Chapter 47
Continuing to push his head, his frustration finally boils over at me and he grabs my left hand before it can connect to his temple again and shoves it into me.
“No no. We're doing this. Since you like being physical so much bitch,” I say again as I shove my hand toward him again, but this time he grabs my wrist and pulls me onto his lap.
His arms wrap around me like a boa constrictor, holding me in place as the rim of the steering wheel bites into my upper back.
Through my leggings I can feel his cock pushing up against my pussy as it hardens.
His brown eyes glare at me, trying to maintain control.
My hands find his hair and I pull.
He growls through the pain as he tightens his overlapping arms around me, squeezing me, causing me to feel the bend in my ribs.
It actually hurts a little.
Fisting my left hand, a cluster of his strands still in its grasp,
I yank his head to the left, causing him to growl, before my right palm smacks the left side of his face.
Lincoln growls louder, squeezing me tighter.
Go ahead, keep squeezing me and see what happens, I grunt as I tell him, yanking his hair more.
His eyes shut tight in pain before both his hands release from around me, one holding my throat and the other yanking my hair, causing my head to snap back.
I really do try to pull my head forward, but he continues pulling back my hair, fully exposing my throat.
“You need to calm the fuck down,” he tells me.
“Or what are you gonna do?” I ask. “You going to hit me again?”
“Is that what you want?” he asks me.
My hand continues slapping his face as he continues yanking my hair, the both of us growling, his dick getting harder against me.
“You like that, don't you?” I question as I grind my pussy against his erection.
Lincoln whimpers, a deeply masculine, and yearning noise, as his eyes close.
“You hate me?” I ask him, with anger in my eyes, and suddenly my eyes are tearing up too, and I have no idea why.
“You really fucking hate me?” I question him again, pulling his hair, slapping his face.
The windows have already begun to fog up, rain still pelting outside, and for the moment neither of us is worried about Morris.
“You did all of that shit to me, you're the one who broke my heart, and somehow you turned this around to make it about you, Lincoln,” I tell him, a tear escaping down my face.
Slapping him, my voice rises. “You ALWAYS find a way to make it about YOU,” I yell.
“But now you hate me, and I didn't do SHIT to you! So tell me why the fuck, how the fuck do you even have the right to hate me?!” my voice shrieks again.
“Because it's easier hating you!!” he says, yelling back at me, causing me to stop pulling his hair, to stop hitting him momentarily.
There are tears in his eyes that haven't fallen, that he's too stubborn to let fall.
“It's… easier hating you than accepting… that I love you and I can never have you,” he says.
His eyes soften for the first time in a long while.
Now I see it…
What was under all of that.
He looks absolutely defeated.
My lips crash into his, his eyebrows creasing as his mouth works around mine, both of our tongues wrestling, competing with the other to see who can go down whose throat first.
Lincoln scores a goal, shoving his tongue down my throat, his thumbs resting on the front of my neck, but this time it's gentle.
We make out desperately, and the next thing I know my clothes are shedding. I'm down to my bra, which he opens using the front latch.
My breasts spill out, and he buries his head between them as I pull at his hair in passion, wanting his lips on mine again.
Groaning and gasping, I can see the hunger in his eyes, his lids half-closed, his eyes still watery as a tear falls from them.
“Lincoln,” I whisper into his lips.
“I love you,” he whispers into mine. “I love you so fucking much it hurts,” he says, kissing my neck, placing his forehead against mine. He kisses me again.
“I tried to move on,” he says. “I tried so fucking hard, but I can't… I can't, and it's killing me… it's killing me thinking that you're going to move on. That you're falling in love with someone else.”
His words flow out, and now everything makes sense. At least the reason he's been acting weird does, to a point.
But wait…
What does he mean, falling in love with someone else? Is he talking about Fabian?
Does he know about Fabian?
I mean, it makes sense because Fabian is the person I hang out with the most, that's when I'm not hanging around Charlotte, Tammy, and Mandy, and obviously he wouldn't be jealous about them.
I'm not falling in love with Fabian though, but I never stopped to imagine what that would look like to Lincoln.
Now I guess, looking back at it, I could understand how anyone could come to that conclusion, and for some reason I don't correct him.
For some reason there's a part of me that feels justified, because he needs to know how this feels, because that's exactly how I felt with Sarah. And this cognitive dissonance that he was experiencing was his mind's way of defending itself away from the hurt, the same hurt that he caused me.
Why shouldn't he feel any of it?
But that's the weird thing about love. Even here now, kissing him, loving him, wanting him, needing him, the last thing I want is for him to feel pain. Even though he caused me pain, I don't want him to feel that pain.
Doesn't mean he shouldn't, but my heart doesn't want him to.
Leaning back, my neck arches. The horn accidentally is set off.
He pulls me back off of it slightly to kiss my neck. This is difficult, but I lean over to the side, my right leg wedged between him and the driver's-side door lifts before I slide my foot out of it, bunching the leggings on my left ankle.
My panties are still on, and I lean against the driver's-side window, kissing him.
My fingers drop between us. I haven't pulled out his dick yet. He's undoing his pants, but I grab his hands quickly.
“No,” I whisper, wanting him to just watch me.
He looks hungry and desperate, his face red, his mouth open, trying to pull in every ounce of oxygen he can from the small sweaty car.
