by Mariah Dietz
“Are you sure?” I whisper.
“I want you,” she says, kissing me deeper, harder, longer.
Her heart beats an erotic symphony against my chest that makes me want to promise things I know the light of day will likely make appear like lust and desire. Instead, I kiss her again with a fierceness my words can’t articulate until our breaths are both ragged, my erection rubbing against her entrance.
I swing my legs off the bed, dropping my underwear to the floor with the last of my reservations, and tear the condom open, rolling it over my length. She watches me, her eyes dancing over me until meeting my stare. I lay over her, hovering several inches above her as I reach down and guide my cock to her entrance. She pulls in a breath that calls my eyes back to hers. A million words are shared in a single second, half of them I can’t decipher—yet I feel them. I feel all of them.
“Try and relax,” I tell her, kissing her softly.
I focus on her eyes as I press inside of her, reading every flinch so I can pause and allow her to adjust to me before continuing. I feel the tightness of her virginity, watch her wince, my breaths fanning her face before I kiss her, running my hand along her waist, urging her to relax as I continue, claiming her in all the ways possible.
My breath comes out in a hiss, the desire to rock inside of her stopped by the necessity to wait for her body to acclimate to mine. “You feel so fucking good,” I tell her, running my nose along her cheek, breathing more of her in, trying to steel myself as I watch her reactions again, pulling out and slowly sliding back inside, my focus on her and my control.
Rae lifts her face, watching as I slowly lower myself back into her.
“Are you watching me fuck you?” I whisper.
She nods, tipping her face to meet mine. “Don’t stop.”
I kiss her then, bruising her mouth as my teeth claim her and my tongue marks her, while I thrust inside of her, reaching down to rub her clit until she explodes around me, and I chase it with my own release.
26
Raegan
Even as my breath levels out, my senses remain heightened. Lincoln lies next to me, his fingers brushing over my arm, my hair, my face—everywhere—almost like he’s memorizing me.
We’re both drunk on oxytocin, basking in the high that makes the rest of the world feel a million miles away.
“What happened here?” I ask, tracing over a scar just below his collarbone.
“Water skiing accident. I hit a jump wrong, and it caught me.”
I flinch. “Ouch.”
He grins lazily, his fingers etching a pattern across my ribs. “It wasn’t bad.”
“What about this? What does it say?” I follow the script across his ribs that disappears to his side.
“Astra indlinant, sed non obligant.”
“I know this is tough to imagine, but not all of us speak Latin.”
His lips tip higher. “It translates to the stars incline us, they do not bind us.”
My eyebrows hitch, my education feeling grossly inadequate as I try to make sense of the words. “And that roughly translates to?”
He dips his face, kissing my shoulder. “We have our own free will. That no star or god or any other power can force us to do anything.”
“You really love history, don’t you?”
His brows tick upward. “I’d like it more if I never had to write another essay on nineteenth-century Russia, but yeah. I feel like so much in life has very little reason, and history provides a small insight into how things have become what they are. It helps explain where we came from, how our traditions came into place, our government, our theories. It explains humanity.”
I want to ask if it explains the two of us. If it provides some insight on where we go from here and the consequences I know we’re going to face.
“Are we going to talk about how this changes things?” he asks, once again invading my thoughts.
My heart feels like a square wheel trying to turn as I try to keep his stare. So many conflicting emotions work to be heard, each eclipsing the last. Hope, fear, denial, and regret steep together. “Does it change things?”
Lincoln’s fingers fall flush against my waist. “Let’s just say your perfume has stained more than my pillow at this point.”
I stare at him, hearing his words, and for some reason, the leading emotion is sadness as his face blurs from a thin layer of tears I work to blink back. “I don’t want us to get into a burning car.”
“That’s good. I don’t want that either. But just for the record, are we talking literally or philosophically at this point, because mine was intended to be both.”
“You have so much going on with football, and Pax is your best friend, and you’re going to leave soon, and I can’t even figure you out most of the time. You like me, you don’t like me, you might like me, you avoid me. And now with my dad and my mom and—”
“I know I’ve fucked up.” His fingers knead into my waist as he nods, his jaw flexing. “I have. I can’t make excuses. You’re different—everything feels different. With other girls, I’ve never worried about what they think of me, what they need, or what they want. I was a selfish bastard because it scares the hell out of me to let someone in. But, with you, it matters. Everything matters. My mom ruined my dad. They’ve been divorced for fifteen years, and he’s still in love with her. Five failed marriages later, and he doesn’t give a shit because he’s only loved one person, and these weddings are charades—an attempt to forget the love and anger he still holds. And I worry about that, I worry about that with you because I know you’d ruin me.”
“That doesn’t scare you now?”
“It scares me more to be away from you. To possibly lose you.” His fingers slip from my waist, weaving with my fingers.
My fears become an infection, spreading faster than I can stop them, the rules and reasons I had committed to for avoiding Lincoln are each still valid, exacerbated by my dad’s actions.
Lincoln’s dark eyes drift open, his lips pressing into a firm line before his fingers squeeze mine. “I’m not him, Rae. I’m not your dad, and I’m not my dad. And you aren’t either. Don’t let their demons define us.”
