by Jianne Carlo
Two trips later, she edged the last brown box onto her kitchen table.
“Who the fuck sent me these?” Destiny studied the label. No return address, per se, just some FedEx store's. She stamped her foot and snapped, “Stop saying fuck. Stop thinking fuck.'”
Covering her face with her hands, she moaned. “Why'd I say his name?”
Who took Mrs. C to brunch?
Destiny squared her shoulders, grabbed a knife from the butcher's block on the counter, and attacked the tape on the package.
No matter how carefully she tried to transfer the popcorn stuffing onto the table, by the time she'd taken out the first layer, more snowy S shapes littered the sand-colored, nine-inch-square floor tiles than the table.
“Certainly not what I'd call green packaging,” Destiny grumbled.
A dark swirl peeked through the Styrofoam. “Whaaat?”
She cleared more popcorn. But only after she'd emptied the sides did she figure out the carton's contents. “Someone sent me a log?”
Jamming her hands under the wood, she lifted the heavy branch out and placed it on the table.
Thirty minutes later, she slumped onto the chair, bottom lodged against the vinyl back, chin propped on palms. Elbows resting on her funky red art-deco table, she gazed at the contents of all three boxes.
Someone had sent her three logs, all approximately the same size, each one apparently from a different type of tree, if bark color was peculiar to tree species.
No note, no Post-it.
Some sort of botanical message?
Maybe matching the trunk to its name spelled out a message?
Fuck, who cares?
Destiny jumped to her feet and yelled, “Damn it. Stop thinking fuck. Stop saying fuck.”
“I like the word myself.”
Whaaat?
She pivoted in the direction of the low growl.
Her jaw dropped mid-turn.
Flames rioted across her torso and face.
A prickling sensation pulsed her fingertips and curled her toes.
“You have no idea how much I've fucking missed you, Destiny Driven.”
Two strides and he had her in his arms, one hand cradling her face. Linc pressed a kiss on her crown, feathered moist, openmouthed kisses on one temple, the arch of a brow, the bridge of her nose.
“Did you miss me, Destiny?”
Kiss.
“Did you wake up bereft every morning?”
Kiss.
“Did you reach for me during the night?”
Kiss.
“Did my face haunt you the way yours has mine?”
Kiss.
“Did stupid things remind you of me?”
Kiss.
“Like a slice of ham?”
Kiss.
“Or the smell of onions sautéing?”
Kiss.
“Did the sun grow dimmer every day?”
“Stop.” She covered the hands cradling her cheeks with her fingers. “No. You just stop right now. Do you hear me, Lincoln Chapman? I'm saying no.”
Destiny had gone from shocked-the-crap-out-of to elated to furious in less than a single heartbeat.
“I see you got the logs.” He angled his head in the direction of the table in the center of the kitchen.
“Whaaat?” Her hair bounced when she turned and gawked at the logs, then swept her gaze back to his.
“I figure oak for the partridge, since it'll be the most important decoration on our Christmas tree.” He scratched a thumb over at least two days' worth of stubble. “On the other hand, birch has a nice depth to it. Legend has it that the first partridge appeared when Daedalus threw his nephew Perdix off a cliff. Daedalus was—”
“No, you don't!” she roared, stomping one sandal-clad foot, which skidded on contact with the popcorn packing debris scattered all over the tile.
Linc took a long stride, dropped to his knee, and scooped her up as her left foot glided into the air. “Ooomph.”
She landed in his arms.
He smelled so good, so Linc. His tongue did an amazing swirl in her mouth. Heat and a coiled tightness spiraled across her belly. She looped her arms around his neck, and surrendered, sucking on his tongue, tasting cinnamon and a hint of coffee.
Linc growled, the sound reverberating off the roof of her mouth.
She needed to touch him, to feel him, to have him inside her. Grabbing his lapels, Destiny nibbled on his lower lip until he broke their kiss.
“I'm on fire, Destiny. It's been three fucking weeks. I need inside so bad.”
“Do it,” she begged. “Do it. You're not the only one needy.”
