“Because of everything.”
“Your dad was unhinged. You should just stay here for a while.”
She starts shaking her head before the final words leave my lips, her gaze falling from mine. “I don’t need to see the Lincoln fan club march through here. I need some space.”
Space is the very last thing I want to give her as questions race through my mind, demanding answers. Questions about her childhood, and if her dad has acted like that before. If he’s raised a hand to her? If he’s called her names like that previously? My strides are like a beat, steady and even as I cross to her. She looks up at me, a tear forming in her lower lashes.
“I don’t want it to mean anything,” she whispers. “I just want you to make me feel something else. I want to feel something that doesn’t hurt.”
21
Lincoln
Her fingers fist in my sweatshirt, contradicting her need for space, as her body slams into mine with enough impact it knocks every bit of sense from me. I lean into her, catching her lips and directing her chin to the side so I can slant my lips completely over hers, stealing her air and inhibitions. Her arms go around my neck, and she lifts her chin higher, parting her lips and running her tongue along my upper lip. She growls with impatience when I don’t grant her access. I pull away only a fraction, knowing we need to exchange reasons and words. She seems to recognize my thoughts because she deftly shakes her head and delves her fingers into my hair, covering my mouth with hers. She kisses me with so much need it knocks me off balance, and I respond instantly, my fingers sliding between the silky strands of her hair and grabbing her backside with the other, pressing her against my hardened cock.
She moans, the sound so pleasurable and addictive I lose what restraint I had left. I run my tongue along hers, tracing each line of her mouth. I pull back only long enough to back into the bathroom, where I flip on the lights and lock the door because I want to see every single part of her. She takes a breath, her eyes darting from the door to the lights.
“We can stop.”
Raegan shakes her head. “You said that you don’t date or get attached, and that’s perfect. I don’t want those things either. So, let’s just make this simple. We use each other. We are each other’s escape.” She unzips her sweatshirt, letting it fall to the ground, then reaches for the hem of her shirt.
I grab the fabric before she can remove it and step closer, coming toe to toe with her. I grip the elastic holding her hair in a pony and tug it free. Her hair falls in long layers, inviting me to tangle my fingers in the strands. “What do you want to feel?” I ask, running my nose along her cheekbone, reaching her ear. I take the lobe between my teeth, grazing it before I swipe my tongue over the sensitive flesh. She leans closer, her breaths ragged.
“You,” she says.
I groan softly, licking a path across her warm skin, straight to her exposed collarbone. “Where?”
She tips her chin back, her fingers tangled in my sweatshirt. “Everywhere.”
I pull her shirt free, admiring the pink and gray leopard print bra that presents her breasts to me like a present waiting to be unwrapped. I take in her chest, the delicate bones around her neck, the flat planes of her ab muscles, and then back to her face and the fine layer of freckles that sprinkle her cheeks. Her eyes are shining, expressing her need and desire as she watches my gaze feast over her.
“You’re fucking perfect.” I place a hand on her chest, running it from her neck down past her belly button. Her skin is impossibly soft and smooth. I grip the back of my sweatshirt and tee in one fist and haul it over my head.
She bites her bottom lip, the sight so fucking sexy I have to readjust myself. She watches me, her lip turning white as she bites harder.
I groan, grasping a handful of her hair and pulling her against me. Her skin feels softer and warmer against mine, and then her open lips seal over mine, her tongue warring with mine as we duel over desires and needs. I trace the shoulder strap of her bra, and she presses up on her toes, her kisses becoming faster with excitement. I trace the strap to the clasp in the back, and she pulls my bottom lip into her mouth before freeing it and tilting her head in the opposite direction, tracing over my sides with her fingers. I release the clasp and kiss her fully before leaning back to watch the fabric slip down her arms and fall next to us. Her breasts are full, hard nipples conveying her need.
