Andy shrugs. “Then hey, I’m fine with it. You don’t get to be a celebrity for as long as I have without developing a thick skin when it comes to this kind of stuff.”
“Thank you,” Chloe breathes, relieved. “We didn’t want to risk our working relationship over their childish nonsense.”
“Not at all,” he says. “And if it happens, I’ll try to act surprised. I know their points aren’t supposed to count if the celebrity’s in on it, right?”
Chloe’s eyes widen, surprised. “You know a lot about this site, huh?”
“I’ve been a writer, a producer, a talk show personality, and a game show host, Chloe,” he says with an easy grin. “I know a lot about a lot of things.”
Chapter Eleven
Chloe
“‘I know a lot about a lot of things, Chloe,’” Lincoln repeats, doing a sly impression of Cohen as he pours champagne into two glasses.
“What? I thought he was charming.” I take one of the glasses from him, suppressing a shiver when our hands touch. Taking a deep breath, I try and settle the little flutter in my stomach that attacks every time he smiles at me.
“Oh, of course he was. Absolutely. I’ll have to remember that line next time.” A smirk lines his expression. “But since I know his door doesn’t swing your way, he wasn’t hitting on you.”
A flicker of sadness breaks out before I can hide it. But then he doesn’t know that jokes about being unattractive to men hit too close to home. “Well, good thing I’m not the kind of woman who gets hit on a lot. And you…you don’t seem like the type who needs to rely on ‘lines’ to get women.”
Sitting in the middle of the living room floor, I clink glasses with Lincoln. The people from Bravo left over an hour ago – and so did Jamie and Jon. Jamie managed to successfully photo-bomb Andy Cohen first, and by the time Jon knew what hit him, the producers were on the lookout and asked him to leave before he had a chance to get his shot.
“I’m surprised you let them get rid of Jon like that, by the way.” I lean back, bracing my body weight with my wrist. It’s hopeless to pretend that the charm this man exudes doesn’t affect me in some way. Even when he triggers me, it doesn’t carry nefarious intent.
Lincoln chuckles. “Well, if the points don’t count when the celebrity’s in on it, then the points probably also shouldn’t count if he needs an assist from someone like me to make it happen, right?”
A grin tickles my lips, but I fight against its allure. “I’m not sure if that’s how the rules work.”
“Then they should. Anyway, don’t go changing the subject on me.” His dark eyes shine in the dim light of the room as he looks at me, amused.
“Oh? What subject was that?” I flutter my eyebrows innocently.
“You and Andy Cohen. I mean, I know he’s gay, but for a moment there it almost seemed like he was willing to jump the fence just for you. Not that I can blame him.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Trust me. No one would switch sexual preferences to be with me. Even straight guys aren’t exactly beating a path to my door.”
“I find that extremely hard to believe.” He takes a sip of champagne, still looking at me. Something lingers just underneath the surface of his expression, and I can’t put my finger on what it might be.
Damn, I wish you would close the gap and kiss me.
I sigh, allowing the angsty feeling to recede before speaking. “Well, like I said before, I can usually manage about one date with them before the whole leg thing comes up, and then it’s sayonara.”
“How did you lose the leg?” Lincoln asks.
“Oh, just careless, really,” I answer breezily. “I’m always losing things. Why, just last week it took me almost two hours to find my keys.”
He keeps looking at me patiently, waiting for the real answer. Instead, I take a deep breath and give him the answer I’ve been repeating my entire adult life.
“Bone cancer. I got it when I was sixteen. The doctors managed to catch it before it spread too far, but unfortunately, the leg had to go. Could have been a lot worse, though. I try to count my blessings. Just, you know…not my toes.” The teasing falls flat between us. I can’t even coax a tremulous smile from him.
I hate that damn story.
“Uh-huh.” Lincoln takes another sip from his glass, but he looks unconvinced.
“What? It’s the truth. People get bone cancer. It happens. You don’t believe me?”