“Baby Doll? Say yes so I know.” He slid her down to the ground and pressed her belly against his erection. “I need you wet and ready. Now.”
“No worries.” Desire grew and exploded as she shoved the coat off his shoulders. He helped, rolling the material down his arms.
“Fast, Linc. Fast. I can't wait,” she whispered, her fingers stumbling over the buttons of his blue shirt. She pictured his penis erect, proud, and her pussy creamed.
Today she intended to taste him, Mr. In-Charge be damned.
“Jesus. I should leave more often.” He popped the buttons, ripping his shirt open, glanced up, and spat, “Door, door. Destiny, you cannot leave your door unlocked, hear me?”
“Lock it, then. But shut up and get naked.” She finally managed to slip his belt buckle free. Her pantie was sopping, she was so wet, so ready, so on fire.
He lurched to his feet, lifted her high against his chest, and kicked the door shut, all while dropping kisses on her cheeks, listing to that one sweet spot where shoulder and neck joined.
Her pulse did somersaults under the torrid assault.
“I love it when you do that.” She arched and let her head fall to one side.
“Bedroom?”
His eyes were all dark, the pupils dilated to kingdom come, no hazel at all.
Destiny preened.
Linc looked out of control, his nostrils flaring, lips battened down to a thin line.
“Through the kitchen, left turn, up the stairs.” She bit his ear, soft, then harder.
He emitted a muffled groan.
She bore down on the lobe.
“This is going to be rough,” he said, his voice all gravel and brimstone, his pace increasing as he jogged up the stairs to her island bedroom. “I'm losing it.”
“Lose it,” she demanded. “I want unfettered, Linc. I want you wanting me as much as I want you. Raw. Primitive.”
She slithered her tongue along the seam of his mouth, slurped along on his lower lip, and sucked on the satin-softness. “I dreamed about you. Every night. I wake up in the morning all wet and aching.”
He dumped her on the bed. “Undress. Now.”
A flush of scarlet stained his cheeks. The shadows shading his jaw enhanced his fierce expression, and he looked like the wolf about to eat Little Red Riding Hood.
She wanted his mouth on her, wanted him sucking, nibbling, slipping his tongue inside. She threw off clothes, never taking her gaze from him, wetting her lips when he shoved off his slacks, then his boxers.
His glorious penis sprang free of the clothing, hard, ridged, the crown wet and shiny. A translucent whisper of precum slicked his groin.
Her insides fisted and clenched, her vaginal muscles ached with sweet pain, demanding his entrance. She spread her legs, and her voice came out as a croak. “I can't wait. Please don't make me wait.”
“Tell me if I'm going too fast.”
“Never,” she vowed.
Never. Ever.
He fitted himself between her legs and the crown of his penis nudged her opening.
Delicious. She moaned, grinding against his pelvis, her hands kneading his butt cheeks. “Now, now.”
Linc plunged into her pussy.
His thick cock’s incredible thrust unbearable and not enough and too much all at once.
The orgasm slammed her.
Destiny screamed.
The world fell away.
She drowned in the ecstasy.
Limp and shaken to her core.
“Stay with me, Destiny. Look at me.”
His eyes glinted black in the shadows; he growled, “More. More. I want it all.”
Linc pumped into her. Faster. Harder.
The friction, the severe pounding had her spiraling higher and tighter. She met him thrust for thrust, lifting her hips, digging her heels into the mattress, whimpering, begging. Another release tore through her, the spasms almost too much to bear.
“One more. One more. I can't hold it anymore.”
She didn't want him to, wanted to see him explode, wanted to see him out of control, wanted to see him come. She bit his nipple.
He threw his head back, growled, and hammered into her.
The sensations started again, that sweet ache, the burning, the coiling, the white lights flashing the backs of her eyelids. “Yes yes yes.”
Chapter Ten
Linc's mind had fractured. He couldn't gather two words together.
“Linc?”
“Mmm.” She felt so good, so tight and hot, and she'd fucking come and come and come. He'd never seen anything as beautiful as Destiny climaxing. Shattering around him, milking him so deliciously. “Mmm.”
