by Amarie Avant
With us seated so intimately, I reach over and kiss his lips freely. “Well, I’m sure your grandfather is pleased with how far his business has come.”
The server comes by, and I know that this is the end of Lincoln Zager opening up to me. God, can I have this man for a lifetime? Learning more about Lincoln, inch by inch, has meant so much to me. He's as endearing as satin. Outwardly rough, but worth it. So totally worth it.
Steaming plates, heaping with food are placed before us. Lincoln has ordered a few hundred dollars’ worth of the restaurant’s most expensive brand of sake. And he’s pawing me something ferocious.
“Bollocks,” Lincoln growls into my ear. He can’t push up the thick, stretchy material of my skirt, and now has resorted to pawing at my hip. “I bloody loathe this fucking skirt, flaunting your curves when you walk. That ass has been taunting me.”
The material is spandex, fitting like a second skin against my hour-glass frame, but it has thick material, not to mention the skirt extends to my knees.
I smirk. “Good, you’re not getting the cookie here.”
“Keep it up, I’m going to eat your fucking panties, with you in them,” he counters.
I cross my legs, pussy lips trembling. He’s manhandling my body like no other, but I promised him a good time out.
Should I tell him I've gone commando?
He has this “that’s what you think” look on his face. I mirror it, secretly laughing my ass off. I am a damn fool, I want to let go and fuck him anywhere… But I promised him a romantic night first.
***
Our next stop is the hotel that Lincoln and I haven’t put much use to since visiting in San Antonio. His eyes are hooded with dark, lustrous lashes as he swipes the keycard at the door. Lincoln presses the door in, gaze never leaving my frame, and I offer him a friendly smile.
Oh no, this extemporaneity isn’t over. A night for Mr. Zager to reminisce upon for years to come is still to be had. My stilettos resound against a shiny floor, and the sound increases as I hasten from his grasp.
“Not yet, Lincoln.” My voice has taken on a naughty, but reprimanding tone like a popular school teacher/bad student fantasy.
He cusses British vulgarities beneath his breath and my smile brightens. “What are you doing?” His pleasing lips are tensed.
Using the remote, I press on the lights on either side of a king-sized bed, and the chandelier above.
I press another button and the curtains part ways.
He stands at the edge of the bed, probably imagining the scent of my pussy as he rubs his knuckles over a smattering of gruff. His face is bewildered, and I love it.
“Tonight, we will go against the grain.” I turn to gaze outside of the floor to ceiling windows.
Lincoln stands behind me, rubbing an arm over my shoulder. “Let’s get to it then.”
“Grab the chair.”
His jaw tenses. He becomes fully aware of how this will play out. “Bollocks, whoever is watching outside will think I’m your bitch.”
“Perhaps, or they’ll come to the conclusion that you own me and I have been trained to please you. Lincoln, don’t you want to own me?”
He steps closer to me. The lungs in my chest fail to recall the dynamics of their use. “Make no mistake, my lovely Siobhan, you indeed are mine and nobody will stop that.”
He pivots on the heel of his shoes, and stalks to the chair near the bedroom door. He grips the top, then stops at the mini bar, cursing about a “bloody long night.” He grabs two miniature bottles of scotch.
“Sit.” I gesture.
“All right, smart arse.” He sinks down into the chair, legs wide, dominating the damn thing, so tall that his knees are almost parallel with his chest. “Oh, look, the cheeky one has ultimate power,” he snickers, as I press the button for the radio. His eyes sparkle an ingratiating shade of dark brown. The bastard is loving being out of control but too much of a grouch to utter his gratitude.
I flip through the station for R&B. Ahhhh, D’Angelo’s Voodoo song, I sigh. These lyrics I can work with. Besides an ornament to the romantic environment, it will free my mind of all thoughts and bring all the focus to my body. The curves he so intoxicatingly always grabs for, this supple dark skin his hands trace and roam over for hours. All of me is owned by all of him.
