Chapter Twenty-Three
Elora
The venison is magnificent, and Linc’s exclamations as he tucks into his beef tell me his meal is just as tasty. The duck-fat potatoes are crunchy on the outside and fluffy on the inside, and the seasonal veg is firm and full of flavor. It’s a magnificent meal, and I eat every mouthful, and feel stuffed full near the end.
“Dessert?” he asks, but I’m far too full to eat anything more.
I’ve finished my glass of wine, though, and enjoyed it enough to ask him if I can have another.
“Are you sure?” he asks with a frown. I nod, and so he pours me another small glass, tipping the remainder of the bottle into his own. “I’m not sure about this,” he says. “I’m not taking you to bed if you’re inebriated.”
“I’m not going to get blotted on two tiny glasses,” I scoff. “They’re barely a quarter full. I just want to relax.”
He swirls the ruby-red liquid around in his glass, looking a little puzzled. “Why? Do you feel tense?”
“No… not yet.”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
I moisten my lips, not missing the way his gaze drops to them, and lean on the table. “I’m hoping you’ll go up to thirty percent.”
His lips curve up. “I see. So what does this involve, in your opinion?”
“I want you to be on top.”
He studies me, his gaze thoughtful. He knows what I’m saying, and why I might be nervous about it.
And it’s true, I’m a little anxious in case it brings back memories, but equally the thought of him being more in charge fills me with excitement.
“You’re sure?” he asks again.
I nod. “I’ve got to do it at some point, and I’d rather it was sooner than later.” I look into the wine glass. “I understand why Dad hates alcohol and drugs, and why he didn’t want me to become dependent on them. But I’m an adult now, and I can make my own decisions.”
He nods. “That’s true.” He watches me sip the wine. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m a long way from being drunk, but I feel pleasantly mellow. It’s as if someone has come up to me with a piece of sandpaper, and they’ve smoothed off all my sharp angles.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t have a single sharp angle. You’re all curves.” He smirks.
“Are you talking about my boobs?”
“Most definitely.”
I giggle and have another mouthful of wine. Okay, maybe it is having an effect. But I like how it makes me feel. Relaxed. Carefree. A tiny bit reckless. If I was anywhere else, I might worry about that. But I’m with Linc. I’m safe. I trust him. And I’m happy to give up control to him.
He looks away, out of the window, and I follow his gaze. The sun is lower in the sky now, although it’s a few hours from setting. The mountains are lit with its golden-orange light, backlit by the deep-blue sky. Lights are popping on in the town and in the houses on the other side of the valley. Shops are closing, and everyone is having dinner and getting ready to settle down for the evening.
My gaze returns to Linc. He’s still looking out of the window, giving me a view of his gorgeous profile. He isn’t unaffected by the wine. He’s had more than me, and although I have a feeling he can handle his alcohol quite well, his eyelids have dropped to half-mast, and his hair is ruffled where he’s run his hand through it half a dozen times, making him look less smooth and sophisticated than before. He’s slid down in his seat a little, and his knees are splayed wide in typical boy fashion.
He brings his gaze back to me, and there’s something in his eyes again that sends a delicious frisson running down my spine. My nipples tighten in my bra, and my pulse speeds up, all with that look. He’s thinking about having sex with me. About taking control. He’s as excited about it as I am.
We don’t speak for a while. We finish off our wine slowly, just watching each other. He looks amused and turned on, so hot and young and sexy, and I can feel my body preparing itself for him, swelling and moistening, little tremors occurring in my muscles, and an ache building between my thighs.
He finishes his wine before me, tipping back his head to swallow the last drops and exposing his neck, with the slight bump of his Adam’s apple and the attractive hollow at the base of his throat. I bite my lip, tempted to climb onto the table, crawl forward, sink my teeth into him, and suck until I leave a mark, branding him so all the other girls know he’s mine.
Because he is mine—for the next few days at least. That’s what I’m going to pretend, anyway.
