“The guy you danced with? Super hot with the tight—”
“End?”
“That’s a football position, right? That’s what your brother’s friend played, what was his name? You had a crush on him.”
There was a downside to having a friend who knew all your childhood secrets. “Austin.” She said it with a smile, the pain associated with her brother’s death a dull ache now, no longer that sharp stab.
“That’s right. Aussie, you guys called him. He was hot, too.”
“Yeah.” She’d always thought so. But not the point. “Was he at the Daedalus?”
“What? No. What do you mean?”
Delilah waited for Sarah to get it.
“Mr. Tight-End-Harvard-MBA? Are you kidding? You spent the weekend with him?” Next came a stern instruction, much like Mr. CEO himself would give. “Tell. All.”
Delilah was on her deck, stretched out on a lounge chair in the warm afternoon sun. She was most of the way through a glass of Riesling and had dozed a bit before she’d called Sarah.
She’d had a busy night. And morning.
Lincoln had wakened her during the night just as he’d warned her he would.
He was on top of her, inside her. As promised, that butt plug thing was buzzing, setting off those sensitive nerves in her ass.
Still, it wasn’t the rough, gritty fucking he’d given her out on the deck. It was a gentle lovemaking.
He was hard and huge as always and filled her so full. But he was content, connected that way, stirred by the vibration from her ass. He touched her face, stroking her and softly kissing her. He watched her eyes, seeing as she woke, as her body roused to his sexual call.
Holding his weight on one elbow, he kept his gaze on hers but lifted up enough to take her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He rolled it, carefully watching her reaction.
It was incredibly erotic, having him pinning her to the bed by virtue of his hard cock inside her, his body weight on top of her, and doing nothing but watch her respond as he diddled her nipple.
It wasn’t long before she moaned, and a shudder of passion rolled through her. The heat in his eyes flared with satisfaction.
She waited, thinking he would start fucking her but that hot gaze was his only response. Frustrated, her body flexed, rubbing herself a little around his cock. But he lay so heavily on top of her she could manage only the smallest movement.
She tried again, tried riding that hard cock, then flopped back in frustration. “Linc.” It was a complaint.
“What, baby?”
“Fuck me.”
“No.”
No? She squirmed under him one more time, thwarted by his weight, driven by that sweet torture at her nipple and the tease of his big cock. “Then lift up a little.”
“All right.”
He tangled his fingers in her hair, keeping her face turned to his, at the same time he continued to work her nipple. Then he raised his body, taking his weight off and giving her just a little room to move.
That was all. He held there, keeping his gaze on her.
It was an obnoxious challenge, a bit of wicked sexual manipulation. She was tempted to call his bluff. She should fall back on the bed, close her eyes, and act as though she had no interest in anything other than sleep.
But he was so hard inside her, stretching her in that way she’d come to love in just these two days with him. And he teased her nipple like he had an instinctive, entirely unfair knowledge about what would turn her on.
So she groaned. And then she fucked him.
Digging her shoulders and heels into the bed, she arched up and rode his cock. Impaling herself, she slid along his length until she had all of him, every inch. Until her clit rubbed against his pubic bone and found some satisfaction.
“Mmm.” She moaned as she rubbed against him. “Mmm.” He flexed just a little, giving her more access.
“Yes,” she groaned. “Yes.”
She flopped back on the bed, still rocking to work that cock inside her. Then she lifted again, fucking herself on his cock.
“Lincoln.”
“Yes, baby.”
It was so much. That exquisite, almost painful stretch. That sensation of being filled with him, more than filled—packed, crammed with him. The stimulation of her breast and in her ass.
And on top of all that, her surrender to his wicked manipulation. His insistence that she admit her need, lay bare her desire.
That she fuck herself on him.
Shamelessly, she gave over. She bucked and rocked, flailing beneath him, working herself on his cock.
She started to whimper, nearing orgasm. She tried to turn her head away, seeking shelter, a bit of privacy from his intense control.
But he held her, his grip implacable, and she was forced to let him watch as she started to come.
It was a hot orgasm. She cried out her pleasure, still riding him, spasming and clutching herself around him.
Then suddenly he was thrusting into her, fucking her hard, using rough, harsh words that pushed into her consciousness.
What she felt before was like nothing, he told her as he fucked her. She would never make herself come like he could do. Where he took her was a rocking, thrashing, sexual fucking glory, a fucking heaven, and only he could drive her there.
There was nothing like it, was there? Nothing could compare to when he fucked her. And he was exactly right. He was making her come more, harder, riding right over that climax she’d found, driving her impossibly higher.
He fucked hard into her, opening her wide, slamming into her. With each thrust he rocked against that butt plug, driving it into her.
Her breath wailed out until it was a hoarse scream. He drove her higher until he came, too, and they were both taken. Their bodies seized and clutched, buffeted by tremendous waves of ecstasy. It drove them to exhaustion, until their breathing came in hungry gasps, and they were left in twitching, helpless ruin.
They’d fallen back asleep that way.
And woken, still entwined, Linc’s cock still inside her, when it was full light out.
