27. my alter ego
CHAPTER 27
MY ALTER EGO
LINCOLN
It’s going to sound like bullshit, but I mean it when I say it’s an honor to play a part in people’s pleasure.
For it to be good, you have to get to the heart of what someone needs, and it has to be honest.
It has to be the sort of honesty that most people can’t handle. No one realizes how deeply vulnerable they’re being when they share their desires. But it speaks to the very heart of us and what we crave. Sometimes these are things we can’t name or speak aloud. Safety, power, tenderness.
And I have the power to take those moments and bring them to life.
But not everyone is a fan, and since I revealed my work to her, it’s Ivy’s opinion I’m most interested in. She’s asked a few careful questions, but nothing more. Although, so far, she doesn’t seem opposed to the idea.
For a woman so eager to say what she’s thinking, it’s disorienting when she holds back. But it’s all the more meaningful when she finally opens up.
I’ve spent a long time holding back, so I understand the impulse. But I’m not nearly as brave as Ivy when it comes to letting people in. I’m starting to wonder if it’s time.
She pauses the episode we’re watching while I collect our empty plates. It’s quick work to wash the dishes, and the memory of the hours I worked in a kitchen doing only this makes me smile. After Bruges, Mum cut off my allowance (despite Deacon laughing it off by saying “boys will be boys”), and I had no choice.
If I wanted to survive the last year of Uni, I had to find a room to rent, and more importantly, a job.
Manny and I were not happy roommates at first. He called me a fucking Muppet and found me the shittiest job he could— as the kitchen porter where he worked— and he never let me get away with thinking anything was owed to me. He still says he didn’t do shit except dislike me back then, but who could blame him? What had I really earned at that point, except a reputation?
“Lincoln?”
Hanging the plates on the rack, I dry my hands off and turn around to face Ivy. She’s got her arms crossed over the back of the couch, her hair twisted into two buns, and curiosity in her eyes.
“Yes?”
“I have a confession.” She sets her chin on top of her hands, and I wait. “I listened to a few of your audios. They’re really good.”
From the way she’s avoiding looking at me directly, I suspect a few is putting it mildly. I’d wondered when the curiosity would consume her. Now we’re getting somewhere.
Throwing the dish towel onto the counter, I cross over to the couch, placing my hands on either side of her elbows to give her my full attention. “Research is important.”
Ivy’s lips part, and I lean in just enough to hear the soft hitch in her breath.
“I told you— you can ask me anything.”
“Um, okay,” she says, twisting back around, and good god, I can’t decide what’s more endearing: how nervous she’s suddenly become or the gorgeous pink flush that’s staining her cheeks. I’m desperate to kiss her again.
“Your setup is pretty professional. Did the app set you up with all that stuff? I imagine it’s not a course they teach at Eton.”
Christ, it’s hard having any secrets when Ivy is able to magic up the details of my life like her own. It’s rather refreshing, if I’m honest. So much of my life has revolved around what isn’t said.
I retake my seat beside her, preferring to have this conversation face to face so I can read her reactions. “My earlier attempts were far less impressive, I promise you. But I did my research and spoke about what worked and what didn’t with other artists until I had enough practice under my belt to make my own decisions.”
“Where do you get your ideas from?”
“Some are my own, others are prompts provided by the platform or on a shared forum.”
She sags, demure in a way I’ve rarely seen her. “Sorry. I guess I was thinking… I don’t know. Something sexier, like at the ball.” She drops her gaze to her lap, where she’s rolling the frayed ends of her distressed jeans between her fingers.
Reaching out, I brush the hair away from her face. I’m rewarded as she blinks back up at me. God, I could let hours disappear without anything but this. Brown eyes, warm like hot chocolate with glimmers of honey throughout.
“I don’t know that I can take full credit for that. I was inspired by a beauty with a wicked mind.”
Her cheeks darken, although there isn’t any other change in her expression. Ivy is a vault. She’s expressive in her excitement, and yet everything fragile is kept protected.
“I didn’t think I’d like it,” she admits. “Most guys aren’t great with talking in bed, and the few that tried put me off it until now.” She toys with a spare hair tie on her wrist. Two more are already in use where her hair is twisted back. It’s so rare to see her let her hair down. “The first time I had sex with a guy, he was running a commentary the whole time. I’m pretty sure he thought he was great at pillow talk, but it was distracting and not even a little bit sexy.”
She deserves so much more. The urge to blast away any dissatisfying remnant of her past experience roars in my gut. I’m going to rewrite every fantasy she’s ever had until the only way she can come is by hearing my name.
“And that isn’t even the worst story I have,” she says, with the tired acceptance of any woman I’ve ever met. Men should have to pass a test before they’re allowed to get their pricks out. But if they did, I could be out of a job. “There was this one guy, an app date. You know how it is. We start kissing on his couch, and then he unzipped, pulled out his dick, and goes, ‘Now give it a little kiss.’” Ivy’s whole body contorts, as if shaking off the memory. “At first I just stared. All I could think was “you’re ruining this blowjob for me.”
A laugh rips itself free from my chest, and she ducks her head with a smile. What a fucking treasure she is. I lean closer, missing the bright spark of her eyes. “Please tell me you left him hanging.”