I finish my wine slowly on purpose, taking small sips and forcing him to wait. He gives a short laugh, obviously seeing what I’m doing, and his knee bounces up and down under the table, his motor running and ready to go. I imagine the blood racing around his body, the hormones starting to pour into his system, his body, like mine, preparing itself for our coupling. God, I’m turning myself on now. I need to go to the apartment so I can get my hands on him.
I swallow the last mouthful of wine and put the empty glass on the table. “I think I might have a coffee.”
He throws me a hot glance. “Not a chance. Come on.”
I stifle a giggle and get to my feet. After thanking the waiter—and watching Linc tip him like an Italian gangster in the nineteen-sixties—I head for the door, and we go out into the warm evening air.
Linc takes my hand, and we walk along the open corridor toward our apartment.
“That was a nice meal,” I say innocently.
“It was. I’m glad I had the beef. I think I’m going to need the iron.”
I giggle. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“You’re determined to sex me to death, aren’t you?”
“Well I’m not into necrophilia, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He laughs out loud, stopping to open the door to the block. “Get in there,” he says, smacking my butt as I pass him. “You drive me crazy.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I stick my tongue out at him as he opens the apartment door, then slip by him.
He follows me in, and we go into the dimly lit living room. The staff have been in, and everything has been cleaned and tidied. When I glance into the bedroom, I see that the bed has been made.
The sun is sinking toward the horizon, and the view looks as if it’s made from metal—all steel, copper, bronze, and gold, and all dazzling in the late sun’s rays.
I feel over-excited, my heart racing, my face flushed and burning. I want him to take me into the bedroom and screw me senseless, but despite the alcohol, a kaleidoscope of butterflies flutters inside me.
I glance over at the front door, fighting the urge to cross to it and check that it’s locked. Again, and again.
“Come here,” he says gently, bringing my gaze back to him. He takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom. “Take off your shoes,” he instructs, toeing off his own Converses.
I bend and remove my sandals. I’m wearing navy capri pants and a pretty light-orange tee. Does he want me to take them off? I go to remove the tee, but he takes my hands, shakes his head, and leads me over to the bed.
Then he pulls me toward him and gives me a hug.
“We’re going to make out for a while,” he murmurs, his lips touching my hair. “Let our dinner go down for a bit while we just kiss and cuddle. Is that okay?”
Relief flows through me that he understands how I’m feeling, and I bury my face in his shirt. “How do you always know how to make me feel better?”
“Skill.” He chuckles, and I smile as I feel it rumble through his chest. The truth is, though, that he does seem to understand me. He reads between the lines, as he always has, knowing when there’s a secret message hidden beneath the obvious one.
“Come on,” he says, “give me a hand.”
Together, we pull the sheets and quilt out where it’s been tucked beneath the mattress, then he folds back one side and gestures for me to climb on. Fully clothed, I get into bed, and he slides in beside me, pulls me into his arms, and brings the quilt and sheets up over us.
“We’ll get hot,” I tell him, happiness making me glow.
“I’m planning on it.” He tucks a finger under my chin, lifts it to get better access to my mouth, then kisses me.
We make out, as he calls it, for ages. He shows no sign of getting exasperated or fed up with it, and instead it’s me who starts to get fidgety, as his mouth moves across mine with agonizing slowness, teasing me with his lips, teeth, and tongue. He slides his tongue inside my mouth repeatedly, the erotic slickness of it making my nipples tighten, and when he eventually brushes a hand over my breasts, I groan out loud as they tingle, sending reverberations through my whole body.
“Slowly, baby,” he says, “let’s draw this out, okay?”
“I’m trying,” I grumble, “but you’re driving me insane.”
He gives a satisfied laugh that’s a bit too smug for my liking, so I slide a hand down his front to his jeans. Deftly, I flick open the button there, then, discovering that he already has an erection, I ease the zipper carefully down over it, letting the tiger out of its cage.