They’d make love again, in a gentle, loving way they maintained this time. He kissed her, stroking gently inside her. His touch was erotic as always but tender this time, lazy rather than urgent. He kissed her breasts and tongued her nipples, enticing but not urgent.
It was sweet. They climaxed together, their gazes locked until his lasts thrusts took them over.
And it was quiet. The words they might have used instead of fuck words, earthy and lewd, they held back.
They’d have been loving words, soft and binding. Words they shouldn’t be ready for.
Words that shouldn’t be said yet.
And so they were quiet, as they found completion in sweet splendor. As they dressed and showered and shared breakfast.
When they’d finished cleaning the kitchen, Lincoln turned her to face him. He kissed her forehead before he wrapped his arms around her.
“I think I should go.”
He’d spoken softly, regretfully. She nodded against his chest.
“I’ll call you.”
She nodded some more.
“And I’ll want to see you. Later in the week. And on the weekend. Okay?”
“Yes.”
He lingered over a soft kiss. “Good-bye, Delilah.”
“Good-bye, Harvard.”
He grinned, but his eyes were sober when he left her.
She’d spent the hours since he’d left thinking of him. It had been so difficult to convince herself that she couldn’t have fallen in love in two days’ time, that in the end, she’d reached for the phone.
She needed a little grounding, and Sarah was the best one for that.
But tell all?
No way was that going to happen. “Well, he lived up to his promise.”
“Delilah, you horny dog. Did you let him into your panties?”
“Yes.” And so much more. Worst of all, her heart.
/> “You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you?”
“Probably so.”
“Well, you guys had very strong mojo from the beginning. You practically let him make love to you on the dance floor.”
Delilah was quiet. What Sarah said was entirely true.
“He’s gone now?”
“Yes.”
“How did you leave it?”
“He said he’d call. That he wants to see me again—this week and the weekend.”
“He spent the whole weekend with you?”
“Yes. He just left a little bit ago.”
“It sounds serious.”
Delilah sighed. “It’s too soon.”
“But you feel what you feel. So tell me. Does he have skills?”
Delilah closed her eyes, remembering.
“Mind-boggling.”
“And the equipment to put them in play?”
“Mind. Boggling.”
“Oh, my. I’m having a hot flash.”
* * * *
Delilah biked to the marina and enjoyed exploring the docks until she found the Priscilla. Santa Cruz Harbor was home to some very fine sailing vessels, and though the 33-foot Hobie was a sweet boat, she kind of had the appearance of the poor cousin in comparison to some.
Mr. Wright and his wife Dolly had spent the day out on the bay. They were a tanned, windblown, and attractive couple.
Howard Wright had white hair still thick and brushed back from his forehead. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners from years, Delilah assumed, of laughter and squinting into the sun off the water. He was about an inch taller than she was and trim, with feet in dock shoes that were planted on the deck like the old sailor he was. He was good-natured, friendly, and in love with his wife.
Dolly was five foot three, with more strength in her petite body than one would guess and a twinkle in her eye. She was a competent sailing partner but once she saw that Delilah knew her way around a sailboat, she left the handling of the Priscilla to her and Howard. Instead, she busied herself with readying dinner, and it turned out she was an even better hostess than sailor.
They tacked south and west, just far enough out of the bay to watch the sun fall into the sea. They dropped sail and sat back for the show, sharing a leisurely dinner of artichoke and crab dip with crisp French bread, asparagus spears roasted and wrapped in prosciutto, and pasta salad with smoked salmon. They finished a bottle of wine with artisan chocolates for dessert.
Dolly talked warmly of five children and four grandchildren and her years of working as a showroom designer in a furniture store. Howard talked about fisheries and climate change and ocean temperature. Until he talked about Linc.
Delilah sat upright and tried to pick up the thread of the conversation. Sailing, it was about, and racing and—Lincoln Banks.
“Hmm?” She said. “Lincoln?”
Howard lifted a white, bushy brow. “You know Linc?”
“Ah, he came into the office after you’d left on Friday. I’m sorry, I should have told you.”
Howard waved away her concern. “No worries. We’d talked about an early sail on Saturday, but I didn’t hear from him.”
“Um.” That brow could be quite intimidating. “He took me to dinner Friday night. It turns out we’d met before. Years ago, in Boston. We got back pretty late—he must have forgotten about your plans.”
He waved that hand again, but the gesture didn’t hide the interest in his sharp eyes. “It wasn’t a plan so much, just a thought. And I wouldn’t expect Linc Banks to choose sailing with me over dinner with a beautiful young woman.”
Delilah felt the heat in her cheeks and nervously forced a smile. “Thank you. I’m sure Lincoln will call you this week.”
“Hah. If he has any sense, he’ll call you instead.”
Delilah had little doubt of it, but didn’t go so far as to say so. That didn’t stop Howard from keeping his sharp gaze on her.
“Linc’s a good man. He’s quite a favorite of mine.”
“Howard.”
Dolly used a quelling tone that would have silenced Delilah. But Howard just shrugged. “What? He’s a smart, attractive boy. She could do worse.”