“I’m afraid they live inside of us, and we won’t be able to prevent them.”
He shakes his head. “Astra indlinant, sed non obligant.” He repeats the words from his tattoo, of freewill and choices, and the hope he lights in my chest has me squeezing his hand even tighter.
“I should go sleep on the couch. This isn’t the way Pax should find out.”
Lincoln shakes his head. “He’s at Candace’s. He’s been sleeping there for a week now.”
“Candace? What? When did that happen?”
“Around Halloween.”
I sigh, a new wave of disappointment hitting me for having been absent and distant from my brother. “Arlo and Caleb will tell him.”
“Arlo has been staying with a girl named Kelsey, and Caleb is like you and doesn’t wake up until noon.” He leans up, propping his weight on his elbow as he pulls the covers higher. “Stay here, Rae, and stain it all. Stain everything.”
Logically, I know I should go. Distance and space will be our only salvation when this ends. Right now, we’re attempting to tether our fears with lust, and it’s driving us together—leading me to question everything and the validity of it all. It also makes us both want to hold on tighter. Perhaps it goes back to expectations and control: as much as we loathe them, without them, neither of us knows how to operate fully.
The feeling of him wanting me here lures me in, but it’s the way his hand finds my waist, sliding under the tee I’d put on that has me staying. It’s the weight and steadiness of his grip that makes me never want to leave.
His eyes slowly open again as I’m studying his features, the darkness contouring each perfect plane and line. “I can’t promise this will be easy or that I will always be rational because you have the ability to undo everything inside of me with just a single glance, b
ut we’ll figure this out.”
“I’m worried you’re going to regret having me here once the sun rises.”
Lincoln tags me around the waist with both hands, hauling me closer with a quick jerk. “There’s a lot that I regret between us, but none of those regrets involve being with you or talking with you or spending time with you. They revolve around my inability to get past the fears you’ll be like my mom or that I’ll lose my best friend.”
“Are you still worried about that? About Pax?”
His breath fans my cheek. “I think he will want us to be happy.”
“What about your mom?”
Lincoln blinks slowly, sorting through words and feelings I wish I had access to. “She tried to make things work. She tried telling him she wasn’t happy. The problem was he never listened. My problem is, I never stop listening. When you talk about something, it’s hard for me not to react to it—to want to fix it. I had to avoid being around you because my impulse was always to act.” He nuzzles closer to me, kissing my lips, and then my cheek, and then my jaw. “You make me want to fix the whole damn world.”
Kisses fan my shoulder, waking me up, though it’s two hours before I need to be up. “I have to go to practice. Your car’s going to be here by ten. You want me to take you to Poppy’s?” Lincoln’s voice is low and smooth like velvet on my skin.
I blink against the bright closet light and the opened window shade. “I need to get ready.” My own voice is husky and choppy.
“I’m in no hurry.”
“I’ll just call Poppy. I need to arrange for my car to get fixed.”
His lips fall against my cheek. “It’s going to be here by ten.”
I focus on his brown eyes, his still-damp hair. He looks like a daydream. “What do you mean?”
“I know somebody who works on cars. They’re going to change the tires and bring it by.”
“Is this you fixing stuff?”
He grins, but it teeters too close to a frown. “We need to discuss the letters.”
I sigh a bit too heavily. I don’t mean to sound annoyed or ungrateful, I just hate the idea of allowing something to tarnish this small piece of perfection we’re huddled together on. “My dad’s sister is a cop. If I tell anyone, she’ll find out, and then my dad will find out, and I really don’t want to deal with all of that right now.”
“You said the letters sounded sad?”
“They did. It honestly felt like I was this person’s diary for a few weeks.”
“Have you noticed any trends?”
“Like when I receive them?” I ask.
He nods. “Or who you’re with, where you’re at.”
I shake my head, pulling the covers a bit higher. “I thought it might be a girl who liked Derek since I started receiving them the first night I met him. But I don’t know. Nothing about it makes sense, but I still think it’s a she and not a he.”
Lincoln shakes his head. “Caleb was right. Almost all stalkers are men.” He rubs a hand over his short hair. “Coach Craig asked Paxton about you yesterday, wanted to know if you’d help watch tape. That whole situation just doesn’t seem right.”
“I haven’t seen or heard from him since we went out to the piano bar with Maggie.”
Lincoln nods. “He might have seen us?”
I shrug. “I don’t think so. When I got back, he and Maggie were talking. Plus, he hasn’t tried talking to me since.”
He released a deep breath. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. The fact that they know so much about your schedule, and that they were willing to slash your tires, says something.”
“What if the girl likes you? Maybe she’s your admirer, and she saw us together last night?”
Lincoln swallows but doesn’t say anything, tipping me off to the realization this is a similar thought to one he has.
“I can take you to Poppy’s. I’m not in a hurry.”
“You’re going to be late if you wait for me.”
He shrugs. “I’ll say I had car problems.”
“You should go. Caleb’s here.”
Hesitation has him narrowing his eyes. “I’m not trying to own or control you, but until we figure this out, will you please make sure you’re around others?”