He grunts as it strains forward in the black boxer-briefs, then sighs when I stroke him through the cotton. It’s the first time I’ve touched him like this, and a little shyly, I explore the shape and feel of him through the fabric, sliding my fingers over the swollen head, the bumps and ridges and veins along the shaft.
After about a minute of this, he rests his forehead against mine for a moment.
“Okay, sweetheart?” I ask, slipping a hand to the back of his neck and stroking the short hair there.
He huffs a little sigh. “You’re driving me crazy.”
“Aw.”
“I’m trying to take it easy.”
“What if I don’t want you to?”
He lifts his head and looks at me. “I don’t want to hurt or frighten you.”
“You couldn’t, Linc.”
His brow furrows. I think he’s about to argue with me, but instead he just takes the hem of my top in his hands and gestures for me to lift my arms. Ooh, I appear to have flipped a switch. He peels the top up and over my head and tosses it away, then grabs a handful of his own at the back of his neck and rips it off. Then he lifts up and pushes me onto my back, and lies on top of me, pressing me into the mattress.
Mmm, he’s deliciously heavy. He looks down at me, his mouth just an inch from mine, and moves his hips a little so his erection is pressing between my legs through his jeans.
“You want me to stop, you just tell me,” he says, his voice husky. When I nod, he says, “Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Okay.” He bends his head and kisses me.
He continues to kiss me for a long time, occasionally moving his hips and thrusting his hard length through my soft flesh, making me groan. After a while, he slides a hand to my bra, takes the stretchy cup in his fingers, lifts it, and tucks it under my breast before moving down to take my nipple in his mouth. He does the same the other side, exposing both breasts to his tongue, and that turns me to caramel inside.
“Linc,” I murmur, squirming beneath him, “please…”
He lifts his head and looks down at me. The setting sun has bathed the room in light the color of butterscotch, and it makes me think of him saying he has the Midas Touch, with a nose for gold.
He moves off me and removes his jeans and boxers, then retrieves a condom while I take off the rest of my clothes. By the time I lie back down, he’s opened the packet and rolled the condom on, and he moves between my legs, pushing my knees up a little.
My heart is racing, but I remain outwardly calm. I watch as, leaning on one hand, with the other he guides the tip of his erection down, brushing through my folds, until he presses against my entrance.
Then he lowers down and studies my face.
“All right, baby?” he asks.
I nod. Then, mischievously, I lift my hands to his chest and circle my forefingers over his nipples. I meet his eyes, not stopping, and watch as he lifts an eyebrow.
Then, lightly, I give them a pinch.
“Ow.” He gives me a wry look, but it’s full of affection. “Breathe in,” he instructs.
I take a deep breath.
“Breathe out.”
I exhale. As I do so, he pushes his hips forward. Slowly, he slides about halfway into me. He pauses and waits for me to adjust, moves back, then slides in again. This time, he goes all the way in, so his hips are flush with the back of my thighs.
He closes his eyes, and I watch him enjoying just being inside me, reveling in the sensation of stretching and filling me.
Eventually, he opens his eyes, keeps them fixed on me, and begins to move.
Mmm… it feels different from being on top. He’s taking control a little more, directing the action. He kisses me, sliding a hand to my breast, and I groan as he plucks at the nipple, sending tremors through me. Oh God I love doing this. Now I can see what all the fuss was about. Not only does it feel amazing, but I love the fact that I’m connecting with him so intimately. I’m not his first—and technically he’s not my first—but right here, right now, there are only the two of us, and there’s something so special about that.
“Ahhh… Lora…” he whispers, and I know then that I’m getting to him too. “You feel amazing,” he adds, plunging inside me. He stops for a moment, pushing forward, burying himself right in the heart of me, and I moan and tip my head back, closing my eyes.
“Linc…”
“You’re so soft,” he says, brushing a hand down my body to my thigh. “All over.”
“You’re not.” I run my fingers up his biceps, then spread my hands across his pecs, all of which feel hard to my touch, tight with tension. I slide my hands around his ribs to his back, and feel the taut muscles supporting his spine, all the way down to his butt. Yes, that’s nice and tight, too.
