38. Serphina
38
Serphina
“We should go,” Lincoln mutters into my hair. It’s been at least ten minutes since we both came, but I haven’t moved off him or his now-soft cock. Part of it is because my new favorite place to be is tied up in him, but the larger part is that as soon as I stand and our bodies disconnect, the reality of where we are and what he just told me about Mitch will come flooding back, and that’s a scary thought.
A terrifying one, in fact.
But I can’t deny that Lincoln is right, and we need to clean ourselves up, and I need to round up the dignity that I seem to have left on the first floor of the library.
Lifting myself from his lap, I slide off and let my feet and skirt fall to the floor. I wince at the flood of cum dripping down my legs and rub my thighs together at the sticky mess, probably making it worse. “This is disgusting.” I moan, this time not in pleasure but in embarrassment that I’ll need to walk back downstairs with a mixture of me and Lincoln between my legs.
“Cierń, my cock is getting hard just thinking about my cum dripping from your pussy, so unless you want me to bend you over this table and fuck you again, stop talking about it.”
“We can’t do it again.” I lower my voice, whispering as though it makes a difference at this point. “I can’t believe we did it in the first place.”
“You’re an exhibitionist, Seraphina. What do you expect?”
“I— No. What?” My mind reels from his words, and I can’t help but feel like he should be wrong, but maybe he’s right? I love porn, the intimate scenes depicting real couples in passionate displays, not the heavily edited scenes that are so unrealistic, they’re comical. Could it be that what I find so sexy about those moments isn’t watching the lovers on-screen but the thought of me being in their position being watched?
“I fucking love that you’re not afraid to ride my cock in a secluded corner of the library or let me finger-fuck your pussy in an alley, but you know damn well I wouldn’t let anyone actually see your body without your consent. Even then, I think I’d go fucking feral if anyone saw you the way I see you.”
I roll my eyes at his possessive explanation. Fixing my tank top, I shoot him an incredulous look. “It’s not as though I was a virgin all these years.”
“You worked those fuckboys out of your system—nothing wrong with that. But now? You’re mine, cierń. The same way I’m yours.”
“It wasn’t just boys,” I whisper, looking down at my hands, unsure how he’ll take the knowledge that I’ve experimented outside of the traditional heteronormative expectations he has. I hear his body shift on the seat a moment before his hand reaches out, palming my cheek and forcing me to look into his eyes.
“Men, women, nonbinary, I don’t give a shit. You experimented, you worked that shit out of your system and found what you liked and didn’t like. But do you know what remains the truth? You’ve never come so hard as you do on my cock, my fingers, and my tongue. You’ve never experienced pleasure like what we do together, and your heart is mine. Just like I’m yours. Unless one of those assholes hurt you and I need to dispose of a body, you don’t need to tell me about anything you’ve done. I don’t judge you. Hell, I’ve done a shit ton of experimenting too. Yeah, they may have been all women, but I tested my limits the same way you have.
“You want to try something new, you try it with me. You want to get off to porn and fuck yourself under your covers? I want to watch that shit and clean your pussy up after you come. Any fantasy you have, let me make it come true.”
“What if I want to peg you?” I joke, teasing him in an attempt to dispel the intensity.
“Then buy a fucking strap-on. Nothing is off-limits except one thing: I don’t fucking share. It’s you and me, Seraphina. That’s it.”
My eyes widen at his statement, and I immediately shake my head. “I don’t want to do that. I was just joking.”
“Good, because I’m not particularly into that, but for you, I’d try it. I need you to understand something, Seraphina. When I say I love you, I mean all of you. The past, the present, the future. The dirty little kinks you keep hidden and the way you like the idea of being caught, even if you don’t want people to actually watch. Every damn thing about you is loveable, Seraphina, and I’m all in.”
Tears well in my eyes at his words, and I nod my head, moving his palm up and down with my movements. “I love you too.” My voice is soft, but there’s conviction behind it. With Lincoln, I can be flawed. I can be a mess. I can be quiet and inquisitive, observant and introspective. I don’t need to be the perfect Seraphina, the one who tried to keep it all together and fell victim to martyr syndrome.
I can just be.
“I know, cierń. Now come on, let’s get you home before Ms. Frizzle comes up here and kicks my ass for defiling you in her sacred little library.”
I swat at his extended arm, rolling my eyes at his words. “Stop calling May Ms. Frizzle.”
“Tell me that she doesn’t look and act like an older version of her. She even has the weird clothes she wears.”
