by T. K. Leigh
With a a moan, I wrap my lips around his finger, sucking every last drop of me off his flesh, giving each of his fingers the same treatment.
“Tell me how you taste.”
Flirtatiously batting my lashes, I pass him a demure look. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?” I force his lips against mine. The second our tongues touch, he groans. He tastes of need, of want, of unmatched desperation.
Too soon, he tears away, chest heaving, eyes dark. “Go. Get in your room. I’ll be with you shortly.”
Before I can do or say anything else, he spins around, heading toward the stairs with determined strides, leaving me a quivering mess.
“Oh, and Chloe?”
I meet his heated stare. “Yes?”
“You’d better not even think about getting yourself off while you wait for me. Tonight, I own you.” His voice becomes deeper, more demanding. The hairs on my nape rise. “And that includes all your orgasms. Do you understand?”
I swallow hard. No man has ever spoken to me this way, so brazen, so confident, so…hot. There’s only one way to answer him.
“Yes, Lincoln,” I respond in a sultry voice as I walk the few feet toward where he stands at the top of the staircase. “I completely understand.” When I reach him, I stand on my tiptoes, skimming my lips along his neck. “Hurry back.”
I remain motionless for several protracted moments, my breath warming his skin. His chest rises and falls quicker, and I notice him clench and unclench his fists. I can’t help but grin at how much he wants me. Then I lower my heels to the floor and turn, walking into my darkened room and closing the door behind me without a single look back.
Game night really is a lot of fun.
Chapter Ten
I’ve officially worn a path in the lush carpet.
I thought Lincoln would only be a few minutes, especially once I heard Izzy come upstairs. I took a lukewarm shower, needing the tepid water to dull the flames building inside me. I figured he wouldn’t be much longer once I got out, considering how needy he seemed.
But as I pace in front of the window overlooking the patio, I can still make out the gentle sound of Asher and Lincoln each strumming a guitar. As if Lincoln weren’t delicious enough, he has to play the guitar, too. My ovaries all but exploded when I peered down into the yard and saw how effortless he made it look. Yet another piece of the Lincoln Moore puzzle.
Finally, the music stops, as does my pacing, my libido perking up. Any other time, I’d be upset over that, but not tonight. Not when that means Lincoln’s that much closer to knocking on my door. If he’s even planning on doing that. I wouldn’t be surprised if he simply barges in.
I walk up to the window, doing my best to remain out of view so neither one of them realize I’ve been snooping. I strain to listen for the telltale sound of the French doors closing. When they do, I light up, turning to look around the room.
Should I lay on the bed in a provocative pose, beckoning Lincoln to come in if he knocks? Should I put on something sexier than my t-shirt and yoga pants? Should I be wearing anything at all?
As turned on as I am about the prospect of answering the door naked, I don’t want to miss out on Lincoln undressing me. We only have one night together. I need to experience everything he has to offer.
When I hear footsteps growing closer, my heart ricochets into my throat and my eyes zero in on the door. Then the knock I’ve been waiting for echoes.
I rush over, pausing to inhale a calming breath. But the instant I open the door and see Lincoln holding a bottle of wine and two glasses, I can’t stop my stomach from doing backflips.
“May I come in?” he asks politely, yet seductive at the same time.
“Of course.” I step back and allow him to enter. Using the flashlight on his phone to light the way, he walks toward the desk by the window, placing the bottle and glasses on it. He yanks out the cork and pours a deep red liquid into each glass, handing me one.
“To blackouts,” he offers as he raises his wine.
“To blackouts.” I clink my glass against his, then take a sip.
“I hope you like it. I wasn’t sure what kind of wine you prefer, but remember you drinking a red when I saw you Sunday night.”
I allow the robust flavor to dance on my tongue, a nice change after the beer. “This is more than acceptable,” I say with a smile, unable to mask the tremble in my voice. “Shiraz?” I arch a brow.
