Lincoln

Chapter 12

12

VIOLET

Lincoln clasps my hand as we make our way through the sea of dancers, dragging me through the crowd of hot bodies. With each step I can’t believe what I am seeing.

Dancing. Erotic dancing. Well, it’s not, but it looks like everyone is having sex on the dance floor as they all writhe against one another. Is it salsa? Holy hell, is this what Lincoln wants me to do?

For someone who has only lived here a few months, he knows his way around better than me and I’ve lived here all my life.

I didn’t know this place existed.

I slow down to get a better look at the sexy couples. A brief tug of my hand is a reminder to keep walking.

The music is so loud, making the liquid in the bottles behind the bar jump around. The swirl of the exotic music, the maracas, the high-pitched guitar, the easy tempo of the beat, it’s an energetic cocktail of sounds, and I can feel my hips automatically wanting to join in.

The entire club is clad in raw wood, pieced together with rusty nails. Exposed silver-foiled air-conditioning pipes, copper piping, and lighting cables run along the ceiling. Every makeshift light is covered in a thin film of red or orange, making the cozy club look warmer and deeply sensual. Unique brightly colored abstract paintings hang in every recess on the wall, and along one side of the club, deep-red leather semicircle seating is filled to capacity with cheerful people all shouting at each other above the soulful music.

A “Wow” leaves my mouth.

“You like?” Lincoln moves his lips to my ear.

“I love. Do I have to dance like that?” I point to the sexy, gyrating couple in front of us. I should have worn a skirt.

“Do you want to dance like that?” Lincoln yells.

“Can you dance like them?” I feel stupid asking. He’s a member here; he must be able to.

“Yes.”

“Right.”

“I can teach you.”

“I’m a little clumsy.”

“I got you. Would you like a drink? I was thinking of leaving my car. I can get it tomorrow.”

“Tequila.” I need bravery juice.

Lincoln laughs, then turns to face the bar, while I watch these beautiful people dance.

Glistening bodies shine under the low lighting, hands on hips, arms, backs, behinds as they all move in time to the music, lost in their own bubbles.

My eyes lock on a couple to the left. She arches her body backward, inviting her partner to touch her. He accepts by running his hand between her cleavage, skimming it across her stomach before he pulls her closer.

I’m so turned on .

Lincoln taps me on the shoulder as the bartender lays our shots on the bar and I immediately grab the salt, cover my hand, then Lincoln’s, lay it back down on the bar and lift the shot glass. “I want to dance.” I confess.

Lincoln chinks our glasses together. “After three, Violet. Ready? One… two… three.”

In harmony, we lick the salt off our hands, throw our heads back and down our shots, then shove the lime slices into our mouths and suck.

I let out a whoop then say, “Another.”

Lincoln holds two fingers. “Two more, please.” He points at our shot glasses to give the bartender our order, and the bartender overfills our shot glasses clumsily.

“Slower this time.” Lincoln winks as he picks up the saltshaker off the bar. He leans forward and, ever so gently, pulls back the collar of my thin shirt. “Tilt your head to the side.”

Before I have time to ask him what he’s doing, he lowers his head and flattens his tongue across my collarbone. I shudder at the unexpectedness before he drizzles a little salt onto my skin and a few unstuck grains escape, cascading down into my lace bra.

Picking up the refilled shot glass, he slowly drags his tongue from my collarbone up my neck and when he gets to my jaw, he takes his tequila shot, then quickly covers his mouth with mine, driving his tongue deep.

He tastes of citrus and sin, all rolled into one. Raw and wild passion bounces between our pressed bodies.

When he stops kissing me, he’s almost panting. “Your turn.”

Taking his hand in mine, I position it palm up and pour a thin line along his pointer finger. I pick up my shot glass as Lincoln watches intently, waiting patiently to see what my next move is .

Licking the salt off his finger, I down my shot, then draw his finger into my mouth and suck hard.

He pulls me toward him, and I think he’s going to kiss me; instead, he grabs my hand and pulls it between us. “You feel that, Violet?” He rubs my hand over his hard, thick length. “That’s what you do to me.”

I gasp and would love nothing more than to rip off his clothes but can’t.

“Let’s dance, not that it will calm that down.” He points to his crotch and readjusts himself then slips his hand around my waist and guides me onto the packed dance floor.

I look around, internally freaking out that I might not be able to dance like everyone else.

“Violet, look at me.” He’s so serious when he stops in the middle of the dance floor and eases his thigh between my legs, bending lower to accommodate my height. I’m now fully aware both of his hands are on my ass.

“Kizomba—the dance everyone is doing—is slow, steady. I’m going to show you the basic moves, then you’ll know what they are, but I will lead and all you have to do is follow. Okay?”

Over the next three songs, he teaches me the moves. Hips bump, hands skim, and cheek to cheek touches make me want him all the more and to drag Lincoln into a bathroom and fuck him senseless.

“You’re one of those people who can turn her hand to anything, aren’t you?” Lincoln rubs the base of my spine with exploring hands.

“I never got the hang of playing the piano.” The song changes and everyone whoops, making hordes of people hit the floor. It’s a tight squeeze, but it urges Lincoln to hold me closer, as if he’s my protector .

The lights dim even lower, almost plummeting us into darkness.

I relax in his arms, feeling his hard body against my soft one. Temple to temple, we dance and it’s the most romantic, sexy thing I have ever done with a man.

Holding me firmly in his brawny arms, he places the palm of his hand in the exposed gap of my unbuttoned shirt, gesturing for me to bend backward against the top of his broad thigh.

Taking my full weight, he arches me further back.

Gliding his hand further down my exposed skin, he splays his fingers as he reaches my cleavage and rolls my body back up. Once upright, he dips his head and lays a path of kisses from the top of my cleavage, up my chest, and across my neck.

