17. Lillian
The sunrise peekingthrough the bottom of Lincoln”s black out curtains is ironically what wakes me up. That, and it’s always been impossible for me to sleep well in someone else’s bed.
Lincoln’s chest is still molded to my back, his arm still draped around my middle and pulling me into him. Part of me is thrilled that he seeks me out even in sleep, but that part is drowned out by the sticky feeling of my skin, my body overheated from the constant contact all night with the furnace behind me.
With a slight wiggle, I test how easy it might be for me to slide out without waking him up. His arms tighten instantly, my efforts futile.
“Lil?” His voice is gruff with the last remnants of sleep.
“Morning,” I whisper to him.
“Morning,” he echoes and kisses my neck, causing a wave of pleasure to shoot through me.
I can feel his grin against my neck at the shiver it brings, and he kisses me again in the same spot. Again, a little lower, all the way down to my shoulder, and I start to pant at the contact. When his lips travel back up to my ear, he kisses it before biting down gently, tearing a moan out of me.
Needing more, so much more, I grind back against his dick nestled on my ass. We’re both still naked from last night, so he’s so close to where I need him to be.
“Please,” I beg him, and he groans as he thrusts against me. “Lincoln.”
The arm that was wrapped around my stomach skates down to my center where he continues to play with me. The slick between my thighs already is enough indication that I don’t need warmed up. One finger dips from my clit down to my core, and he curses when it slides right in.
“Fuck, you’re so wet.” His words are praise and worship in one. When he starts to pump his fingers into me, it’s still not enough.
I pull on his wrist until he pulls them out. To drive him crazy, to push him over the edge, I bring his fingers up to my mouth and suck them clean.
As I knew it would, Lincoln’s leash snaps, and he grabs my leg, pulls it over his hip until I’m open for him, and thrusts into me in one smooth motion.
I gasp at the intrusion but thrust back against him as his thrusts up into me. The fit is tight, so full that it’s hard to breathe in the best way.
Neither of us talk again, the only sounds to be heard in the room are skin slapping against skin, my moans, and his grunts of exertion. Minutes later, my mouth drops open in a silent scream as pleasure rips through me.
Lincoln follows me seconds later, hips stuttering, and then tilts my face up to give me a quick, passionate kiss.
“That was the best good morning I’ve gotten in a long time.” He smiles broadly and pulls out, leaving me feeling empty.
Alone in bed now, I let out a loud groan and stretch all my limbs out. I hear the water running from the master bath, and a mischievous grin stretches across my cheeks.
Round two.
Lincoln jumped right on board with my plan and bent me over the bathroom counter as soon as I walked into the bathroom with a salacious look in my eye.
I’m just buttoning up my jeans when I hear Grace call out from her bedroom. “Mommy!”
She sounds scared, so I hustle to the room to find her sitting up in bed with a terrified look in her eyes. I walk over to her and lay down on the twin bed with her. She immediately throws her arms around me.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask her gently, rubbing her back in soothing circles.
“It’s dark,” she sniffles. That’s when I look around and realize there isn’t a nightlight in the room. Mentally, I slap my forehead and curse at myself for forgetting that. At home, she’s got a night light, but I rarely use it because her curtains are thin and let a lot of light through before she wakes up in the morning. Here, Lincoln has thick curtains on every window that are meant to block out every bit of sunlight.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I forgot your night light.”
“I don’t want to stay here no more,” she cries into my shoulder.
I glance up at the door to her room to see Lincoln looking devastating in a fresh suit. He said he has to go into the office for a few hours this morning but will be done by the time me and Grace are finished with her visitation with Talia and Yasmine.
When I go to smile at him, I see how distressed he looks staring at Grace crying in my arms. I realize he must have heard her, and he’s probably blaming himself for not thinking of everything.
It’s okay, I mouth to him. This is just part of being a parent. Sometimes we mess up. Sometimes, we do everything right, and it’s still not enough.
He’ll have to learn that for himself, though. I remember that feeling…of not being enough, of not doing good enough for Grace in the beginning. The feeling is still there every now and then, but it’s easier to remind myself that I’m doing okay. Grace is happy, she’s healthy, and she’s loved.
That’s all we can really ask for as parents.
“Why don’t we get you a night light today after we see Yasmine, and then we’ll see if you can sleep tonight. Okay?” I won’t make her stay here if she doesn’t want to, but I also know my kid. She’ll be excited for another sleepover when she realizes there isn’t anything to be afraid of.
