by Jianne Carlo
“I'll teach you,” he promised. “Later.”
He bent to her mouth as she opened her lips, his tongue swooping in to conquer and dominate.
Baby Doll, you're mine, all mine.
Chapter Three
Lincoln nibbled on her bottom lip, sipping, licking; he smelled of soap and aftershave, all powerful male. The tip of his tongue touched down on the corner of her mouth, the middle, trailed moisture to the other side. Warmth swarmed low in her belly, tightening the walls of her vagina. She opened her mouth, leaned into his heat, and when her hips flexed into his erection, Destiny's knees gave way.
“'S okay, Baby Doll, hang on to me,” he whispered as his tongue tortured her lips, nudging inside, slipping out, waltzing along the seam, dipping into the hollow of one dimple.
His hands cupped both bottom cheeks, and he pressed her belly against an arousal so thick, so hard, the room spun out of focus.
Desperation wormed a groan out of her. “Damn it, kiss me.”
“Soon, soon,” he promised, his fingers trailing under her sweater, skimming over her ribs to circle a burning nipple, tightening the invisible connection tying her breasts to her clit flaming and throbbing between her thighs.
When he took her earlobe between his teeth and bore down, the pain-pleasure had Destiny whimpering, her hands kneading his pecs like a hungry kitten. His lips claimed hers again, and she pressed closer, wrapping her arms around his trim waist, fingers trailing up and down his back. Lincoln tasted of wine and venison and herbs, he smelled musky and soapy, and under her palms, his skin burned like a firestorm.
Suddenly the room tilted, and her feet left the floor. Lincoln carried Destiny into the bedroom, one arm cradling her knees, the other her back, his hand reaching around to stroke the top of one exposed breast with his thumb, his fingers curling and tickling the underside.
Senses reeling, her mind giddy, she let go of rational thought and logic, resistance futile with this man who connected singing and spirituality. He held her as if she were made of the finest porcelain.
Lincoln's lips feathered quick openmouthed kisses on her eyebrows and closed lids, then tickled a trailing wetness from temple to mouth. Her mind spun under his tender assault, fever-fed hunger claiming victory over cool intellect. The chill in the cabin couldn't penetrate the blaze spreading through her like a California wildfire, snapping sparks from pore to pore.
Only after he laid her on the satin-silk of the down comforter and the naked skin of her bum contracted in protest against the icy fabric did Destiny's brain cells reconnect. A shiver swept her from toes to scalp. Every follicle on her body saluted.
How did he get me naked? Where're my pants and underwear?
“My bad,” he murmured, edging onto the comforter. Lincoln flipped them over so his back hit the mattress and she sprawled across his torso, her legs straddling his groin.
“How'd you…?” An inferno erupted as he nibbled and sucked a circle around her breast; she squirmed, trying to shift to his mouth, arcing in a silent plea, unfocused pupils blurring his features. Instinct had her shifting, seeking the friction of his penis. Her wet folds met the rasp of cloth as his sweats-covered arousal ground into her sex. Every muscle in Destiny's body bunched.
“I—” She sucked in her breath when his hot mouth closed over her nipple. He flattened his tongue on the tip and drew hard, teeth sawing lightly at first, the pressure increasing until a whimpered groan rumbled from her throat. Lungs on fire, the pounding in her ears drowned his whispered, coaxing words when Lincoln's voice reverberated against her ribs.
He circled both her wrists with the fingers of one hand and raised her arms above her head, while his tongue flicked a smoldering path to her collarbone. He opened his lips on the side of her neck and laved a circular path, nipping, then licking and soothing. The pad of a thick, rough thumb traced her clit in a demanding, opposing circle to his tongue.
Words poured from her lips—yes, no, more, stop, don't stop.
So close, so close, so close.
His mouth lifted, his thumb and forefinger pinched her nub, and holding her bottom lip between his teeth, he breathed, “Come now, Destiny. Come for me.”
Destiny splintered; her inner muscles convulsed. Her mind fractured, spinning into the turbulence of his tweaking fingers. Bones dissolved; electrified nerves sparked.
