“I don’t want you to feel obligated. Like you have to come pick up the pieces because we have this … thing between us.”
He grins, closing more of the gap. “Kerosene, you’re not very proficient at bullshit, either. Your vulnerability is sexy. Don’t hide it from me.”
“Vulnerability is one thing. I’m worried I’m going to sound like an insecure and jealous maniac because that’s how I feel with you. I know how many girls watch you—how many girls want you. If someone like my dad had girls who were willing to sleep with him, and you’re going to have to fend them off with a stick, it just … it scares me.”
He shakes his head. “When are you going to realize that you’re the only one I see?”
His words seem too big, too heavy—too much. I drop my gaze to the beige carpet of his room, but nearly as quickly, he moves his hand from my waist to my jaw, tipping my face up, waiting until I lift my eyes to his. “I’m in this. I’m all in, and I know if I’d just told you how I felt after your accident, this would be easier, but I’ll do this. I’ll pull your weight and mine until you’re ready.”
I reach for him then, wrapping both arms around the back of his neck and pulling him the last breaths to me until our chests and lips crash. It’s a hungry, greedy clash of our mouths and teeth and tongues, claiming and fighting our independent wills with the realization of our shared feelings. A kiss that cancels all the ones that haven’t included Lincoln, making me forget about previously bruised egos and feelings until our breaths level and our kisses become softer in the form of hopes and promises.
Lips trail over my shoulder, up my neck, and along my jaw. His hand slides over my hip and dips into my underwear. My heart runs headfirst into pleasure, the combination making me feel nearly weightless. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, taking my ear between his teeth, and then swiping over it with his hot tongue. My love for sleeping-in ends as his fingers trail along my most sensitive parts, willing to wake before the sun every single day if it begins like this. “I need to be inside of you.”
He dips a finger inside of me, humming as he ravages my mouth with his. “You’re so wet.” His voice is gravelly with sleep and desire, yet it coats over my skin like silk, leaving me to chase his lips because I want to make pledges and admit to him how badly I want him.
He kisses me, and I lose time, and disappointments, and expectations—I lose myself in the kiss that invades every part of me—a wave that clears every imperfection and past experience clear from my thoughts.
I cup his face with my hands, his five o’clock shadow sharp on my palms, his skin impossibly warm. “Lincoln.” My voice is breathy and desperate as I move my hands to his back, tracing stacks of muscles and hot flesh.
I feel his grin on my lips as he lifts off me, reaching for his nightstand. He places the condom between his teeth, hooking my underwear on either hip and ridding them with a quick pull. His gaze settles between my legs, and though I think I should feel embarrassed by the intensity of his gaze, I don’t. I feel bold, sexy, empowered. Then his fingers slide over me in a commanding and dizzying pattern that has me clutching him, riding out the ecstasy his touch produces. Before I can recover from my orgasm, he presses into me, his dark eyes skipping between my face and where he’s sliding inside of me, his jaw hard as he maintains the control I desperately want him to lose. I angle my hips up, and he swears. “You can’t do that. You feel too good.”
I do it again, moving our bodies closer. He drops his head, a groan vibrating through his chest. “Stop being gentle with me,” I warn.
Lincoln’s dark gaze cuts to mine. “Trust me. That will come, but not yet. I want you to feel good, not pain.”
I consider his words, paying attention to my body. The heat of him, the pressure of him, the high of him all feel good, but there is still the whisper of soreness I can’t deny. Lincoln seems to read my thoughts, recognizing my own admission. His lips curve with a grin, and then he leans more of his weight on me, kissing me until I forget to be nervous or self-conscious about the exchange. He resumes his controlled rhythm, his gaze tracing over my body and my face, kissing me with a tenderness I wish I could translate into words. Then, Lincoln sits up, propping my knees open, as he changes the speed and rhythm, placing his fingers exactly where I need them until I’m moaning his name, and he’s saying mine like a plea.
Lincoln wraps the blankets around himself like a cape, inviting me into the throws. He holds me flush against his chest, his strong arms bound around my arms and waist. “Your first class is at one?” His lips graze along my neck, disappearing into my hair. My entire body feels relaxed, humming with the energy of his touch, and for the first time in a long time, my entire body feels warm.
I close my eyes, ready to sleep until lunch. “Yeah.”
“Good. Go take a shower and get dressed. We have somewhere to go.”
My eyes remain shut. “Where?”
Lincoln shift, his heat falling away from me. “You get a ten-minute power nap while I shower. But then, you have to get up.” He trails a line of kisses down my shoulder blade.
“You don’t want to get up,” I protest, reaching for him as he settles the blankets over me.
He leans over me, his lips scoring my skin. “Ten minutes,” he repeats.
29
Lincoln
“Are you going to give me any hints?” Raegan turns, clipping her seatbelt in the passenger seat of my truck.
“Not yet.”
“Ominous. I feel like you’re encouraging me to create a bell curve for how often you come out and tell me what you think versus the times you hint at something.”
I grin. “Just helping you with your statistics class.”
She pulls in a deep breath, leaning back as I drive forward. “How are you feeling about the game tomorrow?”
“This season has gone by so fast. It’s weird because I hate the idea of football being over, but at the same time, we’re so close to going undefeated, that I just want it to be over, so we don’t continue to have this hanging over us—the doubters talking about how we’ll lose, the fans holding unrealistic expectations.”
“I’m sure that gets to be a lot,” she says, finishing my thoughts.
“Not justly. The game is beautiful. The field is where I feel the freest. I dread the idea I’ll only have one more year to play.”
“You won’t,” her response is automatic, and so sure, it’s difficult not to believe her.
I turn, and Rae’s gaze checks the sign and then me, accusation so heavy in her unspoken words that I can feel it on my skin. “Where are we going, Lincoln?”
“You don’t have to go any farther than the parking lot,” I promise her. “Not unless you want to.”
“I don’t want to go.”
I breathe out a sigh, my convictions for bringing her out here weakening, succumbing to fear that she’s going to be angry with me and pull back when she already has an entire set of dominos stacked against this working, and I might be the one who tips the stack. I steal a glance at her, noticing how wide her blue eyes are, how rigid her shoulders are. “I know.”