I’d never put much stock in nipple play. Most of the time, either myself or a partner overlooked the importance, but I was sure as hell learning how erotic it could be now.
Judging by his hearty chuckle, Lincoln knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how wet he’d made me, how I was on the verge of truly begging to be fucked right here and now, and he loved it.
“Like that, darlin’?” he rasped, rolling my nipples between his fingers. “Like when I play with these pretty fucking tits?”
Holy shit.
“Yes,” I breathed. I let my head fall against his shoulder, reveling in how his touch grew from reverential to downright desperate.
Lincoln groaned into my ear. His hips slowly began to move, hitting that special spot that had me seeing stars.
His lips skated along the length of my neck, nipping my pulse point as one of his hands snaked down my stomach. He found my clit with ease, the pressure of his touch sending tendrils of pleasure throughout my body as I teetered on the edge of an impending orgasm.
I never wanted this to end, yet I wanted to come undone.
He was so good—too good. How the fuck did he know what to do? What to say? Had I just been with inexperienced partners my whole life?
Yes.
I already knew the answer to that question.
“So fucking good,” he breathed. “I can feel your tight cunt squeezing my cock, Josie, and it feels so fucking good. You’re gonna make me come.”
My name on his lips was a goddamn dream and my undoing.
I detonated around him, surrendering entirely to my pleasure as he chased his own with wild abandon. His fingers landed on my hips in a grip so brutal I knew it would leave marks behind. He fucked me hard and fast, not slowing even for a second as we slammed into the pool table.
“Fuck, fuck,fuck,” Lincoln chanted. Each word escalated in volume until he found his release with a guttural cry. His movements grew choppy as our moans of pleasure mingled, reverberating off the walls of this dingy bar that had become our sanctuary.
I collapsed against the green felt, sweat-slicked and sated. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt at peace after sex. Especially considering the man inside of me was a stranger.
It was funny how only hours ago, I was a woman who could count the number of times a partner had made her come on one hand, yet Lincoln had wrung two from me with ease.
I’d always struggled to orgasm, regardless of if I was trying to take care of myself solo or with someone else. Having been on antidepressants since I was a teenager, I didn’t understand the full effects then, but I sure as hell did now.
It didn’t matter how many times I told them about my struggles. The men I’d been with in the past had cared more about chasing their own high than tending to my needs. If I was with anyone else other than Lincoln, they would’ve likely taken me against a bathroom stall, thanked me for my time, and walked away satisfied while I drove to the cabin unfulfilled.
But Lincoln was different. He hadn’t been in a rush to have sex. Hell, he’d given me an out. When I’d finally given in, he not only made sure that I got mine, but had me coming apart at his touch twice before he even thought about his own.
He leaned forward, pressing short, sweet kisses along my bare shoulder before he slipped free. I felt his loss immediately and hated how much I wanted it back.
“Where’re you going?” I asked, turning around to face him.
“Taking care of the condom,” he called out over his shoulder. “I don’t need Frank walking into any messes in a few hours.”
I couldn’t help but ogle him as he disappeared from view. Lincoln was gorgeous. His body was crafted of well-defined muscle, likely honed from years of hard labor rather than sessions in a gym. And I’d never considered myself someone who had a thing for asses, but after one glance at his, I’d changed my mind. Honestly, it took every bit of effort I had not to chase after him and demand a second round, but that seemed a little crazy.
Ugh. Pull yourself together, Josie. You’re just dick drunk.
As much as I didn’t want to listen to the logical bitch inside my head, I knew she was right. I’d come to Tennessee to escape my broken heart and cheating ex. I sure as hell didn’t intend—nor did I need—to cuff myself to the first man I met.
Even if he was the best sex I’d ever had.
I pushed off the table, reaching for my shirt and bra, which I’d thrown to the ground in my haste to get undressed. I needed to put my damn clothes on. I needed to get as far away from Lincoln as possible before I did something stupid like ask to see him again.
But first, I needed underwear.
Everything was scattered around the bar, thrown haphazardly with little care about where it had landed. Thankfully, my pink panties stood out beneath the dim lights, acting as a beacon for the rest of my clothes.