He slurped her shoulder, tasting the salt of a fine sheen of sweat.
“You're getting heavy.” Her hand stroked his spine. Her fingers did a one-two, one-two-three beat on each vertebra.
“Sorry.” He flipped them over, molded a hand to her ass, staying inside her, and arranged her legs over his hips. “My bad. You okay?”
Her half-hooded eyes and the dreamy slant to her lips had him idiot-grinning. He figured he had one happy woman in his arms. Her familiar lavender scent wafted to his nostrils. She felt like his own personal electric blanket, all snuggly and warm and smelling of comfort.
“I should've brained you.” Her lips canted into a mulish line.
“I'm grateful you didn't. That was one hell of a welcome, Destiny Driven.”
She wriggled, trying to disconnect their joined bodies.
Still semi-hard, he wasn't having any of that. He grabbed her bottom cheeks and held her fast to him. “I had to go to Athens. You know, Athens, Greece.”
“I believe cell phones work worldwide.”
“I knew once I talked to you, I'd be a goner. I had a few things to finish up. Now I'm here, and I'm not budging.”
She stiffened, her hamstrings flexing in erratic jerks.
“Here. With you.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Shit.”
“What?” The snap in her tone went down a notch.
“Forgot the rubber.”
“Oh.” She propped her chin on fisted hands. “I'm on birth control. A four-year-implant kind.”
Too bad. Jesus. Destiny pregnant. Carrying his kid. Breasts swollen with milk. His half-mast erection saluted.
“Too bad?” Her dark eyes widened, her nostrils flared, and her jaw sagged. She stabbed a pointy fingernail into his breastbone. “Too bad?”
Shit, he’d spoken his thoughts. “I'm almost thirty. I want a family. With you. Knocking you up's in my plans.”
Slowly, reluctantly, he slipped out of her throbbing sheath and inspected her features, desperately needing her to commit to him, to them.
She blinked. A sigh sifted her lips, and the warmth of her breath tickled his chest. Not missing a beat, Linc captured her mouth as the air whooshed through her parted lips.
The ache smoldering in his groin detonated, and a carnal hunger fired his actions. She responded, her tongue dancing in his mouth, her fingers twining in his hair.
Slow, slow, let her set the pace.
When she sucked his tongue, slipped her hand left, found his nipple, and pinched the tip, he swore and tried to put space between them.
She kneaded the back of his neck.
Once again he tried to slow things down by lifting his mouth a tad.
“No.” The muffled negative reverberated through the canyon of his mouth, shooting blood straight to his balls and dick. She bit the tip of his tongue.
“Destiny?” He'd taken her hard and fast. “Sore?”
Linc wished he were a painter and could immortalize the way his Destiny looked at that moment—lips swollen, cheeks flushed damask rose, eyes solid black, dense lashes scraping her lids.
Siren. Madonna. She-devil. Angel.
“Not a whit,” she whispered, a tiny catch in her voice.
Linc debated talk first or sex, not wanting to even consider the former, but this woman was his forever woman, and he didn't want to rush her or—
“Earth to Linc.” She flicked his temple. Hard.
“What was that for?”
“Not flattering to have a man who should be about to jump your bones staring into space. If you've changed your mind, leave.”
Where'd this new I'm-in-charge attitude come from? He'd take it any day.
“I haven't changed my mind.” He chose his words with car. “You clearly told me ’no' earlier. I'm trying my fucking damnedest to respect your wishes.”
“Oh. I meant it then, but not anymore.”
“Yes, then, Destiny?”
“A thousand times yes.” She licked his nipple and sawed the sensitive peak. The sweet pain-pleasure shot to balls that had been aching and tightening for twenty-five days.
He framed her face with both hands. “I don't know how slow I can go, Baby Doll. I haven't thought of anything but you and this for over three weeks.”
“I want you inside me so much, it hurts.” Her pinkening skin enchanted him, and her words triggered fast, furious action. “Let's get you cleaned up first.”
