Forever and always, she is my queen. My heart. My entire soul.
Chapter 51
Imogen
Lincoln drops a soft kiss on the top of my head, the kind that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “Enjoy your book, angel. I’ll be back up in a few hours.”
“Are you going to your lair?” I flash him a smile.
“It’s not my lair, vixen.”
I flutter my eyelashes. “That’s what Pierre says it is.”
He grips my jaw in his hand, squeezing firmly—it’s possessive and commanding and I love it. “It’s just the place where I work. I adore this bratty side you’re developing, by the way.”
“So do I, sir.”
He growls, pressing a kiss on my lips. “I’ll be back soon. Be good while I’m gone.”
When he lets me go, I already feel bereft from the loss of his touch. “Will you ever allow me down there? I’d like to see where you work.”
That makes him stop in his tracks and he turns back around to face me, his face unreadable. “There’s nothing much of interest down there, baby. Just some security monitors and computers running programs.” Feeling emboldened, I stand and walk toward him, deliberately swaying my hips as I do. His eyesnarrow to thin slits, raking over my body. “I know what you’re trying to do, angel.”
I reach him, draping my arms around his neck. “Is it working, sir?” I purr, rubbing my breasts against his chest.
He mutters a curse, and then his hand is on my ass, squeezing it tightly. “I should put you across my knee and spank your ass red for being such a distraction.”
I’m pretty sure my cheeks turn red at his words. “I think I’d like that, sir.”No, I woulddefinitely likethat.
He brushes his knuckles over my cheek. “My wicked little temptress.”
“I just don’t like being apart from you. Is that a bad thing?”
“No, baby. I don’t like being apart from you either.” He runs his nose over my throat, inhaling deeply, rumbling like a tiger about to pounce on its prey. “I like being as close to you as humanly possible as frequently as possible.”
“So let me come to your lair with you. I’ll bring a book. I won’t bother you.”
He stares at me for a few seconds, considering my request. I’m sure he’s going to say no. “If I let you see it, will you stop calling it my lair?”
I almost squeak with excitement. “Yes.”
“Fine. But don’t touch anything, okay?”
I flash him a wicked grin. “You mean I can’t touch anything at all?” I run my hand over his chest.
He does that sexy half smile. “You can always touch me, angel.”
Pushing up onto my tiptoes, I press my lips over his and he slips his arms around my waist, pulling me tight to him. This may be the first kiss I’ve ever initiated, and from the way his cock is growing stiffer by the second, I think he’s enjoying it. It’s also me who pulls back first, leaving him gasping and staring into my eyes. He grips my jaw again, squeezing until my mouth opens. “Brat,” he mutters.
Then he grabs my hand and leads me to his basement lair. He unlocks the door and it opens into a spiral staircase that descends into the shadows below. This feels so much like the mansions in the gothic novels I’ve been reading, while also serving as a reminder that there is still so much about this house, and about Lincoln, that I don’t know. He walks down the stairs, not speaking, but looking back just once to check I’m still behind him. I hesitate at the doorway, fingertips brushing the cold stone walls. A deep breath fills my nose with the scent of cold metal and damp earth, laced with a hint of the cologne that Lincoln wears. The space smells so much of him. I take another deep breath, grip the iron railing and descend the staircase after him. The door behind me closes with an almost imperceptible click, and now the stairwell is bathed in a soft blue glow.
At the bottom of the steps, the space opens up into a cavernous room. A bank of computer screens fills one wall, responsible for the eerie blue light. Each of them display different moving and flickering images. A worn leather desk chair sits idle, like it’s awaiting his return. The floor is concrete. The walls bare brick. A steel door leads to another room at the far end of the space. It, too, has a lock.
“Where does that lead?”
Lincoln reaches for my hand and squeezes it in his. “My armory.”
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. I’ve seen the knife he wears strapped to his thigh when he leaves, but this is something much more intense. “Your armory?”