He smiles over his glass, lowering it, licking the wine off his lips. “How could you tell from just the taste? Apart from a professional sommelier, I don’t know many people who could do that.”
I shrug nonchalantly. “I know my wine.”
“Really?”
I hold his gaze, trying to act serious. Then I laugh as I nod at the bottle, the light from the moon casting a glow over the label. While most people would have to get a better look, I’d recognize the familiar script of that logo anywhere.
“Penfolds,” I say. “If there’s one thing Australian winemakers are known for, it’s a fantastic shiraz.”
“They certainly are.” He brings his glass back to his lips, but his gaze never leaves mine. I’ve never felt so exposed, as if Lincoln’s doing more than mentally undressing me. Maybe that’s what makes him so different. He looks into my eyes, instead of everywhere but, as I’m accustomed to.
I take another sip of my wine as I attempt to calm my racing heart. This isn’t the first time I’ve slept with a guy I just met. But I’ve never been this jittery, this desperate.
When I lower my glass, he reaches for it, not saying a single word. I allow him to take it and he places them on the desk, then faces me. My chest expands with my increasingly irregular breathing, my body aching to feel him. Finally, he palms my lower back and tugs me against him. He leans down and I crane my head, inching my lips toward his. But instead of feeling his mouth cover mine, he changes course at the last second, bringing his lips to my neck, clamping down his teeth.
I yelp, struggling to make sense of the sensations filling me, the pleasure, the pain, everything in between. I now know where that saying “it hurts so good” comes from, because Lincoln… He definitely hurts so good. I don’t even care that the harshness of his bite will most likely leave a rather prominent mark. I want him to mark me. I want to walk around, have people stare and know what I did, what I let this stranger do to me. The idea makes me burn even hotter.
When his lips finally make their journey to mine, his kiss is jarring, intense, lust-filled. He tastes of mint, spice, wine, and a flavor I surmise is uniquely Lincoln. One I fear I’ll crave for weeks to come.
He clutches my face, keeping me in place, his grip powerful, demanding, confident. Everything I believe this man is. Then his eyes lift to mine, the fire in his gaze replaced with a hint of amusement.
“What?” I ask, pinching my lips together.
His smile only grows as he reaches into the pocket of his shorts and pulls out something. He opens his palm, revealing Izzy’s dice. “She let me have them. Said she already has some of these back home.”
“Is that right?” I pass him a flirtatious grin.
He nods. “That’s right.”
“Well then…” I lift myself onto my toes and brush my lips against his. “Let the games begin.”
I abruptly spin from him, sauntering toward the bed. When I feel the heat of his stare on me, I glance over my shoulder, a shiver rolling through me from the lust in his eyes.
“Coming?”
“I hope to.” With determined strides, he walks toward me, only needing four steps to close the distance.
I lower myself to the mattress, scooting up toward the headboard, the only light coming from the moon. Lincoln’s hooded eyes lock on mine as he crawls onto the bed, advancing toward me like a lion stalking its prey.
Apart from our breathing, not a single sound can be heard in the room, the lack of any power leaving everything silent. You don’t realize how many noises a house makes — air conditionin
g, refrigerator, whirring hum of computers — until you no longer have electricity. Every little thing seems more noticeable, more intense, more amplified. Like the way Lincoln stares at me in a way I can’t recall a single person ever admiring me. Like the way our chests seem to rise and fall in perfect rhythm with each other. Like the way his tongue swipes along his lips, causing them to glisten, leaving me desperate for another taste.
Clutching his cheeks in my hands, I pull him closer and press my mouth to his, exhaling into the kiss. It’s gentle, yet bubbling with a passion that’s been missing from my life for too long now. He threads his fingers through my hair as I wrap my legs around his waist, needing to feel all of him. When I circle my hips against him, he groans, his tongue brushing mine with more need, more ferocity, more desperation.
“I don’t remember you rolling the dice,” he murmurs, throwing my own words from earlier back at me.
“Those dice don’t have what I want to do on them.”