“I should have. Nothing ruins a good blowjob more than a man’s personality.”
And this is where I should cut this line of conversation off, because sitting beside her and not being able to have her is quickly driving me to distraction.
I can’t help it. I lift my hand to touch that perfect mouth. Pillowy soft and so eager to please. Whoever the fuck this guy is, he didn’t deserve the gift of it.
I stroke the corner of her lips with my thumb. “None of them have known how to handle you, have they?” I bet none of them took the time to appreciate her, too busy taking what they wanted and then fucking off. “Bastards, all of them. Has anyone ever taken the time to truly get to know you?”
“There’s not much to know.”
Well, that’s a fucking joke.
I pull her chin toward me. “I told you, Ivy; we don’t lie to each other.”
We sit like that for a moment, simply looking at each other. I’m quietly cataloging all the wrongs I’m going to right for her, while she looks like she’s trying to decode my programming.
“You’re nothing like I expected,” she says with something I want badly to believe is awe in her voice. Please . If there is any chance of redeeming my past mistakes, let it be by meaning something to her. Ivy finally looks away, smoothing a hand on her knee. “How is it you’ve never been in love? I mean, I noticed your audios are always two strangers, or a coworker, or a boss. You never play a boyfriend or a husband. Why is that?”
I take a breath. It’s a fair question; one I’ve been asked by Pulse before. When certain tags get popular, they like to encourage everyone to jump in. At the time, I skirted the truth, but I want to give Ivy more than that. “The relationships I’ve had have been short-lived. When I try to write those scenes, I either feel like a fraud or I put too much of my own heart into them. The result is…” I hesitate.
“Too much of the truth or too much like a lie,” she says.
Exactly. Dating was easier when I only cared about impressing a woman long enough to get between her sheets. It’s infinitely more complicated now. If it’s not my bank account they’re chasing, my work disgusts them.
Rarely is it me they see.
Not like Ivy can.
She twists to fully face me, curling her feet under her, her knees pressing into my thigh. I lay a hand on the closest one, holding her there.
“I know I’ve only pretended to be your girlfriend, but take it from me; you know what you’re doing.”
The list of reasons that this can’t work is becoming increasingly small. And yet, I can’t help but notice how careful she is around me. Close, but never crossing the line. In my mind, the only fictional part of this relationship is our history. But something is holding Ivy back, and I’m determined to find out what it is.
“Is that right?”
She nods, eyes wide, a hint of her steeliness peeking out from under soft cheeks, hinting at the intensity I find compelling. What she’s feeling penetrates deeply and rises to the surface in a flash, and I enjoy being swept up in her wave.
“So how does it work? Do you…” she trails off, expecting me to finish the sentence. But it’s far more enjoyable to catalog the sweep of her lashes against her cheek as the seconds tick by. “You know,” she finishes, waving a hand at my cock in a move that works like a charm to stir it to life.
It takes some serious willpower to keep it at bay.
“Are you sure you want to know? I’ve heard peeking behind the curtain can kill the magic for some.” I can feel the smile as it takes over my face.
Ivy’s gaze snaps to mine as her back straightens, her eyes darkening as though I just insulted her. “Well, I’m not some people,” she says, and no, she definitely isn’t.
I catch her arm where it’s been resting on her thigh and stroke the inside of her wrist. It lets me feel the exact moment her pulse spikes. “Do I get turned on? Touch myself while I record? Be clear on what you’re asking me.”
She blinks, swallows. “Both,” she breathes. “Either.”
Her heart rabbits under my fingertips. “There have been times it’s turned me on, but I won’t act on it until after I’m recording. Though now I’m curious,” I say, closing the gap between us to drag my lips along her jaw. “What effect did it have on you? Did you listen to them in bed? Were your hands free to wander? Or were you getting off on my voice somewhere else? In public, perhaps? With your headphones on while no one around you knew how wet you were getting?”
Her lips part, her chest rising quicker now. Ivy pulls her wrist free to grip my shirt in her fist. Not pushing me away. Merely holding me in place as we share breath.
“How many orgasms do you think you’ve given listeners?”
With my free hand, I skim the tips of my fingers down her stomach, lingering at her waistband. Hovering in a promise. Waiting for her to ask. To beg. “You’ve done the research. Tell me how many you’ve had, and I’ll extrapolate from there.”
Her shoulders shake as her skin washes over with goose bumps. Nothing gets me harder than knowing how quickly I can bring her to surrender.
One word from her, and I’ll have her on her knees, giving her exactly what I know she’s craving.
“Fuck,” she gasps, but it comes out as a laugh, cutting through the tension as she lets go of my shirt and reclaims the space I closed, leaning back and catching her breath. I pull my hand back to safer ground. “No wonder you’re so popular on there,” she says, “I love the way words sound coming from your mouth.”
I know she does. It’s stitched into every shiver that rumbles through her when I whisper in her ear. The way her body reactsas I lean in. How hungrily she’s staring at my cock right now, half hard and wanting along my thigh. “What a coincidence,” I reply, knowing she’s holding herself back from taking what she wants, but also that I’ll wait forever for her. “Because I happen to adore the way you sound coming from my mouth.”
The heat that floods her skin is almost as good to watch as it would be to taste.