There are tears in his eyes that haven't fallen, that he's too stubborn to let fall.
“It's… easier hating you than accepting… that I love you and I can never have you,” he says.
His eyes soften for the first time in a long while.
Now I see it…
What was under all of that.
He looks absolutely defeated.
My lips crash into his, his eyebrows creasing as his mouth works around mine, both of our tongues wrestling, competing with the other to see who can go down whose throat first.
Lincoln scores a goal, shoving his tongue down my throat, his thumbs resting on the front of my neck, but this time it's gentle.
We make out desperately, and the next thing I know my clothes are shedding. I'm down to my bra, which he opens using the front latch.
My breasts spill out, and he buries his head between them as I pull at his hair in passion, wanting his lips on mine again.
Groaning and gasping, I can see the hunger in his eyes, his lids half-closed, his eyes still watery as a tear falls from them.
“Lincoln,” I whisper into his lips.
“I love you,” he whispers into mine. “I love you so fucking much it hurts,” he says, kissing my neck, placing his forehead against mine. He kisses me again.
“I tried to move on,” he says. “I tried so fucking hard, but I can't… I can't, and it's killing me… it's killing me thinking that you're going to move on. That you're falling in love with someone else.”
His words flow out, and now everything makes sense. At least the reason he's been acting weird does, to a point.
But wait…
What does he mean,falling in love with someone else?Is he talking aboutFabian?
Does he know about Fabian?
I mean, it makes sense because Fabian is the person I hang out with the most, that's when I'm not hanging around Charlotte, Tammy, and Mandy, and obviously he wouldn't be jealous about them.
I'm notfalling in lovewith Fabian though, but I never stopped to imagine what that would look like to Lincoln.
Now I guess, looking back at it, I could understand how anyone could come to that conclusion, and for some reason I don't correct him.
For some reason there's a part of me that feels justified, because he needs to know how this feels, because that's exactly how I felt with Sarah. And this cognitive dissonance that he was experiencing was his mind's way of defending itself away from the hurt, the same hurt that he caused me.
Why shouldn't he feel any of it?
But that's the weird thing about love. Even here now, kissing him, loving him, wanting him, needing him, the last thing I want is for him to feel pain. Even though he causedmepain, I don't wanthimto feel that pain.
Doesn't mean he shouldn't, but my heart doesn't want him to.
Leaning back, my neck arches. The horn accidentally is set off.
He pulls me back off of it slightly to kiss my neck. This is difficult, but I lean over to the side, my right leg wedged betweenhim and the driver's-side door lifts before I slide my foot out of it, bunching the leggings on my left ankle.
My panties are still on, and I lean against the driver's-side window, kissing him.
My fingers drop between us. I haven't pulled out his dick yet. He's undoing his pants, but I grab his hands quickly.
“No,” I whisper, wanting him to just watch me.
