He turned his face to look at me, and it was an entirely different experience seeing him without his glasses. His brown eyes were even softer, warmer. My heart skipped over itself.
“No, you’re not.”
“I am.”
“Elizabeth, you were a model, you’re an engineer, and now you’re a masseuse?” His amused smile and still-shining eyes lit a fire inside me.
“I mean, it was just for fun. I did it as part of a three-month wellness program in Thailand. But I remember some stuff. I’ll prove it.” My blood turned to lava at the mere suggestion.
Lincoln swallowed but said nothing.
“It could help with the pain,” I added, breathless as if I’d been working out.Why am I doing this?
I opened my mouth to retract the offer, but no words came out. The logical part of me screaming about the inappropriateness was gone, replaced only by the need to make him feel better.
And the intense desire to touch him.
He turned his face back down to the pillow, and his muffled voice said, “Okay.”
Okay?
Okay. I gulped in a mouthful of air, but there seemed to be no oxygen in it.
I could do this. I could totally do this. I kneeled beside him and pushed up my sleeves.
“For what it’s worth, you don’t have to prove yourself. I believe you,” Lincoln mumbled at the speed of light.
But it was too late now. I laid my palms on his back, and he arched away but then came back again. My breath hitched, but I was already surviving without oxygen, so I dug the heel of my hand into his hard muscles and pushed it upward.
A soft groan escaped him, sending goose bumps across the back of my neck.
My hands slid downward, and my fingertips worked across the tight knots. Again, he breathed a low and guttural breath. I shifted closer until my knees were pressed against his side.
The heat of his skin passed through the light fabric against my palms. My hands shaped the contours on his back, and everything tightened within me.
I let my hands roam upward across Lincoln’s shoulders, gripping both of them and resisting the urge to play with the hair at the back of his head, the way he often did.
Below my touch, Lincoln moved against me like a cat would while being petted, and I used all the restraint I had not to lean down and kiss his exposed neck. I couldn’t help but imagine whatmy mouth would feel like against his firm body. What it might feel like to bite him. Just a little.
With each stroke, with each groan that escaped him, my need grew. Until I could barely stand it anymore.
There was no denying it. I had fallen prey to the Gray woman weakness.
28
LINCOLN
[56 weeks ago]
@theanswerisno:
Wanna play?
@pancakesareelite:
theanswerisyes
@theanswerisno:
