16. Lillian
“Dig in,you guys. Don’t wait for me. I’m going to change out of my work clothes really quick. I’ll give you the grand tour after dinner.” Lincoln gives me a quick kiss after I nod and saunters down a hallway on the left as we walk through the door. We stopped for takeout on the way back from his office.
“Gracie-Lou, definitely no shenanigans,” I mutter to my daughter as we stand in the entryway and stare at the immaculate space in front of us. Not only does he live in the penthouse of his very nice building, but every surface is spotless.
It looks like the epitome of a ‘dude’ apartment. The walls, furniture, and kitchen are mostly a black and white monochromatic color scheme with some pops of color in a throw blanket or pillow here and there or some pieces of art on the wall. The floors, saints save me, are marble.
“Let me take your backpack, sweetie. Go sit in the kitchen,” I instruct her as I grab her bag and place both of ours in the corner, so as not to make a mess. Then, I head over to help her get in one of the barstools surrounding the kitchen island.
We got takeout from a local restaurant that serves American cuisine because my picky child will only eat chicken tenders and fries when we go anywhere. Lincoln and I both got burgers. Before touching ours, I pull out Grace’s and rip apart the tenders so they can cool down a little before she bites into them. After I open the barbecue sauce and put it in with her food, I slide it over and make sure she takes her first bite before I pull out mine and Lincoln’s food.
Just as I take my first bite of the burger, Lincoln comes around the corner in the sweatpants and T-shirt combination that manages to draw my gaze and hold it. He catches the look on my face, smirks at me, and I force myself to chew and swallow the bite I took.
Wordlessly, I pass him his Styrofoam takeout container.
“How is it?” he asks me, then takes a bite of his own.
I look him up and down once more, stopping for the barest of seconds at the bulge in his sweatpants, before sweeping my gaze up to his. “Delicious,” I answer, my voice all kinds of breathy.
His eyes heat at the innuendo.
“Yeah, really good!” Grace agrees, and we both look at her and laugh at the amount of barbecue sauce around her mouth and…yep, in her hair.
After that, we talk about what movie we might want to watch tonight and how everyone’s days were until we’re cleaning up the dinner trash.
“Well, are you ready to see your room or what, Grace?” Lincoln asks Grace, surprising me.
“Her room?” I parrot as Grace gives an enthusiastic yes.
Lincoln, the smug bastard, winks at me without answering and takes Grace’s hand to lead her back down the hallway he came out from.
“This place is a three-bedroom, so there’s enough space for Becca to have her own room when she can move-in in a few weeks and for Grace to have one when you guys come to visit.”
He’s so nonchalant about it, not even looking back at me as he leads my daughter to her own bedroom in his penthouse. Three weeks ago, we were eating cheerios out of the box on the floor of our living room because a client didn’t pay on time for a big project that had taken weeks to complete, and bills had just been paid.
Now we’re walking through—what I’m sure is—a beautiful multi-million-dollar apartment.
“Here we are,” he tells Grace and pushes open the first door we come to. “The next door is the bathroom, the one after is going to be Becca’s, and ours is the one directly at the end of the hall.”
Grace shoves through the door and lets out a high-pitched squeal that makes my heart race, even though I understand it’s not a scream of pain.
“Oh my gosh! Mommy, look! A tent bed! And a castle!” I walk in to see her darting around the room excitedly, not stopping at something long enough to really appreciate it because there’s something else that grabs her attention.
Not that I blame her. Lincoln has gone all out. Centered into the middle of the back wall is a twin bed with Disney princess bedding and a pink, tulle type material hanging from the ceiling and draping around the bed to create the ‘tent’ effect that Grace was talking about. To the left of the bed is a massive gray dollhouse with pink accents to match the theme of the room. Which, coincidentally enough, matches the color scheme of her room at my house.
I glance at Lincoln in question, and he shrugs. “I peeked in her room to see what kind of things she liked.”
If I thought this whole thing—him coming back into my life, blindly accepting a kid that isn’t his, professing his love for me after four years apart—was too good to be true, this certainly isn’t helping. When does the other shoe drop?
“Grace,” I call out to her as she starts pulling toys out of a chest, some with tags still on them, and she looks over at me. “What do you say?”
“Thank you!” she exclaims, runs to Lincoln, and gives his leg a big hug. “I love it. You’re the best dad ever!”
Then she’s running back over to the pile of toys she’s started to make a mess of.
Dad.
I look to Lincoln to catch his reaction to the word, and he’s not looking my way. Or at Grace. He’s looking at the wall. I walk up to him and put a hand to his back, which gets his attention. When his eyes meet mine, I see a faint shimmer in them.
