Her words are my undoing.
“Condom?” I rasp out.
“Nightstand.” She points toward it. “Second drawer.”
I stretch across the bed, my erection pressing up against her thigh, and she raises her hips, moaning as she grinds against it.
Fuck, she’s killing me.
I jerk the drawer open, finding a box of condoms, and pluck one out. Ripping the wrapper open with my teeth, I pull out the condom and slip it down my cock. Cassidy pulls at my ass in the process, dragging me to her, nearly using all of her strength to push my cock inside her.
I laugh, loving how strong her need is for me.
When I slide inside her slick warmth, I suck in a breath. “Jesus, you’re tight as fuck,” I hiss.
“It’s been a while,” she says, a shyness overcoming her.
“It’s been a while for you?” I work my jaw from side to side. “All I’ve done since I’ve been released is yank it in the shower. Baby, I’m about to be born again into sex.”
Not going to lie; I’ve been nervous about having sex with her. It’s not that I don’t know how to use my dick or that I worry I won’t pleasure her, but it’s been a minute since my dick dipped into a pussy. And it’s been never since it’s had anything as sweet as her. My fear is, I’ll thrust into her and blow my load, becoming a disappointment and embarrassing myself.
Our breathing is harsh as I pump into her. I claim her, rotating my hips from side to side as she writhes underneath me. Her pussy convulses before tightening around my dick, and she says my name when she comes. Her body shakes as her orgasm shatters through her.
“Say it again,” I growl. “Say whose cock just got you off.”
“Lincoln.”
“Yes, baby,” I groan, thrusting into her, trying to control my pace, but now that she’s gotten off, now that I know her cum is alongside my dick, I can’t take it any longer.
Sweat is dripping off my chest, onto her stomach. Raising her legs into the air, I hitch them over my shoulders, wrapping my arms around them, and pound into her.
A few pumps later, I bust inside the condom and collapse on top of her—out of breath, out of energy, out of fucks to give on why it’s not a good idea to be with her.
Us together is a damn good idea if you ask me.
Chapter Sixteen
Cassidy
Lincoln stares at me as I’m drying off my hair, fresh from a shared shower. “What are you up to today?”
Last night, we had hot sex.
This morning, we had slow sex—nearly lovemaking.
Then we had slippery, frantic sex in the shower.
“Going shopping with Georgia.” Goose bumps cover my arms as I reach for my tee. “She wants to girlie up your place.”
I laugh to myself, wondering how Archer will love that. Better yet, he seems to let Georgia do whatever she wants, so he’ll probably just shake his head and move on if it makes her happy.
In the same move I pictured Archer doing, Lincoln laughs and shakes his head. “Oh shit.”
I nod. “Yep, be scared.”
He drops his towel, grabbing for his pants, and my gaze shoots straight to his cock—the one that was inside me while he slammed me against the wet shower wall, our bodies melding into one. Grace was at work, so I moaned while he whispered how good it felt to be inside me.
“I’ll see you at work tonight?” He pulls his pants to his waist, buckling them.
“You’ll see me at work tonight. Are we having a sleepover at your place or mine?”
“Hmm … wherever you want.” He plants a kiss against my lips.
Finally.
Finally, we had sex, and it was perfection.
More than what I’d imagined it would be.
This man was made for me.
He’s open, honest, great with his tongue, and he cares about pleasing me in the bedroom. A rare gem in a sea of men with two pumps, who think foreplay is a clit flick before setting off for the finale of sticking their cock inside me.
I’m certain, when he leaves here today, he won’t call his buddies and brag about hooking up with me. He won’t play mind games, ignore my texts, and call the other girls he’s talking to and say, Sorry, babe, I fell asleep.
Lincoln is the real deal.
Our relationship is the real deal.
I don’t care if he’s a felon because that’s not what defines him. He’s a good man, the man I can see myself spending the rest of my life with, the man I hope whose emotions are just as strong.
