Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
WILLA
I couldn’t feel my legs.
That probably should’ve been concerning, but my brain was too busy short-circuiting over the fact that Lincoln Steele had just made me come so hard I saw stars.
Again.
And he’d done it without so much as unzipping his pants. Again.
This time, he’d been able to do it with just those dirty promises and that mouth—God, that mouth—that he’d used like a weapon. Feasting on me like he got off on the taste of me alone.
Meanwhile, I was wrecked. Ravaged. My legs still shook right along with my foundation because what the fuck?
Lincoln was almost to the stairs when my brain finally rebooted and I registered what he said. This jackass thought he was going to take a shower to get off when he hadn’t let me do the same? I didn’t fucking think so.
“The hell you are,” I said. I’d been going for sharpness in my tone, but that was tempered by the raspy quality of my voice thanks to all the screaming he’d made me do.
Lincoln stopped and turned, one brow raised as he eyed me like I was dinner. “You have something else in mind, wife?”
On shaky legs, I stood from the chair, crossed the room like I hadn’t just had my soul delivered to me by my husband’s tongue, and dropped to my knees in front of him. His brows flew up as I fisted the waistband of his jeans and yanked him closer.
“I don’t do double standards,” I said. “If I’m not allowed to get off solo, neither are you.”
Lincoln blinked down at me, his lips parted, eyes as dark as I’d ever seen them. Then he tipped his head back on a groan that bordered on a laugh. “If you so much as flick your tongue against the head of my cock, hellcat, I’m gonna embarrass myself.”
Normally, I’d call bullshit, but there was nothing fake about the rigidness of his shoulders or the tense set of his jaw. He actually would lose it. And I found that realization more heady…more potent than anything I’d ever experienced.
Somehow, I’d reduced Lincoln Steele to this.
“Fine.” I sat back on my heels, bit my lower lip, and looked up at him from my perch on my knees. “Then I’ll just watch.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his gaze skating over every inch of me. And though I felt ridiculous sitting here, bare-assed with my shirt still on, Lincoln was looking at me like his sanity hung on the curve of my hips.
“You want a show, wife?” he asked, his voice pure gravel. “You want to see me stroke my cock while I’m thinking about you?”
“That’s exactly what I want.” I reached up and unbuttoned his jeans, tugged them and his boxer briefs down just enough to free him, then leaned back to take him in.
Sweet Jesus.
The man was packing, though I’d known that from my ride the other night.
But feeling it and seeing it were two very different things.
He was thick and hard with a vein I wanted to drag my tongue over mapping a path up the underside of his cock.
The head was flushed a deep purple and already leaking, precome dripping down his length.
When the hell had I ever looked at a penis and thought, god, that’s pretty? Exactly never. Until now. I should’ve known every single inch—and there were a lot of inches—of this infuriating man would be pretty.
My mouth watered at the sight of him, and I was feeling some kind of way about the fact that I wasn’t going to get a taste.
At least not tonight.
I made a noise in my throat—half whimper, half moan—and Lincoln’s composure snapped. He wrapped his thick fingers around his cock, gripping firmly and giving himself one slow stroke, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Look at you. On your knees for me. Pouting because you can’t taste my cock. Goddamn, wife, you’re a wet dream, you know that? My wet dream come to life.”
He increased the speed of his strokes, his grip tighter than I would’ve dared. “I can still smell you on me. Can still taste that sweet pussy. You were soaked, weren’t you? Dripping down my chin and still begging for more.”
My cheeks flamed with heat, the automatic embarrassment flooding me before I could stop it. But with how he sounded—reverent and undone—he didn’t just enjoy it. He loved it. Enough that he was using those memories to get himself off.
He shuddered out a breath, his shoulders quaking and abs rippling while his forearm flexed with each tug of his cock.
“All I can think about is how pretty your pussy was. How your clit pulsed against my tongue and how your cunt gripped me like she never wanted me to leave. You coming apart because of my mouth was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. ”
He wasn’t teasing now, no snark in his tone. Instead, he was unraveling, his strokes harsh, his gaze darting all over my body—to the parts he could see and the ones he couldn’t.
“I want to see you like that every goddamn day. Want your thighs squeezing my head while you try to drown me with your cunt. Want to fucking own every single orgasm your perfect body gives up. And I want to do it all after you claim me in public like you did this afternoon.”
Jesus, my pussy was throbbing. Again. What the hell was happening to me? I shifted on my knees, desperate for some relief.
