Instead of answering me, she tipped sideways on the bed, curling her knees up to her chest and sinking into my pillow with a satisfied sigh. “I’m so tired, Linc. And this pillow is so soft and smellssogood…”
If she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on me, I would’ve laughed at her reaction. As it was, I had too many questions and not enough answers.
And unfortunately, that was how it was going to stay. At least for the foreseeable future.
Willa was snoring softly before I’d even pulled the blanket over her, her face relaxed and peaceful for the first time in a long time. Like the weight she’d been carrying on her shoulders for years—grief, pain, pressure, control—had finally eased.
I set a bottle of water and some ibuprofen on the nightstand before slipping into the bathroom and changing into sweats. After grabbing an extra pillow and blanket, I flopped down on the couch with her worn paperback and flipped it open to the earmarked page.
“Don’t stop,” Mara breathed, her hips bucking back to meet each of his thrusts. “Come inside me.”
Silas growled and fucked her harder, sinking deeper into her, working them both toward their peaks. “You think I’d waste a single drop outside your sweet heat, mate? This body was made to take my seed.”
My brows rose as I scanned the rest of the page, and they hit my hairline when I got to the part where Silas shoved his come back inside his mate. This wasn’t my first rodeo in the spicy romance department—wasn’t anywhere near close to the spiciest I’d read, actually. But somehow, knowing my little hellcatread this? Read and very obviously loved, based on the cracked spine and soft pages?
Well.
That definitely should not have made me hard enough that my dick was trying to fight its way out of my sweatpants. But I couldn’t deny that was exactly what happened.
I adjusted myself, knowing I was in for a long night of absolutely zero relief while my visitor was here. But I flipped to the front of the book anyway and started from the beginning.
Maybe reading this would give me some clues into Willa’s mind. Because fuck knew that girl hadn’t told me anything for years.
But one thing was for sure—tomorrow morning, she’d be telling me what the hell was going on. Starting with just who the fuck Grant was and where I could find the dead man walking.
CHAPTER TWO
WILLA
I wokeup like I always did—body sore, mind racing, and already feeling like I was five hours behind on things that needed to be done.
But something was off.
This bed was too soft, the air smelled like bacon and coffee, when no one had made me either in years, and there was a low hum of music coming from somewhere outside my pounding skull.
I opened one eye to take in my surroundings. Then immediately wished I hadn’t. In that brief moment, an ice pick had tried to stab its way through my temple, and I’d realized I was definitelynotin my bed.
Or my home, for that matter.
A hoodie I—unfortunately—recognized hung over a definitely-not-my chair in the corner, where a pair of scuffed boots had been kicked off. A beat-up acoustic guitar leaned against the wall beside a record player and a stack of vinyl half buried under three coffee mugs. And then there was the low rumble of a deeply masculine laugh coming from somewhere nearby.
A laugh I’d recognize even if I had a full-blown concussion.
Perfect. This was just fuckingperfect.
Theonetime I’d decided to drown my problems in a bottle, I somehow ended up spending the night in Lincoln fucking Steele’s apartment.
Because, apparently, my lifecouldget worse.
Lifting the covers, I took quick stock of the situation—my boots were off, but my clothes were still in place. Well, at least I hadn’t completely lost my damn mind.
Unfortunately, that did exactly nothing to calm the screaming spiral of humiliation rising in my chest. I didn’t remember much about last night. Just an overwhelming sense of dread, hence the need for alcohol and lots of it.
But how the hell did I end uphere?
I flopped back onto the pillow and groaned toward the ceiling, certain that however I’d landed here, mortification had been on the menu.
Lincoln chose that moment to stroll toward me from the kitchenette. He had a spatula in one hand, his abs on full display, and a grin aimed at me from that stupidly handsome face. Like the man hadn’t spent the night babysitting my drunk self. The jackass.