Maybe I’ll make Lincoln check under the bed and in the closet for monsters before I put her down tonight, too.
She nods.
“Okay. How about some breakfast? Pancakes?” I ask, trying to bribe her, and give a little tickle to her side.
The tears dry faster than they came as she giggles and tries to escape. “Yeah! Pancakes!” She jumps off the bed, landing on all fours before bouncing back up and bounding past Lincoln in the doorway, still tearstained but happy as can be.
I roll off the bed next and walk toward a dumbfounded Lincoln with a smirk. “Didn’t you hear the lady? She demands pancakes.”
“Chocolate chips,” echoes from the kitchen as the little brat overhears me.
“I’m sorry,” Lincoln tells me as I go to pass him, and I stop to face him.
“Lincoln,” I laugh, “It’s okay. That’s how kids are. We’ll get a light today, and it’ll be like it never happened.”
He still doesn’t look convinced. Up on my tiptoes, I lean in for a kiss, which he meets me for easily.
“Stop worrying, you’ll get a permanent furrow.” I push my finger in between his eyes where a little ‘V’ has formed. It smoothes out immediately under my touch.
Lincoln opens his mouth to say something when an impatient young woman comes running back down the hall to us. “Mooooom.”
“Okay, we’re coming.” I roll my eyes at Grace, making Lincoln laugh at the pair of us, and he places a hand on my lower back to get us going.
“Come on, then. I’ve got to cook my lady’s breakfast.”
If every Saturday is like this for the rest of my life, I will die happy, I think as light blooms in my chest watching Lincoln set my daughter on the island and talk to her like she’s his own.
Perfect. That’s how I’d describe this moment.
That feeling evaporated as quickly as it came. Grace is almost done with her visitation with her bio mom. When I dropped her off with Yasmine, I spent the next ten minutes crying in my car. Her mom showed up, was on time, and looked better than she ever has. There was a shine to her usually dull hair, and her eyes were focused.
Very much sober, too.
It sounds weird to say that is what made me dissolve into a fit of tears. But six months. That is six months of visits, which is going to look too appealing to the judge. What once sounded like the worst-case scenario is looking like a real possibility now, and I’m not coping well.
The thought of never holding my baby girl when she’s sad, of never having another Disney movie marathon, or watching her play with her cousin…
Another round of sobs wrack my body, and I bend over the steering wheel as my chest heaves from the force of them.
Stop.
I have to stop. Time is almost up, and the last thing Grace needs is for me to be a blubbering mess.
“Stop, Lillian.” I tell myself out loud, thinking happy thoughts and aggressively wiping away the tears. Just in time, too, because Yasmine walks out the front door of the building directly in front of me, holding Grace’s hand.
Not hesitating, I jump out of the car to meet them but slow my steps when I see Talia following them out, making Yasmine and Grace laugh at something she says. Envy curls in my gut.
That’s my daughter.
“Hey, baby!” I call out to Grace, who comes running my way when she sees me. I bend down to scoop her up and then look at Talia.
That’s right. Mine, I say with my eyes. I know I should be the bigger person. But I can’t find it in me.
“You ready to get a little shopping in?” I ask my daughter, smiling big to hide the other emotions raging in me.
“Yeah! Mommy, can Talia come?” The knife twists deeper in my stomach.
“Oh, I’m sure Talia is busy, baby. Maybe next time.” Maybe never. Grace looks to Talia to confirm, and for a minute, I’m worried she’ll say she isn’t busy and I’ll have to be the bad guy. But what she says is even worse.
“Sorry, Grace. I can’t today. But we’ll get to spend so much more time together soon. Promise, okay?” Her eyes dart to mine briefly before settling back on Grace’s.
Lucifer’s deepest pits of Hell couldn’t hold a candle to the fire inside me.
Over. My. Dead. Body.
“I’ll talk to you later?” I ask Yasmine, ready to get the hell out of here. She looks nervously between the two of us but nods, giving me the escape I need.
When Grace is put down for the night—with her blue Elsa nightlight plugged in and the curtains drawn up just enough to let the morning light in tomorrow—I sit down on Lincoln’s enormous leather sectional, biting my fingernails to the nub.
Not even the image of my very shirtless, very sexy boyfriend can calm me right now.
Lincoln is leaned over the kitchen counter with his phone to his ear, trying to call his sister. When he told me he calls her every few days to talk to her, to check in, I couldn’t help my dreamy smile. There’s nothing more attractive than a man who loves his family.
