And that night in the restaurant, when I saw the unmistakable joy on Lincoln’s handsome face when he saw me, it had momentarily stripped the confusion from my mind. I was making a mistake marrying Anthony, but I was trapped.
And Lincoln’s pride had been dented. “You gave up because of your pride,” I whispered
“No, Indie. It wasn’t my pride that was broken. It was my fucking hear—” He stops and takes a deep breath. “You’re right. I should go.”
He starts to walk away when I stop him, pulling on his arm. “Don’t leave.”
His arm tenses and he says, “Indie, I’m holding on by a thread here.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
LINCOLN
The minute her small, soft hand touches me, it’s like a match to a flame: my entire body ignites with heat and a war rages inside me. Emotions I’ve never allowed myself to feel take over. “Indie, I’m holding on by a thread here.”
But instead of backing away, Indie grips me tighter and that’s all I need. I spin around and face her, both our breaths are heavy, our eyes flitting back and forth at each other, as the air grows thick around us.
I count to five, slowly, waiting, but when she doesn’t move, when she doesn’t back down, I say, “I’m going to give you three seconds to let me walk away. I’m not here to fuck you, Indie. But I want you. I want this. I want you.”
Keeping her eyes on me, she brings her hand to the knot of her robe, and I watch as she pulls on it. Her robe parts, revealing the middle of her body, and that’s my undoing.
In a flash, my hand cups the back of her head and I crash my mouth down on hers, reclaiming her lips, lips that have always been mine—lips that I’ve never stopped craving.
For a second, I release her and tear my shirt over my head, leaving my torso bare. Her hands immediately find my skin, and then she kisses me with hunger, her fingers driving into my hair, her heated body pressed against mine.
I loop my arm around her waist and with our mouths still connected, I lay her on her bed. Her robe falls completely open and I hover above her, remembering every curve, every place I used to spend time kissing and licking. Every place I want to explore tonight, but right now, I need to be inside her.
“Lose the robe,” I say while I pull my wallet from my back pocket and take out a condom. Clutched between my teeth, I hold the packet while I strip down the rest of the way. She removes the robe and while she watches me, I sheath myself, my cock already hard as stone, ready to bury itself so far deep into Indie. It’s anticipating her sweet warmth.
She scoots back on the bed and slips under the bedding, and I join her as she parts her legs. I run the tip of my cock up her slit, sliding with ease. She bites her bottom lip and arches her back from the feel of my cock against her. Even though I want to be inside her, I spend a few moments rubbing, gliding, watching how she reacts. In the haze of the light I can see her cheeks redden, her chest rising and falling quicker, and then I hear the moans falling past her lips. It’s all there, everything I love when it comes to being with this woman, everything that makes her the best I’ve ever had.
The only woman I’ll ever want.
And that realization is what fuels me to bring my lips to hers, to part them with my tongue, and show her how much she means to me, how much I want her in my life despite everything we’ve been through.
My tongue tangles with hers, her hands press into my shoulders, her pelvis seeks me out, and I can’t hold back any longer. I reach down, position my cock at her entrance, and I push inside. Immediately, I feel my eyes roll to the back of my head as her warmth squeezes around me.
God, I’ve missed this feeling, being so connected with her.
Nothing has ever felt this amazing.
Nothing.
“Fucking . . . perfect,” I mutter as I push into her and pull out. “So good, Indie. So fucking good.”
She moans into my ear. Her warm breath sends chills down my legs as her hands move down my back to my ass where she grips my cheeks tightly and pulls when I thrust in, causing me to bottom out every time.
“Shit,” I groan, feeling my orgasm already building, swirling, and circling, adding pressure to my lower torso.
“Faster,” she says breathlessly. “I need more.”
She sounds desperate, on edge.
I pick up my pace, while my mouth pulls away from hers and falls to her breasts.
“God, yes,” she cries out when I pluck one of her nipples with my teeth. “Again.”
I repeat the sensation for her, over and over again, until her fingers dig so deep into my skin that I feel like she’s going to draw blood soon. It feels amazing, so goddamn amazing.
I roll my hips against her, and my mouth goes everywhere. Her breasts, her collarbone, up her neck, across her jaw, over her mouth, tangling and dancing with her tongue.
Her breaths grow deeper, her moans become louder, so my pace picks up.
She bites down on my lip.
I claw onto her.
She matches my thrusts with her own.
I roll her nipples between my fingers.
She cries out my name.
I mutter hers as my orgasm builds to a crescendo, pulling and tugging on my balls, getting ready, sitting there, just waiting for that final push.
“Fuck, babe,” I mutter, so close that I can taste it.
“Oh God,” she says, tensing around me, and then convulsing in my arms as she falls over into her orgasm. I fall right with her, my hips stilling, and my cock swelling inside her with a final blow.
“Fuck,” I yell into her shoulder as everything in my groin tightens, dragging out her orgasm. “Jesus,” I say as we both slow our breathing and fall from a euphoric high.
“Lincoln,” she says on a sigh, and then lets go of me, her body sated.
I roll off her, take care of the condom, and then pull her into my chest. She comes easily, taking up the spot she’s so familiar with, tucked into my shoulder and nestled right where she belongs.
I draw my fingers over her back, and it’s not long before she passes out. For the first time in years, I feel like I can breathe again. Indie Mayhem is in my arms. Finally. It’s finally our time.
The clanging of mugs wakes me up, followed by a muttered curse word. I sit up in Indie’s bed and look around, rubbing my left eye with my finger.
Bed’s empty.
Noise is coming from the kitchen.
I reach to the floor where my discarded pants are, slip them on, and don’t even bother buttoning them up. Scratching my chest, I walk out into the living room and kitchen area, spotting Indie by the coffee maker, soaking up water with a towel.
“Morning,” I say.
She startles and then takes a deep breath. Looking up, she smiles and shyly says, “Good morning.”
Unsure where her head is at, I cautiously walk over to the door of the kitchen and lean against the wall, hands stuffed in the front of my jeans pockets.
“How are you?” I ask, feeling like it’s a stupid question but unsure what to say at this point.
“Fine.” She finishes with the cleanup and then turns to face me. “Listen, about last night . . .”
Fuck.
FUCK!
Regret. I see it, written all over her beautiful face. How the fuck is that possible? How can she not see that we’ve finally found our right time?