Chapter 50
Lincoln
It’s September, and the nights are getting longer and the days shorter and milder, which means Imogen spends much less time
in the garden tending to her vegetables and flowers, and more time in the library with me. I enjoy watching her work in the
garden every morning and I spend far too much time doing that and not enough time working, but seeing her happy and making
the overgrown garden her own is a much more pleasant way to pass the time. Selfishly, though I’m enjoying the fall, I can’t
wait for winter when she will be inside much more frequently, and we can spend nights curled beneath a blanket in front of
a log fire.
She saunters across the room, hips swaying like a pendulum, hypnotizing and distracting. Her eyes drop to the chessboard in
the center of the table.
“Do you play?”
She wrinkles her nose. “A little. Not very well.”
“Would you like a game?”
She smiles, and there’s something wicked and inherently sexy about it. The transformation in her these past few months is
astonishing, and I’m enjoying every facet of this new Imogen. “I’d love one, sir.”
“I’m always black.”
She sinks into the seat opposite me, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip. “Of course you are.”
It soon becomes obvious that Imogen is much better at chess than she led me to believe. She takes my bishop. “Are you trying
to hustle me, angel?”
“No, sir. I have no idea what you mean.”
“You said you don’t play very well, but I think you’re lying.”
Her green eyes sparkle. “I don’t lie, sir.”
I take one of her pawns. “But you are good at chess.”
“I suppose that’s a matter of opinion. My grandfather was very good at chess. He taught me the game, but I never won a single
match against him.” She makes another move. “I used to beat his drivers a lot though.”
“Drivers?”
“Yeah, he had six.”
“Your grandfather had six drivers?” She hasn’t spoken of her past or her grandfather much recently, and I’ve been too wrapped
up in this blossoming relationship between us to push her on it.
She nods. “He’s a very rich man.”
So, why didn’t he pay the Brotherhood off instead of handing you over to them? Piece of shit! I keep that thought to myself. Six drivers are excessive, no matter how rich a person is. “Six drivers? Did they all take
a day each and have a Sunday off?”
Her eyebrows pinch together, making her frown look adorable, but she’s focused on the board now, concentrating on her next
move instead of me. Still, she answers my question. “No, they all worked full-time. They were pretty much always around. I
never really liked chess all that much, but my grandfather said it was good for me to practice, so he used to make them play
me sometimes.”
So they weren’t drivers at all. Bodyguards. Security. For her or her grandfather, or both? “Did they drive you often?”
She glances up for a half second before focusing on the board again. “What do you mean?”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. These drivers were obviously an accepted part of her life and it strikes me
as odd that they were referred to as drivers when they clearly weren’t. “It sounded like you spent time with them. Was it
because they drove you places?”
“No. I never left the estate.” She makes her move.
I knew she was sheltered and I suspected that they tried to keep her from me, at least in the beginning when they knew I was
still alive, but I had no idea her isolation was so complete. “Never?”
Her green eyes are wide when they meet mine. “No.”
I’ve researched her grandfather’s estate, which consists of forty acres of land in Nebraska. A big enough area for a child
to grow of course, but that she never left it at all is unusual. “Didn’t that ever bother you?”
“I can’t leave here, can I? And that doesn’t bother me.”
I don’t know if that’s an accusation or her natural ability to speak plain, uncomfortable truths without any emotion. “But
you’ve been here for five months. You were there for eighteen years. And you were a teenager. Teenagers are supposed to rebel
and do crazy shit. You didn’t get to do any of that.”
“I wasn’t allowed to watch TV, eat candy, or even wear a tampon, Lincoln. What on earth makes you think I was ever allowed
to rebel in any way?”
The skin at the base of her neck turns a light shade of pink, as her frustration starts to spill out. Until now, she’s done
a great job of convincing Pierre and me, and probably herself, that her childhood wasn’t all that bad, that it was good enough.
I’ve long suspected that wasn’t actually the case, even if she believed it was. “I’m not accusing you of anything, angel.
I’m just trying to understand you, that’s all.”
She swallows, her slender neck working. “I didn’t know any different.
And I knew it was for my own protection.
The Brotherhood were supposed to kill me when they killed my parents.
My grandfather saved me. So it was either live on his estate, or don’t live, Mr. Knight. Those were my choices. Survive or die.”
