Instead of focusing on what hurt, on what he couldn’t fix at the moment, he got out of the car and pushed those thoughts away as he made his way to Holland’s door. He only knocked once before she was there. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth at the first sight of her, his breath gone.
She wore a black wrap dress that did amazing things for her waist and her breasts, so much that he was having a hard time focusing.
She had on bright red fuck-me heels that matched pieces of her hair, that same color he had used earlier with his colored pencils. Lincoln knew right then and there he needed to draw her. Even if it was just for himself. He wanted to paint her.
His hands itched for a paintbrush, but then that feeling was gone, and there was just nothingness. Because reality intruded. He wasn’t supposed to be here alone. He was supposed to be here with Ethan. But work came first with his best friend.
And he knew that was a cop-out, knew that wasn’t always the case. But sometimes it was hard to actually think about what Ethan could do versus what he had been doing.
“You look amazing,” Lincoln said to Holland, clearing his throat. “Actually, amazing isn’t a good enough word. Spectacular. Stunning. Beautiful. So fucking good, that I really don’t want to go to this art show at all. I just want to fuck you against this wall.”
He said the words so quickly that her eyes widened, and then she threw her head back and laughed. She had such an interesting, tinkling laugh. It started off high and then went deep and throaty. It made him even harder for her.
“I didn’t know what color suit you were wearing, and sometimes, it’s really hard to find outfits that don’t clash with this.” She tugged at her hair, and he just took a step forward, slid his hand around the back of her neck, and brought her in for a kiss.
She moaned, and he grinned.
“You with that hair? Pretty fucking amazing. You in this dress? Just tops it off. Don’t do anything with this hair. Okay? I have dreams about this hair.”
She just shook her head and slid her hands down his suit. “You look pretty damn fine yourself. I like this color blue on you. Makes your eyes pop.”
“Now, you’re going to make me blush.” He kissed her cheek, careful not to touch her lips just in case her makeup wore off.
“I’m wearing a long-lasting matte,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes. “You’re welcome to kiss me hard, it’s not going to come off.” She paused. “At least, I hope not.”
He raised a brow and grinned. “Now that sounds like a challenge.”
He moved forward to kiss her, but she put her fingers on his lips, so he kissed those instead. “We’re about to go out into public. Maybe not go for conquering that challenge right away.”
“Okay, sounds like a plan.”
She looked around him and frowned, that little line between her brows deepening. He had been dreading this part.
“He had to stay at work,” Lincoln said, his voice gruff.
Holland shrugged and grabbed her bag. “He said that might happen. Are you okay?”
“Just a little pissed off. I was going to try and make it sound as if I wasn’t, and that everything was fine, but I hate it when he does this.”
“He does it often?” she asked as he helped her with her wrap, and they walked to his car.
“Often enough. But then I get stuck in my head with work, too. Though he cancels more than I do.”
“Well, you’re here, so let’s make the most of it. We’ll just have to tell Ethan what he missed.”
Lincoln leaned down and kissed her softly so he wouldn’t smear her makeup, even though he had taken that challenge earlier. He helped her inside the car and tried to smile, attempted to let the bad stuff go. “You and me. It’s a date.” He kissed her, then closed the door and went around to his side of the car, sliding into the driver’s seat.
They were going to make this work. Even if it was just the two of them for the night. But he’d be damned if it would only be the two of them forever. Because Ethan was part of this. It was the three of them. And while now felt right, like this was important, he knew they both understood that they were missing someone tonight.
Neither of them was going to be a replacement for Ethan. They were going to be who they needed to be for each other, knowing that Ethan was another cog in what they had.
By the time that they made it to the art show, it was well underway, and Lincoln was grateful.
“I hate being early to these things,” he said as he helped Holland through the door and got her a glass of champagne.
“So you like being fashionably late?” she asked, and he just shrugged.
“No, I just don’t like to be early because then people ask me for things or pretend like I’m their best friend because they want my art or for me to do something for them.”
He hadn’t actually meant to be that honest, but no one was really around to overhear, so it was fine.
“I’m sorry. Well, I’m not going to ask you to paint me something for my shop.”
“But I would, though.”
She looked at him, her eyes wide. “I sell amazing and unique art in my store. But it’s nowhere near your caliber.”
“And because you said that, I’m going to paint something for you.”
If he could ever paint again. It wasn’t as if he was actually having luck with that recently, after all.
“Lincoln.”
“What?”
“I can’t charge what your stuff’s worth.”
“Then we won’t charge that much.” He winked, and she just frowned.
“Don’t do that. Don’t make it weird.”
“It’s not weird.”
“Well, it makes me feel like I’m using myself to get cheaper art.”
He cursed under his breath as someone came by, nodding at him and waving. He didn’t know who they were, but they clearly knew who he was. In fact, most of the people walking by nodded, whispering to each other or themselves.
He was an artist.