“She is a stylish baby boomer. But you’re right. We need to go before someone sees us.”
Lincoln stands up, tucking himself away before zipping his jeans and pulling his shirt back into place. I stare at him as he adjusts, my mouth watering at the expanse of tattoos on his skin, the collection I now know is meant for me, and the way his jeans hang low on his hips. One look at him, and it’s easy to see why his parents encouraged him to model for as long as they did.
But on closer inspection, the calluses on his fingers and the roughness of his hands show that he’s every inch the chef he was always destined to be.
“Cierń, you look like you want me to make good on my threat and toss you over that table.” He steps into me, putting his hands on my hips to pull me forward.
I shake my head and grip his wrists, stilling his playful movements. “No. We need to go back downstairs now. My shift is probably over anyway, not that I did much today.” I raise a single brow at him, clearly blaming him for my lagging work ethic today.
“Hey.” He squeezes my hip. “No regrets, though, right?”
“Do I regret having sex in the library where I work? No.” I shake my head before continuing, “But I also know that it was the least professional thing I’ve ever done.”
He smirks down at me. “Fair enough. Let’s go, cierń.”
—
“May knows. Oh my god. May knows.”
“She probably doesn’t. Maybe she suspects, but I doubt she knows.”
“Did you see the look on her face when we walked back down? Her left eyebrow was raised, and her lips were pursed. She knows, Lincoln. God, I’m going to get fired.” He has the nerve to laugh at me as we walk through the parking lot to his car. “Lincoln, I’m serious.”
“I know you are, but I think you’re fine. She gave me a wink as we left, so even if she suspects something—which I’m sure she doesn’t—she’s fine.”
“I could die of embarrassment. Lincoln—what are you doing?” His hands grip my waist, pushing me into a large oak tree.
“Don’t you ever joke about dying, Seraphina. It’s not funny.” All the humor from moments ago leeches from his voice, and I’m left staring at a very stern Lincoln. His green eyes burn with their intensity, and I nod.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeats, eyes flitting between mine. He’s about to speak when drops of water fall between us. Looking up, I see angry clouds move overhead and hear the patter of the drizzle on the pavement. Rain falls around us, and Lincoln releases a small laugh, the humor returning to his voice. “Let’s get you home, Seraphina.”
He releases my waist and grabs my hand, pulling me as we run toward the parking lot and our parked cars.
The rain transforms from a drizzle to heavy pellets by the time we make it, and I dive inside, surprised when Lincoln opens the passenger side door and slips into my car. “Didn’t you drive here?”
“Did you seriously leave your car unlocked after everything that’s happened in the last month?” Angry Lincoln is back, and honestly, I’m getting whiplash at his frequently changing tone.
“It makes it easier to get in.”
“Yeah.” He draws out the word as though I’m stupid. “That’s exactly my point.”
Scowling at him, I turn the conversation back to his car. “What are you going to do about your car?”
“Leave it here.”
My brows furrow at his explanation. “But you’ll get a ticket.”
“Okay. I’ll pay it online.”
“But—”
“Seraphina, let’s drive home before the rain gets too heavy.”
With my key in my hand, I point at him. “Stop giving me orders, Lincoln Simmons.”
“Start being more concerned with your safety,” he fires back.
Giving him one last eye roll, I turn my attention back to my car and slip my key into the ignition, twisting it until the rumble of the engine fills the space. Looking behind me, I back out of the space slowly, careful not to move too fast and risk hydroplaning in the summer storm. With my face still turned, I slam on my brakes when, out of nowhere, a blacked-out Ford Mustang speeds into the lot, not slowing down or accounting for me pulling out of my spot.
Our bodies jerk forward at the slamming of the brakes, and we watch the Mustang round the library and disappear to the other side of the parking lot.
“What a dick,” Lincoln mutters. “You okay, cierń?”
“Yeah, fine. I hate drivers like that.”
I glance over at Lincoln, unsurprised to find his stare settled on my face. “Do you want me to drive?”
“No, I’m fine.” I try it again, backing up slowly and breathing a sigh of relief once I clear the cars on either side of me. Cutting my wheel, I shift into drive and creep out of the parking lot and onto the main road that will lead us back to my apartment.
Neither Lincoln nor I speak as I drive through the now-steady downpour. I keep my music turned off, and the squeaking of the windshield wipers offers background noise. It’s not until I pull into my apartment’s lot and park in a designated resident spot that I finally take a deep breath.
“Do you have an umbrella in here?”