“You know about Lincoln’s … legal problems, right?” I ask Georgia, sitting across from her at the food court in the mall.
We came. We shopped. She bought furry pink pillows, a pink-chandelier canvas print, and rose-gold candleholders. I cannot wait to see them matched with Archer’s home. I haven’t been there yet, but from what Georgia’s told me, its Pinterest board would be labeled Make My Home As Masculine As Possible with No Character.
Georgia nods, sipping her açaí smoothie—something I’ve never had, but she talked me into trying it, saying Jamie got her obsessed with them. “I do. What do you know?”
“What do you know?” She’s not giving me details until she finds out what Lincoln has confided in me. I respect that.
She’s the first person I’ve brought Lincoln’s record up with. I can’t exactly talk to my siblings about it, and I don’t have many friends. Plus, with her being Archer’s girlfriend and living with Lincoln, there’s no doubt she knows about his past.
“He was in prison …” I bite on my straw.
There’s no hesitation before she jumps into her response, and it’s with such certainty that you’d think she was telling me a fact about herself. “That pretty much sums it up. Lincoln is a man of a different character—a good man. One of the most loyal men you’ll ever meet—like Limon to Pablo Escobar loyal. When Archer was acting up, he did everything in his power to set him straight—before and after the bar incident—and has been a great role model as far as helping Archer withdraw from his past mistakes.” Her eyes settle on me. “Prison, felon—they’re scary words, I know, but you can’t bundle the terms, bundle the people who’ve had those titles, as if they were one. Lincoln didn’t commit a violent crime. He loved his dad enough to cover for them, to say, I have your back, no matter what happens, and because of that, his father received less time. In ways, I respect him for it.”
I nod repeatedly. “Me too.”
Loyalty is an honorable trait, and yes, some might say that integrity changes when it’s for illegal activity, but I don’t agree.
“You know,” she goes on, “I’m surprised he opened up to you. He’s never talked about it with me or even Archer, last I heard. That has to be a hard thing to open up about.”
“He told me some secrets. I told him some. He’s easy to talk with.”
“Are you two …? Have you two …?”
There’s no holding back my smile. “Last night was the first time.”
She literally squeals. “How was it?”
I sink in the chair as if all emotions of happiness were weighing me down. “Amazing. Perfection. I’ve had sex before, but it’s different with him. Lincoln is unlike any guy I’ve ever been with.”
“Swear to God, it runs in the Callahan blood. Prewarning: what also runs in the Callahan blood is …” She pauses. “Although I’m not so sure that’s Lincoln. The guy isn’t as distant as Archer is, and Lincoln seems to have more sense to him. You definitely got the less difficult brother. While Archer is a loner, someone who keeps everything to himself before it eats him up, Lincoln hides his pain behind a smile. I’m not sure which is worse.”
“I guess we’ll see. He’s the only man to have ever opened up to me like that, and coming from a broken home, where my father kept secrets like pets, it means so much to me.”
“He’s never brought another woman around us. Shoot, I’ve never even heard of him dating, hooking up, texting. He’s not looking for a quick screw. He’s looking for a fut
ure with someone.”
We leave lunch at the food court and return to our shopping adventures. When we’re finished, Georgia’s car is full, so she calls Archer to come meet us and to fill his car with her purchases.
“We’ll drop off the stuff, and you can surprise Lincoln,” she says on our drive over.
Too bad I’m in for a surprise from hell when I get there.
Chapter Seventeen
Lincoln
She’s the last person I expect to see when I answer the door.
The last person I want to see.
If I had a choice to see her or Satan, I’d choose the Devil.
I grind my teeth while asking, “How the fuck do you know where I live?”
She stands in the doorway, a Chanel bag draped over her shoulder—a bag I bought her—and her blond hair is cut shorter than before. She winces at my greeting before straightening her stance. “Everyone knows where Archer lives. It’s no secret.”
With how I’ve ignored her phone calls and the last words I said to her, she’d be dumb if she expected me to talk to her.
