Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
Erika
T he music at Surge was deafening, a relentless beat that vibrated through my bones and left me feeling exhilarated. It was exactly the escape I needed. Even if it meant drowning out my thoughts in a club where the bass seemed to pulse in sync with my heartbeat.
Slade’s connections meant we had VIP access, and the four of us wasted no time hitting the dance floor. The energy was electric as we moved to the pounding rhythm, our bodies slick with sweat. When a few men behind us started getting too handsy with Sandra, I shoved one of them away with a firm push.
Sandra, with her cute bob and infectious personality, was a magnet for attention. Her bubbly demeanor drew people in, making her the life of any party. Jane, on the other hand, was more reserved. The statistical analyst with her dark, unassuming appearance and librarian glasses had a sharp wit that could captivate an audience when she spoke.
By the time we retreated to our table in the VIP area, we were dripping with sweat, but a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon and a pitcher of ice water awaited us. I poured a glass of water into one of the crystal tumblers and downed it, feeling the cool relief as it quenched my thirst.
“This place is fantastic!” Jane shouted over the music, taking a sip of champagne.
I raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were content in your quiet little world of numbers and spreadsheets.”
She smirked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Numbers aren’t the only thing that keeps me occupied in the evenings.”
I leaned in, intrigued. “Oh? Do tell.”
“You first,” she countered, her gaze flicking to me. “I heard you have some hot thing going on.”
I shot a look at Morgan, who just shrugged, clearly amused.
“Lincoln and I are dating,” I admitted.
“Dating and cohabitating?” Jane pressed, her curiosity evident as she poured herself some water.
“Not cohabitating,” I said firmly.
“How many nights a week do you two spend together?” Jane continued, her tone persistent.
“A few,” I replied.
“More than four?” she inquired, a hint of skepticism in her voice.
“Maybe,” I conceded.
“Come on, Erika,” she complained. “You’re practically living together.”
“We don’t live together,” I argued.
“Keep telling yourself that,” she said, her tone dripping with amusement.
I leaned back, pouring myself a half glass of champagne. I had no intention of getting drunk, even though I was tempted to let loose. I wanted to enjoy the night without stumbling back to Lincoln like a drunken mess. But as I danced, the heat and rhythm made me think of what I had left behind earlier. Maybe I should have let Lincoln take me.
Just then, a voice broke through the music, familiar and jarring. “Would you like to dance?”
I turned, stunned to see Foster Black standing over me. His handsome face was unchanged, but the smug aura he carried with him made my stomach churn. It had been eight years since he’d broken my heart, and now here he was, looking as polished as ever in a black suit and white tie.
“Get the hell out of here!” Morgan yelled over the music, rising from her seat.
I grabbed her sweaty shoulder to stop her. I needed to handle this myself. Foster had twisted me into knots when I was just a sophomore in college. Now, I was stronger, and I would confront him. I stood up, my heels adding a few inches to my height, but Foster still loomed over me.
“You actually have the balls to approach me for a dance?” I scoffed, my voice laced with contempt.
Foster smoothed his mahogany hair back, his expression nonchalant. “It was a long time ago. You’re still holding a grudge?”
Before I could respond, I noticed my friends watching intently. I decided it was best to take the conversation somewhere more private.
“I can barely hear you,” I said, turning toward the lounge area. “Let’s talk over there.”
Foster placed a hand on my bare arm, gripping my elbow as he guided me toward the lounge. The area was slightly separated from the main club, with its red leather couches, and a few couples engaged in passionate kisses. I felt a shiver as his touch stirred unexpected goosebumps on my skin. I yanked my arm away, attributing the reaction to the adrenaline from dancing.
“Excuse me,” Foster snapped as I pulled away from him.
“You shouldn’t touch me,” I said firmly, though my heart was racing. “Be grateful I’m even giving you the chance to talk.”
“Don’t be like that,” he said, motioning toward an unoccupied couch. “I want to apologize.”
I sat down, making sure to keep some distance between us. Despite my resolve, I couldn’t deny the impact of Foster’s devastatingly good looks. They were having an effect on me I didn’t want to acknowledge.