Relentless fingers rubbed her creamy folds, rimming her sex; his thumb advanced and retreated, polishing her moisture over her hood, drawing lazy side-to-side strokes.
“I can't,” she protested, shaking her head while her body capitulated, yielding and straining to his magical hand, palm, fingertips.
“Yes, you can. For me, for only me.”
“Please.” Destiny closed her eyes. “Please.”
“Please, Linc,” he growled.
“Please, Linc,” she repeated, desperation making her voice a croak.
“Only for you, Baby Doll, only for you,” he crooned and flipped their positions, one knee nudging her thighs wide. Then his weight bore down on her, the heat of his arousal rubbing her mound. “Come for me now.”
He plunged into her, too thick, too long, too much. Her clamping walls squeezed the head of his penis as he drove in and out. The pressure built and built. Her muscles strained and quivered, the tight spasms coiled and became unbearable. She exploded and collapsed.
But he wasn't satisfied, he thrust harder, then slower, pushing her to the edge and bringing her back, over and over again, until she raked her nails on his shoulders and begged for relief.
He grabbed her hips, angled her just so, and hammered her G-spot. Sweet ecstasy thundered through her; she locked her ankles on his butt and rode the pleasure out. He gave a shout, arched, and ground into her contracting pussy.
Destiny couldn't get thoughts to form, couldn't move an inch.
His chest rose and fell against hers, a sheen of sweat slicking their bodies. Her vagina throbbed, clenching the hardness stretching her walls. Her nose flattened on Linc's pectoral muscle, the muskiness he'd emanated earlier heavier and thicker. She filled her lungs with the delicious scent, memorizing the smell of Lincoln Chapman.
This is what all the fuss is about. Cripes, I'd never have imagined, not in a zillion years.
After her deflowering, which had been a total disaster, Destiny had experimented with a vibrator, but the experience had left her feeling dirty and a total sexual failure. A brief affair with one of the Culinary Institute's chefs had afforded fantastic food and over-in-six-seconds, or so it had seemed, sex.
Her lungs struggled under his full weight; she stifled a wince but couldn't prevent a flinch as the tip of his elbow caught a bit of her skin.
Immediately he lifted onto his forearms, licked her cheek, and whispered, “Better, Baby Doll?”
Labored breaths, warm and wine scented, fanned her ear and blew a strand of hair across her cheek. Since her tongue didn't seem to work like it belonged to her, she nodded. She slotted her eyes open, blinked, and gradually her blurred vision cleared. Destiny stared at the vein throbbing in his neck. Insecurity and a hint of mortification made her focus on a bead of perspiration riding the ridge of his shoulder.
“Destiny, look at me.”
Heat rose and mushroomed from toes to scalp. Dragging her gaze the length of Lincoln's neck, meandering as slowly as possible over his mouth, she sighed and looked into his eyes.
Pupils dilated, dark as midnight, irises the color of thinned molasses, he tipped his head back, forcing her to look up. “You okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?”
His concern did her in. Her mind slowed and her thoughts pooled, and she felt as if she'd plunged into a sensual tropical lagoon, thick, heavy, and glazed. She couldn't get a word out. Her throat clogged like a kitten with a fur ball.
All at once, he tensed. “You're tearing up. Destiny, did I hurt you?”
“No, you didn't hurt me,” Destiny whispered. “I…” She swallowed. “I never knew.”
His wrinkled f
orehead relaxed. He kissed the tip of her nose. “Never knew what?”
Shame and embarrassment and shyness heated her cheeks; she knew color suffused her face.
“You've never had an orgasm.” A swallowed-the-canary grin curved his lips. “I gave you your first orgasm. Hot damn, I couldn't have asked for a better Christmas present.”
He looked like a rooster strutting his stuff.
“It's September,” she protested.
“Yeah, but I was your paratrooper in a pear tree. I reckon we're on day two of the twelve days of Christmas, and I was the first.”
Damn it—why'd he have to wear such a superior grin?
“You're not my first,” she blurted. “I've had sex before.”
“You've never had an orgasm,” he repeated. “And I just gave you your first fucking climax.”
