5. Josie
josie
. . .
At twenty-nine, I thought I knew what it felt like to be kissed, but apparently, I was wrong. The man standing in front of me had just turned my world upside down in a single moment.
I wasn’t too proud to admit that there was something about Lincoln that caught me off guard. I’d been trying to figure him out the entire time we’d laughed away the hours.
Growing up on a ranch, I’d been around my fair share of hardworking hands and wanna-be cowboys to tell the difference between the two, but this man? There was something different beneath the layers of bravado and sarcasm he donned.
He was authentically rugged and timelessly handsome, the type of man who commanded your attention when he walked into a room. Given the callouses lining his palms, bartending wasn’t his only job, but it was the only one he’d claimed. I’d spent the better part of the night trying to get the truth out of him, but each time I asked, he changed the subject and turned it back to me.
He said I’d have to give him my name if I wanted his story.
I wasn’t ready for that, though. After all, I didn’t escape Texas to land myself in a relationship with the first man I saw. I came for the mountains—for fresh air and silence. To be able to lick my wounds in the calm of Tennessee before I returned to the storm back home.
But when Lincoln stepped between my jean-clad thighs without hesitation?
I was a goner.
To hell with what I thought I wanted, the only thing that mattered was him . I eagerly drowned in the taste of him as his hands tangled in my hair, tugging my head back and tearing his mouth from mine.
I blinked, ready to ask a million questions that all centered around why he’d stopped kissing me. Instead, I was struck silent, unable to do anything but stare up at the darkest eyes I’d ever seen.
I’d stared at them all night, enjoying the sweet caramel shade that seemed to bleed into a soft brown, but this was different. His heated gaze turned the once warm tones into something much more sensual and promising. It reminded me of melted chocolate—the dark, bitter kind you’d dip strawberries into before letting the combination land on your tongue like a sinful invitation.
“See something you like, darlin’?” Lincoln asked, tightening his hold on my hair. He lowered his chin, drawing my attention to the smirk playing across his lips.
His impeccably soft, kissable lips.
Everything about this man seemed perfect—too good to be true. I should’ve taken one look at him before rolling my eyes and taking my miserable ass back to my car, but no. I decided to flirt with danger itself, and now I was going to get burned.
What a way to go, eh? Death by chocolate.
I nodded my head, unable to form words, while he stared down at me like I was his favorite meal when, in reality, I thought he was mine. One hand remained tangled in my hair while the other moved along my jaw. He ran his thumb over my mouth reverently, gaze dropping to my bottom lip as he applied pressure and swiped.
I knew my lipstick was long gone, but I couldn’t stop myself from repeating his question.
“See something you like, cowboy?”
Lincoln’s throaty laugh caught me by surprise, but he didn’t break his gaze. “Yeah, actually… I’m thinking about what it would be like to fuck this pretty mouth. How I’d want to see it dressed in some pretty color only to fucking destroy it and then proudly wear the remnants around my cock so I could see precisely where you’d been.”
Holy fuck.
I was no virgin, but I’d never been with a partner who’d unabashedly talked so filthy before, nor had I ever considered myself someone who wanted that. Sure, I’d fawned over this very scenario in books or movies when the main characters got together and, you know, indulged. I even remember thinking how exciting it must’ve been to be with someone who whispered dirty promises in my ear.
Reality, however, was never as good as fiction. Over the years, there’d been a handful of times when one of my exes would say something in the heat of the moment. He’d thought he sounded panty-melting hot when he actually sounded ridiculously cringeworthy and ruined the moment.
Then again, most of my sexual experiences ended in much the same way: Unfulfilled and disappointing.
Lincoln didn’t have that problem. He had heat blooming at my core and my cheeks turning bright red as he openly talked about what he wanted. He said it with such ease, like he’d just asked me about the weather.
It was sexy and confident, and well… I fucking loved it.
Involuntarily, I tried to clench my thighs, realizing too little, too late, that he stood between them. He looked down, grinning like a fiend, when he realized I’d been trying to self-soothe the ache he’d so effortlessly created.
“Problem, darlin’? That pussy feeling needy?” he asked, tightening his grip on my hair. It was painful, but not in a way that made me want to tell him to stop. In fact, it made me want more.
I didn’t understand it, didn’t know who this new, brazen Josie Hayes was, but I liked her.
“Yes,” I whimpered. I didn’t care how pathetic it may have sounded, especially when his tongue darted across his lips. “Yes, I am. I mean, it is?—”
Lincoln chuckled and stepped closer, raising his knee so it rested on the small section of the chair between my thighs. He leaned forward, lowering his voice so that it was nothing more than a purr in my ear. “Want me to kiss it better?”
I nodded again, not trusting myself to speak so soon. This was crazy and reckless and totally not me. I mean, I’d had my fair share of wild nights in my past—but I’d never felt so out of control.
This man had me at his mercy in what seemed like a handful of moments. He could’ve said or asked for anything, and I would’ve willingly given it to him. Which, come to think of it, should’ve been terrifying because I didn’t know this man from a stranger on the street.
The moment Lincoln loosened his grip, I surged forward and captured his bottom lip between my teeth. My hands sought for purchase as I lifted the hem of his shirt, needing to feel the warmth of his skin on my palms. He didn’t move for a moment, and I worried I’d gone too far. Did I misinterpret what he wanted? What he liked? Just as I moved to pull away, he met my frantic movements with ones of his own.