I reach for her hand, squeezing it gently in mine. “I’m not trying to piss you off, angel.”
“Who said you pissed me off?” She shrugs, trying to wrench her hand away but I hold firm.
“You only call me Mr. Knight when you’re really annoyed with me.” Her eyes spark with defiance. “Because you know I fucking
hate it.”
“I feel like you’re accusing me of being untruthful, and I’m not a liar.”
I lift her fingers to my lips and kiss the tips. “I know. And I’m not accusing you of anything, I promise.”
Her green eyes rake over my face, like she’s scrutinizing me to determine if I’m telling the truth. After a moment, her face
softens.
“How did your parents die?” I know the question is a difficult one, not to mention a potential minefield for me, but I need
to know what she believes. What that bastard told her.
“How did yours die, sir?”
Okay. An eye for an eye. I can live with that. “My dad was a junkie who OD’d before my first birthday. And my mom was murdered
by her pimp when I was two. Thankfully, I was with a neighbor at the time.”
Her green eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t even remember them, so . . .” I shrug. “Now tell me about yours.”
“You don’t know about the traitor’s daughter?” she gasps, feigning outrage to mask her true feelings.
“Do you remember them?”
She nods. “I remember their faces. Their laughter. Their smiles. I remember being happy.”
“Was he a traitor, your father?”
“Do you think he was?”
“I don’t know him, angel.” I lie with ease. “That’s why I’m asking you.”
“No, he wasn’t. He was a good man. He didn’t betray the Brotherhood. I think he tried to expose them for what they were and
it got him killed.” So despite any lies her grandfather would have told her, she still believes her father was a good man,
probably because she remembers enough of him to know that it’s true. I’m filled with pride at the way she’s so quick to leap
to his defense and I wish I could tell her more about the kind of man he was. I wish I could tell her about both her parents.
“I suppose if he did try to expose them, then the Brotherhood would call him a traitor.”
She bristles. “Well, I would call him a hero.”
So would I, but I obviously don’t tell her that. “How did they die?”
“They were murdered, by my godfather.”
There it is. It takes every single shred of willpower and strength not to react, but she may have just as well punched a hole
right through my chest.
“Your godfather?”
She nods, angrily swiping a tear from her cheek. “Killian Wolfe. He murdered my father and my mom took me and hid, but he
found us too. And he killed her. He would have killed me if my grandfather hadn’t saved me.”
Lies! All fucking lies! I want to roar that declaration at the top of my lungs, but I maintain my calm. It’s not her fault she was brainwashed. I
let them brainwash me too—let them convince me she was dead. Left her all alone when I should have taken care of her. None
of this is on her. “Is your godfather still alive?”
I hold my breath waiting for her answer. “No. He died in an explosion a few months later. They found his body burned to near
ash, indistinguishable except for a stupid tattoo.”
Instinctively, I want to rub at the patch of skin on my wrist. That tattoo has been long covered, but it’s still there beneath, in my blood and memory.
“Anyway, that’s it. I’m a sad lonely orphan, just like you, I guess.”
I cup her chin and rub my thumb over her pouty lips. “Well, right now, I’m neither sad or lonely. You?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“But you are very good at chess. And you should never underestimate your abilities.”
“Thank you, sir.” She blinks, her eyelashes dusting against her cheeks.
“Shall we resume our game?”
She nods and I release her. We continue our game, but the air is charged with tension now. Sparks of electricity crackling
between us whenever our eyes meet or our fingers brush—like a really long incredibly sexy form of foreplay.
Imogen’s chess game is calculated and ruthless. I’ve always known how smart she is, but she’s as sharp as a needlepoint. She
almost has me on the ropes, when she makes a move that surprises me, moving her knight from its position defending the king,
stopping me from taking her queen but leaving herself open to checkmate in two more moves. Is she letting me win? “Why did
you do that when you left your king wide open?”
Her green eyes sparkle with mischief and she catches her bottom lip between her teeth. “A good knight always protects his
queen, sir. She’s the most powerful piece in the game.”
Check-fucking-mate!
God, she’s fucking incredible. And now I’m hyperaware of my breathing, faster and heavier than before. My heart is beating
in my throat. Without taking my eyes off hers, I tip over my king and admit defeat.
