The gentle stroke of his thumb on my skin means I don’t immediately understand what he’s just said. But when I do, I’m confused. He’s worried about me being uncomfortable? The person who created this mess?
“What? No.”
Relief appears to loosen his smile, and it unfurls to its full, devastating effect. My bones forget how to be a solid.
“There's something I’d like from you.” His voice is low, a secret being traded in the darkness, one I’m desperate to follow down the rabbit hole. Of course he does. He hasn’t been subtle. Neither have I. “Do you trust me?”
Trust is complicated. Do I? I’m not sure yet, but I think I’d like to.
I like a man more when he can take charge. If he can take care of himself, I know he can take care of me. And I need a lot of looking after. Just ask my mom.
It’s a rare quality, sadly. I once dated a guy who would eat on the couch (not the crime, stay with me) and when he was done, put his plates on the floor by his feet. They’d sit there for hours. Sometimes days.
The real kicker was if I brought it up, he’d simply say, “If it bothers you, you can clean it.” As if he was doing me a favor by letting me wash up after him.
I didn’t date a single man for a year after that.
Then I binge watchedNarcosand… Let’s just say Pedro Pascal has a lot to answer for.
I know that, come morning, this infatuation will be over. So why not go all in? The ultimate “yes, and…” Let’s see what he can really do. “I’m in your”— strong, sexy, extremely capable— “hands.”
He caresses the inside of my wrist. “No follow-up questions? Or perhaps it’s the surprise that excites you.”
I lick my lips. He’s right. It’s like I’m glass. My every desire laid out before him. That’ll make this interesting.
“If you’re as good as I think you are,” I say, my pulse tripping over itself when his eyes darken, “I won’t have anything to worry about. And if you’re not, I’ll saymask off, and you’ll stop.”
I’ve played enough to know my way around safe words and a traffic light system, and the confidence in Lincoln’s shoulders as they roll back tells me he has too.
“You have my word.”
Nerves I never knew existed are sparking to life, jolted into hunger with each whispered tease.
Obviously, he’s gorgeous, with the exact ratio of height-biceps-waist that is my personal catnip. Don’t even get me started on the accent. It should be registered as a weapon.
Goose bumps blossom to life all over my body as he brushes his fingers up the line of my neck.
“Can I be anyone?” I ask, because tonight gave me a taste of excitement I’m not ready to give up yet.Maybe it’ll be easier to walk away tomorrow if I’m not myself.
He tucks a stray hair behind my ear, then traces his thumb along my jaw. “Of course. Set the scene, and I’ll do the rest.”
Okay.
I’m transfixed by the pull of Lincoln’s shirt over his pecs. I’ve never seen a button fight for its life the way this one is. It probably wouldn’t take much for it to give way. Maybe a quick pull of teeth, and it’d be undone.
I wonder if it’s smooth underneath, or if his nipples are dusted with the same dark hair that shades his forearms. I like a bit of hair. Can definitely get on board if Lincoln’s sporting some. Or maybe he keeps it tidy, lets the tattoos take the spotlight. I lick my lips. I can almost taste it.
“Tell me, Ivy.” His eyes are black. I’m momentarily speechless.
A thrill runs down my spine at the lead he’s giving me. I can take this anywhere I want. Who am I tonight? Who is he?
Lincoln presses in close, until I’m taking a step back, until I’m pressed to the wall and he’s surrounding me in every way. Until nothing exists but him.
“I’m someone…” My eyes flutter closed as Lincoln trails two fingertips across my collarbone. “Powerful.”
He hums his understanding. “Even powerful people need protecting.”
“I can take care of myself.”