“Apologize for what?” I asked, crossing my arms defensively.
“For everything,” he said, his voice laced with sincerity. “I hurt you, and I feel terrible about it.”
“You were an asshole,” I shot back. “You knew my history, and yet you still manipulated me. I lost myself with you. When it ended, you left me shattered.”
“It was wrong to ask you to marry me,” he admitted, looking regretful. “It was too soon. I was young and stupid.”
“We were both young and stupid,” I said. “I knew you were trouble the moment I saw you.”
“And what beautiful eyes they are,” he said, his gaze lingering on me.
He reached up to touch my cheek, but I recoiled. The last thing I needed was for him to invade my space. He withdrew his hand as if burned.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“What do you want from me?” I demanded, feeling a surge of frustration.
“Another chance,” he said, his voice earnest.
“It’s too late,” I said firmly. “I’m over you.”
“It’s not,” he insisted. “I’ve changed. When I saw you on the dance floor, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. My date left.”
“If she had any sense, she’d run far away from you,” I retorted.
“The old me wouldn’t have cared,” Foster said. “But I understand why she left, and I feel horrible. I’ll send roses.”
I laughed bitterly. “Like you did before? Dozens of roses each time you messed up. I took you back over and over again.”
“Would you take me back now?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.
“I said no,” I reiterated.
“Why?” he pressed.
“A leopard doesn’t change its spots,” I replied. “Deep down, you haven’t changed.”
“How can you possibly know that?” he challenged.
Foster ran his manicured fingers through his hair. I had to fight the urge to slap him. So many nights after our breakup, I had cried myself to sleep, with only Morgan to comfort me.
“I just know,” I said. “Besides, I’m with someone now.” I almost smiled at the look of disappointment on his face.
“Who?” he demanded, his voice tinged with jealousy.
I laughed, savoring his reaction. “You wouldn’t know him.”
“I know enough about him,” Foster said. “If he really loved you, he’d be here.”
I scoffed at his attempt to undermine Lincoln. “He’s at home, waiting for me. This is Morgan’s bachelorette party, and you’re intruding.”
I stood, but Foster’s hand shot out, gripping my wrist tightly.
“Please let go,” I said firmly.
He didn’t release me. Instead, he yanked me closer and kissed me with a bruising intensity. For a brief, disorienting moment, I was that lost teenager again, letting him have his way. Foster’s kiss was a jarring mix of familiarity and forbidden desire. His soft lips and probing tongue left me breathless, and I couldn’t help but respond, letting him invade my mouth. When he finally pulled back, I was left dazed.
“Go home to your lover,” he taunted.
I wiped the smeared lip gloss from my lips with the back of my hand, glaring at him. “Fuck you, Foster.”
“That can be arranged,” he said, his tone casual.
“It can’t,” I shot back. “And it never will be again.”
“We’ll see,” he said with a smirk.
Hate and humiliation boiled inside me as I turned and fled. I shoved the door open so forcefully that I almost tumbled to the floor. Regaining my balance, I hurried back to my worried friends.
“What happened?” Morgan screeched as I approached.
“Nothing,” I dismissed. “I told him off.”
“Are you all right?” she asked, her concern evident.
“More than all right,” I said, forcing a smile. “I need a drink.”
Two hours after leaving the club, I stumbled into Lincoln’s dimly lit apartment, my body thrumming with the restless energy Foster’s kiss had ignited. The clock on the wall read just past 1:30 a.m. My mind was a blur of heated desire as I shed my clothes, the thought of a shower fleeting. Lincoln had always preferred me raw and untamed, a fact that made me shiver with anticipation.
I tiptoed toward his bedroom, where he lay sprawled on the bed, the sheet draped loosely around his waist. One arm was thrown above his head, the other resting casually at his side. The blue glow of his bedside clock cast a soft light on his chiseled features, highlighting the strength and serenity in his face.