She couldn't answer because his mouth was doing wonderful things to her bottom lip, nibbling, licking, making her giddy. Bereft when his heat vanished, she dared to open her eyes and found him studying her with the intensity of an editor trolling for plot holes.
“Sore?” A sandy brow winged up.
His penis thickened inside her. Automatically she glanced down between their bodies, then up to meet his gaze.
“Oh.” He's ready again? So soon?
The question finally penetrated. She stared at the pulse beating in the hollow of his throat. “A little.”
“I've just the solution.” He licked the seam of her mouth and leveraged off and out of her. “Don't move an inch. I'll take care of everything. You need a long soak in a hot bath.”
Destiny tracked his movements as he hopped off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. His penis sported the red-colored condom she'd purchased in New York, the tip now filled with liquid. She couldn't remember him putting the rubber on, much less when he'd undressed her. Pulling the pillow over her face, she inhaled. It smelled of Lincoln and sex. She threw it off the bed and stared at the ceiling. Planked wood met in a high V above her head; the sound of water running distracted her from her scrutiny of the knots scattered here and there in the pine.
She'd just had the most incredible sexual experience of her life. Why, then, did she feel insecure and deflated? Destiny eased onto her side and curled into a ball. If they'd met under any other circumstances—at a bar, at a party—he'd never have given her a second look. Guys who looked like Lincoln, like bodybuilders, dated lean, thin models. Not ten-pounds-overweight women. Okay, okay, fifteen.
Clothes, she needed clothes. To cover up before he really saw her naked. Destiny squeezed her eyes shut, pressed her lips together, and struggled onto her forearms. The mattress was one of those sink-ins that grabbed and coddled and wouldn't set you free without a battle.
“Where do you think you're going?”
Flinching, guilt warming her skin, she blinked at the magnificent picture he presented. Large hands curled on hip bones, feet planted wide, pelvis and…
“Baby Doll, you'd better stop gawking at my dick. You're sore, and we have to wait awhile.”
As she stared, his penis jerked and a mouthwatering droplet pearled and hung from its slit. More of a cliffhanger than any suspense manuscript she'd ever read. Destiny counted seconds, and on “nine, Mississippi,” the glistening bead did a slo-mo fall to the carpet.
“You're dying to taste, aren't you?” When he growled, Lincoln's voice dipped two levels, making her toes curl. He scooped her into his arms, ambled in the direction of the bathroom, and one forefinger lifted her chin. “First we have to make you better.”
“I'm hardly a baby.” she pointed out.
“You're my Baby Doll. Don't you forget it.”
Fascinated by the way his cheeks hollowed when he clenched his jaw, the nine-second delay between his words and comprehension paralyzed her brain. Tilting her head, she met his gaze as he lowered her into the bathtub. She sat up and wound her long hair into a knot on top of her head.
His eyes traced her hands, cemented on her breasts, then her mouth.
“Your tits and mouth should be bronzed. When you raise your arms like that, I can't decide which part I want to fuck first.”
She crossed her arms over her breasts and clamped her mouth together.
No way would that fit in her mouth.
His penis thickened and lengthened and did a jazzy two-step on his groin. She licked her lips when the glistening red glans slapped his taut belly. Destiny's eyes crossed.
Lincoln chuckled. “You look as if the hounds of hell are chasing you. It's only a dick. Meant for pleasure, pure pleasure. Your pleasure.”
Destiny couldn't manufacture a response, so she slid down in the water. Heated moisture cocooned her, she sank her shoulders under the warm water and closed her eyes. Bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss. The soothing scent of lavender enveloped her senses.
“Scoot forward,” he ordered.
She craned her neck and met his gaze, the heat in his dilated pupils obvious, scorching.
“Come on, Destiny. I'm cold too, you know.” His palms urged her forward.
Before she could blink, Linc slid behind her in the tub, his long legs touching the other end of the porcelain. Like his fingers, his toes were long and thick; he had a high instep and the calves of a soccer player. His arm curled around her waist.
What the hell am I doing? With a virtual stranger? A man I know nothing about? For all I know, he could be a serial killer.