I grip her hips, pushing her securely against the far wall, a towel slipping to the ground. I lean down, tracing the pink of her nipples with my tongue. She gasps, leaning into me, a hand in my hair. I pull her breast into my mouth, flicking my tongue against the sensitive flesh until she moans. The sound is a drug, hitting my bloodstream instantly. I move to the other nipple while releasing the button on her jeans. She slides a hand along my jaw and reaches down with her other hand, tugging the fabric down.
Her eyes are closed, her lips swollen. I slow my licks, and she slowly opens her eyes, watching me as I slide her jeans down the length of her legs. Her underwear is a thin slip of pink lace that matches her bra.
“God. I want to see all of your underwear,” I tell her, going down on my knees. I press my nose to her entrance, breathing in her sweet and musky scent. Her hips press back against the wall, reminding me of her inexperience. “No,” I say, reaching for her hips again, pulling her back against me. “I want your legs spread over my face. I want to taste you.” I take a mouthful of the fabric, making her gasp again.
I link my fingers in the lacey fabric, sliding it down her hips, down past her knees all the way to her ankles where I gently lift each of her feet and grasp the material, taking a deep breath of her scent before shoving them into my pocket.
She’s bare in front of me, blue eyes wild and bright, sucking me deeper into this addiction. I lean forward, licking her seam, loving the way she loses her breath and footing, as she grasps my shoulders. I lick her again and again, my tongue flat and hard against her. She tips her chin into the air. I lap at her again, moving my hand to fully expose her. “Look at me,” I growl the words.
She drops her head, her lips parted as she looks at me, the twinge of embarrassment in her tight shoulders.
“You make me so fucking hard.” I fist myself. “Touch yourself.”
Her eyebrows lower, shock and embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
I lean forward, tonguing her clit until she moans. I release myself and reach for her hand, pulling her fingers toward her center. “Feel that?” I ask. “You’re dripping for me.” I groan, watching her dark nails slide against her tender flesh, dipping a finger inside of her. Her breaths stutter, her chin falling back again. “No. I need those eyes. Watch me finger fuck you.”
Her breath leaves her as she looks down at me, her cheeks flushed with more than embarrassment—desire.
I slip my finger back inside of her. Her hips jerk forward in response. “God, you’re so responsive. So tight.” I sigh. “So fucking perfect.” I lean closer, my eyes tethered to hers as I breathe her in. She’s so wet, confirming she wants me as badly as I want her. I slide a second finger into her and add my tongue, licking, tasting, and rubbing her until she’s moaning and slipping down the wall, her eyes closed again. I stand, keeping the pressure with my fingers, moving my other hand to brush over her full lips, pulling her bottom lip down, and then kissing her, her taste still fresh against my tongue as I find hers.
I circle her clit and then dip my fingers back into her, creating a rhythm that she responds to with harsh breaths I silence with my mouth. She grips me, her fingers constricting, her hips slipping farther. I grasp her hip, holding her upright as I find her release and swallow her moans.
Raegan’s hips jerk as I swipe along her clit again, sensitive from the orgasm. I kiss her again and then pull back, admiring the flush on her cheeks and the desire still shining bright in her eyes.
I kiss her once more. “Next time I make you come, it’s going to be from fucking you.”
“Aren’t we…?”
> I shake my head. “I have to go to practice. Shower. Take a nap. I’ll be back.” I steal another kiss, then reach for my shirt.
“Lincoln, this…. We’re… This doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t change anything.”
I pull my hoodie over my head. “We just crossed the mother fucking Rubicon. Everything’s changed.” I slide my fingers across her wet lips. “Everything.”
22
Raegan
I still feel Lincoln, even after I’ve showered and dressed. I attempt to distract myself by blow-drying my hair, but each time I look at a space of the narrow bathroom, I picture him on his knees, worshipping my body.
I just had a toe-curling, mind-numbing orgasm.
From my brother’s best friend.
In their shared house.
In the wake of my father’s publicized affair and my mom leaving for New York.