I pull out of my cardigan, and then grip the bottom of my shirt. In one fluid motion, I’ve slipped it over my head. I slink a bra strap over one arm, then the other and toss the lace bra in his direction. A faint smile twitches at those thin, glorious lips. I step forward, one foot before the other.
“Now the skirt,” Lincoln interjects enthusiastically, his British accent so fucking hot.
“Not the skirt.” One foot in front of the other, I step closer to him, as his jaw tenses. I wore this damn thing for a reason. I begin to slide the glove-tight skirt up my toned legs.
“Argh, let me see those pretty brown thighs,” he orders, scooting forward in his chair. Lincoln reaches out to touch me but my hand brushes his away.
“Oh, I forgot one thing, no touching. Guess I should’ve assumed you had read between the lines.” I press my stiletto into his chest until the alpha relents, and leans back.
Lincoln licks his lips, regard ablaze with anger. “Tosh! What kinda wanker have I been to deserve such torture?”
“Poor baby.” I take a few choice steps away from him, twirling my hips, pulling my skirt up inch by inch. “You’ll be thanking me by the end of the night.”
Swaying to the music, I implore my inner-stripper while descending to my hands and knees. Lincoln gulps with anticipation. My skirt is now hovering over the bubble of my ass. I flip over onto my buttocks, and let my legs spread wide. Cool air chills against my honey walls.
Lincoln takes in a harsh breath. “No knickers? You haven’t worn any fucking knickers all night! Nice one!”
Biting my lip, I shake my head. I lean up from my position on the floor and bring the skirt up over my breasts and toss it. Naked save for my cherished pair of Christians. I press my hips into a split, popping my pussy against the floor.
“Fuck me.” Lincoln unzips his jeans, and pulls his cock from his briefs.
“No you don’t, big boy,” I tell him.
“No?” He leans back, grips the chair sides in pure frustration. The sheer frustration clouds his stark features.
“No touching for you, but I’ve got you covered.” I rub my hand down the middle of my breasts. He gulps as my fingers twirl in my silk coils down below. With two fingers, I slide open the walls of my pussy, and dip my middle finger inside a pool of ecstasy. “Babe, I am so hot for you.”
His knuckles whiten as his hands grip the chair harder.
I pull my glossed finger out and crawl on my knees between his legs. He leans forward once more. Lincoln’s ready for the faintest taste, but I rub the gloss over my lips before kissing him. Usually our tongues are down each other’s throat, but his slides along my mouth, favoring the sugary confection, the taste of me.
Lincoln growls in my ear as I pull away from the kiss, and turn away.
“I wanna bang, Siobhan. You say no hands, I’m confined to this chair.” He gulps as my ass cheeks jiggle in his face. “Well, you think glossed lips are pretty? I’m gonna fucking come all over those lips and between those perky-ass tits. Blast, baby!” He grabs me by the waist, and I laugh as he sets me down on his cock.
“I’m gonna gloss every inch of your gorgeous ebony skin with my jizz.”
“Um-hmm, speaking of lips, those there talk the most crap,” I tell him as I plunge down onto his cock.
“These fucking hips have grown a few fractions of an inch since I’ve gotten to them,” Lincoln says brusquely, grabbing one. With my knees wedged between his limbs and the chair, I have ultimate control. I gyrate over his cock, twirl my hips and arch my back before my sex descends over his shaft. With each penetration, I get wetter, and he’s allowed to go deeper.
“Fuck me faster.” Lincoln leans
back, arms draped along the thick chair, his throne. I ignore him, stroking his cock with my lustful, liquid sheath. My eyes flutter closed, and I’m nearly at my brink. Lincoln leans forward some, the dynamics offering more of his lengthy shaft. He presses his arm between our slick bodies. A soft purr roams over my lips when he grazes my pearl. His thumb strums across it in tender, circular motions.
“Lincoln!” I shout his name, body alight with fire, cum drenching down onto his cock.
“That’s right, get wetter for me, beautiful.” Lincoln hefts my legs over his shoulders one after the other. My calves hook around his neck. His large hands brand my ass. My pussy is slick while he forces me up and down on his cock like a piston gun. The muscles in his biceps swell as Lincoln reclaims all control, bouncing me on his dick. My legs start to spasm as my entire body shuts down.
