Fire in an Amber Sky

by Addison Moore

  He takes a hard sniff from my neck and pulls his warm breath over the top of my head. “Are you into this, or did you change your mind?”

  “In like sin,” I tease. “You’re the best sin I can think of, Lincoln.”

  His gaze falls over my features as a hungry smile comes and goes.

  “I’ll make sure it’s extra sinful.” He scoops me off my feet and lands a kiss over my lips, watery with a touch of champagne and minty mouthwash.

  Lincoln carries me inside, down the stairs, and lands me over his well-lit bed. I glance over and notice the door is closed, the deadbolt twisted to keep wandering sisters at bay. I can spread ’em with the best of them and not worry about Kinsley sauntering in uninvited. Not that she’s ever done that. Not that I plan on spreading ’em with the best of them. My ears pique with heat at the thought.

  Lincoln pulls his robe off, throwing it to the floor with a dramatic finality. He pulls me up until we’re both on our knees facing one another, our lust already off to the races by way of heavy breathing. He holds my gaze as his fingers undo the flimsy belt cinched around my waist. Slowly, he pulls the silk robe off me—left shoulder first—he drops a kiss to it. The other shoulder—another wet, hot kiss and my stomach inverts with pleasure. He tugs it down until it falls in a puddle around my knees, and both my manicured little red triangle and my breasts look up shyly at him, begging for a wink of approval.

  His eyes ride freely over me, the tips of his lips curling with pride.

  “I want to look at you.” He pulls back just enough, his roaming gaze proving to be insatiable. “My God, you’re beautiful.” He shakes his head ever so slightly. “I’m overdressed,” he growls, still roving over my body with his gaze. I feel him touching me with the heavy weight of his stare, white-hot and smoldering as it rides from my thighs to my shoulders. I can feel those searing tracks raking over me like coals straight from the hottest fire.

  “Let me help you with that.” My voice trembles when I say it, and I hate that about myself. No matter what I try to get away with, my voice will betray me to the bitter end. It’s an outward lie detector, a traitor to its own cause.

  My fingers fumble around his waistband. Lincoln’s boxers are filled to capacity where it counts, stretching the fabric taut as can be. My heart thumps eyeing the tremendous lump, and I can’t help but wonder how heavy that must be to lug around all the time. But tonight, I’m ready and willing to help him alleviate some pressure from that burden. I pull his boxers down slowly over the heavy V that dips to his erogenous zone. My heart flutters into my throat like a butterfly, and, oh my dear God, he’s growing. The breath gets knocked out of me swift as a punch to the gut. I tug a little harder, carefully struggling to crest his blooming body.

  You know that moment when you hope very hard for something, and then it’s about to happen, and you have a sickening feeling that screams what in the hell did I get myself into? This is that moment for me.

  I look up and meet his eyes, silently begging for help. Just looking at the familiar landscape of his features brings a mild sense of relief to me. No matter what waits beneath his briefs, this is still Lincoln I’m dealing with.

  “You got this,” he says it sweetly while caressing the back of my neck, his fingers weaving themselves in my hair, his eyes still floating up and down like an elevator.

  It takes both of my hands to pry off his boxers. I do it so fast he springs out at me, long and hard, a missile pointed straight at my face.

  Oh, shit. Lincoln Lionheart is hung.

  Once in junior high, I saw a horse with his junk hanging to there, then the sudden urge to piss overcame him, and he became so frighteningly large, so perfectly vulgar, and here Lincoln has just given the horse penis of my nightmares a run for his hard money.

  “You’re beautiful,” I whisper, too embarrassed to meet up with that thermonuclear stare of his radiating down on me.

  Lincoln lifts me by the chin until we’re locked in a gaze.

  He imparts a half-smile, nothing cocky, yet something sincere, so close to pity, it scares me. “I know this isn’t easy for you. Or comfortable. But I want to expose every part of this for what it is. This is what you get.” He takes my hand and places it gently over his rock hard protrusion. “And this is what I get.” His hands round over my curves as if he were caressing an hourglass, soft and patient. “Maybe if you were in love with me, you would feel something different.” There’s sadness in his tone, something that relegates him to the fact we are most certainly not in love. This is Lincoln doing me a favor—finishing what he started, teaching me a few tricks along the way. A genuine sadness blooms in me at the thought.