“I believe that people get bone cancer.” The slow speed of his words allow them to settle. And I shove them away. My disability equals none of his business. “But I’m not sure I believe you’re one of them. Something about the way you just told me that seemed…rehearsed. More like a story you’ve told over and over so you’d get it down pat rather than something you remember that actually happened.”
“That’s kind of a shitty thing to say.” I struggle to keep the apprehension out of my voice as the conversation heads down a path that doesn’t have a gingerbread house at the end.
Lincoln lifts one shoulder and lets it drop. “Look, if you don’t want to tell me what really happened, don’t tell me. It’s none of my business, and you’re free to say that. There’s no need to lie to me, is all.”
I drain the rest of my champagne in one gulp, then reach over to grab the bottle and pour some more. The bubbles drift to my head a bit, but I don’t care. He has no idea how much the words sting.
Lifting my glass, I take a small sip. “Okay, so I’ve told the story over and over. So what? A lot of people ask. I’m not sure why…what they’re picturing, what they want to hear. I mean, haven’t you had to tell a lot of people the story of what happened to you?”
He shakes his head. “Just you and Jon. Everyone else either already knows, or they don’t need to know. I don’t exactly have a lot of people in my life.”
“Sounds lonely.” My words tumble toward him, ruthless in their attempt to hit pay dirt.
“It can be.” His lips turn upward, but his eyes reflect nothing but pain. “But it doesn’t necessarily feel that lonely right now.”
The air between us vibrates like a tuning fork. At first, I feel like the champagne distorts my vision – then I realize we’re just drawing closer and closer together, our lips almost touching. All I have to do is lean in. My heart aches to let myself fall. To feel something other than loneliness, shame, and an almost unhealthy obsession with work.
Instead, I hold up a hand to stop him, even though the effort feels like lifting a fifty-pound weight. “Lincoln, wait.”
He snaps back immediately, as though realizing he’s drifted too close to a hot surface. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, the words spilling out like air from a ruptured balloon. “You’re right, that was inappropriate. I overstepped. Ours is a working relationship, we shouldn’t complicate things, I apologize.”
“No, no, no, it’s nothing like that,” I assure him.
He looks at me, confused and uncertain. I notice a slight tremble in his lips because I can’t stop staring at his full mouth. Wondering what it would be like to lose myself in a kiss with him. I won’t deny it’s something I’ve fantasized about often since the moment we met.
I steel myself, then say, “Look, it’s obvious that there’s something between us. As I’ve said, that doesn’t happen to me a lot, and I’m betting that’s true for you as well. And, well, whatever’s happening…I want it to happen. I want to give in to it.”
“Then what’s the problem?” The question honors our connection even as it confuses it.
Revealing the answer feels like trying to swallow a basketball, but I need to say it. He beats me to it.
“I haven’t had a lot of, you know…partners. I’m not like my brothers.”
His face remains motionless for a long moment. I can’t blame him. It’s not like either of us are teenagers anymore – even though I don’t have much idea as to the reputation of his brothers, rich and hot guys get laid all the time. So he’s only been with a few women. He
should know that isn’t a roadblock, and sure as hell not with me. You can count my sexual partners on one finger. After my tragic first experience, I haven’t wanted to go back for seconds. Until now.
But then he gently places his hand over mine. “You were saying?”
“I haven’t been with a lot of people either.” My next words tumble out in a rush. He’s so damn hot, even with his CP, I can’t imagine him not having a ton of sex. But I still rush to defend myself. I’d spent the majority of my adult life proving that I wasn’t disgusting or worthless or coarse. “A guy who looks like you, how does this happen?”
He raises his eyebrows. “Is that the kind of thing most men would lie about?”
I shake my head. “No, I guess not. But I’m really curious. How did it happen with you?”
He sighs and stares into the flickering flame inside the gas fireplace. My fingers itch to reach out and trace away the furrows in his brow that speak to his discomfort. “Women never wanted me when I was…the way I was. And when I wasn’t like that anymore, I didn’t want them.”
I nod. “That makes sense, I guess. If they didn’t want you before, why should they get to have you now? I’m just surprised, that’s all. You’re…hot. Most hot guys don’t allow ethics to enter into any conversation about getting off.”