Did he just tear up over being called dad?
I wrap my arms around his middle in thanks, and his own arms come around me automatically. “You are so getting lucky tonight,” I mutter, quietly enough that only he can hear me, which makes him laugh and squeeze me tighter.
“Promises, promises,” he throws my own words from this week back at me.
“Linc, play with me!” Grace demands.
“What Princess wants, Princess gets,” he declares and bows at the waist.
“She’s asleep,” I whisper, closing her door as quietly as I can. Lincoln waits for it to snick shut, bends down, and sweeps me up by my thighs. In a flash, my whole upper body is draped across his broad back, and I only just manage to stifle the squeak of fear. “Lincoln!” I hiss reproachfully.
Ignoring my protests, he shuffles us on quick feet to his bedroom at the end of the hall, shuts his own door quietly, and locks it. But he doesn’t put me down.
“I think you can set me down, now,” I laugh at a normal volume, sure Grace won’t be able to hear us now. In answer, he smacks my ass. Hard. “Ow!” I yelp the automatic response, but clench my thighs together to stop the tingling sensation between them.
“I felt that,” he laughs at me, walks over to his bed, and drops me unceremoniously on the plush surface. Before I even get the chance to scold him, he whips off his T-shirt in record time, leaving me to drool—stare—at his broad shoulders, defined pecs, and six-pack.
“That’s not playing fair,” I mutter, not looking away from his stomach, eyes dropping down to the tent in his sweatpants. My mouth starts to water in anticipation, and suddenly, all I want to do is take him into my mouth, to taste all of him.
Scrambling to my hands and knees, I crawl down to where he stands at the end of the bed and slide off it. I grip his thighs to twist him and push him down on the bed until he’s sitting on the edge where I’ve got the perfect angle from my knees. Luckily, the bedrooms, at least, have large, fluffy area rugs overlaid on the marble.
With one hard yank, his sweatpants are off, and I throw them across the room. His dick slaps against his belly, the tip an angry red color. I run my hands slowly up each of his thighs, staring at what’s mine. It jumps under my gaze, or my touch, I’m not sure.
“Lillian,” Lincoln grits out. “Don’t play with me.”
From beneath my lashes, I peek up at him and smile sweetly. “I would never. I’m just appreciating the view.” I grip the base of his cock and give a few teasing pumps.
“For the love of God, woma–” I lean forward and take him in my mouth, cutting off his sentence.
The tip of him hits the back of my throat, and I suck hard. Typically, I would start soft, but I want to drive him out of his mind. Partly as a thank you for all that he’s done for me and for Grace already, but mostly because I love the control I have over him, and it turns me on as much as it does him to be able to bring him pleasure.
“Woah, Lil, easy,” he grunts as I bring my hand up to cup his balls and start playing with them softly, in contrast with the fast, hard way I’m taking him into the mouth. Each pass has him hitting the back of my throat, and I have to concentrate on not gagging. “Lil, stop,” he says as I feel his balls pull up. So I ease off. Not stopping, just slowing down. I use my other hand to hold him steady at his base as he pops out of my mouth, and I lick stripes up the underside of his cock like it’s my own personal lollipop.
Damn, if it doesn’t taste just as good.
“God, that feels so good,” he moans. When his thighs unclench and he relaxes under my touch, I start up the hard and fast pace again. After a few moments, I feel his balls pull up and then back off once more. When he figures out what I’m doing and groans, the sound is half-pleasure, half-pain, it makes me chuckle. The vibrations make him grunt and thrust up into my mouth on instinct. “I don’t want to come down your throat.” He bends down and hauls me up, leaning all the way back as he does until I’m straddling his waist.
It puts me in a perfect position to feel him pressed up against my sex, so I grind down. I’m already wet, and I slide against him effortlessly.
“That’s right, baby,” he mutters as his hands land on my hips. “Take what you need. Use me.”
“Oh God.” His words stoke the flame inside me even higher, and pleasure courses through me as I rub my clit against him.
“Wait,” he grounds out, like the words physically hurt him to say, but I stop. “We didn’t talk about it before, but are you on birth control?”
The sliver of self-doubt evaporates, and I laugh. “Yes, Lincoln. I’m a mom already, but I’m not ready for a second one just yet.”
“Then lift up,” he grins at me, and I do. He positions his tip at my entrance, and I sink down on him. Lincoln’s jaw tightens, and his muscles strain deliciously as I bottom out.
“I missed you,” I breathe, and start to move my hips. Lincoln offers me his hands, and I thread my fingers through his, my own looking tiny in comparison. But I use them as leverage and bounce up and down on his cock, taking my pleasure.