Lincoln McClard: up-and-coming artist. They couldn’t wait to get his paintings. Couldn’t wait to get a piece of him. And he didn’t have a chance to say anything about that with Holland because person after person came up to talk to him. They recognized him, knew his art, and wanted to talk about the artist.
“Who’s this?” Damien asked as he slithered up to them, his eyes narrowed and focused on Holland.
Lincoln froze before tightening his grip on Holland’s hip. “Damien. I didn’t know you would be here. You never actually said before.”
“I’m your agent. I’m always by your side.” He leaned forward and held out a hand. “And, you?”
Holland looked up at Lincoln, and he cleared his throat. “This is Holland.” No need for more explanation than that since Damien was acting strangely tonight—weirder than usual. Holland seemed to understand that and didn’t say anything more. Instead, she just took his hand and smiled.
“Ah.” Damien looked between them, his eyes now slits. “Good to see you. Ethan bail again?”
Lincoln ignored the barb. “He was busy, but no worries. Excuse me, Holland and I have to head over and meet some people.”
Damien just smiled and nodded as Lincoln pulled Holland to the side.
“Sorry about that,” he whispered.
“No problem. Thanks for getting me away from him, though.”
He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, hoping to salvage some of their night, but he wasn’t sure they could do it here. By the time they left, Lincoln was exhausted and grateful that he hadn’t worn a tie because he likely would have torn it off by then.
Holland slid her hand into his and gave it a squeeze as he shifted gears.
“You had a terrible time tonight,” she said as they pulled up to her house.
“What do you mean? You were there.”
“I was. And you smiled, and you were great to me. You introduced me to so many people that I will never be able to remember their names. An
d we saw some awesome art. Exquisite pieces that I never would have been able to see without you.”
“I love the painter. She really figures out exactly what emotion she wants to convey and doesn’t care if you don’t see or feel the same one she does.”
“You’re the same.”
“I try. Sometimes, I want you to see what I do.”
“And that’s fine. You’re the artist. It’s what you do. However, everybody was vying your time tonight, including your agent. But I get it. I’m just glad I can be part of this while I can.”
Lincoln ground his teeth as he helped Holland out of the car. “I didn’t know Damien would be there for sure. And I definitely didn’t know he would act like that.”
“Thankfully, we were too busy to deal with him. He’s kind of an asshole. And he kept looking at my boobs.”
“If I tell you that your boobs are pretty nice and that I can understand, will you hit me?”
She shoved at his chest, and he grinned, taking her hand in his.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
He frowned at her words.
“What do you mean?
“About the whole selling myself for art thing. You were trying to do a nice thing, and I got weird about it.”
“I didn’t want you to feel weird about it, and I didn’t know how to fix it. But everyone was there, and I didn’t really know what to say with others around.”
“I understand. And don’t worry about it. Really. It was just something on my mind. But I’m figuring it out.”
“Holland?”
“Ever since Dustin—which doesn’t seem like long ago in retrospect—it’s been hard for me to take things at face value. Even when we were still dating. Because no one really understood what I wanted. And I didn’t realize that until it was too late. I’m not very good at accepting things, or more so, not comfortable with people being nice anymore. I’m working on it, but it’s not easy.”
“I get that. But you can feel whatever you need to feel. I’m not going to judge you for that.”
“I know you won’t. And it makes me feel amazing. If you want to paint something small—notice I said the word small, not extravagant—for my shop, I would lovingly take it. But only when and if you want to, and only so long as it doesn’t actually interfere with the rest of your work. And if Damien doesn’t get a cut.”
She raised her chin at that and grinned.
“I knew I liked you.”
He stopped and kissed her as they stood in her foyer, but he didn’t stop after the first kiss. Or even the second.
Instead, he let her drop her bag to the floor, her wrap right along with it, and gripped her hair in one hand, tugging. She moaned, and he lapped at her mouth, her tongue, biting gently at her lips.
“I guess that lipstick is pretty long-lasting.
“I don’t think it was meant for this,” she panted into his mouth. He kissed her again. And again.
“What do you say I take you against the door like I talked about?” he asked, his voice a growl.
“I’d say I’m really glad this dress comes off so easily.”
He licked his lips as he took a step back and then tugged at the bow on her side.
The dress fell off as she rolled her shoulders back, leaving her in her hot, red stilettos and matching red lace panties and a bra that barely covered anything.
Lincoln groaned and gripped his cock through his pants, willing himself not to come right then in his slacks.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I wasn’t sure if red was the color to go with my hair, so I wanted you to see. You’re the artist. What do you think?” she asked, cupping her breasts.
“I think you’re going to be the death of me. And I can’t fucking wait to see exactly what you look like all blushed and red under that color.”
And then she did blush for him, that pretty pink color slamming over her skin in a wave.
And when she moaned at just a gentle touch, a soft caress, he could almost feel her ache. It was the same one he had.
She tugged at his suit jacket, and he let it fall to the floor along with his shirt, and then his shoes and pants.
