“I’ll ensure it doesn’t happen again,” I snarl, allowing some of my anger to bleed out into my tone.
“What? No!” Her cry is pained. “Why would you do that?”
I lift my head and let her see the face she’s so desperate to stare at. My hands ball into fists, trying to keep any more of the guilt and shame inside me from spilling out. “Why wouldn’t I, Imogen?”
Tears fill her bright green eyes. “Because I like seeing your face. It makes you look more... human.” She whispers the last word.
Is she fucking with me?“Some would say it makes me look more monster than human.”
“No.” She shakes her head vehemently. “So, you have some scars. We all do. Some of them are just on the inside and easier to hide. I’m sure they all make us feel like monsters sometimes.” The pain in her voice is so acute I can almost feel it. Her sadness and despair wash over me. This is the most she’s ever willingly revealed of herself. What scars does my little angel hide inside?
“Except that I am actually a monster.”
She takes a half step toward me. Now we’re so close I can smell the sweet scent of her skin. Feel warmth radiating from her body, like the heat from an open flame. I suppress a growl, filled with need and desire. It’s wrong to want her the way I do. Sinful to think about taking her innocence and defiling her body. She doesn’t know who I really am, and if she did...
“You’re not a monster to me, Lincoln.”
Tentatively, she reaches up and brushes the fingertips of her good hand over my scars. I flinch at her touch, an electric current passing through my entire body.
She bites on her lip and pulls her hand back like she’s been burned, but not far enough from me that I don’t still feel the lingering warmth of her touch. “I’m sorry, I should have asked your permission.”
I remain rooted in place, hypnotized by her bright green eyes, until once again her fingertips skate delicately over my scarred flesh. Tracing the thick twisted knots and ugly reddened welts as if they’re the key to discovering something in me. Nobodyhas touched my scars since the surgeon who patched me up and this feels like it’s too much, but not enough. Her touch is a balm to my tortured soul and I never ever want her to stop.
She inches closer. “I think your scars are perfect,” she says, no hint of revulsion or sarcasm.
My throat constricts. “Perfect how?”
“Perfect because they’re a part of who you are. And despite what people say, and what you might believe, you are not a monster, Lincoln Knight. Trust me, I would know.”
I hate that she knows men who are worse than I am, but that doesn’t make me any better. “Don’t be fooled by my name, Imogen. There is nothing honorable about me.” And there is definitely nothing honorable about the way my dick is growing harder with each second she has her hands on me. Nor any of the filthy things I’m thinking about doing to her right now. I could show her how much pleasure even a monster like me could make her feel, and how much pleasure can be found in sin. But nothing about her pleasure should ever be sinful; it should be glorious and without shame. And that is why it can’t ever be with me.
“I never said you were honorable. Although...” She chews on her luscious lower lip, until jealous need spikes inside me. I want to nibble on her lip—on all the parts of her. “You have acted very honorably since my arrival, sir. Nothing but a single touch of your thumb on my skin before you stitched my wound today.”
Does she think about that night in the library too, when I was a whisper away from losing control?
“Aside from that, not a single slip in all this time.” Her pupils grow darker, as I’m sure mine do too.
It would be futile to deny my attraction to her when it’s so evident. She only has to glance down to see the hard evidence of my desire for her. Painfully hard. “It would be wrong,” is all I can manage.
The spot between her brows pinches into an adorable frown. “Why?”
This has to stop. She has to stop pushing me, believing me to be someone I’m not—a man she should be flirting with. I opt for cruelty in the hopes it will make her run from me, which would be the wise choice. “Because I own you, Imogen.”
She doesn’t run. Instead she tips her jaw, darting out her tongue to wet the lips I’m so desperate to kiss. “So take me.”
Fuck it all to hell. The very last shreds of any kind of morals or restraint crumble to dust.
Chapter 23
Imogen
Lincoln’s eyes blaze with so much heat that my skin burns under his gaze. What have I done? Have I pushed him too far? Am I actually prepared for any of what might happen now?
His lips crash against mine, brutal and tender at the same time. He licks the seam of my lips and I part them willingly, allowing his warm velvety tongue to slip into my mouth. He flicks it against mine, causing a desperate moan to roll out of my throat. Unable to do anything but feel, I melt into his hard body. And there are so many feelings, all of them new and exciting—explosive and overwhelming. I revel in them all. And I want more.
Lincoln’s powerful arms snake around my waist, crushing me against him, and now I’m entirely lost to the sensations flooding my body. Without intending to, I find my good hand threading through his dark hair. It’s as silky and thick as I’ve imagined it would be. His tongue continues exploring my mouth and I can only respond on instinct, hoping that what I’m doing is right. It certainly feels right, so very right. And from the sensation of his rock-hard length digging into my stomach, I assume he’s enjoying this too.
My head is spinning. My panties are damp and sticky. Hisfingers brush against my stomach and my lower abdomen feels like it’s being pulled into itself, causing a delicious burning ache. His kisses linger, my lips feeling tender and bruised but in the most delectable way possible. I could spend hours doing nothing but being kissed by him.