“Better yet,” I growl out, “why are you here?”
She pulls on the strap of her bag. “Can we talk?”
Leaning against the doorframe, I release a huff. “What do you want, Isla?” I shoot her a venomous glare. “Can’t you put two and two together and realize that me ignoring your calls means I don’t want to talk to you?”
She releases a humph before shoving her way into the penthouse. I might be an ass, might tell her to get fucked, but I can’t push her back. I don’t put my hands on women. At the same time she enters the living room and I’m about to slam the door shut, I hear voices coming down the hall.
Recognizable voices.
Just as I’m gripping Isla’s hand to pull her into my bedroom, the door swings open. My heart sinks into my stomach when Georgia, Archer, and Cassidy walk in.
You’ve got to be shitting me.
I have to be the chairman of bad timing.
The three of them halt in their steps, their eyes shooting from Isla to me. Archer, the only one who knows Isla, glares at me without blinking. His hands knot into fists, and I gulp, waiting for him to kick her out of his place. My gaze swings from him to Cassidy. Her hand is pressed against her throat as she anchors her attention on Isla before shifting to stare at me, pain and anger in her eyes.
“Who are you?” Cassidy asks. “His mom?”
Georgia snorts.
The fact that Cassidy can say that with a straight face is impressive, considering she’s met my mother and she knows Isla clearly isn’t her.
“No, I’m not his mother,” Isla snarls.
If there’s one way to piss off Isla, it’s mentioning her age. She might not be my mother, but she is the same age.
“Oh.” Cassidy smirks. “My bad. Who are you then?” Sarcasm seeps through her words, but there’s no hiding the hurt in her eyes.
With heat burning along her cheeks, Isla turns to me and ignores Cassidy. “Can we talk in private?”
“Nah, I’m good.” I shove my hands into my jean pockets. “I think our time here is over.”
Not only am I pissed she’s here but I’m also infuriated by her timing. The day after Cassidy and I slept together, she finds another woman at my house. I understand her anger. I’d share the same hurt and irritation.
“We haven’t discussed anything during my time here, Lincoln.” A flash of desperation crosses Isla’s Botoxed face. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”
Motherfucker.
With a jerk of my head, I direct her to my bedroom, not having the heart to look at Cassidy. It’s a dick move, but I’m not sure what else to do. I’m not sure what Isla would have started saying if we’d stood there any longer. All I can do now is hear what Isla has to say and then kick her ass out.
“Why are you punishing me for the actions of someone else?” Isla snaps as soon as I slam my bedroom door shut behind us.
I scoff, memories of what happened shooting through me like a drug, and it’s a struggle to keep my voice low. “You mean, the actions of your husband? Surprise, sweetheart, they go hand in hand.”
“And what he did was out of my hands. If I could’ve done something—”
“You’re right. I should’ve kept my hands to myself. And that’s on me, and considering I don’t want your husband meddling in my family’s life again, you need to leave. And never come back.”
She reaches for me, desperate and pleading. “Lincoln, please. I miss you.”
I slam my eyes shut. Not because her words hurt or that I miss her. I’m reliving the stupidity of crossing the line with her. It’s not that I ever thought I was in love with Isla. We fucked. Plain and simple. Neither of us exchanged love devotions. She’d go home to her husband, and I’d go out and party. Then a few days later, we’d do it again.
It was an unhealthy cycle that lasted a year until all hell broke loose.
Until my stupidity of screwing a married woman blew up in my face.
“You need to go,” I snarl, holding back the urge to yell. Stalking to my bedroom door, I jerk it open. “And don’t come back. Quit calling. Forget I exist.”
“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” she whispers, wisping slanted bangs out of her eyes.
“We were never supposed to be.” The words come out croaked, and I swing my arm out, begging her to leave.
This time, she listens. Isla struts out of my bedroom, not paying Georgia or Cassidy one glance, and leaves. As soon as the door shuts behind her, I pull at the roots of my hair and groan.