I’m totally going to Hell.
My desire to get out of the house propels me as I grab my discarded clothing. I hold them in my fist, trying not to look or think of the items he helped me remove and take the stairs two at a time, discovering Poppy on the couch, waiting for me.
“Are they gone?” I ask.
She nods. “Caleb had class, and the others left for practice.”
I nod a couple of times, and then go into the kitchen, intent on finding a plastic bag I can use for my dirty clothes.
“Rae,” Poppy says, following me. “What can I do?”
I pull open another drawer. “Nothing. I’m good.”
“Rae.” She catches my hand, stopping me. “This is me. You don’t have to lie or pretend.”
Her green eyes are rimmed red, her long hair pulled back into a braid. “Do you want to scream? Yell? Fly to meet your mom, so you can make sure everything’s okay? Tell me.”
“I don’t know,” I tell her, my eyes and nose burning as my throat grows tight. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
She reaches forward, grasping my hand. “Maybe we use this as a good excuse to get our own place. We’ve been talking about it for years. We can get an apartment, or maybe rent a house? You don’t have to stay here or face this alone.”
Her mother has never allowed sleepovers. Poppy wasn’t allowed to sleepover, and I wasn’t allowed to stay over there, it was a hard rule from her mother who spent most of her career talking to victims of sexual assault.
“I just don’t want to feel,” I tell her. “I don’t want to feel anything.”
“Next to no one at school knows he’s your dad,” she assures me.
I nod dismissively, the rumors at the bottom of my concern list.
“Rae,” she repeats my name, her eyes falling with defeat and sadness. “Talk to me. Please. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“It doesn’t feel real,” I tell her. “I don’t know what I’m thinking.” Tears blur my vision as my nostrils flare. “I can’t believe he had an affair. It hurts even to consider it, to think we meant so little to him—that my mom meant so little to him. And, I can’t believe he hit Paxton.” My lungs compress, and it feels like I can’t breathe as I choke on a sob. “And then to have my mom leave…” Poppy reaches for me, her arms a tight circle around my shoulders, holding me in place as though to force me to face my new reality.
“It was an impulse decision. I’m sure of it. She’ll probably be back soon, but I know this must hurt a lot. I’m sure you’re feeling betrayed and abandoned.”
I shake my head, though I’m feeling each emotion she’s listing off. “Don’t shrink me.”
Her grip tightens as I try to pull free, her cheek pressed to mine. “Want to go get something to eat?”
I shake my head again, though I haven’t eaten all day, and the sun is starting to fall into the ocean.
“What would you like to do?”
“Hide.”
Poppy presses her lips together, her eyes filled with sympathy that makes my chest feel tight.
“I don’t know what to do. I have a class in an hour.”
Poppy shakes her head. “Skip it.”
“You have one, too.”
“I’ll skip with you.”
I want to. I want to sign up for endless Saturday nights and hide from every responsibility and everyone who might know me, but right now, my thoughts are so consumed with guilt for having known my father was having an affair and not telling my mom. And for relying on Lincoln to make this pain go away, which has only made me feel worse because it just muddies the water between us.
“We should go. If I skip classes, it will just lead to those who do know to talk more.”
“Screw them.”
I shake my head. “It’s better for me, too. If I stay here, I’m just going to obsess over everything and feel like I’m hiding from the truth, and it will make it even harder to face everyone.” I expel a deep breath. “It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid.”
My phone buzzes with a text.
Derek: Hey. How are you holding up? If you need anything, please, let me know.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Derek: Hey. How are you holding up? If you need anything, please, let me know.
“What’s wrong?” Poppy asks.
I turn my phone for her to read the message. “People are finding out.”
Poppy sighs. “But, he knows you.”
“Do I reply?”