  “Trust me,” I whisper. “I’m feeling everything.” I forget to breathe, and the air locks up in my lungs, accumulating in my chest like a hot air balloon. “I’m feeling this with you.” My voice wobbles as if I’m about to cry. For a moment, I thought I might declare my love for him, but that would make things awkward since we’re nowhere near that declaration stage. I want to be, though. The two of us here, naked on his bed, in full examination of one another, my hand on his most prized possession, his hands on the cushion of my hips. Logic insists there is no time like the present.

  Lincoln leans in and kisses me with deep, sweltering kisses. The heat emanates off his body like a brushfire, racing over my aching limbs, over my chest that begs for his touch. This is all moving too slow for my throbbing need to have him. I want to crush my body to his, feel his rock solid chest over mine—have him impale me with that vulgarity hardening to steel in my palm.

  His hand slips down my thigh, gliding up toward that secret part of me that only he’s been privy to before. His fingers float over my heated slick, dipping in and out softly, not rough and greedy the way he did that day in his office. I buck at his touch, and my legs clamp over him like a reflex.

  I pull back and wince. “Sorry. It feels good.” I give an awkward nod. “It’s just that my legs’ natural inclination is to squeeze tight.” I bite my lip hard. Stop fucking talking! “But you can go on. You know, do your thing. I mean, my body just needs to—”

  He presses his finger against my lip. I’m so grateful he’s capped me that I press a kiss over it. Lincoln gushes a silent smile, his lids heavy with that drugged look sends me into a spin.

  Lincoln leans in and takes a bite out of my lower lip, pulling, stretching it out, kneading it between his teeth, and it feels deliciously painful, inspiring an embarrassing grunt from deep within my gut. He pulls back, eyeing me with those weighted glazed eyes, blue as river stones, shiny as glass.

  His hands glide up my torso to my nipples, pinching them, rolling them between his fingers, pulling and stretching, just the way he did my lip a few moments before. A shock of arousal pulsates through me in a series of violent powerful waves. I had no idea this part of my anatomy could harness so much pleasure. That tender spot between my legs begins to quiver, and I’m already halfway there. Another few seconds of this, and I’m going to lose it. Lincoln will laugh, and I won’t blame him. I’m so primed for him in every way, and here he’s discovered an orgasmic minefield I didn’t even know existed. I’m ready to detonate. Lincoln is treading dangerously close to the trigger. My breathing accelerates to the point I’m panting over his chest. My own lids grow heavy and weighted as I steady myself over his shoulders.

  “You want to come,” he says it so casually my body ticks up another notch. Lincoln is ratcheting me, winding me up, tighter and tighter, his skilled hands and his demanding fingers drawing me closer to the edge. His mouth finds its way to my breast and covers me, boiling hot as he sucks me down, bites me, devours me from one to the other in three easy strides. “You’re sweet like I knew you’d be.” He knocks his knee between my thighs and whispers, “Open.”

  Carefully, I expand my girth over the mattress. It feels unstable as if I was widening my legs over a sinkhole.

  “That’s my girl.” He licks a line from my neck to my ear before giving a gentle bite
. “You’re going to watch.”

  He plucks a condom from the nightstand and holds it up for a moment before tearing into it with his teeth. He gives a little wink. “I’m not shooting blanks.” He pulls out the slimy looking disc and lays it over his tip. “Help me roll it on. This is important to know.”

  “Is this a teachable moment?” A nervous laugh begs to bubble from me. I’m already too high-strung, my every last nerve firing and misfiring as I anticipate what comes next.

  “Yes.” Lincoln takes my hands and helps me roll the condom over his magnificent girth until we hit the very root of him. “It’s lubed, but you’re plenty wet.” He lands a kiss over my mouth while his fingers confirm this theory. Lincoln takes his time roaming over me, and my legs beg to clench shut again. I want this. I want Lincoln. But everything about this, from nearly doing the splits, to the boiling white-hot lights, feels as if it’s exposing me, calling me out on some level. It makes me wonder what lesson Lincoln is really trying to teach.