A furrow appears in his brow, he pulls the phone away, taps the screen a few times, and then puts it to his ear again. A couple seconds later, same thing. He frowns at his phone, but seems otherwise unbothered, and lays it screen down on the island before walking over to me.
The couch dips as he sits next to me, and my body slides into his. Usually, it would make me laugh, the way my body falls into his because of the size of him weighing down the cushion. Not tonight, though.
“You couldn’t get ahold of your sister?” I ask, heading off the questions in his eyes at my morose mood.
“No, it kept going straight to voicemail. I’ll try again tomorrow. It’s a Saturday night, she’s probably busy.” He doesn’t sound worried, so that’s at least one thing we don’t have to stress about. “You okay?” The gentleness in his tone has my throat tightening and tears lining my eyes. The last thing I want to do is cry right now, though.
In answer, I shake my head and look in the opposite direction to dry my eyes before he has to see me lose it. No, I absolutely am not okay.
“Want to talk about it?” he asks, draping an arm around my shoulders and gently rubbing my arm, trying to soothe me. I shake my head again, afraid that if I talk, my words will come out choked or unintelligible. “Want me to put on a movie?” His voice is worried, like he doesn’t know what to do to make me feel better.
But that sounds great. Something to distract myself. Or at least something to put on so I can give the appearance of being okay while I have a two hour long internal meltdown.
I nod. He breathes a sigh of relief and leans forward to grab the remote from the coffee table.
A movie starts to play on the TV, but I’m not watching it. I’m half fixated on the feeling of Lincoln’s hand tickling my arm as he continues to rub circles on it. The touch is lazy now, automatic, like he’s forgotten he was doing it but doesn’t want to let go.
The other half of me is distracted by my own thoughts, and after a minute, Lincoln’s too. I realize neither of us is actually watching it. His own eyes are unfocused, lost in his own thoughts, and he’s chewing on his lip. A nervous tell.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as I peek up at him from my comfortable spot against his side.
“Hmm?” he responds, then his eyes refocus, and he looks down at me. “Sorry. Did you say something?”
I pull back out of his embrace so we’re facing each other. “I asked what was wrong. You seem distracted tonight, too. Is it your sister?” An automatic shake of his head. “Then what?”
A sigh. “I told you I went to the office this morning, right?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly for work,” he mutters, looking nervous, which in turn makes me nervous.
“What was it for then?” The caution in my tone is hard to miss, and I sit up straighter in anticipation.
“I’ve mentioned the PI I have on retainer,” he starts.
“How could I forget?” I mutter wryly under my breath. The PI that looked into my background and told Lincoln I was going to the Wicked Temptation party last weekend.
“Right. I sort of asked him to do another background check for me.”
I frown at him, confused. “Okay…” I say slowly, “Who?”
“Talia Wilson,” he confesses.
“Talia…You had a background check done on Grace’s mom?” I whisper harshly, distinctly aware of my daughter sleeping soundly just down the hall.
Lincoln goes on the defensive at my tone. “Biological mom,” he corrects me. “And I prefer the term egg donor.” His unilateral and vehement acceptance of my relationship to Grace cools any rising emotions. My shoulders unbunch, and my posture relaxes. The tension in the room fades as fast as it comes when Lincoln sees this.
“Don’t leave me in suspense. What did your PI say?” I lean against the back of the couch, fatigue hitting me all of a sudden. But I muster up the strength to stay focused long enough for this. For Grace.
“Most of what you probably already knew. A wrap sheet as long as my arm. A handful of OWIs, a few counts of theft, possession, intent. He was able to request the run history for her home address from the local police department to see a few calls for domestic violence. None of which were on Mycase. So she’s got a habit of staying with men who beat her and not pressing charges.” The look in his eyes as he tells me the last part says he’s thinking exactly what I am.
I put a voice to our thoughts. “Grace cannot stay with her. Lincoln…”
“I know, Lil.” He wraps me up in his arms as nightmare after nightmare scenario runs through my head.
Grace caught in the middle of one of those fights.
Grace in a room where drugs are being consumed or shot up a vein.
Grace around any number of strange men…pimps, or drug dealers, or aggressors.
Lincoln leans back with me still in his arms so we’re laying flat on the couch. His head is turned toward the TV, so I follow suit and try to quiet the voices in my head. I’m not sure how long we lay there in silence with Lincoln’s hands running through my hair before he whispers to me. “We’re not going to let anyone take her from us. Nothing bad is going to happen.”
I honestly can’t tell if he’s making me a promise or trying to convince himself.
It’s terrifying.