By the time we reached the porch of our house, my cheeks were wet, and my cheeks ached from smiling so hard. Lincoln stopped on the steps, turned me into his arms, and kissed me with the song still ringing out behind us.
When he pulled back, the final notes lingered in the air.
“Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you.”
He pressed his forehead to mine, voice rough. “You hear that, Kristin? You’re home. You’re loved.”
And for the first time in my life, I believed it completely.
Hand in hand, we turned and stepped inside, leaving the voices of our family echoing under the stars.
The moment the front door clicked shut behind us, it felt like the rest of the world disappeared. The laughter and music from outside faded, replaced by the sound of my own heartbeat thrumming in my ears.
Lincoln leaned against the door, broad shoulders filling the frame, eyes fixed on me like he couldn’t quite believe I was standing there in front of him. His gaze moved slowly, drinking me in from head to toe, and heat rose beneath my skin.
“You’re mine,” he said, voice low and hoarse, like gravel dragged across velvet. “Not because of what happened in Vegas. Not because I was trying to keep you safe. You’re mine because you chose me. Right here. Right now. I love you, Kristin Felder, more than my own life.”
I swallowed hard, my chest aching at the raw truth in his words. “I did,” I whispered. “I do.”
That was all it took. He pushed away from the door and closed the distance in three strides, his hands cupping my face as his mouth came down on mine. The kiss was hungry and claiming, the kind of kiss that stole every bit of air from my lungs. My fingers tangled in his shirt, clinging to him as if he were the only solid thing in the room.
We stumbled through the house, barely breaking the kiss, bumping against walls and doorframes until we reached the closed door at the end of the hall. Lincoln closed the door behind us and kissed me again, harder, rougher, until I gasped into his mouth. His hands slid down, gripping my hips, and he lifted me like I weighed nothing, laying me across the bed.
“God, Kristin,” he muttered, kissing down my neck, his beard scraping lightly over my skin. “You’re so damn beautiful.”
My fingers went to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons until frustration got the better of me. “Off,” I demanded.
He chuckled, low and dark, and tugged it over his head in one motion. My mouth went dry at the sight of him, the hard planes of muscle, the scars, the raw strength of him. He wasn’t untouchable, but he was mine.
I slid my hands over his chest, down his stomach, nails grazing his skin. He groaned, head falling forward, and then he was tugging at the zipper of my dress. Fabric slid over my shoulders, baring me inch by inch. When I lay before him in nothing but lace, his breath caught.
“Christ,” he rasped, dragging a hand over his face like he was trying to hold on to some control. “I’m never gonna get over you.”
“You better not,” I whispered, pulling him back down to me.
His mouth covered mine again, hot and demanding, and his hands mapped every inch of me, the curve of my waist, the swell of my breasts, the softness of my thighs. When his fingersbrushed over the lace between my legs, I gasped and arched into him.
He kissed down my body slowly, reverently, until he reached the edge of my panties. His eyes flicked up to mine, holding me there as he hooked his fingers in the lace and pulled it down my legs.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured, before lowering his head.
The first brush of his mouth against me sent a jolt of pleasure through my whole body. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, shameless gasps spilling from my lips as his tongue teased and stroked. Heat built fast, a tightening coil that had me trembling.
“Lincoln,” I choked out, hips jerking against his mouth.
He growled against me, the vibration shooting straight through me, and that was all it took. I shattered, crying out his name, my whole-body trembling as wave after wave rolled through me.
Before the aftershocks even faded, he moved back up my body, kissing me hard, letting me taste myself on his lips. I tugged at his belt, desperate now, needing all of him. He stripped the rest of his clothes quickly, and then he was above me, thick and heavy against my thigh.
The first slow thrust stole every ounce of breath from my lungs. He filled me, stretching me, claiming me. We both groaned at the same time, clinging to each other as he sank in deep.
“God, Kristin,” he rasped, voice breaking. “You feel so damn good.”
He started slow, deliberate, drawing out the friction, the heat, until I was begging for more. My nails raked down his back, urging him harder, faster, until the bed creaked beneath us and his breath turned ragged in my ear.
I clung to him, my body moving with his, every thrust driving me higher. Pleasure built again, sharper, hotter, until I was spiraling out of control.
“I can’t, Lincoln.”
