Lincoln
Belladonna Mansion
Rear Grounds
Virginia Beach Oceanfront
Soaking in a steaming hot tub in the dead of winter felt like surrendering his body to fire while the world froze around him.
His skin ignited from the heat while the sharp, icy air kissed every exposed inch of skin, creating a hypnotic tug-of-war. It was a strange kind of bliss, half burn and half chill, that kept him lightheaded, raw, and alive.
The water lapped around them, steam rising and veiling them in their sins. Sharpe looked lethal and gorgeous. His black chest hair was slick against his cut torso, droplets sliding down the ridges of muscle.
His eyes glowed darker at night, dangerous, brooding, his lips swollen from being claimed again and again.
He pulled Sharpe close—he still hadn’t had his fill—burying his face against that rough jaw.
The water was deep enough that he could lift and anchor Sharpe’s legs around his waist.
Sharpe’s naked body dragged over his with just enough grit to keep him inches from the edge of orgasm.
Sharpe grunted low, his head tipped back, letting him devour his throat.
Lincoln hovered his lips against his ear. “Stay with me tonight.”
The detective’s mouth was insatiable, returning to his again and again, as though he’d found a well he could never drink dry. Each kiss was bruising, demanding, and worshipful.
Lincoln let his angry detective have what he wanted. He’d never deny his stubborn, starving heart.
He pressed Sharpe back against the smooth edges of the rock, laying him out like a sacrifice as the water sloshed over the edge.
His own cock swelled and throbbed as he leaned over him, pushing the head of his cock against Sharpe’s tight, unyielding rim. Just the tip, teasing, dragging circles that made Sharpe snarl and push back as if daring him to breach him.
“If I had a condom and lube,” Lincoln groaned, rocking lazy and hard into him, “I’d have you bent over this fuckin’ wall already.”
He licked his way down Sharpe’s chest, biting at his nipples until the detective hissed and clawed at his shoulders.
Sharpe was all dark growls and low curses, every inch the alpha who wanted to dominate—but all suppressed submissive craving Lincoln’s control.
“Please…don’t shoot.”
Lincoln froze.
Axel’s voice rang out, clear and panicked from the darkness.
Lincoln surged up, every nerve flaring into a panic so sharp it tasted like blood—Axel. His light. His baby brother was in danger.
He started to rise from the water, but Sharpe’s hand shot up, fisting in his hair and yanking him down, his voice a brutal whisper at his ear.
“Quiet. Running toward them won’t help.”
Lincoln’s eyes flicked past him as his blood ran cold.
Axel. With a taller man in bulky layers of clothes glued to his side.
Then he saw the man cloaked in layers of black, a gun gleaming in the dim security lights, pressed into Axel’s back.
They were being marched forward, the barrel forcing Axel toward the house’s patio doors.
Lincoln’s chest cracked wide open, terror a living thing clawing at his insides.
No, god, please.
No one was supposed to touch Axel, to even look at him with malice. He was too good, too bright. The thought of him bleeding out in the sand—Lincoln almost lost it.
Sharpe’s grip turned bruising. His other arm locked around his chest.
“If you jump out there, naked and screaming, that asshole will panic. And Axel gets shot. You keep your ass right here.”
I have to do something!
Lincoln was shaking, teeth clenched so hard they hurt, his whole body fighting to move. But he could only watch, paralyzed, as the gunman snarled at Axel.
“Get the door open. Now.”
Lincoln’s heart broke as Axel’s trembling fingers punched the code into the back gate panel. The keypad beeped, the lock released, and the two strangers and Axel disappeared inside.
The instant they were gone, Sharpe launched out of the water, dragging Lincoln with him, his face all sharp lines and command.
“Call 911. I have to get upstairs to my weapon,” he ordered, in a calm voice. “Do not move from this spot until I come get you. I can’t concentrate if I think you’re in danger too.”
Lincoln was trembling too hard to argue. He grabbed his phone, water dripping onto the screen, obeying without hesitation.
Sharpe was already disappearing into the dark, his bare feet silent as a predator’s as he headed for where his gun was stashed.
Lincoln’s heart slammed into his ribs.
The operator answered on the first ring, and Lincoln began pleading.