“Is that so?” He lifts a single brow. “And what’s that?”
I run my fingers up and down his back, my nails digging into his skin. He arches into my touch, biting his lower lip as he closes his eyes, a look of bliss washing over him. The rippling of his muscles against my hands makes me want to explore every single inch of his warm, firm body.
Curving toward him, I nibble on his earlobe. “I want to taste you.”
He stares down at me, his expression playful. “You can taste me if you roll LICK and FINGER.” He winks.
I slowly shake my head, my gaze unwavering. “That’s not what I want to taste.”
He takes my bottom lip between his teeth. I grow lightheaded, wanting him to keep doing that, but harder, and to other parts of my body.
“Tell me what you want to taste, Chloe,” he demands.
“You.”
He loosens his bite, shifting position. “Oh, come now. I didn’t take you for being shy, Pixie.”
“Pixie?” I lift my brows in question.
“Exactly. You’re so tiny, like a fairy, or an angel.” The mood changes as he touches his lips to mine, treating me to a delicious kiss, so different from the way he just had his teeth clamped on me. “My angel.”
“I’m not shy,” I insist, pressing my hand to his chest, forcing him onto his back. Straddling him, I circle him, my motions greedy, insatiable, wanton. “And I am certainly no angel. Especially not in the bedroom.”
He cups my face in his strong hands. I can’t help but marvel at how big they are. Everything about us seems to be polar opposite.
He’s larger than life with an intimidating physique. I’m tiny with a stature that makes me often feel overlooked.
He’s a professional, intelligent man who seems to have his life together. I’m a bit of a drifter who’s still trying to figure out who she is.
He looks like the quintessential all-American boy who probably played football in high school and could have his pick of any woman. I was the troublemaker, the promiscuous girl with piercings in her eyebrows, nose, and tongue.
He probably has a family who loves him, who’s always supported his decisions. I often feel like my mother blames me for the divorce, a heavy burden to bear as a teenager. And it’s only grown heavier now that I’m an adult.
“Is that right?”
I nod. “That’s right.”
“Prove it. Tell me what you want, what you want to taste.”
I open my mouth to respond when he cuts me off.
“And don’t just say ‘you’. I want to know exactly what you want to do.”
I briefly press my mouth to his, then meet his gaze. “I want to suck your dick.”
He stares at me for several seconds, his jaw hardened, eyes on fire. Then he slams his mouth against mine, his tongue pushing through my lips, his kiss ravenous and greedy.
When he pulls away, he grabs my hips, lifting me off him and onto the mattress beside him. Standing, he extends his hand toward me, and I allow him to help me off the bed.
“Lift your arms.”
Not saying a single word, I simply follow his demand. I’d normally protest, insist on remaining in control. But we’re in the bubble. Maybe the bubble’s my own personal Wonderland, a place where I can lose all control and live out the fantasies I’ve been too scared of in the real world.
He grabs the hem of my t-shirt and pulls it over my head before tossing it to the floor. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as his eyes zero in on my bra. “Turn around.”
Excited nerves simmer in my veins as I obey, facing away from him. When his lips feather that place where my neck meets my shoulders, I moan.
“That’s the spot, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his fingers traveling toward my bra, unhooking it with practiced expertise. His hands go to my shoulders and he pushes the material down my arms. “Does that turn you on?” He returns his mouth to me.
“Yes.” I subconsciously squeeze my legs together as his hands find their way to my stomach, the pressure building to a level I didn’t think possible.
He takes his time caressing my flesh. Whenever he nears the swell of my breasts, I hold my breath, only for him to change direction and return to my stomach. I squeeze my thighs together tighter, biting down on my lower lip. I’m on the brink of telling him to bend me over the desk and fuck me already, seduction be damned. But he won’t do that. He’s the tortoise, not the hare. This is a marathon, not a sprint. And I have a feeling he wants this race to last all night long.
