Chapter 41
Imogen
My fingers tremble as I spread my legs wider, imagining Lincoln were here with his strong hands on my thighs, pushing them
apart. The ache between them has grown impossible to ignore. Lincoln has unleashed a monster in me. If I close my eyes, I
can hear the feral-sounding growl he makes when he does this, which is usually closely followed by him tasting me.
There’s very little in this world that feels better than Lincoln’s mouth on my pussy.
I whine, rubbing my fingertips over my sensitive clit and wishing he were here with me instead. My fingers never feel as good
as his. There’s no replacement for the scratch of his beard on my skin, of the way his thick length fills me so completely.
And this is only my second night without him.
Heat blooms deep in my core. I fumble around on the bedclothes in the dark for my gift and quickly find the smallest plug.
I discard it for later, and carry on the search until my fingers grasp the base of the glass dildo.
Vivid images of Lincoln using it on me yesterday before he left, and the way he forced me to watch what he was doing to me, already have wetness seeping between my thighs.
I notch the head of the dildo at my entrance, guided by instinct rather than any expertise, and increase the pressure on my clit, teasing around the edges the way Lincoln does.
My legs tremble, my body craving some kind of release. But I wait before pushing the toy inside myself, denying myself in
the same way he does. Dipping it an inch before pulling it out again, imagining that it’s him taunting me. I feel his breath
on my skin, his hands, the silky strands of his hair tickling my inner thighs.
“Linc!” I whine his name into the darkness and then sink the dildo as deep as it will go. Pleasure floods my core. Wet heat
slicks over the glass toy. I slide it in and out, and the loud slurping sounds fill the quiet room. My breathing grows heavy.
My fingers cramp but I push through, chasing the sweet oblivion of release. And when it comes, it’s quiet and devastating
and wonderful. I whisper his name into the night, hoping that somehow he might hear me and wondering if wherever he is, he’s
thinking about me too.