I wince at the question. “It broke, and I forgot to replace it.”
Lincoln looks from me to the fifty feet to my apartment’s entrance, then back to me. The smile that breaks out over his face is both mischievous and indulgent. “Looks like we’re making a run for it.”
He throws open his door and unfolds his tall body from my car. With a slam of the door, he stands outside, letting the rain pelt his skin, soaking him almost instantly. I let out a laugh as his voice carries over the rain beating down on my car. “Come on, cierń.”
“Psycho,” I call out, grabbing my bag and opening my door as I do. Rain slams into me, and I yell, shocked by how cold it feels against my skin in late June.
I start running toward my apartment building, not paying attention to anything other than getting inside and getting out of these wet clothes. I’m so absorbed in my retreat to the building that I don’t realize Lincoln is right behind me until his rough hands circle my hips and toss me over his shoulder, moving us faster than I ever could with his long legs.
“Lincoln!” I squeal, laughing at the inverted view of the ground.
“You move too slow, cierń,” he yells back, hugging my body closer to his as he climbs up the stairs and through the apartment building’s entrance. Cool air blasts into us from the air conditioner as soon as we step inside, and I shiver against Lincoln’s hold, burrowing closer to his wet body for nonexistent warmth.
I should tell him to put me down as he strides to the elevator and waits for the doors to open.
I should tell him I’m capable of standing when he steps into the metal box.
And when he walks quickly down the hallway to my apartment and tries the handle of my apartment door, I should demand that he let me walk.
But I do none of those things, loving the feeling of being in Lincoln’s arms.
I’m not surprised that the front door is locked since I know Bianca was at a sorority event today, and Olivia had an afternoon shift at the bar. So when Lincoln reaches up and grabs my bag from my hand, I’m not so much surprised as I am impressed by his ability to hold me and rummage for my keys at the same time.
He finds them easily, slipping the key into the lock and twisting until it disengages. He steps over the threshold and slams the door behind him, locking us in as soon as it’s closed. With purposeful strides, he walks toward the bathroom I share with Bianca and doesn’t stop until he’s setting me down on the counter and reaching into the shower to turn on the hot water.
“What are you doing?”
“Warming you up.” He punctuates his words by reaching out and tugging on my tank top and bra, pulling them up and over my head in a sopping wet mess. “Put your hands on my shoulders.”
“What did I say about ordering me around?” I tease, following his directions despite my sass.
“Don’t be a thorn in the ass, cierń,” he comments, tugging on my skirt until the zipper is open, and he pushes the fabric toward my feet, letting it fall to the ground. He grabs my hands, placing them back on the counter as he bends to his knees, unhooking first one sandal, then the other, until I’m completely naked and covered in goosebumps.
Only then does he get to work on shedding his own clothes, toeing off his shoes and socks before ripping the cotton and denim from his body. When we’re both completely bare, he hauls me forward, grabbing me around the waist and stepping inside the shower.
I can feel his erection against my ass as he moves us under the spray, and I shift, gliding against it. His hand delivers a sharp smack, stilling me. “Ignore it. You need to get warm. Your skin is like ice.”
He reaches out, turning the water to scalding temperatures, and moves us out of the spray, letting the bathroom fill up with steam. I can feel the hair around my face dampen, even though we’re not in the direct line of the spray. The humidity in the shower heats my body, causing the goosebumps to stay for a completely different reason.
Suddenly, Lincoln lowers me to my feet for the first time in fifteen minutes, spinning me around so that I’m no longer facing him but the tiled wall. I almost ask him what he’s doing, but instead, I let him take the reins without any commentary. Salon-grade shampoo and conditioner line the adhesive shelves on the largest wall, and Lincoln reaches forward, grabbing the first bottle he meets. “This one?”
I shake my head. “No, that one is Bianca’s.” I take it from his hand and place it back on the shelf. Reaching toward the one below it, I grab my shampoo and open the cap, engulfing the room in citrus. Lincoln snatches the bottle from me, and I hear him take a sharp inhale.
“Is this why you always smell like lemons?” Twisting my head, I watch him read the label of the shampoo, biting down on my lip at his concentration. “I always thought it was your perfume.”
“I think my perfume is apples and lemons, so I guess it’s both.” I furrow my brow, trying to remember what the notes of my perfume are. “I mean, it’s shaped like an apple, so it’s definitely apple in there. But my shampoo is lemon and grapefruit. Here, give it to me.”