I nod.
“And consider telling Pax and the others.” He leans forward, brushing a kiss on my lips that leaves too soon.
“Raegan!” I turn at the sound of Derek’s voice. He jogs toward me, something between a smile and a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Hey,” I say, feeling a current of nerves and regret course through me as his gaze covers me.
“How are you doing?”
I nod. “I’m okay.”
His brow bunches like he’s uncertain of this shaky ground we’ve both struggled to remain on.
“I need to tell you something,” I begin. “This thing between us…” I swallow, trying to find a word to describe our situation, and coming up empty. “It’s just not going to work. I talked to Pax about your starting position, and he agreed not to allow this to alter the game, but beyond that, I can only be friends with you.”
Derek blinks several times, his silence unsettling. “Because of your accident?”
I shake my head. “Because I have feelings for someone else—I’ve had feelings for someone else.”
“Beckett,” he says.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You know he doesn’t care about anyone but himself, right?”
I pull in a deep breath. “Coincidentally, he says the same about you.”
Derek laughs mirthlessly. “He would.” He takes a step back. “When he fucks this all up, let me know.”
Before I can say anything to dispute his confidence, he leaves me with an entire cloud of doubt settling around me.
My head is like a firing range, my thoughts the bullets—fast and too intense. Some are strays—never making contact—others are direct targets, hitting my reality where they splinter, making each impact seem larger than the last. If Maggie were here, I know she’d tell me to go with this crazy thing that’s happening between Lincoln and me. She’d tell me to forget what Derek said and to ignore the news circulating about my father, who is currently under investigation. And she’d tell me to get over my fears because they’re not going to do anything but become a regret.
Expectations whiz through my head like shrapnel, dangerous and penetrating. How long will we be able to make this work? And how much will we both have given and lost?
School today was a blur as I debated how I’m feeling about everything and who might be leaving the cranes on my car. They’ve never done anything violent, so why now? What’s changed?
The only answer is Lincoln.
My heart stutters as I pull to the curb of Paxton and Lincoln’s shared house because the driveway is filled with cars. It’s Wednesday, and I know they have a game on Friday. I also know there aren’t enough cars here to warrant the team being here for a meeting or dinner. I pull in a deep breath and close my car door.
Math textbook.
Notes for Marine Biology.
Statistics textbook.
Warmer coat.
That’s all I need before heading to Poppy’s house. She’s waiting for me so we can study and order pizza. It was my plan, a guise I used so I could tell her I slept with Lincoln in person.
Female voices are audible through the closed door, making each of my steps a bit heavier.
Inside, Caleb is surrounded by three girls whose attire reveals they’re unaware of the near-freezing temperatures.
Caleb’s cheeks are stained a light shade of pink, a frosted beer bottle wrapped in one hand. He’s nervous. Caleb has only had one girlfriend, Meredith. She lived in Battle Ground, and they’d seen each other every other weekend. It was a relationship that relied on everything except convenience. She was smart and pretty in an understated and honest way. She didn’t wear makeup, played videogames, and was smart and funny. We liked her, and for a while, Cal
eb volleyed the idea of applying to colleges where he’d be closer to her, but after eighteen months, the distance became too much, and they broke up. That was a year ago, and though he claims he’s over and past it, I know he misses the comfort she provided. More than that, I think he misses how she made him feel brave—like I do when Lincoln’s beside me.
Maybe one of these girls is his Lincoln—an unattainable but beautiful distraction. The thought keeps me from intervening and telling him they’re not worth his time.
Snobby. I know. I’m judging them by their shrill giggles and scraps of clothes, assuming they’re working to make up for what they lack in sense and ethics. But, I did live through high school. I know mean girls are prevalent—too prevalent—and that they often rely on makeup and cute clothes to hide and deceive from their ugly truths. A masquerade at its finest.
Caleb glances in my direction. Paxton claims I stare at people for too long, but as in this scenario, I’m just trying to read the situation and all the players. He grins, a silent, ‘I know.’ Caleb knows the score. He isn’t like Paxton, blinded by boobs and great hair. He knows they’re fake.
The door opens behind me, forcing me to move aside. A girl walks in with her hair straight as a pin and as glossy as her red lips. In her arms is a laundry basket filled with folded clothes. She glances at me, reading me as I do her, taking in my skinny jeans ripped on one knee and baggy sweatshirt, stopping on my navy-blue slip-on tennis shoes which she stares at a beat too long, revealing she likes them, but then her inquiring eyes flash to my face and hair, finding my bare face because I was too distracted to get out of bed this morning, trying to relive last night. A smile forms on her lips, knowing she looks prettier and believing that will be to her benefit and my detriment.
I move my attention to the kitchen, where more voices float through the house. I spot Lincoln beside a brunette and an unnatural red-head vying for his attention. My heart falls, landing with a bang that seems loud enough to be heard all the way to Nigeria and leaves an ache in my chest. I divert my attention to where Arlo is telling an animated story to three blondes. Paxton isn’t visible, and I can’t remember if I saw his car. But I don’t try to verify his presence, hoping I can go undetected.