Page 23

Maybe it was crazy, but I whispered, “Kiss me.”

And, he did.

As already established, Lincoln was a truly phenomenal kisser. Just knee-weakening, body-melting, every-thought-dissolving kind of kisser. My entire body felt like molten lava. I was clinging to him, our kisses bleeding one into the next, our tongues tangling, his hand lacing into my hair causing me to whimper with need and press closer. I felt frantic, and all that emotion I’d been trying to tamp down rushed forward like a storm inside me, spinning into want and desire and amping everything up hotter and higher. I didn’t know what it was about Lincoln, but he somehow made me feel wanted. For too long I’d been silently questioning whether anyone could ever want me.

Somewhere along the way, between nips at my bottom lip and hot kisses at the corners of my mouth and me pressing a kiss into the divot at the base of his throat and tasting the subtle salt of his skin, he lifted me onto the counter. My robe was loosely tied, and the belt had come loose somewhere in all of it. He leaned back, his hand sliding slowly out of my hair and his eyes holding mine.

“Fuck, Chloe.” His voice was rough. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

That near-urgent desire to be wanted was so forceful, I almost started crying again, simply because I believed him. I scrambled to keep from crying. I was already humiliated enough from earlier.

“You’re pretty easy on the eyes yourself,” I heard myself say, my tone low and raspy.

The corner of his mouth kicked up again. “I somehow doubt you lose your mind when you look at me the way I lose my mind when I look at you,” he said flatly.

I was speechless. He shocked me further by reaching for one of my hands and placing it over the hard, and I do mean hard, hot ridge of his arousal. He was wearing sweatpants, so it was not difficult to get a very clear sense of things, including the considerable heat emanating. I felt my own arousal pulse between my thighs.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said, releasing my hand.

Apparently I was feeling bold, because I dragged my palm slowly up and down and bit my lip as I held his gaze. His breath hissed through his teeth. He clenched his jaw, and speaking of his jaw, it was a work of art—sharp-edged and carved as if by a sculptor. His whole face was, really. The straight blade of his nose, his dark slashing brows, those angled cheekbones. To top it all off, his sensual mouth. Blue eyes that went darker when he was aroused, thick eyelashes. All of it catastrophically unfair.

He lifted his hand and cupped my cheek, sliding his thumb slowly across my bottom lip. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmured. “Can I touch you?” His hand slid down my neck, his eyes on mine.

Wordlessly I nodded, near desperate for him to touch me everywhere, all over, all at once.

His palm slid down and he eased my robe off my shoulders, where it fell in a rumple around me on the counter. He cupped both of my breasts, teasing his thumbs over my nipples through the thin cotton of my shirt, and I arched into his touch with a whimper. Lincoln made me feel a little desperate, a little needy. But the surprising gift with him was that I didn’t overthink.

“Chloe.” His voice was low and strained. “The sounds you make drive me crazy in the best way.”

His palm slid down from my breasts, and before I could mourn the loss of his touch, he slid his hand around to the small of my back, nudging me forward. I loved that touch too, warm and a little bossy. My legs were dangling down from the counter and he stepped closer, pressing forward with his hips, and I closed my eyes as I felt the pressure of his arousal right where I wanted it, where I wanted so much more.

“Please,” I whispered, startling myself with how desperate I sounded.

“Tell me what you want.”

I felt a flicker of uncertainty, not because I didn’t know what I wanted, but because I wasn’t sure what he wanted. My mouth parted as I stared at him. I could tell he was waiting. I knew that if I told him to walk away right now, he would. He was that kind of man.

I stared into his eyes, my pulse a rushing echo throughout my entire body, my mind hazed with a need so intense I barely recognized it. I had simply never experienced need at this depth, this raw elemental want. I felt my mouth shape a single syllable, one word—ragged and direct.

“You.”

Lincoln was quiet for a long beat, holding my gaze, and I felt as if he was trying to see right through me. Perhaps I should have shied away, but I couldn’t. I felt vulnerable and deeply exposed, and yet the clarity of my desire kicked away every doubt. I licked my lips, lifted my chin, and surprised myself with my own boldness.

“What do you want?” I managed, my voice soft and breathy.

“You,” he repeated back to me.

It felt like a bell rang inside of me, the reverberation echoing through my entire body.

The doubts broke through anyway, just briefly. “Is this a stupid idea?” I asked.

He held my gaze, his lips curling slightly at the corners, that subtle motion alone like another log tossed on a bonfire, sending sparks flying in the air between us. He never once looked away. Later, I would contemplate that this man, who usually carried such a guarded edge, a dark humor that I imagined was his shield, had none of that here between us. There was an openness to him that invited me in and made me feel safe.

“No,” he said finally.

We were separated by inches. He began to close the distance, then paused. “Are you sure?” He gestured between us, his knuckles resting lightly on my breastbone and bouncing gently toward his chest and back to me again. That subtle gesture felt like it created an electric string between us.

I nodded, whispering, “Yes.”