His molten seed erupts into my body as we come together. I seem to die in this moment. He growls against my mouth. “My pretty brown sugar, do you need to rest?”
“Hell no,” I reply, bestowing his hard mouth with a kiss. “First I need a taste.”
I climb from atop his strong body and bow down near his calves. While bending over, my pussy continues to spasm, due to the after effects of his hard love. My tongue dips out to taste the very tip of his strong, curved crown. The most addictive cocaine seems to be infused in my bloodstream as his thickness widens my mouth. My jaw slackens so more of his slick hard dick can be accommodated.
“Enjoy your taste, Siobhan,” he says, fingers grasping the tresses at the nape of my neck. “There will be no sleep for you tonight.”
I sigh heavenly, after such a long, stressful day, a night brimming with lust and surrender is all I need.
***
There’s nothing like hard, rough sex to put me to sleep. No tossing, no turning, just dead to the world. Something is amiss, and I awaken. Lincoln is not lying on his side of the bed.
His side of the bed. My eyes instantly water at that thought. I love him. No I don’t, there’s no such thing as love, not anymore.
I reach out to grab Lincoln’s pillow, needing the faint scent of him to survive.
“Siobhan, good, you’re awake.” Lincoln’s voice is nurturing, and if I were so bold to believe in such a thing as love, I’d say he loves me too. He places a notepad and pen on my nightstand, saying, “I was going to write you a note.”
“Good morning, babe,” I croak, words quasi-audible. He begins the process of putting on his tie. For a man who only wears tailored clothing, Lincoln isn’t all stuffy suits, but today he’s dressed in a white-linen shirt, black slacks and apparently about to put on a tie. “Where are you going? Damn, I sound like crap.”
Lincoln crouches down next to my side of the bed. He grabs my face in his hands. “Crap? No way. I created a masterpiece. You sound divine. I want to fuck that beautiful mouth of yours right now, but I spoke with a few of my old mates. Rest up. I ordered your favorite for breakfast, though room service is taking a while. I’ll be back by noon.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, smiling at Lincoln’s thoughtfulness.
He leaves me with the keys to the rental after some argument on my end about having nowhere to go. There is one place I’ve avoided and intend to continue avoiding.
I shower and dress in a long flowy blouse, tights, and have just zipped up my leather riding boots when there’s a knock at the door.
“Room service.”
I open the door, and step outside. The Latina has a bewildered smile on her furrowed face. “Did you order eggs lightly scrambled with a side of maple bacon?” she asks, glancing at the closed door.
Lincoln remembered, eggs my favorite way, with my all-time favorite side. But after having lived in Willow Bluff so long without company, I’ve gotten used to Lincoln at my side. Dining in our hotel room alone will only bring about bad memories. “Yeah, I guess I did order in. Funny fact, yesterday evening I noticed a lovely restaurant downstairs, and I just now thought of it. Have you eaten breakfast this morning?”
“A banana,” she replies, to a certain degree baffled.
“Do you like eggs? How about you enjoy that food and I’ll go down to the restaurant.”
“But I… I can bring up anything you’d like.”
“No,” I snap all too quickly. I can’t be alone. I usher her into my room, with a quick smile. “Take a quick break, pop a squat and enjoy.”
I can’t get out of that room fast enough. After the home I purchased in Willow Bluff has turned out to be my own torture chamber instead of the fortress I sought, being alone is damn near suffocating.
I don’t realize how hurriedly I’ve moved until I’m on the first floor, passing through the lobby and almost bulldoze a preteen, who isn’t paying much attention either. Beats by Dre are in his ears, and when we smack into each other, I don’t know who gets it worse. Him for being a kid? Or me for weighing less?