Glancing at Cassidy, I take a deep breath to prevent my voice from shaking. “That wasn’t what it looked like.”
Georgia kicks her leg out, glaring at me. “Then explain what it was.”
“That’s none of your business.” The response comes out before I can stop it.
Georgia winces at my words. “Okay, rude. Go be a dick somewhere else, please, before I spit in your favorite ice cream.”
I’ve never been an ass to Georgia. She’s like a little sister to me, but Isla’s visit has fire burning through my veins, and I want to breathe them out, get her out of my system.
Not wanting to have this conversation in front of Georgia—aka the gossip queen—I charge into my bedroom with a load of guilt, hoping Cassidy is behind me.
She is.
“Nice room,” she comments, slipping inside before crossing her arms and glaring at my bed in disgust. “Were you just banging her in that bed? I don’t think I should sit down on it.”
The thought makes my stomach crawl. Isla is nothing but a reminder of my past, of every mistake my father and I made. She’s a reminder that I was a stupid guy with no morals who thought his actions had no consequences.
“She means nothing,” I grit out.
“Sex must’ve sucked then, huh?” She rests against the wall as if she truly believes my bed has some sexually transmitted disease.
“If there’s anything you won’t ever have to worry about, it’s me sleeping with her.”
“Have you slept with her before?”
Do I give her honesty? Do I lie?
Because it’s Cassidy, because I always want her to be up-front with me, I nod.
“Interesting.” She stretches the word out. “Looks like you had no problem giving older a chance before younger. And from the big-ass rock on her finger, it seems you’ve also tried them married.” A snarl leaves her, disgust on her face—a reminder of how often she’s told me she despises cheaters and homewreckers since they’re what broke up her family.
I bite my tongue from asking how she’s certain Isla was married when we were together. My canines dig into my defense, knowing that she’ll most likely ask me to clarify what Isla was when we started sleeping together. And Cassidy is right. From the very first time I met Isla, she’s had a ring on her finger. It’s fucked up, I’m well aware.
Wanting to change the subject, I clear my throat and s
ay, “Did you figure out what was wrong with your car?”
She nods.
“If you need a ride anywhere, call me Cab Callahan.”
She’s not agreeing with the convo change being a good idea. “I can call you Homewrecker Callahan or The Man Who Had Another Woman in His Bedroom After Dicking Me Down Callahan. Those might be better for the situation we’re currently in.”
Right as I hold out my hand to explain myself, her phone dings.
Ignore it. Ignore it.
She doesn’t.
Instead, she digs into her pocket, and horror flashes on her face as she reads whatever is on her screen.
“Cassidy …” I drawl out her name as she pales.
“I have to go,” she stammers, attempting to shove the phone in her pocket. Her hand trembles, making it difficult, and the phone drops to the floor. “Shit!”
I reach out, prepared to repo her phone to see what suddenly worked her up, but she beats me to it. This time, she grips it in her hand, not bothering to put it away.
“Cassidy,” I whisper, “what happened?”
Her eyes are crestfallen as she spares me a quick glance. “Nothing, really, I gotta go.”
Without another word and before I can stop her, Cassidy sprints out of my bedroom.
Chapter Eighteen
Cassidy
My heart is racing so hard that I’m waiting to have a heart attack.
Me moving in with Grace was supposed to prevent this.
What the hell?
Thankful Grace isn’t home, I charge into my bedroom, my upper lip snarling, and hold back the urge to punch the man sitting on my bed. “What the fuck do you want, Quinton?”
He chose the wrong day to mess with me. I already walked in on the man I’m falling for with another woman in his bedroom. I’m not in the mood to deal with a crazy-ass ex in mine. I’m mouthy to begin with, and today has pushed all my limits. Chances are, I’ll be taking my anger with Lincoln out on Quinton, and it won’t be pretty.
Straight Up (Twisted Fox Book 3) Page 14