  “You’re going to sit on me.” He hoists my hips up to his waist as his fingers press hard into my thighs and positions that newly rubber-coated part of him to the entry of my body. His finger flicks under my chin as a smile twitches on his lips. “Don’t take your eyes off me.”

  I give a childlike nod. My lips quiver as if I’m about to be massacred. Lincoln slowly lets me slip over his bodily protrusion as gravity sinks me slowly where I need to be. He’s pressing his way inside, ripping and tearing, expanding past the point of viability as a needle-like searing pain shoots up from that tender part of me all the way up my throat. A hard choking sound emits from me, our eyes still statically locked over one another.

  He’s inside me. Lincoln has done it. He’s taken what I so badly wished to gift him, and tears spring to my eyes because I want to gift him something else as well—an I love you. I bear my eyes into his and say it while his body is nestled deep inside mine. I love you, Lincoln Lionheart. Yes, I do.

  “You okay?” he whispers softly and lovingly into my ear, his kisses pecking me up and down my cheek, kissing a tear that managed to fall without my permission. “Please, don’t cry, Macy. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “No,” I manage to choke out. “I want this.” I take a deep breath and sit down hard over him, my neck falling back without restraint as I take in his full length, soaking in the feeling of what it’s like to have him deep inside me.

  “Eyes on me,” he heats the words over my chest like a command.

  I take a breath and lift my eyes to his, my lids hanging low, my mouth struggling to catch my next breath.

  “I’ve got you,” he says it low, his brows do that crazy thing to my stomach, and a laugh struggles to break free from me. This is it. I’ve given what I wanted to Lincoln, and yet it still doesn’t feel like enough. He moves his hips beneath mine, and I catch the rhythm, his arms holding me from behind, my hands knotted behind his neck.

  His lazy, drugged smile comes and goes. His lids hang seductively, those pale blue eyes still holding their ferocious power over me, strong as the ocean.

  His fingers dig into my sides, pulling me up and down over his body, his neck arched back as his eyes close with ecstasy.

  “Shit, Sin.” He pulls me in forcefully and brings his hot mouth over mine. His tongue unleashes inside my mouth like a charged and wild serpent, exploring, diving deep into the hidden places, trying to grab what it can and make me its own. He pulls out, slipping from my body with a suction, and I can feel the void he’s left inside me. Lincoln lays me back, his hands forcing my knees to my shoulders. “Beautiful,” he whispers, and the breeze licks between my thighs. A small, very aware part of me cringes at what he sees. I glance down at my body splayed open like a rose fashioned from raw, glistening flesh. The silly trim I gave myself looks more like a hack job than a neat venture in bodily landscaping. It looks childish, Raggedy Ann the porno version, and I lie back, closing my eyes tight and hoping the physical examination Dr. Lionheart is conducting is about to conclude.

  A moist heat lands on that ruby triangle of mine, and my eyes bolt open to find a mass of dark blonde hair moving slowly up and down over the most secret part of me. Lincoln dots me with kisses, my inner thighs, my bare bottom, my raw and quickly swelling entry and I buck wildly. He languishes on that sensitive part of me with his tongue, and a brutal moan works its way up my throat.

  “You don’t have to do that.” I give a half-hearted effort to close my legs, and he looks up with a slight look of anger and disappointment rolled all into one.

  “I very much want to do this, but if you say no, I’ll relent.” Those puddle blue eyes steel over me. “Don’t say no, Sin.” His chest heaves with a deep inflection as if pleading his case.

  “Um”—for as much as I used this very scenario to fuel my one-handed escapades, I had no idea this would be a first night endeavor—“be careful down there.” I wince. Is he going off to war? What kind of a send-off was that? He’s going to think I have explosives hidden among the crimson reeds he needs to wade through. Clearly, I could have sheared the carpet while I was busy pulling back the hedges. I’m sure poor Lincoln is resigned to the fact this indeed is retro night. I want to apologize for everything about that pleasure zone. Old Me says, I’m so fucking mortified, and yet New Me says, Get that boy working!

