He rests his lips on the top of my head and tightens his grip around my waist before he sinks his thick finger inside me.
I see stars. Every single particle of energy in my body rushes to the place between my thighs. Nothing exists outside of this room. There’s nothing except for me and him. And nothing before in my entire life has ever felt so right.
There’s a rush of slick arousal. A deep pulling sensation in my core. The feeling that I’m floating.
“You’re doing so well for me.” His free hand slides to theback of my head, palming it possessively, while also grounding me back to reality as he works his finger deeper and grinds the heel of his palm against my clitoris.
I groan. Another rush of wetness.
“Such a tight little pussy,” he groans against my skin.
Oh, god! Overwhelming need and the burning requisite for some kind of release of all this pent-up feeling thunders around my body. I have to let it out before I implode.
“Let go for me, angel.” His deep growling voice washes over me, soothing and encouraging. He probes deeper. My head is whirling. Vision blurry. I can’t hold on. I don’t want to. White-hot euphoria detonates in my core. Starlight explodes in my vision. My body goes rigid, both fighting and clinging to this strange and wonderful feeling that’s dominating my entire consciousness. I let out a garbled cry, something between a curse and a prayer.
What the hell was that?
Lincoln holds me tighter, his skilled fingers massaging my tender flesh. “That’s my good girl,” he growls, all dominance and possession and fire.
It takes minutes for my body to stop shaking, for me to uncurl my fingers and toes. I melt against him like a candle left too long in front of an open fire. My entire being hums with relief and contentment as I bask in the aftermath of what I assume must have been an orgasm. And if that’s what they feel like, how does a person ever go back to a normal life knowing that that kind of pleasure exists in this world? Why did nobody ever prepare me for this? Not even Lady Chatterley and Oliver could explain just how life-changing a climax would be.
Lincoln’s lips are pressed firmly against my forehead. “You did so good for me.”
Something about his praise unravels me.
A tear runs down my cheek.
I was never prepared for this because this was never supposed to happen. This kind of experience isn’t the norm for girls and women sold at auctions. More tears run down my face and I don’t try to stop them. I can’t recall the last time I cried so openly, but it feels good. Necessary.
“Imogen?” His voice is tinged with concern. He slides his finger out of me, and the loss feels so great that I sob out loud. He brushes my hair back from my face, and as he does, I notice his palm streaked with blood. It freaks me out less than I thought it would.That, I was prepared for. “Are you okay?”
I nod, lip caught between my teeth so that I don’t sob again. When I can trust myself to speak, I whisper, “It was intense. I feel like I fell apart.”
He dusts his lips over mine, wrapping both his arms around me. “I have never seen anything more beautiful than your undoing, angel.”
Bending low, he rests his forehead against mine and our warm breath mingles in the space between us. There’s a connection like I’ve never experienced before in my life. Like my soul has been anchored to his, and I might die if he lets me go. It’s warm and safe and everything I have ever wanted.
And then he breaks it.
Without warning, he takes a half step back, creating a physical space between us, and his arms slip from around me. My legs wobble. He glances at his blood-streaked palm, and raw shame and guilt flash in his dark eyes. Surely he knew that would happen?
“You should go to bed, Imogen.” His tone is cold now. Detached. He’s an entirely different person than the man from a moment ago.
Is he upset about the blood? Or is he upset with me?
“Did I do something wrong?” I hear the tremor in my own voice, and under normal circumstances, I would despise sucha weakness and do whatever I needed to correct it. But he has cracked me wide open, and now he’s just going to leave me to put myself back together? Pretend like this didn’t happen?
He pinches the spot between his brows and paces across to the other side of the library. “No,” he grits out the word. “Just go.” When I don’t move, he yells, “Leave. Now.”
And now I get it. It wasn’t only me who lost control. He did too and he’s hating himself for it. I don’t understand any of this. By his own admission, Lincoln Knight is supposed to be a monster. He paid ten million dollars for me at some twisted auction, where my purity and obedience were the selling point. Yet he’s consumed with guilt for touching me. Why?
Whatever it is, I should be grateful for his lack of interest in me because it provides me with an opportunity. It allows me to refocus on the only thing I should be focusing on—the one I keep forgetting about. My freedom. If he’s not strong enough to get past his guilt, or shame, or whatever the hell it is that’s holding him back, then it only helps me push forward.
I slide off his desk and walk out of his office, the dull throbbing between my thighs growing more intense with every step I take—a reminder of what I just gave him, and what he just threw away.
Chapter 24
Lincoln