Imogen DeMotta has defeated me in all things.
“Come here,” I growl the words, red-hot aching need for her pulsing through my entire body. Impossible to ignore and too intense to even try.
Obediently, she stands, walking around the desk until she’s standing between my spread thighs. With a sweep of my hand, I
clear the board from the center of my desk, sending most of the pieces scattering to the floor, and then I lift her onto it,
inching my chair forward and spreading her legs apart with my body. She rests her bare feet beside my thighs on my chair.
Wordlessly, I pull off her dress, and she lifts her arms in compliance. When that’s done, I unhook her bra, allowing her beautiful
tits to bounce out right in front of my face. Her nipples stiff and begging for my attention.
I oblige them with my tongue, sucking one pebbled peak into my mouth. I bite gently, causing her to moan and run her hands
through my hair. I lavish the other with the same attention, until the scent of her wet pussy becomes too irresistible to
ignore.
“Lie back for me, angel.” I press a hand between her breasts, gently encouraging her, until she’s flat on my desk with her
sweet-smelling pussy right there for the taking.
I run my hands up the insides of her thighs and she trembles.
“Linc!”
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties and slowly slide them over her hips, making her gasp. “You won our game,
and this is your prize. You want your prize, don’t you?”
“Y-yes, please.”
I love making her beg. Love making her come on my tongue. I love every damn thing about her. I love her.
When I pull her panties off her pussy, they remain attached by a thick string of her creamy arousal for a second, and it might
be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Soaked already, baby.” I press a quick kiss on her slick clit that makes her whine. “You’re going to be dripping down your
legs when I’m done. My needy little angel.”
I pull her panties all the way off and instead of returning her feet to their former position on my chair, I spread her wider and place them on the edge of my desk, and now her beautiful cunt is right there, glistening and begging for my mouth.
“So flexible too. Look at you all spread open and dripping for me.”
I swipe two fingers through her wet center and her hips lift off the desk as she lets out a series of soft desperate moans.
Her scent is intoxicating and addictive, the greatest high a man could ever have, and it’s mine. She’s mine. Only ever mine.
I grab hold of her waist, keeping her still so that I can devour her. My tongue flattens over her swollen clit first, and
I lap it the way that she likes, until she’s moaning and bucking her hips. I graze my teeth over the swollen bud before moving
lower, letting my mouth taste every inch of her juicy cunt. My tongue dips inside her, over and over, teasing and taunting
while I work her over, savoring every drop of her.
I sink my middle finger into her pussy, coating it in her silky cum before I slide it into her ass.
“Linc!” she squeals. “I can’t . . . I’m gonna . . .”
I growl, keeping her teetering on the edge even while I’m desperate for her to fall apart for me. Her entire body is trembling
now, needy for some release. “Come on my tongue while I fuck your ass, baby.”
“Oh, fuck, Linc!” she screams as her orgasm takes her under, her breathing harsh and raspy while her hips buck against my
face and I drink her cum like it’s the nectar of the gods.
My cock is feral for her now, desperate to be hugged by the silky wet velvet of her cunt. I stand up and quickly free my aching
shaft. Gently, I wrap her still-trembling legs around my waist before I drive balls-deep into her in one thrust. My eyes roll
back and, fuck, nothing in the world feels better than this. Feels more right than this.
She tugs at my T-shirt, and I help her to pull it off me.
She seems to prefer skin against skin when we’re fucking, and I always want to give my girl what she wants.
I crush her to me, arms wrapped around her while I sink in and out of her.
I want to nail her, but I want to savor the feeling of her snug cunt, still tight from her orgasm, milking me.
I want to revel in her needy little whines as she claws at my skin for more.
Her hot mouth is at my ear. “I didn’t mean to piss you off, sir.”
“Angel, you can piss me off whenever you want, intentionally or otherwise, and I will still always give you what you need.
You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are my queen, Imogen. And I would fucking die before I let anyone take you.”
She throws her head back and I sink my teeth into the soft skin at the base of her throat, hard enough to leave a mark. I’m
driven with a possessive need to claim her, to make her my own. Not because I bought her, but because she wants to belong
to me, just as surely as I belong to her.
Forever and always, she is my queen. My heart. My entire soul.