“No.” I watch transfixed as Lincoln squeezes an overly generous amount into his palm and rubs it together, emulsifying it. His hands grip my scalp, massaging the shampoo into my head in a way that’s both erotic and cleansing.
“Oh, wow,” I breathe out, closing my eyes as he works to clean my long, thick strands. I normally double cleanse, but with the amount of shampoo Lincoln applied, I’ll be lucky if I’m able to get it all out in one shower. But for now, I’ll keep thoughts of greasy, shampoo-laced hair quiet and let myself be lulled to a sense of calm that contradicts the turmoil outside of this apartment.
“Give me your conditioner, cierń,” Lincoln murmurs, and I blindly reach out, using muscle memory to pick the middle bottle from my designated shelf.
“Just a quarter-sized, and start at my ends,” I instruct.
“You have three feet of hair. What is a quarter-sized dollop going to do?” His voice is skeptical, clearly disbelieving.
“It’s highly concentrated; you’d be surprised.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” I hear the press of the bottle before Lincoln’s hands graze my lower back as he works the conditioner into the strands. It’s not as relaxing as the scalp massage, but it still feels heavenly.
I open my eyes, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. Lincoln’s face is a mask of concentration, and I smile at the look he gives me. “It’s not rocket science, Lincoln.”
“Might as well be. I shave my head and have only bodywash in my shower.”
I roll my eyes at his words. “Have you always kept it this short? It was shaved when I met you too.”
He nods, holding my hair up to the water to rinse it out. “My dad’s always kept his hair in a crew cut, and when I started modeling, I had that at first, until I was sixteen and one of the photographers on a shoot had an idea that I should shave my head, and they should take pictures doing it in some edgy editorial bullshit campaign. Shaving it myself is easier than going to a barber every few weeks, so I’ve kept it up ever since.”
I nod at his explanation, mentally picturing him with hair and unable to see it. “I like it short.”
“That’s good since it is short,” he teases. Picking up the lemon bodywash on my shelf, I hold my hand out, silently indicating he should give me the bottle to wash myself, but he lifts an eyebrow. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you wash yourself while I’m here? What kind of delusional state are you in?”
“You need to wash yourself, too, and the water gets cold quickly.”
“It’s still warm enough. Face me.”
Shaking my head, I again follow his commands and turn to face him. His smirk is the only warning I receive before his soap-covered hands land on my shoulders, massaging my skin with attention I’ve never received. His hands trail lower, moving to my breasts, kneading the small swells before cupping them. He lifts them, pulling them together as his forefinger rubs over my nipples, making them hard enough to cut glass.
My breath hitches at his ministrations, at the omnipresent smirk on his face. He drops my breasts and moves lower, water and soap sluicing over my rib cage before he gets to my hips. His hands coast over my skin until they’re gripping my ass, parting my cheeks as the tips of his fingers rest between my flesh.
“Just making sure you’re clean, Seraphina,” he offers, rubbing my skin carefully. I look down, not surprised to find his cock hard. Stepping forward, I align his cock with my stomach, wishing that we were more evenly matched in height so that I could feel him between my thighs.
We might have had sex only an hour ago, but already it feels like it’s been too long, like I want more.
“Can you turn around for me, Seraphina? I think you have some dirt on your back.” I nod my head, spinning quickly in the tight shower and nearly slipping from my haste, and Lincoln’s hands steady me. “You need to bend forward, pretty girl. I need to make sure I can see every inch of you.”
Bracing my hands on the lip of the tub, I bend, giving him unfettered access to the most intimate parts of my body. Even though I anticipate his hands, I still jump as they land on my upper thighs, featherlight and almost a tickle.
“It’s right there,” he murmurs, hands trailing from my thighs to the underside of my ass.
“Lincoln.” I shudder, body swaying from the light caresses he’s giving me. I press back into him, lifting up on my toes so that I can feel his hard cock against me.
“Goddamn, cierń. I’m trying to be good. Are you sore?”
“Don’t be good, Lincoln,” I command, my turn to throw out the shots. His hands grip me harder at my statement.
“So fucking sexy with this ass in the air, cierń. I bet your cunt is soaked from more than this shower, isn’t it?” His words are obscene, but his tone is reverent, a heady dichotomy that has me rocking back, trying to gain more friction against him. A sharp smack rings out in the shower, and I belatedly realize that he spanked me. “You’ll get my cock when I say you can have it, Seraphina.”