“Wish I could see all of you. I just know those tits are fucking perfect. More than a handful and topped with strawberries, aren’t they? I’d be ruined the second I got my mouth on them.”
He dragged his eyes from my face to my chest, then down to the apex of my thighs, his gaze hot and wild. I froze for only half a second before I was tugging off my shirt and tossing it to the side along with my bra.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his hand a blur as he soaked in everything new. “Look at you. Jesus Christ, look at you.”
“I don’t do double standards, remember? If I get a show, so do you.”
I sat back, allowing him to take me in. Trying really fucking hard not to get in my head about it. Not to worry how I looked from this angle or if my stomach roll was obscene or how much of my cellulite he could see.
Not when Lincoln was looking at me like he’d just seen his very first Playboy and I was the centerfold.
“Fuck. Fuck.” His voice was low, scraped raw, his gaze locked on me. “Look at those perfect tits. I fucking knew they’d be that gorgeous. Fucking knew all of you would be this goddamn gorgeous.”
“Don’t stop,” I said, barely recognizing my own voice. I lifted up onto my knees, bringing myself closer to him, my hands resting on his hips. “I want to see you come. I want to feel it this time.”
“Shit,” he bit out, his eyes locked on me even as his rhythm faltered and his cock jerked. “You’re gonna fucking wreck me, aren’t you, wife?”
“I’m gonna try. Now, let me feel it, Linc. Come on me,” I said, having no idea where in the hell that had come from. But I couldn’t deny how my clit throbbed at the thought of him spilling himself all over me. Because of me.
“Fuck, Willa. I’m gonna—” On a guttural groan that echoed around the silo, he did exactly what I’d asked him to.
He came, hot and messy, all over my breasts while he stared down at me like I was every fantasy he’d ever had come to life.
And I loved every second of it.
The feeling was intoxicating—the power I felt, even on my knees in front of him. How he couldn’t seem to hold himself back. How he couldn’t look away.
Lincoln staggered back a step, collapsing onto one of the stools at the island, his chest heaving, watching me like I was magic. As he caught his breath, he slid his gaze over every inch of me, his eyes lingering on my chest and the white stripes he’d left all over it.
He reached out, swiping a finger through the mess he’d made, dragging a wet path down my body. He traced one of my nipples with his come-covered finger, circling it twice before he pinched the tight peak between his thumb and forefinger and tugged hard enough to make me gasp.
“So fucking gorgeous,” he muttered, almost to himself.
Shaking his head, he tucked his once-again hard cock inside his boxer briefs and grabbed a towel from the counter before cleaning me up with gentle hands.
“You better cover up, wife,” he said, his voice low and lethal as he tugged my shirt over my head. “Or I’m gonna give you something you’re not ready for.”
“Who says I’m not ready?”
He grinned down at me, all slow and seductive. “Is that so, hellcat? You think you’re ready?”
For him to fuck me? My pussy gave an involuntary squeeze at the thought, and I had to remind myself I’d already come once tonight. I should’ve been satisfied.
Should’ve been, but I wasn’t.
I wanted him. Inside me. Over me. Everywhere.
And I ignored the whisper in the back of my mind wondering if that was a good idea. Not everything had to be a good idea. Maybe this could just be a feel-good idea…
Instead of responding with words, I just nodded, not quite trusting my voice.
He studied me for long moments, then hummed low in his throat and offered me a hand. “Not quite yet, but soon.”
I didn’t know if it was relief or disappointment that flooded me, and I was too chicken to study it.
Once I stood, he tugged me to him. Then he reached up and cupped my breasts, his thumbs brushing across my nipples and tightening them into stiff peaks. “Just so we’re clear, if you want to start including a benefits package in this marriage, I wouldn’t say no to daily access to this view.”
I huffed out a laugh and rolled my eyes. “You would be a boob man.”
He wrapped his arms around me and held me to him as he kissed me. Really kissed me. No teasing, no buildup, no filthy promises. Just him and me and this chemistry that always crackled between us.
He pulled back just enough to murmur, “No, wife. I’m not a boob man. I’m a Willa man.”
With one final kiss on my lips, he tugged me upstairs like he hadn’t just rewritten my hold on reality.
We didn’t talk about what was building between us. Didn’t mention the jealousy or possession. Sure as hell didn’t breathe a word about the trust it took to get on our knees for each other.
Because if we did any of that, we might have to admit this was real. And if we admitted it was real, we might have something to lose.
So instead, I followed behind him, knees still weak and pussy still wet, heart tripping over itself in the wake of his admission. Wondering just what the fuck I’d gotten myself into.