His father glares at me, I mumble an arsenal of apologizes while rushing along, tight fisting my banana-leather bag as I move. My legs are moving faster than my mind, only to stop once I reach the arched entryway of the restaurant. I take a deep breath, to channel my thoughts and calm my racing mind. Damn it, Dr. Beck. He’d praised me on not requesting a prescription refill last month. The bottle I last requested was perhaps a day before I met Lincoln. I had traded in Xanax for a stiff cock with a heart of gold.
I grumble under my breath as a crowd of people come into view. Families and friends are waiting for tables. After placing my name, and being apologized to about the forty-minute wait, I squeeze in next to a strawberry blond male who is wearing a camel coat and jeans, to my left and a middle-aged auburn Caucasian woman to my right.
“They have the best strawberry-stuffed French toast in town,” the man sighs, reading the irritation radiating from my skin. His skin is covered in ginger freckles, and hair a mop of carrot-colored curls.
As he speaks, I feign deaf, and instinctively veer closer to the woman who is engaged in a conversation with what must be her husband. I don’t even glance his way. Crap, that’s fucked up of me. He isn’t my stalker. My stalker is in Willow Bluff, sleeping in my damn bed.
“Donald,” the hostess calls out.
The man next to me stands up, toting a briefcase, as does a black man who is seated further down on the bench, with his wife and three children.
“Donald, table for one,” the hostess smiles, clarifying.
“Well that’s me,” the guy mentions to me. “Hey, you’re welcome to join me. The breakfast wait is always the longest, best flapjacks this side of the Mississippi River. I’m riding solo. But I’ll be grading papers.” He pauses to tap his leather brief case. “High school teachers get paid next to nothing so you pay your tab, I’ll pay mine. How does that sound?”
I glance up into murky green eyes. His freckles seem to redden by the second as he glances away almost as if he’s as shy as he is thoughtful.
My tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth. In Los Angeles, sharing a table with a stranger at a hole-in-the-wall with rave reviews was a no-brainer. It was either that, or wait longer. The world was full of impatient people, and a dose of politeness always ruled. But I’m in Texas. And here, I am home. Pre-stalker, I had no qualms in connecting with new people.
I am not broken.
And besides, my stomach has begun to growl ferociously loud. I don’t have to be some scary, weak chick who fears every male. I stand up. “All right, that’ll work. Siobhan Lowe.”
He shakes my hand. The crinkles around his eyes are even more defined as his olive-green eyes smile. “Donald Dudley, not to be confused with Donald Duck. And trust me, I’ve heard it all while grading students’ term papers, which included failing grades.”
I chuckle somewhat, ease beginning to wash over me. The volume increases as we’re escorted around tables and booths. The fellowship over fluffy stacks of pancakes further placated my ruffled nerves.
“What do you teach?” I ask, after ordering a glass of orange ju
ice. A level of familiarity will make it a lot easier to stomach the pancakes.
“Oh goodness, what’s the most tedious subject you’ve ever taken?”
I bite my bottom lip thinking back to high school. “Well, science or math. Those are equally weighted.”
He nods his head with a grin. “Math does get a bad rep the higher level you go. I teach science. I’m a chemistry teacher.”
“Oh, crap, all I remember is H2O.”
“Well that’s vital to our livelihood, so I can’t hold it against you.”
Donald and I end up chatting just as loudly as the patrons on either side of us while eating breakfast. When the waitress stops by to offer us anything else, I say, “Please just one tab. I’ve got this.”
“Oh no, my momma didn’t raise me like that.” Donald shakes his head. His face clouds for a moment and he places his hand at the back of his skull. He again tells the waitress to bring him the tab.
She walks away with the understanding of bringing a single bill.
“Is the back of your head okay?” I blurt.
“Oh, my head?” He again touches his cranium once more. “Sheesh, it’s really an embarrassing story. All right, you already know I’m probably the most bullied teacher of the bunch, and attempting to teach what I believe is such an awesome subject to unruly teens isn’t easy. This past Thursday, I took one of my classes to the gym. They were supposed to be my sample to try a new teaching style as we all played basketball…”
“Hmmm.” I nod, just imagining the goof of a man being the butt of a joke. I hand the waitress more than enough change for our meals and a generous tip as he completes the story.