* * * *
“I miss you.”
It was after ten, Sunday evening, and Lincoln had sworn he wouldn’t call her until at least Tuesday.
He was lucky he’d made it this long. But he wasn’t going to be able to sleep without talking to her.
“Hi, Linc.”
He waited for more—I miss you, too, maybe, or I love you and want to have your babies—and felt like a damn girl.
“Shit, Delilah, I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Shit?”
He bristled. She could make it a little easier on him, couldn’t she? “I think you know what I mean.”
Psychically, he urged her on through a pause that was short but way too long at the same time.
Finally she relented. “Yes, I do. I keep thinking about you, too, Linc.”
“I vote for just giving in to it. How about you?”
“What do you have in mind?”
Besides driving over there right this minute and planting his stiff dick in her cunt? “How about dinner with me at a blues club tomorrow night?”
“How about Wednesday?”
“I like tomorrow better. Are you busy or waving me off?” A little brusque irritation might have sounded in his tone.
“I’m not waving you off, Lincoln.”
“I like the way you said my name there. All stern. Like Mrs. Cooper, my second grade teacher.”
“And what were you doing to annoy Mrs. Cooper when she used that tone?”
He loved that, the slow, dry drawl, so not-Boston. “I expect I was pestering her about more time for recess.”
“Uh-huh.”
Lincoln laughed. He rolled over and pressed his hard cock into the bedding. This was a kind—a very long kind—of foreplay.
He suppressed a sigh. “Are you needing a little distance, my lovely Lilah?”
“We had a pretty intense weekend.”
“There’s nothing I’d want to change about it. Unless—”
She was quiet, waiting. Damn. He hated conversations on the phones. Phones were for telling people where to be so you could actually talk to them in person.
And for sex. Phone sex. He resisted putting a hand down and playing with himself. “Unless it was too much for you. What worries you, Lilah?” He could imagine two things. First, that they’d seemed to fall so very fast and hard. He’d sensed they were together in that, at least. For sure, he hadn’t bothered to hide his feelings. He didn’t think she had any reason to worry that she was alone there.
Worse, maybe he was alone there, and she was uncomfortable in not returning his feelings.
That would be a damn blow. It didn’t bear thinking about.
Second, that he’d gone over-the-top with rough, dominant sex. Hot, rough, dominant sex. He’d done some things he’d never done with a woman before. Not so much in the actions but in the approach. He’d fucking wanted to claim her, to mark her as his own.
And he had, literally. In the shower on Saturday morning, he’d seen the evidence. She had suck marks on her neck and breasts. And bruises on her hip that matched his hand where he’d gripped her as he fucked her ass.
It had turned him on to see it. It was a hell of an arousal to see her branded as his. The howling victory of that was what had led him to put her on her knees.
And when he’d eaten her, after she’d taken his cum down her throat, he’d very deliberately left her with one more mark. Another sucking bruise, just above her mons.
His. He’d staked his claim.
So maybe it was that, the inner barbarian he’d let show. Maybe, maybe he could rein it in. If forced.
“It doesn’t really worry me, Linc. I wouldn’t change it, either. It was just, well, like I said. Intense.”
“It was intense in a way I liked, Lilah.”
“Ye
s, I liked it, too.”
Thank God. And she’d said it. He was going to trust that she meant it. He reached for his dick. “What are you wearing, Lilah?”
“Linc.”
She’d used that sexy little suppressive tone again.
It wouldn’t stop him. “Baby,” he said, a bit gruffly. “What are you wearing?”
There was a long pause, then a sultry voice. “Who says I’m wearing anything?”
“You bitch.”
She giggled, right in the face of his boner. “I’m not doing this, Linc.”
“You so are.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“Don’t you dare.”
She fucking dared, the cunt.
He cursed her roundly as he took care of business with his own fist.
* * * *
Lincoln found Austin and Ben in the little café a bit after one on Monday. As a group they cared about their employees’ health, and for themselves, they were happy to get good, healthy meals prepared for them at least once a day. So they’d built a little cafeteria into their building and had a gourmet, natural foods catering company bring lunch in every day.
The caterers used local produce, so it was a win all the way around.
He’d started the day early with East Coast calls, and it would end late in negotiations with firms centered in Asia. He was going to have a long day, even if he didn’t get to take a break mid-evening to spend time with Delilah.
He saw his partners were cleaning up their table but he motioned them to stay and grabbed an iced tea and the last avocado and grilled chicken salad before he went to join them.
“We need to talk,” he said.
Austin was on his feet practically before the words were out. Lincoln looked at him in question.
“If this is about Delilah, don’t say another word.”
He met Austin’s gaze with as much determination as he could muster. “It’s about Delilah.”
“We made an agreement.” Austin stared back, just as hard. “We swore to it. And one of the things we swore to was that we wouldn’t talk about it again until the end.”
Lincoln glanced at Ben, who’d been watching the exchange. He was the most mellow of the three and could be counted on to weigh all sides before he came to a decision.
Three Men and a Woman: Delilah (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 6