“Lincoln,” I whimper his name.
He presses a gentle kiss on my temple and it’severything. Despite the ministrations of his skilled fingers, it’s the tenderness, and the reverent way he touches me that’s my undoing. “I know, angel.” Slowly, he begins moving his fingers inside me again, reigniting the dying embers of my last orgasm.
Oh, god! I try to squeeze my thighs together but his huge bear paw–like hand between my legs prevents me from doing so. “I c-can’t,” I stammer, fearful of the new and intense sensations flooding my entire being.
“What can’t you do, Imogen?” he asks, lips still pressed against my skin. “What are you afraid of?”
“What if I... I feel like I’m going to...” I gasp in a breath. “It’s like I’m not in control of my own body.” All my life I’ve thrived on control. Losing it is weak and it leaves me vulnerable. It makes me unsafe.
He growls. “That’s because you’re not. I am. But you don’t have to be afraid of that, you can lose control when you’re with me.”
Can I? Do I trust him enough to give this willingly? I let out a shaky breath and give a single nod of my head.
“Good girl,” he soothes, sweeping the pads of his fingers over a spot deep inside me that makes electric pleasure coil deep in my core. “You’re going to come as many times as I need you to, until you’re wet enough for me to fuck you.”
Given that the filthy sound of my arousal as he moves his fingers in and out of me is unmistakable, surely I must be wet enough already.
He rubs his nose along the column of my throat. “I know you’re soaked, angel, but I need you dripping down your fucking thighs for me. I’m not going to stop until you’re drenched in your own cum.”
Chapter 30
Imogen
My head is spinning. Legs shaking. Endorphins charging around my body at lightning speed. I cling to Lincoln’s neck, inhaling his unique fresh scent, as he carries me upstairs—to bed I hope, to finish what he started. To deliver on his promise to fuck me. He’s made my body do things I had no idea it was capable of. He took off my panties at some point, and the sticky residue of what he just did to me in the library clings to the top of my thighs, still seeping out of me now.
He walks into my room rather than his and lays me down gently on the bed. I gaze up at him through hooded eyes. I’ve felt the length of him through his pants and he seems so big I’m not sure how he’ll fit inside me. But I’m desperate for him to try anyway.
I lick my dry lips. “Can I see you, sir? All of you.”
“You want to see all my scars, angel?”
I nod. “Yes, sir.” It’s intoxicating, knowing that this powerful man will do as I ask, simply because I ask him to. I could get drunk on this feeling alone.
Slowly he peels his T-shirt off over his head, and when he lifts his arms I can fully see the extent of scarring on his right side. It’s covered in thick white knots and patches of skin that look like they’ve been through a meat grinder yet somehow stayed intact.From the top of the underside of his biceps wrapping almost halfway across his chest and disappearing beneath his waistband. All of it is covered in thick black tattoos, roses and vines and chess pieces, stark against his mottled skin. He tosses the T-shirt onto the floor and his eyes lock on mine before his hands drop to his belt. Tantalizingly slow, he unbuckles it and then pulls it through the loops. The sound makes me shiver with pleasure.
“Spread your legs for me. Let me see the mess we made of your sweet pussy while I strip for you.”
I bite my lip, spreading my thighs wide. The metallic sound of his zipper makes me tremble. Then he reaches into his pants and pulls out his dick. Oh, dear lord, it’s huge. He wraps his hand around the base of his shaft, lined with thick veins, until a bead of pearly cum forms on the purple head of him.
My pulse spikes and I suck in a breath that makes him smirk. “I’ll make it fit, baby.”
I have no idea how, but I believe him. And more importantly, I trust him not to hurt me. Which is ironic, isn’t it? Given how I came to be here. I should be afraid of him, of this giant bear of a man and his huge muscles, a man who could so easily overpower me at any moment he chooses. I should be terrified of his promise tonot be gentle, and whether that means he’ll be rough with me and it will hurt. But I’m not.
He tugs on his shaft and grunts with pleasure. A pang of jealousy lances through me. I want his grunts and groans for my own. I want to be responsible for his pleasure. Does he feel the same way about mine? “Please, sir?” I whimper.
He tuts. “So impatient.” Then he pulls off his pants, yanking his boots and socks off along with them. He crawls over me, running his nose over my ankle, my calf, the inside of my thigh, his thick dark hair brushes over my wet center and I gasp aloud at the unfamiliar but incredibly erotic sensation. “Needy little angel.”
Needy? I’m practically vibrating with desire. Lincoln’s mask and clothes might be gone, but his control isn’t. He has thepatience of a man who wants to memorize every inch of my skin. He nudges the tip of his nose at the apex of my thighs and I squeal, but he quickly moves on, tongue swirling over my stomach and then the tiny scars from the keyhole surgery the Brotherhood forced upon me. I hate those scars and what they represent, but his attention makes even them feel like a beautiful part of me. Then he finds my nipples, which weren’t aching until he touched them... and now, now they feel like they have a heartbeat all their own. I didn’t know nipples could do that.
He settles between my thighs, notching the head of his giant dick at my entrance. I buck my hips a little, chasing the relief I know he can so easily give me. “I can’t get pregnant, sir,” I assure him. The Brotherhood made sure of that.
“I know, angel.” He drags his teeth over my collarbone before staring into my eyes. “Are you sure you want this?”
“Yes. Absolutely sure.”
He sinks the tip of his cock inside me, and as much as he prepared me with his fingers, this is a whole new level of ecstasy, laced with a burning pain that makes me feel alive. “Christ, you’re so fucking tight,” he growls, the words sounding like they’re being torn from his throat.
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t help it.”
