Smiling, I get off him and take his hand in mine, pulling him up from the bed. Thankfully Scarlett and I each have ensuite bathrooms in our townhome, so I walk Lincoln to my connecting bathroom and switch on the shower.
While the water heats up, I turn my attention back to Lincoln and glance at his sweatpants covered in oil with a rather large bulge pressing against the fabric.
“I have sweatpants of yours I’ve borrowed that you can wear.”
“Babe, that is the last thing on my mind right now.”
Chuckling, I take a step forward and play with the waistband of his sweats and briefs.
“What’s on your mind?”
“You . . . all of you.”
Chapter Sixteen
LINCOLN
Sweatpants?
Clothing?
What?
Is she insane? All the blood has rushed to my dick. I can only think of two things:
The way her pussy clenched around my fingers, contracting and convulsing.
And her naked body.
How I got so lucky, I’ll never know, but I’m not going to waste this opportunity talking about dirtied sweatpants.
Her hands explore, and the feel of her palms over my skin is an erotic sensation adding to the heat building at the base of my spine. They link behind my neck and she stands on her toes to reach me, so I pick her up and set her on the counter, where I spread her legs and squat in front of her.
“Lincoln,” she gasps right before I press my tongue against her clit. Her right leg snaps up to the counter for stability.
“You taste fucking amazing.”
I swipe at her, loving the sultry sounds falling past her lips, the way her hand seems to always tangle in my hair, and the tension in her legs while her pelvis moves toward my mouth. I love that. I love that she takes what she wants. She doesn’t wait for me to do the work, but she works with me to bring her to completion.
“The water,” she says on a heavy breath. “Don’t want to waste it.”
I hate that she’s right. I give her a few more swipes, building her almost to orgasm, but then I pull away. Reluctantly. She gasps out loud and her eyes fly open—just in time to catch me stripping down to nothing.
Her mouth falls open when I grip my erect cock and stroke it. Her eyes attach to my hands, watching me tug and pull. Pre-cum falls past the tip and I use that for lubrication, dragging my hand over it and then back down.
Her eyes gleam with lust. She steps down from the counter and goes to the shower where she opens the glass door. It’s a larger shower than I expected, but I’m grateful for the space as I step in and she pulls me under the spray of the water.
Without a word, she picks up the soap and runs it over my chest.
“Fuck,” I mutter, loving the feel of her hands roaming my body, across my abs, and then back up to my pecs where she pinches my nipple, pulling a deep groan from me.
“God, Lincoln,” she says quietly, putting the soap down and using the residual suds on her hands to spread down to my cock. My stomach hollows out in anticipation, and the first touch of her hand to my dick has me nearly shooting out of my own skin. “So big,” she says. “I love how big you are.”
Feels weird to say thank you, so I don’t say anything. I try to steady my legs as she plays with my cock. At first, she’s gentle, almost like she’s giving it a massage. Using her fingers to twist around the tip and then gently fall down the underside of the shaft, to my balls where she lightly rolls them in her hand. It’s torture, her featherlike touch—not what I need—and I’m about to say something when she moves so the water rinses the soap off me. Her hand goes to my chest, pushing me against the cold tile, and then she drops to her knees and grabs my cock, pulling it into her mouth.
“Fucking hell,” I say, my voice vibrating off the tiled walls. “Oh shit, Indie, that feels so good.”
She presses her hands against my thighs, opens her mouth even wider and before I know it, she’s taking me deep, swallowing every time I’m at the hilt.
Stars burst in the backs of my eyes as she continues to suck me in and out of her mouth, her head bobbing, her wet hair clinging to her, her eyes steady on mine.
It’s sexy as fuck, taking the experience to a whole other level. A level I’ve never been to before.
I feel useless as I lean against the tiles, my palms against the hard surface, unable to do anything but let this beautiful and amazing woman deep-throat me in her shower.
She dips down and then pulls all the way off. I want to cry from the loss of her warm mouth, but then she takes in the tip, sucking hard as her hand pumps me.
“Oh shit, babe,” I say, feeling my legs giving out as a tingling sensation climbs up them, traveling to my knees, pulling in every which way, merging to my groin where all the blood in my body pools.
She sucks hard and then flicks her tongue; sucks and flicks.
Sucks . . .
And . . .
Flicks . . .
“Babe, Indie, I’m going to come,” I croak, my voice strained as I hold back, as my orgasm is seconds away.
And that’s when she grips me again and takes me all the way to the back of her throat.
Pleasure—white-hot euphoria—explodes through me, ripping me apart. My cock convulses and twitches in her mouth. Holy. Fucking. Shit.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, attempting to catch my breath. That was the first time I felt like I was going to black out during a blow job or even during sex.
She places kiss after kiss up my body and when she’s fully standing, she kisses my jaw and quietly says, “Wash my hair for me?”
I pull her into a hug, loving her soft body against mine. Her breasts against my chest, her hard nipples indicating she’s turned on. From sucking me off. Fuck. Me.
“Wash . . . hair,” I gasp, because what she just did was extraordinary. “Of course. Just give me a second.”
She chuckles against my chest and snuggles in closer as I try to float back down from what I can only describe as heaven.
“We should get food,” Indie says, cuddled into me on her bed.
“We should,” I say, my hand on her backside, lifting my shirt, which she seems to love wearing, and toying with her soft skin.
After I caught my breath, I finished the job I started on the counter, lifting one of her legs onto my shoulder and eating her out until she was screaming.
Fucking phenomenal.
Once I’d washed her hair, we finished up, coming out to a text message on Indie’s phone.
Scarlett: So . . . you guys just had sex?
Indie and I chuckled, and she text back.
Indie: Just oral.
Scarlett: If that was just oral, please make sure I’m out of the house when you two actually do it, because damn, girl.
Scarlett’s response made me laugh and yearn for what’s to come.
We then got dressed—I wore pair of my sweats Indie had borrowed in the past—and Indie threw on my Brentwood baseball shirt and a pair of boy shorts. We crashed on her bed and that’s where we’ve been ever since.
“Want me to order something to be delivered?” I ask her.
She sighs. “I really don’t want to move. I’m so comfortable.”
“I can get it.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want you to move either. You’re what makes this comfortable.”