He chuckles as if he’s never heard it before. And, is that a blush? No, it must just be from the fire. “Well, this one does, gorgeous girl.”
No one’s ever called me that before – at least, not after they knew about my leg. Plenty of guys have said plenty of things when they were trying to get me into bed to satisfy their own warped curiosity, but this feels different. It feels genuine. Like my lack of four perfect limbs means nothing to him. He already sees me as whole.
“I’m really not.” I deflect, turning my face away. Before I can disappear into the abyss of emotion that swirls at my feet, I feel his hand on my chin. He tips my face until I can’t look anywhere but into the depths of his eyes. Searching for even one hint of being disingenuous, I surrender when I can’t find it.
“You are to me,” he whispers.
Lincoln’s lips touch mine in a featherlight caress, and it rips through me, as sudden as a lightning bolt and as delicate as an orchid. His breath lingers on my lips, sweet and manly and comforting, tinged with the flavor of the champagne. I want to blame the drink for the feeling of weightless exhilaration, but I know I can’t. Why should I? Instead, I give in to this moment with my entire body and soul.
I feel his hands on my neck, my shoulders, my hips. He explores my body, but I can feel him holding back. I don’t know if it’s because of what makes us different to the world but the same to each other, but I suddenly realize I don’t want him restrained. I don’t want him to treat me like porcelain because I don’t look like everyone else – I want him wild, passionate, uncontrolled.
I want to be wanted.
I put my hands over his and raise them to my breasts. He exhales slowly, trembling with desire as he caresses them. His thumb finds my left nipple and strokes it in a circular motion, making me so breathless and dizzy that the room seems to spin around us. I can still feel a hint of hesitation from him, and I gently guide his hand under my blouse, shoving my bra cup aside so he can feel my naked skin.
He draws his lips back from mine, and there’s a terrible moment when I think he’s going to stop and say we’re moving too fast. All man code for you just don’t do it for me, despite the flowery words coming from my mouth. But instead, his mouth finds the side of my neck, planting a row of kisses there. My breath catches in my throat, and goosebumps rise all over my body.
An urgency lingers just below the surface, sweeping everything away from my mind but this moment. This man. All control becomes lost, if I ever even possessed any to begin with. Lincoln’s tongue licks a path along my lips, and as a little groan escapes, slips inside my mouth to tangle with mine.
Our warm breath mingles as I stroke alongside the angles of his chiseled jaw with my fingertips. Linc continues to rain deep, demanding kisses on my mouth while my hands roam his body, across his broad shoulders and down his muscled back. Giving his shirt a mighty tug, I lift it high enough to expose his skin to my touch. As I commit every sinew and plane to memory, my chest tightens with anticipation.
“Damn, Chloe,” he pushes out in a voice as gritty as sandpaper, but smooth with lust at the same time. “I love the way you put your hands all over me.”
With the force of the words, his hips rock forward, and I hiss in a breath. His dick presses against my aching core like a huge steel bar, making me crave something I didn’t even know existed. These feelings flowing over me surge to a level of intensity I never thought I’d ever experience. Not someone like me. I’ve never experienced a climax while with a man, and it appears that is about to change. My entire body sings the tune of passion, begging him to claim me as his.
I lower my hand to cup his massive length, where I can feel him stiffening. I unzip his fly and reach inside, grasping his shaft as he lets out a low moan. His delicate skin feels so warm against my palm, throbbing, reaching – and for some reason, I’m reminded of a tiger I once saw at the zoo when I was a little girl, pacing back and forth behind the bars of its cage. The same primal force, the same hunger and anticipation, seems to radiate from Lincoln’s core.
He watches me for a charged moment, his eyelids heavy lidded under the force of passion. “Stop,” he growls, his gaze riveted to my stroking fingers.
“Tell me.” Images of tens of thousands of intimate requests that could fall from his lips assault my mind.
“Tell you what?”
