers restricted by the silk that covered her. It was a thick, chafing feeling, his two fingers pushing in, drawing her thong a bit into her entrance.
“Hold your skirt,” he instructed. It wanted to fall now that he’d taken his other hand from it to peel her thong away from her clit.
It was incredibly erotic, standing there, almost in public, the light from the porch slanting through, just missing them, holding her skirt up so this irresistibly sexy, sexual man could eat her. She did it, and felt him strip the thong down her legs and away.
Then his tongue was on her, his fingers in her—hard, deep—and, helplessly, she was coming. He stroked her clit harder, relentlessly, and jabbed his fingers in and out.
She convulsed, crying out, nearly collapsing over him until he pushed a hand at her sternum to keep her standing.
Her head rolled back, her eyes closed. He stood in front of her and tore at her top. Buttons flew as he opened her blouse. Then he slid her bra straps down her shoulders and lowered the cups so her breasts were bare.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” he said, his voice nearly a snarl. “I knew you would be.” He pinched one nipple between his fingers and leaned in to take the other in his mouth, pulling hard. Delilah moaned again, just barely grasping consciousness after that sudden, devastating orgasm. He sucked so hard on her, pinched hard. He was driving her up again.
“Look at me.”
It was another growled order and somehow it moved her, spoke to her on a primal level. She obeyed.
He’d left his tie and jacket in the SUV. They’d walked barefoot on the beach and he’d slipped into a pair of leather sandals afterward. But he still had his white dress shirt on, open at the neck, and his dress pants.
He looked hot, enticing. That intense, feral look on his face, the tan skin with downy hair visible on his chest.
“Down,” he instructed, when she met his gaze. “Look down at me.” She did and then swallowed hard.
She’d known he was big. She’d felt him, his hard erection through his clothing. But this made her shudder.
He’d opened his belt and fly so his cock was free to thrust out. He was long—inches longer than her hand, and thick. So thick she realized her fingers wouldn’t close around him. And he was hard, his desire so intense that, despite the weight of him, he was nearly vertical.
“Lincoln?”
She figured he could probably smell her fear but he just quirked his mouth and moved in. “We’re gonna be fine, honey.”
Nuzzling and nipping her neck, he reached around to the back of her skirt. He tugged the zipper down, bringing her against his cock as he found his way. In another minute, his fingers were hot on her skin, sliding her skirt down her hips and letting it fall to the floor. He grasped her at the waist and lifted. “Wrap your legs around me, baby.”
Taking a blind leap of faith, she did as he said. Following his orders had worked out okay so far.
He lifted her high, higher than he needed for just the purpose she thought he had in mind. Apparently, he had a different intent. He looked up into her face, a determined, hot gaze, and then nuzzled her breasts. He burrowed into her cleavage and then turned his face side to side. He tongued a nipple then chafed with his whiskers. Finally he took her into his mouth and pulled on her like a newborn calf. Moaning in pleasure, he shook her breast with his head, yanking away with a harsh break in suction so he could give the other side the same treatment.
He held her with support from the wall and moved his grip to her ass. He lifted his head from her breasts and looked up at her again. Then, slowly, watching her, he let her slip down.
It was an exquisite torture for her, knowing what was coming, having him watch h
er face while he compelled her to accept him.
Her breath ratcheted out with the first touch. The heat of his hard cock pressed unerringly right at her opening. He held her there, still watching, and flexed just a little. He pushed in, opening, stretching her.
She whimpered, arching away at the strain of it.
He was almost grim, no soft reassurance now but making a determined breach.
He pushed further, the glitter of his eyes hard in the dark, until she knew he’d stretched her to the max, the broad head of his big cock causing a burning at her opening.
She trembled, and he shook a little, too, a lone signal of the strain he was under, the shared significance of this moment. He found her mouth and kissed her, a long sweet union.
Then he lifted his head, and watching her intently, he pushed in.
It wasn’t a hard, fast thrust but a slow, inescapable taking. He made her feel every inch of him, made her body yield completely. It was a vanquishing, and a surrender.
With a tremulous exhalation, he rested his forehead against her. “Delilah,” he whispered. “I have you.”
“Yes, Lincoln.”
“I’m inside you. It feels so good, Lilah. So right.”
He pressed harder against her head and groaned. “I’m going to fuck you.”
Delilah shivered as he withdrew once and then reseated himself, a long, hard stroke that had him even deeper inside her.
“I can’t hold back.” His words ground out as his body flexed, his muscles straining.
“Fuck me, Linc.”
“Yes. God, yes. Fuck, yes.”
With a rumbling, primal groan he let loose. He wrapped his arms around her lower back, steadying her for his wild thrusts. He flailed into her, deep, possessing fucks that filled her, stretched and stimulated her. She clung to him, grasping the collar of his shirt with one hand and digging into his hair with the other.
He pistoned into her—he held her hard and open to each thrust. Their breathing matched, hoarse, panting moans in the same rhythm as their fucking.
With a groan he sank to his knees, keeping her with him. “I can’t—” He swore and turned them, taking her to the floor. “Sorry, baby. Back. Floor. Sorry, sorry.”
Three Men and a Woman: Delilah (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 3