“Is this okay?” he murmurs, still thrusting slowly. “You’re comfortable?”
I’m distracted by the movement of muscles beneath my fingers. “Yes…”
“Are you sure? Thirty percent meets with your approval?” He’s teasing me now.
“I think we’re only at twenty-five.” I wrap my legs around his waist. I know he’s holding back, and while I love that he’s considerate, I want more.
“Oh-ho,” he says, “I see.” He lifts up onto his hands, which are on either side of my shoulders. “Like this?” He thrusts, plunging down into me.
“Oh my God.” I shudder. “Yes…”
“Ah, baby…” He moves one hand to my thigh, then pushes my knee up a little more, tilting up my pelvis and changing the angle again. I bite my bottom lip, stifling the moan that threatens to escape my lips. I’m so glad he understands what I mean about him taking control. This is just what I need—slow, careful steps to enable me to gradually give myself over to him.
He closes his eyes, his hair falling across one eyebrow, frowning with concentration, and I melt inside. I already know I’m in trouble. I’ve fallen for him all over again. It was always going to happen, whether we had sex or not, but of course making love with him has only cemented it. I was never going to be able to remain distant from him once he’d been inside me.
He opens his eyes then, looking directly into mine, and the now-familiar zing of electricity shoots through me. It only enhances the pleasure that’s started to build deep inside me.
“Ohhh…” I suck my bottom lip as my focus changes and moves to between my legs.
“Ah… jeez…” He’s trying to hold back still, to be gentle with me.
“You can go harder,” I whisper. My face flushes at his startled look. I’m surprising myself that I want to be overwhelmed, and that I don’t want him to rein himself in.
He mumbles something, I can’t quite hear what, but I’m pretty sure the F word was in there somewhere. He steps up the pace, and I know then that he’s losing control, because his hips meet my thighs with an audible slap, and the sound of him plunging into me fills the air. Delight swells inside me, and automatically I lift my arms up and let them fall onto the pillow, stretching out beneath him.
His eyes meet mine. Our gazes lock. Slowly, pausing his hips for a moment, he clasps each of my hands in one of his. Our fingers interlink, which feels intimate and sexy for some reason. Then, holding them there, he starts moving again.
I’m pinned beneath him, unable to move, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his hands holding mine, completely at his mercy. I know he’s watching me carefully for any sign of fear, but I have none, because it’s Linc, and I love him, and he’d never hurt me, and I want him to take me this way, passionately, to claim me with everything he’s got. And after a while, when he obviously realizes I’m enjoying it and I’m not going to ask him to stop, his eyes close, and his hips speed up.
He’s pushing me up the bed with every thrust, slamming into me, grinding against my clit with every move, and I can feel my orgasm starting to build inside, everything compressing and tightening, ooooh, so tight it’s almost painful… I bite my lip hard so I don’t say ouch or squeal and make him stop, and then the pulses start, squeezing around him, soooo intense, oh my God, I’m not going to survive this… ooohhh… Yow!
I just think I can’t take anymore when the wave recedes, and I fall back onto the pillow with a relieved cry, right at the moment that he shudders and goes still.
“Fuck,” he yells, a guttural grenade of a word tossed into the air, and I feel him twitch inside me as he comes, his hips jerking with each of his spasms.
His hands are clenching mine so tightly that it’s a little painful, but I don’t say a word, loving every single millisecond of the way he’s just claimed me, without a hint of a spotted hyena in sight. And it’s only then, as his body relaxes and he remembers to breathe with a big gasp, that I realize I haven’t thought about my assault once. Linc has cleansed me, exorcized the ghosts, and made me his own. He’s filled my mind, shining so brightly that all my other memories have been reduced to dust.
Which is wonderful. Except that an image of him has been burned onto my retinas. I can see him even when I close my eyes. And I know it’s not going to fade anytime soon.