Soon, he was standing naked while she stood in her bra and panties and heels, and he wanted to fuck her right there. But, first, he needed to taste. To touch.
“You in these heels makes you just tall enough that I can do this,” he growled and then dropped to his knees.
Her side was next to her front table, and she let out a gasp as she gripped the edge of it. He knelt, huffing out warm breaths between her thighs, over her panties.
“So pretty and pink and flushed under all this red.”
“Lincoln,” she gasped.
He lowered his head, kissing and shoving the lace to the side. And when he twisted his lips, sucking hard, she moaned, her legs shaking.
“Jesus Christ,” he growled, and then he was up on his feet, gripping her ass in his hands.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he kissed her, rocking himself against her core, her panties still shoved out of the way.
“I could do this all night, but I know I won’t last.”
“There’s a condom in my purse,” she growled.
“I like a woman who’s prepared. And, thankfully, I have a condom in my wallet, too.”
“We’re okay doing this without Ethan?” she asked, her words serious. He agreed.
“Like you and Ethan can. Like Ethan and I can. We just need to keep talking. The three of us. Is that okay?”
“I like you, Lincoln. And I like Ethan, only in different ways. I like when it’s the three of us, or just two of us. But I want you inside me right now. And then I want to talk to Ethan later so he can see what he missed.” She winked, and he groaned, quickly going for her bag since it was closer than his pants. He sheathed himself and then quickly undid the clasp of her bra.
“I need your breasts in my mouth.”
“Deal.”
He licked and sucked, loving the way she arched into him.
And when he twisted her around so her breasts were against the front door, he grinned.
“Hold on tight, baby, I’ve got you.”
“I know, Lincoln. I know.”
The seriousness of that tone hit him like a shot, and he swallowed hard, then gripped the base of himself, and her hip before sliding in.
Since she was wearing heels, they were able to utilize this position. And she was so tight at this angle, he could get even deeper than before. She pressed against the door, pushing back on his cock, and he rode her.
He had one hand on her hip, the other on her breasts, moving back and forth so he could hold her, touch her.
When she came again, he followed, calling out her name as he did and biting down gently on her shoulder. She threw back her head, reaching around to hold him even as her body shook.
And then they ended up on the floor, laughing as they held each other, the strength in both of their legs having gone out.
Lincoln loved having sex with Holland. Loved touching her. Loved being with her. Loved the way she smiled as if she didn’t have a care in the world even though, sometimes, he knew she felt as if the world were on her shoulders.
He wanted more of this. Even if he didn’t feel like he deserved it.
Even if he knew that she would likely run.
Even though Ethan wasn’t there because he had chosen work over them.
Lincoln held Holland and pushed those thoughts out of his mind. This was okay.
This was what he wanted. What they both needed.
And then they made love again on her floor, gently, face-to-face, with eyes just for each other.
This is what he had been missing.
And he was afraid he would break when she left.
So he told himself right then and there that he wasn’t going to let her leave.
He had to show her what she’d be missing if she did.
But first, they needed to make sure
that Ethan would be here, too.
Because this wouldn’t work without the three of them. Lincoln knew it. He and Holland were only two-thirds of a whole. And, eventually, they’d have to figure out how to fit everything together. In every way that mattered.
Chapter 13
“Ethan, have you worked on this one yet?” Maximilian asked as he walked into Ethan’s office.
Ethan rubbed his temples and looked down at the tablets that Maximilian handed over.
And, yes, his boss’s name was Maximilian. Not Max, not Ian, but always Maximilian.
He liked his full name, and even though it was a mouthful, Ethan went with it.
However, he didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be at home or, preferably, on his fucking date with Holland and Lincoln.
It had been over a month of dating, over a month of them figuring out who each of them was and how they could make things work.
And this was the third date he’d missed in that month.
He knew that Lincoln and Holland had been together on their own, and that was fine with him. He wanted that. He liked that it wasn’t just the three of them, that they mixed it up and figured out who they were as couples within this triad of theirs.
But he hadn’t been with Holland alone. And not only sex-wise. He literally hadn’t been in a room alone with her in so long, it was getting ridiculous.
Let alone with his best friend, who he rarely saw these days because Lincoln was working too—except for when they had dates. Then, Lincoln actually showed up.
As for Ethan? No, he was stuck here.
He liked his damn job, and he was good at it. But, sometimes, it took a lot out of him.
And he apparently didn’t know how to say no.
He would have to figure it out, though, because he was really fucking afraid that he was going to lose the two most important people in his life if he didn’t.
He just didn’t know how to walk away from this place.
As Julia walked into the room behind Maximilian and gave Ethan a look, he knew he wasn’t the only one.
He thought Julia had someone at home, but he didn’t know for sure. Because they didn’t really talk about their personal lives here. Who had time for that?
Sated in Ink: A Montgomery Ink: Boulder Novel Page 15