Slipping between his spread legs, I took him in my mouth, savoring his familiar taste—masculine, intense, and intoxicating. I hollowed my cheeks, working him slowly until he began to respond, a groan escaping his lips as he stirred.
“Fuck, that feels good,” Lincoln murmured, his voice thick with sleep. “You’re home.”
I ignored the sting of his words. This wasn’t home, not yet, and Foster’s sudden reappearance had been a stark reminder of my missteps. I wasn’t about to repeat those mistakes.
“You taste good,” I murmured around him, my voice muffled.
“Stop for a minute and kiss me,” he said, reaching out with a hand.
A pang of guilt twisted in my chest. The last lips that had touched mine were Foster’s, and Lincoln didn’t deserve to be caught in that mess. Reluctantly, I pulled away and stood up from the bed.
“I should at least brush my teeth,” I said, trying to excuse myself.
“I don’t care,” Lincoln replied, his voice husky.
“I do,” I insisted, heading toward the bathroom.
Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I saw raccoon eyes and disheveled hair. The guilt clawed at me, making my breath catch. I scrubbed my teeth and swished minty mouthwash, determined to clean away the remnants of Foster’s taste before returning to bed.
When I came back, the bedside lamp was on, and Lincoln’s arousal was unmistakable. The sight made my mouth water.
“I want to ride you,” I said, my voice trembling with need.
“No,” Lincoln countered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I need to taste you first.”
“Are you kidding?” I asked, backing away from his outstretched hand.
“Why? I love your taste.”
“I’ve been dancing for hours. I probably smell awful,” I protested.
“I’ve had you after a workout,” he said, his voice low and seductive. “You’re delicious. Indulge me. You left me alone all night. Stop fighting and get into bed.”
“You’re perverse, Elliott,” I said, though my resolve was waning.
“At this moment, I don’t give a shit,” he said, pulling me back toward the bed with a determined grip. I settled onto my back, and he spread my thighs, positioning himself between them. He leaned down, his tongue tracing a path along my neck. “You taste salty.”
“I should shower,” I started, but my words faltered as he took my nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing it gently. A bolt of electricity shot through me, making me gasp.
He continued his descent, kissing down my belly and swirling his tongue around my navel before biting lightly at my clean-shaven mound. My anticipation grew, my core throbbing with a need that had been ignited earlier.
“Yes, more,” I begged, my voice barely a whisper.
“Shush,” Lincoln replied, his tone teasing. “You’ll get more when I’m ready.”
“Fuck you, Elliott,” I growled. “Make me come!”
“There will be plenty of that,” he assured me, his voice a mix of promise and authority.
He swiped a finger through my folds, his breath hitching as he felt how wet I was.
“Thinking of me tonight?” he asked, his eyes dark with desire.
I didn’t answer, choosing instead to tease myself by fondling my nipples. Lincoln’s gaze locked onto my hands, his breath growing heavier.
“That is so hot,” he murmured, his voice strained with longing.
“Stop watching and make me come,” I demanded, frustration lacing my tone.
“Demanding tonight,” he remarked with a smirk. “Should I just fuck you and get it over with?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “There’s no getting it over with. It’s always about more.”
Lincoln thrust two thick fingers inside me, and I clenched around him, my body responding eagerly to his touch. The night was far from over, and neither of us had any intention of stopping until we were utterly spent.
“So ready for me,” Lincoln teased, his voice rough with desire.
“I’ve been ready all night,” I breathed, my voice trembling with anticipation.
Lincoln’s fingers curved inside me, and his mouth found my clit. He sucked and licked, sending shockwaves through my body as he fucked me. It didn’t take long before my hips bucked uncontrollably, and I shattered into my first orgasm, gasping for breath.
“Oh God…” My voice trailed off, lost in the intensity of the moment.
Lincoln withdrew his fingers and licked them clean with a satisfied smirk. “Thank you,” he said, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief.
“Thank you for what?” I panted, struggling to catch my breath.
“Calling me God.”
“Asshole,” I muttered, though my voice held no real bite.