He pops each button open on his dress shirt and shrugs out of it. I stare in awe at his massive shoulders, chiseled abs, and tapered waist, all leading to…
“Tell me what you want me to do to you.” His smile touches a place deep inside of me.
He growls. “Take my pants off.”
With a deftness I didn’t know I possessed, I yank them down over his hips, taking his boxer briefs with them. Lincoln steps out of the pants and flings them a few feet away. His hands come down on either side of my head, caging me in. “Chloe, I…”
“What?”
He captures my lips in the gentlest of kisses. “I want to be considerate of you…and I’m not sure if I can…well, I’m not sure how firm I can be when I undress you.”
I smile up at him. “You can be as firm as you want. The firmer, the better. Hell, you can cut my clothes off me with a kitchen knife if that’s what you want. If you’re worried about my leg, it can stay on. For those of us with prosthetics, intimacy is kind of like a go with the flow situation. If it’s on when we start, it’s on. If it’s off, it’s off.”
I can see the sweet kiss of relief as it floods his eyes. And with him, I know his question came from a genuine concern for me and not a perverted nosiness.
“In that case,” he makes quick work of my buttons and fastenings until I’m bare to my lacy black bra and panties, “I want to feel your skin against mine.”
I lay there with my back flush to the floor when an overwhelming urge to tease him overtakes me. “You were saying? About our skin?”
With every breath, every movement, my desire ratchets up to near fever pitch, the ache in my core becoming unbearable. Lincoln’s hands caress my sides, my rounded stomach, everywhere but where I want him most of all. A cooling sensation hits me when he divests me of my underwear.
“I was saying that I want to see you. All of you.”
His gaze sweeps down the length of my naked form, and I don’t see one ounce of disapproval there. For the first time, I just feel desired. Not trepidatious, not unworthy. As Linc stretches out so he can lay his perfect male form next to me, emotion tugs at my heart, and I blink several times to chase it away. I will not cry in front of him, even though every cell in my body screams to celebrate the poignancy of this moment.
In case it never gets repeated.
My eyes flutt
er closed as his hand moves to cup the fullness of my breast. I feel the cool air of his breath close to my nipple. A burst of sensation pulsates as he licks, long and slow, before taking the straining tip between his lips and sucking. I raise my torso to meet him, threading one hand through his thick head of silky hair.
“Oh, God,” I moan, knowing with every breath, every movement I’m falling even deeper for this man.
As he continues the exquisite torment of his mouth and lips, his hand glides down my body to hover just above my mound. When he stops short of where I want him to touch me, my pussy clenches, reaching for what it wants more than anything.
“Open your legs for me,” he commands, shocking me with the demand even as it excites me.
Of their own accord, my legs butterfly open as I offer myself to him with abandon. Lincoln slips a finger through my folds, drenched with an ache for him that I can’t deny. And don’t want to.
“Ahh…”
“You’re so wet,” he says, his lips lingering over the peak of my breast. “So hot. I want to watch you come all over my hand.”
At the naughty words, his finger slides deep, returning again and again, swirling and massaging and coaxing until I buck up to meet his hand with every movement he makes. The peak starts to crest, and I can see the end in sight, a cacophony of sights, sounds, and sensations ready to explode. I drag his mouth back to mine, kissing him with everything I am, hoping that my mouth will impart what words seem inadequate to do.
He increases his effort, moving with my every thrash, every moan. It’s like he knows what I want and need before even I do. He’s the musician, and I’m his instrument as he plucks the perfect song from my lips like a love song. Within seconds, I topple over, coming apart underneath his expert hands with his name a ghost of a whisper from my mouth.
“Lincoln,” I sigh, barely able to speak. “I want you inside me. Right now.”
“Then your wish is my command.”
With one quick stroke, he impales me, going deep and hard. With deliberate regard, he worships my body until we find the perfect rhythm together. I move in time to his strokes, my hands clutching his hair like my own personal lifeline. I want to fall. I don’t want to fall. But with Lincoln, I trust that he’ll be there to catch me when I do.
On The House (Caldwell Brothers Book 7) Page 10