“That’s up to you.” Poppy places her thumbnail between her teeth, chewing. It’s a bad habit she broke when we were twelve by snapping a rubber band she wore around her wrist every time she went to bite, and only occurs now when she’s nervous. “Do you think your dad went to school today?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly as I slip my phone into my purse. The last thing I can think about right now is Derek. “I don’t feel like I know him at all right now.”
She nods. “I’ll keep my phone where I can see it. If you need anything, just text me or call me—whatever. We’ll get out of there.”
I nod. It’s the best I can do right now.
From the parking lot to the green space, we hear no less than a dozen jokes about my dad, none of them forgiving, all of them vulgar. Poppy looks reluctant to part ways as I pivot in the direction I need to go.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell her. I think of telling her that the shock wave hit me a few weeks ago, that I knew, and that guilt is what’s currently hitting the hardest.
“Drunken noodles tonight?” she asks.
“I have to work at the aquarium after this, but I’ll call you.”
She nods, hugging me again, likely realizing my need for the contact more than I do at this point.
I take a seat near the back of my physics class, realizing that if anyone might recognize my association with Dad, it will likely be my professors. I get my things out, my pulse too fast as I wait for a joke or question to be slung my way, but they don’t come. Around me, people chat about their weekends, class notes, jobs—all of it familiar in my foreign headspace.
I lean back in my seat, the scar between my thumb and forefinger fading, just like my memories of that day when Lincoln and I shared a conversation that felt momentous at the time. I think of Mom’s reaction, how Dad was absent, how he’s been absent a lot in the past year. Slowly, my thoughts drift to that night from a few weeks ago, trying to recall what the girl my dad had brought home looked like for the hundredth time. I’ve been avoiding my dad and he’s been avoiding me, though I still want to talk to him. I want to hear a valid excuse. I want to hear reason. Without those things, it leads me to question if I would ever be interested in someone my dad’s age? Would I consider the ramifications? Am I considering them with Lincoln? How a relationship between us could impact more than his friendship with Paxton but their comradery on the field.
The ground is as sodden as the sky, which is currently a shade of gray that matches my emotions. Bare branches, an inky contrast like my memories, move across the horizon as I park downtown Seattle, ready to make a run for the aquarium.
The wind pulls at the falling torrents of rain splashing across my windshield and the hood of my car, creating an ominous warning. Once the rain begins, it seems to last for months—an entire season. I zip my coat and pull up my hood. I wish I’d brought gloves, the only thing worse than dating a mouth breather is having cold hands.
Laughter pulls my eyes forward, catching a couple with their hands entwined, laughing as they race through the parking lot in clothes that do nothing to shield them from the rain. They stop at a small, white VW bug, and he reaches into his pocket, his expressions exaggerated like he’s telling a story or joke. He drops the keys as he attempts to retrieve them, and they land with a splash into a puddle. The stranger leans his head back with exasperation, and the woman he’s with moves closer, wrapping her arms around his middle and leaning up to kiss him.
I swallow. I breathe. I strive to ignore the niggling of thoughts that want to think about Lincoln—consider if he would ever be caught with me in a rainstorm and laugh. If he’d ever look at me like I was his axis like this man looks at the woman in front of him.
Doubtful. Guys like Lincoln Beckett want sex. Lots of sex. The dirtier, the better, which is why he didn’t hesitate to peel off my panties and breathe me in like a drug.
The music dies, reminding me I’ve been sitting in my car too long, my mind breeding excuses. I toss my keys into my purse and zip it closed with one rough pull. The wind greets me as I push open my door. It sounds like cruel laughter as it howls, splashing my face with wet raindrops so fat they dampen my cheeks and run down my neck.
I grip my purse tighter, making a quick beeline for the crosswalk that leads me to the warmth and safety of the aquarium.
“Hey!” Cara, our aquarium’s veterinarian, calls as I unlock the door on the side of the building that leads to our small and cramped break room.
“Hey,” I say, unzipping my coat and shaking off the excess water.
Breaking the Rules: The Dating Playbook, Book: 2 Page 17