  I lie back per New Me’s orders. She can be bossy as hell, and I’m beginning to appreciate that psychotic side of me.

  Lincoln masterfully buries a kiss inside me. A hard groan comes from me as my body ignites with an electrical pulse—live wire meets water—dangerous and explosive. I’ve had orgasms before by my own hand and on the rare occasion with the aid of electronics—to be fair, I wasn’t that good at giving or receiving—but Lincoln’s expert touch has me buzzing, jumping out of my skin with just the simple touch of his mouth. He runs up and down over me, kissing, tonguing me, French kissing me on a loop. He works his way to that sensitive spot at the tip once again and flicks his tongue over it, grazing it with his teeth before finding a quickened rhythm that starts to pull my soul right out of my body, begging for relief.

  “Lincoln.” I glance down at his creamy hair, his shoulders rising up like armor. The image burns into my mind—his body working hard to pleasure mine. It’s a beautiful thing, and for the first time this evening, I’m thrilled to have the lights on.

  Lincoln takes it home, speeding his lip service to a maddening degree as my mind begins to swirl, colors float under my eyelids, and every nerve in my body sizzles along its raw, aching edge. Then, in a fit of physical chaos, I detonate right there in his mouth. Wave after wave of delicious ecstasy finds me, far more intense and pleasure- filled than anything I’ve ever managed to give myself. My hands grip his hair, struggling to pull him off and to hold him still at the very same time.

  He floats back up to where I am, burying a kiss into my neck. His panting measures up with mine.

  “Sweet as candy.” His heavy breathing sears my cheek. “How is it so far? What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking you give far better orgasms than I do.”

  He laughs softly into my ear, still peppering me with kisses.

  “My turn, sweetheart. You can return the favor.” He pries me open and slowly lands himself where we began this night with his body buried inside mine.

  A hard groan comes from me as I pull him in as deep as I can take it. His chest rises over my face as he freely thrusts away, and another wave of pleasure captures me— this time from somewhere inside me, a mythical place I thought male sociologists made up to make women feel inadequate. Apparently, the G-spot is a very real thing. I bite down on a smile, just taking in the raw burn as Lincoln pumps in and out of me—my own body ratcheting up for another glorious explosion.

  Something tells me Lincoln can make just about anything happen.

  Everything is real when we’re together.

  Lincoln

  In a seamless transition from nightfall to morning, Macy
collapses in my arms, a smile still on her face, and I pride myself on the fact I put it there.

  “You do realize we both have to be at work in about three hours,” she purrs while raking her nails over my stomach, so soft it tickles.

  “No way in hell.” I pull a kiss off her lips. “We’re calling in. We need a nap, food, and a lot more fucking.” I lick the side of her cheek, and a soft laugh bubbles from her.

  Fresh air, that’s what Macy is. I’ve never known anyone to be so deliberately happy all the time. Normally, I’d find this trait vexing, but somehow it just endears me to her. My sisters are moody. Kinsley in particular is prone to the dramatic. And, as for the women who warm my bed, I don’t care to know them enough to see how they register on a well-being Richter scale. Then, there was Jackie—happy, happy Jackie. A deep sigh expels from me.

  “What was that for?” Macy curls in under my arm, and I pull her close, burying a kiss over the top of her fiery red hair.

  “Just marveling at how perfect you are. You’re going to make some guy really happy.” My gut grinds when I say it. I’m not sure why I need to make it a point to be clear as Irish cut crystal that this teachable moment we’re having isn’t going to amount to anything. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s for her benefit or mine. “He’ll probably be an asshole.” Like me.

  “Lincoln!” She smacks my arm. “Are you trying to curse me? I’ve already met my quota on assholes.” It’s her turn to sigh. “Why can’t I make you happy?” she says it shy, sweet, with those lime green eyes running their gaze over the ceiling.

  “Knew it.” I groan as my hands ride low on her hips. “I gave you one hit, and now I’ll never get rid of you.” I push a smile over her lips and slip my tongue between her teeth. “Face it. You’re addicted to me.”