“I reckon fate brought us together.”
“Pardon me?”
“Destiny, you know, the hands of fate.”
“Real funny,” she griped. “I don't know why my mother gave me a stripper name. You have no idea what people say, especially the males of the species.”
“Men don't react that way because of your name. They react that way because you're delicious. You've the face of a Madonna and the body of a siren.”
He lapsed into a silence, which grew and grew.
“But,” she prompted.
“But?”
“There was a ‘but’ after your last sentence. I could feel it.”
“Don't get so defensive.” He licked her earlobe. “I can't figure out how you've never had an orgasm. I thought every woman had a favorite vibrator. All my sisters sure as heck do.”
“They told you?” She twisted around to face him.
“Sure,” he replied, his finger sliding up her throat to support her chin. “Not much privacy in a house with eleven kids. And my father and mother are both very passionate people. Can't tell you how many times I caught them in the act.”
“You're not kidding?”
A shadow curtained his expression when a candle spitted and guttered. “I take it your folks weren't expressive.”
“No. Expressive is not a word I'd use to describe Mona and Lawrence.” She could count on one hand the number of times her mother had pecked her father or given either of them a hug.
“What are you doing?” Her voice rose to a squeak on the last word as his fingers strummed the folds of her sex like a musician working guitar strings.
“Petting you,” he answered, plumping her labia between thick, calloused fingertips. “Lean back a little. That's it.” Lincoln slipped his arms under the crook of Destiny's knees and separated her legs so she lay spread and sprawled all over him. “You give new meaning to the word luscious. All soft and warm and woman.”
He worked two fingers inside her, and Destiny's bones seemed to vanish. “So tight and hot, and I gave you your first orgasm.”
“You're preening.”
Lincoln cupped her sex and pinched her clitoris.
She moaned, head lolling on his shoulder.
“And so responsive. Are the men in New York City blind, deaf, and dumb?” Nuzzling her neck, he suckled and laved the crook, blazed a path to her ear. “Their loss, my gain. By the by, does your porn collection include lubricant?”
“Mmm.” She arched to give him better access.
“Destiny, do you have any lubricant?”
“What?” She twisted to stare at him, her eyes crossing as she tried to focus on his features. “Are you some kind of perv?”
“Definitely.” He flashed a grin that would win Satan entry to heaven. This close, his irises glowed more green than brown. “And I won the fucking sex lottery when I landed in your pear tree, Destiny. Your first climax, your first sixty-nine, your first deep throat—they're all gonna belong to me. How old are you?”
“You're not supposed to ask a woman that question,” she protested, then answered nonetheless. “Twenty-six, and I've been busy.”
“Do I look like I'm complaining?”
He plucked one nipple, rolled her burning flesh between his thumb and forefinger and pinched softly at first and then harder. The caress went straight to her sex. “You fantasize about bondage, Baby Doll? You secretly want to be tied up? Handcuffed for my pleasure?”
“No…I…”
He shifted her sideways, then took her nipple into his mouth, grazing and sawing, all the while watching her face. “Truth now, Destiny. Why did you bring the cuffs otherwise?”
“Angel. The book. Oh, for goodness' sake, bite a little. Yes.” She moaned, and her eyes glazed over when he complied, bearing down hard on her throbbing nipple.
“You're pruning. Let me warm you up from the inside out.”
He stood, lifting her in his arms, stepped out of the tub, and set her on the oval carpet facing the sink. The mirror had fogged, and he wiped the frosting away with the heel of one palm. “Look at you, all flushed and dazed and trembling. The first thing I saw when I regained consciousness were these.” Hefting her breasts in his hands, he ordered, “Look at me in the mirror, Destiny. What other toys did you bring?”
Heat scalded her neck and face. “You saw.”
He pulled the towel off the rack and made a tsking sound. “Uh-uh, Destiny, that's not how this works. Tell me.”
He draped the soft material around her shoulders and snagged the ends together. Hands framing her face, he slanted his mouth over Destiny's, knuckling the soft curve of her cheek as his tongue pillaged and plundered, tickling the roof of her mouth, dipping, and retreating.