“What about you?” Her lips took on a saucy pout. One dark brow winged up. “You're all sticky too.”
A fingertip traced the slit in his dick.
His eyes crossed.
“Don't for a second think this is a victory,” Linc rumbled, the vision of Destiny cleaning his dick doing a mental ecstasy ride to his fried brain.
“I'll be right back.” She slid out of his arms and rolled off the mattress.
Two minutes passed, crawling like a bumper car that had lost its juice. Another ticked by. He stared at the half-closed bathroom door. “Destiny?”
“Hold your horses. I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes. No peeking.”
What the fuck?
“Are your eyes closed?”
Linc grinned. She’d planned him a surprise. He lied. “Yeah.”
He focused on the opening door, and his jaw dropped open when she waltzed into the room. “Whoa. Nice duds.”
She'd changed into every man's fantasy, a schoolgirl outfit—knee socks, short, short flannel skirt, and a translucent white blouse that molded her breasts, the half bra she wore hinting red? Pink? His mouth watered.
Jesus, she was a fast learner.
And that outfit said she'd been thinking about him, maybe even weaving lurid fantasies.
“No touching,” she warned, clambering onto the mattress, a dampened towel dangling from one hand. “My turn to touch.”
The towel felt like the gates to paradise, warm and moist, and all he could think about was being inside her moist heat.
“I see you remembered Debbie Does Dallas.”
“You said that only a convent girl could beat the cheerleader fantasy.” She sent the flirtiest side-glance his way.
She took her time, combing his pubic hairs with her fingers and the damp terry. Her exhales were hot and heavy on his dick. Her palms swaddled his balls.
“My turn,” Sinner declared, when he couldn't stand the sweet torture anymore and grabbed the lapels of her schoolgirl shirt.
The buttons on her high-necked blouse slipped and slid from his fingers. “Are these glued on?”
Destiny swatted his hands away, freed the buttons in record time, and then slipped the garment off her shoulders to reveal the pink bra she'd worn
in the Alaskan cabin.
“That bra stars in my fantasies.”
“Really.” One corner of her mouth quirked. She bounded off the bed and did a little bump and grind.
Linc reached for her breasts.
“Uh-uh,” she snapped. “I'm doing this.”
Long years, or so it seemed, of sheer torture followed as she peeled the slip of flannel over her hips, and a matching pink thong played hide-and-seek with the Catholic-bad-girl skirt. Then she stood there in her bra and pantie, tall and succulent and spicy and salacious, the white knee socks suggesting innocence lost to him.
She twirled, did another bump and grind, and the wisp of material hugging the crack of her ass played the red flag to his engorged bull.
Linc charged, arms around her waist, her back to his chest.
He ate at her neck. “This is gonna be fast. I’m on a hair trigger.”
While he spoke, Linc shifted her to face him, pulled the pink material off one breast, and suckled the whole areola into his mouth, tracing the brown circle, licking the tip over and over, until she grabbed the back of his neck and growled, “Bite.”
When he didn't comply but moved around to his other bounty, she wailed, “Linnnnc.”
Fingers torturing one breast by rolling the nipple, he teased the other with soft pinches, and she arched, muttering under her breath. He ceased thumb torturing the other areola and drew the sweet flesh between his lips.
His mouth worked the taut peak; he looked up at her and marveled at the passion in her face. The way she threw her head back, the erratic pulse in her throat, and the mist of perspiration shiny on her shoulders under the soft lighting had him ready to fire.
“Harder.”
His stones readied, knotted and drawn, on a heartbeat.
Linc straightened. He shifted her on the mattress, careful to set her in the middle of the bed, and fluffed her inky locks over the pillow.
“D'you remember that last time in Alaska?” he asked, his voice coarse as if the gravitational force of the universe had a stranglehold on his lungs. His slid his hand over her belly and dipped a thumb into her navel, teasing, circling.
“On the wall?” Her eyes fixated on his hand. “Oh yeah. I remember it in the elevator ride to my floor every morning, in the middle of department meetings, when it gets quiet at night and I can't sleep. I remember everything.”