I don’t like the idea of begging. Honestly, in any other context, I find the whole notion distasteful and demeaning. But with Lincoln, I’m not above whining. “Please.”
His chuckle greets my ears. “Such a fucking slut for my cock, cierń. I wanted to take care of you, but you want me to fuck you in the shower, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I mutter, unphased with how high-pitched my voice sounds right now.
He smacks my ass again, not eliciting any pain but in a way that tells me exactly who’s behind me. “This ass, Sera. I swear to God, this fucking ass keeps me up at night,” he growls as he wrenches my hips upward. “One day, I’m going to fuck your ass while you fuck yourself with those little fingers. You like that, don’t you? I see the cum dripping out of this cunt just from my talking about it.” He’s right; I do like the sound of his threat, though I know I shouldn’t.
He leans over me, aligning his chest to my back, and I feel the head of his cock against my opening. I try to shift back, but he holds me still. “I’m never going to get enough of you, Seraphina. I swear on all that I hold holy, I will never get enough.”
I expect him to piston into me, to fill me in a swift motion that robs me of air and sensible thought. But if there’s one thing I know about Lincoln, it’s to expect the unexpected. He sinks in slowly, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated and pinning me against his body with his hands and legs. “How is it that every time gets fucking better, cierń? How?”
I shake my head, too full to respond to him but sharing the same thought. He moves slowly, dragging his cock against my inner walls in movements so measured it’s hard to breathe.
“You were made for me, Seraphina. The perfect fucking woman,” he murmurs against my back, pressing kisses along my spine as he continues to move in and out. My mouth opens in a silent scream, no sound coming out as he plays with my body. “I’m not going to last, Seraphina, not when your pussy clenches me like a damn vice, and I can hear every breath you take. What do you need to get there, cierń?”
“Clit,” I rasp out, closing my eyes and pushing back against him. “Pl-please.”
He licks at my shoulder, bringing one hand around to play with the nerves between my legs. All it takes is a few gentle circles, his mouth on my body, and his cock buried deep for me to still in his hold, the orgasm washing over me with a mellow intensity, one that may not render me speechless but is all-consuming. Lincoln follows me over, stilling inside me as he comes.
It takes a moment for our breathing to calm down, and we’re still out of breath as the hot water turns cool, hitting us with icy pellets and forcing us apart. “Shit, fuck, that’s cold.”
“I told you.” I shiver, standing up as I grab the soap from the shelf and squirt some on my hand. I hold it out to him, and he frowns, probably at the knowledge that the blissed-out state we were just in evaporated as quickly as the hot water. He takes it anyway, pouring some into his hand before rubbing his body down with an aggression that shows he wants to wash off as quickly as possible. I mimic his haste and step under the cold spray, gritting my teeth as the cold water washes away the last of the soap and our cum and step out of the shower.
“Dammit,” I mutter, realizing that we brought in no clothes for the walk back to my room. Reaching into the linen closet, I pull out two white towels and quickly dry myself off before wrapping the cotton around my body. I hear the shower turn off and hold out the spare towel for Lincoln, who takes it without hesitation. Opening up a vanity drawer, I grab a microfiber hair towel and bend over, placing it over my head and covering my hair in a well-practiced move. Standing up, I meet Lincoln’s stare in the mirror.
“What?”
He shakes his head before grabbing me and pulling me into his body. The move isn’t sexual but comforting. “This feels right.”
I hold his stare in the mirror, tilting my head so that he can rest his jaw on my bare shoulder. “I know.”
With a final kiss on my skin, Lincoln straightens to his full height and grabs our discarded clothes and shoes from the floor, towel wrapped around his hips. I step in front of him, listening for any sign of movement beyond the door. “I don’t think anyone is home.” I open the bathroom door and peek out, confirming my suspicions.
He hums, following me as I walk across the hallway to my bedroom. Moving to my closet, I bite down on my lip, weighing the choice I’m about to make. “I have a pair of oversized sweatpants. They’ll be too short on you, but they’ll fit. And, uh, I have your hoodie.”
He snorts at my offering. “Of course you do, cierń.” I move to my closet door, pulling it open to grab the sweatpants and old sweatshirt in question.
“I want this back,” I say as I hand him the clothes.
“The sweatshirt or the sweatpants?”
“Both. But hurry up and put those on… I’m hungry. I’ll order something.”
He stills at my words. “Do you have groceries?”
“Of course.”
“Then you’re not ordering shit. I’ll cook.”
“Lincoln, you don’t have to do that.”
