I’m trying desperately to keep my senses, but it’s so hard. Every day I learn something interesting or sweet or sexy about him and want more. Every time I come here, I’m testing if his fill of me has a limit, waiting and knowing I’ll find it one way or another. I always do.
It’s all too easy to fit myself into the space beside him, slip into the warmth of his attention, soak in it. Lincoln brushes his pinky finger over mine, hooking them together without a word, and there’s a rapture of applause in my chest.
“Ivy,” he says, taking my hand in his. “Are you free for dinner next weekend?”
I nod. Is this…? Could he feel something too? Could we be more?
Lincoln’s smile tugs on my heart. “Wonderful. I’m planning a dinner for Reed. Nothing special, just immediate family. I want you with me.”
Oh. Of course.
There’s not much more my heart can take. I’ve led it down so many dead ends that I’m not sure I can read the road signs anymore. Maybe I’ll never know what it’s like to be loved. Maybe one day I’ll have given my heart to so many people, there won’t be anything left.
Maybe it’s already too late.
CHAPTER27
MY ALTER EGO
LINCOLN
It’s going to sound like bullshit, but I mean it when I say it’s an honor to play a part in people’s pleasure.
For it to be good, you have to get to the heart of what someone needs, and it has to be honest.
It has to be the sort of honesty that most people can’t handle. No one realizes how deeply vulnerable they’re being when they share their desires. But it speaks to the very heart of us and what we crave. Sometimes these are things we can’t name or speak aloud. Safety, power, tenderness.
And I have the power to take those moments and bring them to life.
But not everyone is a fan, and since I revealed my work to her, it’s Ivy’s opinion I’m most interested in. She’s asked a few careful questions, but nothing more. Although, so far, she doesn’t seem opposed to the idea.
For a woman so eager to say what she’s thinking, it’s disorienting when she holds back. But it’s all the more meaningful when she finally opens up.
I’ve spent a long time holding back, so I understand the impulse. But I’m not nearly as brave as Ivy when it comes to letting people in. I’m starting to wonder if it’s time.
She pauses the episode we’re watching while I collect our empty plates. It’s quick work to wash the dishes, and the memory of the hours I worked in a kitchen doing only this makes me smile. After Bruges, Mum cut off my allowance (despite Deacon laughing it off by saying “boys will be boys”), and I had no choice.
If I wanted to survive the last year of Uni, I had to find a room to rent, and more importantly, a job.
Manny and I were not happy roommates at first. He called me a fucking Muppet and found me the shittiest job he could— as the kitchen porter where he worked— and he never let me get away with thinking anything was owed to me. He still says he didn’t do shit except dislike me back then, but who could blame him? What had I really earned at that point, except a reputation?
“Lincoln?”
Hanging the plates on the rack, I dry my hands off and turn around to face Ivy. She’s got her arms crossed over the back of the couch, her hair twisted into two buns, and curiosity in her eyes.
“Yes?”
“I have a confession.” She sets her chin on top of her hands, and I wait. “I listened to a few of your audios. They’re really good.”
From the way she’s avoiding looking at me directly, I suspecta fewis putting it mildly. I’d wondered when the curiosity would consume her. Now we’re getting somewhere.
Throwing the dish towel onto the counter, I cross over to the couch, placing my hands on either side of her elbows to give her my full attention. “Research is important.”
Ivy’s lips part, and I lean in just enough to hear the soft hitch in her breath.
“I told you— you can ask me anything.”
“Um, okay,” she says, twisting back around, and good god, I can’t decide what’s more endearing: how nervous she’s suddenly become or the gorgeous pink flush that’s staining her cheeks. I’m desperate to kiss her again.