Despite the air-conditioning, my body is molten hot with pleasure.

He grinds into me as we sway again, and I feel how hard he is for me.

“Will you come back to my place?” The tequila is doing the talking for me now.

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” Lincoln pinches his brows.

My heart stalls. I’m instantly snapped out of this lust-filled haze by his rejection, making my face redden with embarrassment. “Okay. I think I would like to go home now.”

“You sure?” he asks, confused.

“Yeah, I need to get back and let Pom-pom out. I’ll go to the bathroom first. Can you order a cab, please?”

He nods, his face full of concern as the air grows icy around us.

I weave my way through the crowds with a heavy heart, and escape to the bathroom .

Lincoln is already standing on the sidewalk with the cab door open, waiting for me when I get outside. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I lengthen my spine and pull a fake smile to summon some positive energy back into my body.

The cab journey is a complete contrast to the whole evening, and you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. Lincoln doesn’t utter a word, and his knee has bounced the entire way.

As we pull up outside my house, I lean in and peck his cheek. “Stay in the cab. I’ll see myself in. See you Monday.”

He doesn’t move as he says a soft good night.

By the time I let myself in, let Pom-pom out for a quick pee, remove my makeup, and have a quick shower, my mind is more awake than ever as my head hits the pillow.

The ringer on my phone makes me jump. Lincoln.

I sigh and accept the call. “Hello.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For tonight. It’s just…”

“I know. You are taking a break from women.” I rub my forehead.

“It’s not like that,” he says softly.

“What’s it like, then?”

“You’re different.”

“Different how?”

“I can’t put it into words. But you make me feel things I haven’t felt before and you make me want to be better. For you.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay.” That sounds like a load of bull. “Well, thanks for calling to tell me that.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Silence fills the void between us.

He continues, “I’ve screwed up in the past. Had a lot of one-night stands and I’ve never had a relationship that’s lasted more than a couple of weeks. No one has ever felt right. Until you, I was beginning to think something was wrong with me. I often feel like there is a tiny part of me missing. You know, with the whole mom abandonment thing?” He doesn’t let me answer, but adds, “I don’t appear to be very good with matters of the heart. I’ve never been able to settle with anyone before. But then you came along and blindsided me. You’re everything I could ever want in a woman. You’re more than everything and my heart feels so fucking happy when I’m around you. But I leave in six weeks.” He pauses. “Why did you have to come along when you did? The cosmos is fucking with me.” I think he’s talking more to himself now. “I meet a goddess of a woman, a fucking queen, who is funny, switched on, successful, and smart, with an utterly banging hourglass, painfully perfect body, and she can’t be mine.” His voice gets louder with every passing word. He’s mad at our situation.

The sweet things he says about me set off a kaleidoscope of butterflies in my belly.

I hold my breath to listen. It’s only then I detect the faint whoosh of the ocean waves crashing in the distance.

Is he outside?

Throwing my comforter back, I leap out of the bed and peek through the gap in my drapes. Sure enough, he’s pacing back and forth outside my house. “I’m only here for six weeks, Violet. Why do you not live in Scotland or why was I not born here in your hometown, or why did I have to cross paths with you to begin with?” He lets out a humph noise as I watch him pick up a stone off the sidewalk and throw it angrily over the road. It disappears into the darkness on the beach. “Why did your father buy that fucking gym?” He pulls his hair. “We live over five thousand miles apart. I know because I looked it up. I’m mad at myself for asking you out on a date tonight. All it’s done is made me want you more. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve never been like this with anyone before.”

I stay quiet.

“Life is so unfair. I really liked you and for the first time… I felt things for you.” He clasps his chest.

Liked?

I give a soft ahem . “I’m mad too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I met this perfect guy, who is simply gorgeous inside and out. But you forgot something.”

“What did I forget?”

I bounce down the stairs and cross the white-sparkle-tiled floor. Unlocking my front door, I swing it open and hit the switch to unlock the electric gates, granting him access, making him spin to face me.

“That this isn’t a one-sided decision, Lincoln. You didn’t let me decide or have my say. You made a decision that involved two people, and I disagree with you.”

He walks slowly up my drive, his phone still glued to his ear. “What don’t you agree with?”

“Not giving us a shot. You didn’t ask me if I wanted to see what would happen between us. Or at least consider being exclusive. You wouldn’t be breaking your stupid self-inflicted ban either. You’d be embracing a new adventure with someone who might just end up being your forever.” I test him. “And what if it is only six weeks of fun? Does it matter? Where did your sense of adventure go? We only get one chance in life, and if we make mistakes, then we’ll make them together. But you will never know if you don’t try.”

“I think I would need more than six weeks with you.” On my doorstep now, he stares down at me in my purple pajama booty shorts and lilac tank top. I’m suddenly conscious that I have very bare legs, no bra on, and the girls are facing south.

He pulls his phone away from his ear. Now only two feet apart, I say, “I want more than six weeks with you too, but you might turn out to be a complete asshole. You were an eighth of an asshole tonight.”

He gives a genuine chortle, finally ends the call, and pushes his phone into the pocket of his jeans, and I lower my phone.

“Just an eighth?” he asks, amused.

I lift a shoulder to my ear. “Meh, the rest of the night was okay.”

“So, seven-eighths of the night was just okay ?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” I tease, then I put us back on course. “Also, it’s been a very long time since I had sex too. Six weeks of it together could be fun. You mentioned something earlier about more than once a day. Where do I sign?”

He shakes his head. “You, Violet West, have thirty-foot poles that are your nemesis, but you are my undoing.”

“Your leap of faith?”

“Yeah.”

I hold out my hand. “Are you taking it? Or are we going to play a game of verbal gymnastics all night?”