“Spread your legs,” he orders when I continue to squirm. I don’t immediately comply, needing something to dull the ache. He tugs my body against his, pushing a knee between my thighs, parting them. “I need you as desperate for me as I am for you.” He brings his hands to my breasts, tugging at my nipples. “Because I’ve spent the past weekend desperate for a taste of you, Chloe.”
He removes his hands from my chest, his motion quick as he spins me around. Stepping back, he crosses his arms and stares at me with a menacing gaze. “Take off your pants, but leave on your panties.”
I peer at him through my lashes. “Any reason for that?”
“A magician never reveals his secrets.” He winks, a hint of playfulness amidst the sexual tension.
More curious than anything, I lower my yoga pants down my legs and step out of them, waiting for Lincoln’s next directive. But it doesn’t immediately come. He simply stares at me in wonder, his expression softening. There’s something incredibly tender about this moment as we admire each other, the moon casting a serene glow in the room, illuminating pieces of us.
“You are so beautiful.” He reaches for my face, brushing a tendril of hair behind my ear. The gentleness of his statement and touch has my knees growing weak. I search my memory for someone else who looked at me the way Lincoln does, for someone else who called me beautiful. Nothing comes to mind. Sure, I’ve been called hot, cute, even charming, but never beautiful.
Needing to break the intensity of the moment before I allow his compassion to burst through my walls, I dig my fingers into his chest, leaning into him. “Now it’s your turn.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He unbuttons his shirt and shrugs out of it before pushing his shorts down his strong legs.
“And Lincoln?” I arch a brow.
“Yes?”
“No need to keep on your boxers. Not for what I have planned.”
“Yes, ma’am.” With haste, he rids himself of his boxer briefs, and they join the rest of our discarded clothes.
Approaching him, my eyes don’t waver, the atmosphere shifting from playful to sensual. His taut skin is warm as I run my fingers along his chest, savoring the little tufts of hair that dot it. Soft lips skate against mine, but I pull back, depriving him of a full kiss.
“Do you want me?” I murmur, feeling unusually powerful as I scrape my hand down his torso, wrapping my fingers around his erection.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his eyes squeezing shut. I study his expression, ecstasy and need filling the lines of his fa
ce, his muscles tensing.
I raise myself onto my toes. “Say you want me.” I feather my lips against his neck, my touch barely there.
“You know the answer to that.”
“Oh, I know,” I respond coyly. “I can feel the answer to that. But I want to hear you say it.” Bringing my mouth back to his ear, I nibble on it. “Two can play your little game, ya know.”
When I pull away, he opens his eyes, his stare intense and bold.
“Is that what you think this is? Just a game?”
Unwrapping my hand from his arousal, I bring both of them to his chest. “Isn’t that all life is? Just a game?” I drag my tongue along his lips, retreating when he parts them for a taste. “Tell me you want me.”
He jerks my body against his, grinding his hips. “I want you, Chloe. So fucking much.”
The look of pure torture on his face is almost more than I can stand. Almost. But he deserves a taste of what I had to endure.
“How do you want me? What do you want me to do?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I already told you what I want to do. But I don’t want to presume you’re agreeable.”
“Presume away, baby.”
The intensity monetarily cracks, and I laugh. I love how he’s seductive, sensual, and carnal one minute, then lightens the mood the next. I never thought it would be possible to have both. Then again, I’ve never met anyone like Lincoln.
Recovering, I pass him a heated stare. “Tell…me…what…you…want.”
“Your mouth.”
I’m about to ask him where, when he interrupts.
“On my cock. Now.”
His hands land on my shoulders, putting pressure on them. Happy to oblige, I rake my fingers along his chest, allowing him to push me to my knees. When I dig my nails into his skin, he releases a growl, his nostrils flaring. Not out of anger. Out of unbridled need.
Keeping my eyes locked on his, I kneel before him, taking his erection in my hand once more. He holds his breath, every muscle in his body becoming even more rigid. And I do mean every muscle.