He straightened up, following my lead, and quickly removed his shirt. It landed on the floor somewhere behind us, immediately forgotten as he bared himself. I leaned back in my seat, chest heaving as I slowly scanned his body.
Lincoln had a smattering of dark hair across his chest, leading down his stomach and disappearing beneath his jeans. I ran my fingers along his chest as my gaze snagged on a long, jagged scar. It began just below his underarm and ran along the left side of his abdomen near his belly button.
I’d always thought scars were fascinating. They told a story, even if the story they were telling was one filled with pain. Growing up, I’d seen my fair share of horrific accidents, both on the circuit and on our ranch. Blood didn’t bother me, and I’d been on the receiving end of more broken bones than I cared to admit.
Which was why I didn’t think twice when I reached out and ran my fingertips gingerly over the soft, raised flesh.
“Does it hurt?” I asked, quickly jerking my arm back as he let out a low hiss.
Beneath furrowed brows, Lincoln’s dark eyes clouded with a distant memory. “Not anymore,” he said, shaking his head and leaning forward. I opened my mouth to ask more questions, to apologize for my brazen touch, but he placed a finger on my lips. “Do you want to talk, or do you want to let me see that pretty pussy, darlin’? Because I know which option I’d prefer.”
Without waiting for my answer, he pulled me from the chair and lifted me in his arms. I squealed as he spun us around and placed me on top of the table. My legs hung off the side, dangling as he hooked his fingers into my belt loops. “This is your last chance to walk away,” he said, slowly perusing my body. “If you don’t want this, tell me now. I’ll walk you to your car, kiss you goodnight, and ask for your number before watching you drive off.”
The rational part of my brain told me that was exactly what I should do. I should tell Lincoln I had a good time tonight, thank him for keeping me company and for taking my mind off how shitty the past forty-eight hours had been.
Then I’d walk away.
There was no future between us. No late-night calls or lovesick texts. Absolutely no date nights. After all, I was only going to be in town for a few days before tucking tail right on back to Texas.
And yet, I couldn’t make myself move. I couldn’t make myself get off that table and walk out the door and his life in a matter of minutes.
I wasn’t ready.
“I thought you wanted to know my name,” I said, leaning back on my palms and quirking a brow.
Lincoln smiled and nodded. His tone was soft, hopeful, and full of curiosity. Somehow, he seemed younger than he had only moments ago when he thought I’d walk away. “I do, but I was hoping you’d tell me when you gave me your number.”
“When?” I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “You seem awfully sure of yourself, cowboy.”
He shook his head. “Call me optimistic, I guess. Can’t help it when I’m standing between your pretty thighs.”
“Ah,” I said. His words only stoked the fire, a reminder that we were so close to crossing a line we couldn’t come back from. “Well, my daddy always told me I needed to work hard for the things I want…” I drawled out the words, teasing him as I raised my hand and unclipped my hair, letting it fall around my shoulders. He tracked my movements greedily. “So, I think you should earn it, cowboy. Show me how badly you want it.”
“Is that so?” he asked, bringing one hand up to rub his jaw. Anticipation coiled like a snake in my belly, forcing me to hold my breath until he spoke once more. “And how do you expect me to do that, darlin’?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “You seem like a smart enough man. I’m sure you can find a way to incentivize me.” I sat up straighter, running my hands up the broad expanse of his chest. His skin was hot to the touch, and though he hadn’t looked nervous all night, the erratic thundering of his heart gave away his trepidation.
Lincoln laughed, his breath scattering across my neck as he leaned forward and pressed a single kiss to my pulse point. Slowly, so slowly, his hands crawled up my legs, kneading my muscles with measured, deliberate strokes. “You want me to show you how badly I want you?”
I let my head fall back as he peppered open-mouthed kisses along my neck. Good god, I was putty in his damn hands, ready to be molded to his liking. “Yes,” I breathed, wrapping my hands around his neck. “That might do the trick.”
He pulled back, placing a hand in the center of my chest before gently pushing me back. I went without question, watching with rapt attention as his fingers found the button of my jeans. As he tugged down the zipper, he sank into the chair before me. “Lift your hips, darlin’. Let me see what’s mine.”
“What’s yours?” I asked, raising a brow but complying anyway.
He paused, lips pursing before he answered. “For tonight. You’re mine for tonight.”
“It’s technically the morning?—”
But my words cut off as he threw my pants on the ground and placed an achingly tender kiss along my panty-clad pussy. “You’re soaked, darlin’,” he groaned, meeting my gaze. “This all because of me?”
I nodded, unable to speak as he let his tongue run across the saturated fabric. Usually, I would’ve been embarrassed. I’d been on the road all day and had to settle for an ‘essentials only’ bath in the bar restroom hours ago.
And no, I didn’t do it for him or because I thought anything would happen between us—that would’ve been crazy.
At least, that’s what I tried to convince myself of.
Lincoln pulled the fabric aside, pausing only for a moment to gauge my reaction. When I didn’t object, he dove forward like a man on a mission. He licked and sucked and devoured my pussy, rarely coming up for air until I thought he may suffocate himself.
My hands raked through his hair, discarding the backward baseball cap on the floor with the rest of our clothes. I’d never had anyone taste me so reverently, so full of passion. This man didn’t know me, and I didn’t know him, but our bodies acted of their own accord. Somehow, they understood what the other needed before we could register it ourselves.
I knew only one thing for sure: I never wanted him to stop.