“Seraphina, I love to cook. If you order a saltine-cracker pizza, I’m going to throw it at the delivery man, so do us both a favor and get your hot little ass in some sweats and come be my sous-chef.”
“So damn bossy.”
“And you fucking love it,” he teases, pulling his arms through his old sweatshirt before slipping the opening over his head. “I’m going to go inspect your pantry and fridge.”
I wave him off, turning my back to him as I rummage through the sweatpants and sweatshirts folded in neat rows, settling on a “Guns N’ Roses” graphic sweatshirt with a collage of different types of flowers. It’s corny, but after I discovered my love of gardening, I couldn’t stop myself from buying the kitschy sweatshirt. Slipping into a pair of black leggings, I check the security on the towel on my head and trace Lincoln’s footsteps into the kitchen, unsurprised to find him slicing a zucchini at the island.
Sliding onto a stool across from him, I reach for a water bottle he set out on the counter. “What are you making?”
“Zucchini alla Nerano. You good with that?”
I nod, my stomach rumbling at his words. “I love zucchini.”
“Good. Make yourself useful and pour wine.”
I throw the cap at him and he laughs, looking up at me with a pleased look on his face. “I’m only doing this because I want a glass. So don’t think that I’m just going to follow all of your demands, okay?” I slide off the stool and round the counter to the fridge, where a bottle of white wine is chilling. Grabbing the pinot grigio, I cradle it against my chest and turn to the cabinet to grab two wine glasses.
“Those are for red wine,” he comments, eyes on me while he continues to chop.
“I’m aware, but I’m too short to reach the white ones without a stool, and I don’t feel like climbing. If you don’t like it, don’t drink it.” I shrug my shoulders, carrying the glasses and the wine back to the island to pour.
Concentrating on opening the bottle, I use the lever corkscrew to slice off the foil and uncork the wine, pouring a healthy amount into each glass. I slide his glass over before picking up mine and leaning back, taking a sip as I watch him work.
The rhythm of Lincoln’s chopping fills the kitchen, and I stare at his precise knife skills before he sets the cutting board and vegetables aside and rummages through my cabinets. Finding the pots, he grabs a sauté pan and stock pot and places them on the stove. He moves fluidly in the kitchen, drizzling olive oil with ease and frying the zucchini to a perfectly golden brown before transferring the cooked spaghetti directly into the sauté pan of zucchini. With a ladle, he transfers some of the starchy water into the pan and then finishes it with pecorino Romano. My kitchen smells like a beautiful amalgamation of garlic and lemon, nutty cheese, and fresh basil.
Lincoln sets a bowl of perfectly plated pasta in front of me, and I can’t help but exclaim at the presentation. “Wow.”
“It’s my job, Seraphina. Don’t be too impressed.”
“How can I not be? Most guys only know how to boil water or grill a well-done burger.”
“They should be ashamed,” he responds matter-of-factly, lifting his bowl and fork for a bite. He chews for a minute, considering the flavors. “Fresh parm would have been better, but it beats that shit pizza you would have gotten delivered.”
“It’s good pizza.” It’s not. It’s decent, at best. I twirl pasta with my fork, stabbing a piece of zucchini at the end and bringing it to my mouth. Flavors explode as I chew, and I can’t keep my moan of approval in. “But this is incredible.” I lower my fork for another bite, quickly bringing it to my lips.
Lincoln’s laugh has my eyes darting up, and I pause mid-bite at how damn happy he looks.
“What?” I say around a mouthful, covering my lips as I talk.
“You, cierń. I fucking love feeding you. I made enough for Olivia and Bianca when they get back.”
I swallow, bringing a napkin to my lips. “Thank you, Lincoln.”
“Don’t you know by now, cierń? For you, I’d do anything.”
—
I forced Lincoln to sit while I packed up the leftovers and cleaned the kitchen, citing the age-old adage of “you cooked, I clean” as a way of explanation. It didn’t take me long to wash and dry the pots or to load our dishes and silverware into the dishwasher. I glance at the clock on the microwave as I close the dishwasher. It’s not even eight at night, yet between the rain and everything else that’s happened recently, it feels much later.
I know that the moment we close ourselves in my room, we have to talk about Lincoln’s run-in with Mitch, what that means, and how he handled it. I’d like to stay in this bubble in the kitchen, but we can’t, and both Lincoln and I know it.
“Ready?”
I nod, wiping the last of the crumbs from the counter. Walking around the island, I lead Lincoln into my bedroom and shut the door behind us.