“I’ll give you asshole,” he shot back playfully, covering me with his body and burying his head in my neck. But moments later, he pulled away, his expression darkening as he met my eyes.
“I smell cologne, and it’s not mine,” he said, his voice edged with suspicion.
I forced myself to stay calm, even as irritation bubbled up. “Stop being paranoid. We danced with a few guys.”
“And they put their hands on you?” he pressed, his gaze intense.
“No, I wouldn’t let anyone touch me,” I said firmly.
“Then why do you smell like cologne?” His voice was a mixture of frustration and confusion.
“For fuck’s sake, Elliott. Do you think I cheated on you?” My patience was wearing thin.
“No, but…”
“But what?” I challenged, my voice sharp.
Lincoln fell silent, unable to find the words. He eventually shifted back into position, trailing his lips along my jawline and to my ear. His warm breath against my skin sent shivers down my spine as he took my diamond-studded lobe between his teeth, nibbling gently.
“You’re mine, Erika. Don’t forget that,” he whispered, his tone a blend of possessiveness and tenderness.
“I am yours. I told you that,” I replied, growing slightly annoyed by his persistent need for reassurance.
Lincoln lifted his hips and thrust deeply inside me, our bodies meeting with a resounding slap. He moved with a forceful rhythm, his grip firm and commanding.
“You’re mine,” he repeated, his voice low and demanding. “Say it.”
“Fuck me and stop acting so jealous,” I shot back, my frustration evident.
He sank deeper into me, his body hovering above mine as he stared into my eyes. For a moment, his gaze held me captive before he rolled his hips, rubbing his root against my sensitive clit. I gasped, my hands gripping his powerful forearms for support.
“This pussy is mine,” he growled, his voice thick with desire.
“And your dick is mine,” I retorted, my voice strained with pleasure.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Lincoln said, his grin widening.
He rolled his hips again, and my core burned with the need for release. I let go of his arms and grabbed the sheets, tugging them with all my might as another powerful orgasm hit me, leaving me breathless and spent. I moaned his name, my eyes closed tightly as I bit my lip. When I opened them, Lincoln was gazing down at me with a wide, satisfied smile.
“Bastard,” I mumbled, my voice a mix of exasperation and affection.
“Is there any doubt we’re made for each other?” he asked, his tone softening.
“Are you going to come or tease me all night?” I demanded, my voice laced with both frustration and longing.
“I like teasing you,” he admitted, his eyes dark with desire. “Do you know how it makes me feel to give you an orgasm?”
“Did you feel that way with all the other women you gave orgasms to?” I asked, a hint of bitterness in my voice.
“I felt power over them,” he confessed. “It’s different with you. There’s love involved. I don’t want to control you.”
“But you do,” I pointed out.
Lincoln withdrew almost completely before sliding back inside me slowly, his shoulders straining with each deliberate stroke. The languid movements were deliberate, drawing out every moment of pleasure.
“I want to be on top,” I said, my voice pleading.
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, do you now?”
“Please?” I implored, my voice a whisper of desperation.
He dipped down, capturing my lips in a deep, possessive kiss. His hands slid along my sides as he stretched over me, his body a warm, comforting weight. In one fluid motion, he rolled us together, positioning me on top. My legs straddled his hips, and I braced my hands against the firm planes of his abs, feeling the taut muscles shift beneath my touch.
“Erika,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
The way he said my name sent a shiver through me, washing away some of the guilt that lingered from what happened with Foster. I focused on the rhythm, bouncing up and down as I rode him, losing myself in the sensation of being completely connected to him.
Lincoln’s breathing grew ragged, his hands gripping my hips as he met my movements. I kept going, pushing him closer to the edge until he let out a low grunt, his body tensing beneath me. I felt the hot rush of his release as he filled me, the sensation sparking a final wave of pleasure that coursed through my body.
Spent, I collapsed onto his heaving chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath me. His arms came around me, pulling me close, holding me as if he couldn’t bear to let go.
In that moment, wrapped in his embrace, the world outside faded away. It was just us, tangled together, with all the complications and emotions that came with it.