I swirl my hips until I find that oh-so-sweet spot leaned all the way back. The angle is deeper, and he drags against me in the best way, so I let go of his hands and lean back to grab onto his thighs.
The angle is harder to move now. Lincoln takes over, plants his heels on the bed, and thrusts up into me. Still leaned back, he slams into me in the perfect place.
“Yes!” I moan. “God, yes. Right there. Please,” I beg him, and he thrusts up again, drawing a whimper from my lips. It’s so good, it almost feels painful. Half of me is about to ask him to stop, the other half screaming for more, more, harder, faster.
“Fuck, baby,” he grunts, sweat starting to bead on his forehead and chest. Where I’m gripping his thighs starts to become too slick to hold on to. But he doesn’t slow his assault. Over and over, he pumps up into me, wrecking me. “You’re squeezing me so fucking tight.”
All I can do is nod, I’m beyond words at this point. He holds a relentless pace, and I feel my legs start to shake. Warmth travels from my core out across my body as I climb higher and higher.
Lincoln, sensing how close I am, takes one of his hands from my hips and thumbs circles on my clit. “That’s right, baby. Let go. Good girl,” he growls, and his words are my undoing. I detonate, pulsing around him. I smack his hand away from my over-stimulated clit as I ride out one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had.
When I start to come down, my limbs feel heavy, and I slump against him, both our chests sweaty.
“I’m not done with you yet.” Lincoln rolls us until I’m on my back now, and his large body is hovering over mine. “You okay?” he asks me.
In answer, I muster the strength to lean up and kiss him. He follows me as I drop back down, deepening the kiss, and I open for him. Our tongues tangle together while Lincoln lifts one of my knees to my chest and grinds into me.
“You fit me so perfectly, don’t you?” he asks me, looking me in the eye with an intensity that has a small aftershock pulsing through me, and I flutter around him. He grunts. “Of course you do. Do you know how fucking beautiful you look right now?”
I shake my head, not breaking eye contact with him, and he grins at me.
“Painfully beautiful,” he tells me, and an echo of a memory flashes through me. From a time four years ago when he would tell me the same thing. “And you’re all mine.”
I nod, a moan ripping out of me when his next thrust is harder than the last.
“Say it,” he demands. Another hard thrust.
“Yours,” I oblige him. Lincoln grabs my other leg and pushes it down on the bed so I’m splayed open for him.
“Tell me you thought about me,” he grunts, pushing into me again.
The feeling is euphoric. The way he fills me, the aggressive way he grabs me. Owns me. Then his words register, and confusion filters through the euphoria.
“Wh-at?” I gasp in between thrusts.
“Tell me you thought about me,” he repeats.
“When?” I moan, a second orgasm building. I wiggle my hand between us so I can push myself over the edge. But he smacks my hand away as soon as my finger grazes my core.
“The past four years. Tell me you thought about me when some pencil-dick prick was inside you. Tell me it was my face you saw, wishing it was me inside you instead.” I’m so shocked by the raging jealousy in his tone that I blink up at him, not responding.
He stops moving inside me and waits for my answer.
“I–what?” I ask again, not sure I want to give him that kind of power over me. Not sure I want to admit that I thought about him almost every time I had sex since we broke up. Or at least after. Comparing every mediocre man to him.
But he must read the truth in my eyes because he starts moving again, slow to start, and gives me a gift first. “I thought of you. Every time, it was always your face. You’re so deeply ingrained in me, I couldn’t ever shake you from my mind.”
“Lincoln,” I moan, close my eyes, and concentrate on the feeling of him inside me. Heat starts to build, more intense this time.
“Say it.” He brushes a thumb lightly over my clit. A promise. Give him what he wants, he’ll give me what my body needs.
“Yes,” I whimper. “Yes. It was always you.”
In answer, his fingers press harder against me, and I come on a cry.
Lincoln’s hips stutter and then stop deep inside me as his release fills every inch of me. His heavy body droops on top of me, and I wrap my arms and legs around him, holding him to me, wanting to savor our connection.
“I love you,” he murmurs to me, and kisses my sticky temple. He’s said it several times since we reconnected, but it doesn’t stop my pulse from jumping when he tells me again right now.
I open my mouth to tell him I love him too, but stop. And I don’t know why. I’ve said it before, and I do. Love him. But for some reason, I can’t make myself say the words to him.
Before I have the chance to truly freak out or worry that I’ve offended him with my silence, I realize he’s fallen asleep.
Relieved that I’m off the hook, I gently maneuver my way out from under him, doing my best not to wake him up, and I head to the bathroom to clean up.
Once I’m done, I slide back into bed with him, pull the comforter up over us, and snuggle into his side, wondering how the hell this is my life now.