My fingers from both hands slide inside my vagina, taking the wetness from my pussy. I lift my left hand, the two fingers on it press to his lips.
He opens his mouth to suck them, closing his eyes, groaning at the pleasure.
I continue pleasing myself, flicking my clitoris. His thumb helps, swirling circles around.
He licks his lips, hungry for me.
My fingers continue moving faster, then his thumb takes over.
I interlock my fingers behind my neck, my breasts jutting out further, allowing him to suck them one at a time, his tongue swirling around each nipple before pulling them between his teeth.
Lincoln's noises of pleasure are music to my ears.
His dick is incredibly hard. Reaching forward between us, I free his penis from his boxers, a wet spot having formed there anyway.
The velvety skin of his erection beneath my palm feels like home as I stroke him with my right hand.
Up.
Down.
Up again.
Down slow goes my eager hand as his right thumb continues drawing circles around the wetness completely coating my clitoris.
Lost is my mind for the moment, so much so that my own moans barely register as I come hard against his thumb, my clit pulsing to the beat of my quickening heart.
Link breathes hard against my lips.
As I come down from my orgasm, I slow my hand until my strokes come to a stop.
That was heavenly.
He takes over where I left off and begins to stroke himself.
However, he doesn’t get far.
His face barely moves as I crack a slap across it, breaking him from his effort.
Groaning, he glares at me in outrage, fire in those brown eyes.
“No,” I tell him. “You don't get to.”
Then I crawl off of him, leaving him like that.
He’s frustrated and angry, but I don't give a fuck.
That's what he gets.
And he usually would fight me in a time like this, but I think he understands that he deserves his punishment, especially after what happened this morning.
The silence is a fog between us in the car. The storm still rages outside, the rain pelting a little lighter now than it was before, although still heavy.
Curling up in the passenger seat, pulling my knees up to my chest, my head rests against my window, just being soothed by the sound of the rain touching every surface around us.
Link flips on the radio. John Lennon’s ‘Jealous Guy’ flows through the speakers.
He sighs loudly before shifting, and then he sighs again.
My eyes track him.
“Why don't you get some sleep?” I ask him.
Without staring at me, without even meeting my eyes, he merely continues gazing out the window with a slow blink.
“I'm worried about my cat,” he says.
“We'll find him, Lincoln,” I encourage him.
“Why do you care so much?” he bites back.
What the hell is his problem?
My legs shift, now down in the wheel well, as I narrow my eyes.
“You don't need to be snippy,” I shoot back.
“I have every right to be snippy. You're the one who left the fucking door open in the first place. You should have been keeping an eye on Morris.”
Oh no, this asshole did not.
Now I'm getting mad.
My bottom lip suffers the pain of me chewing on it, trying to contain my anger.
Tilting my head to face him, I make sure he can see my frown on full display.
“I'm the one who left the door open?” I ask. “How would I have been keeping an eye on Morris if you were actively kicking me out of your damn house?”
“You opened the door when Sarah was at the door and you left it open without considering that Morris could have gotten through,” he accuses.
“I cannot believe you're actually blaming me! I was at the front door, yes, but you can blame Sarah and yourself for that as well. And I didn't see Morris run out,” I tell him.
“Yeah, because you wouldn't have been paying attention, because you were so up in your ass about Sarah being there.”
“Bro… did it ever occur to you to check the cameras?” I counter.
“No ‘sis’. It never occurred to me to check the cameras,” he shoots back with a heavy layer or sarcasm.
“Well it didn’t show him going out?”
“There’s a blind spot, especially if he goes out and runs along the side of the house,” Link scoffs.
“Well. He snuck out ninja quick. The fact none of us saw him means it was an accident,” I offer.
“Of course. Because the great Gabrielle can do no wrong,” that sarcasm pours out again.
“Wow,” I emphasize, looking out of the windshield.
“You know what, Lincoln?” I start to say.
“I'm really sorry, right? Because I know how hard this must be.
And how worried you are about Morris. And if I did leave the door open, and that's the moment that Morris decided to get out of the house, I apologize.
But let's not sit here and pretend that's the real reason that you're mad.
Because up until two minutes ago, you were down to fuck me.
Because apparently that's all you care about,” I say, frowning.
“So you keep saying, Gabrielle,” he mumbles.
“Yeah, so I keep saying, because that's how you behave. That's the whole reason why we're in this situation in the first—”
He cuts me off, yelling through the laughter that he sarcastically spills while closing his eyes before he looks at me.
“I've spent every FUCKING day since it happened beating myself up about it.
EVERY fucking day regretting it. You don't think that I've been living in hell since I did that to you? But no matter what I do, no matter what I say, I cannot take it back. I cannot UN-fuck Sarah,” he finishes, shaking his head slowly.
“Maybe it happened for a reason. Maybe we're not right for each other,” he says softer, looking away from me.
“That's what you're going with?” I ask him, my eyes narrowed.
He shrugs defeatedly.
“Do you think we would have lasted long-term even if Sarah wasn't in the equation?” he asks.
“Bro, if you really were not that happy with me, there were better ways that you could have gotten out of the relationship rather than to hurt me the way you did,” I yell, because everything that he says is utter bullshit, and somehow it feels as though he's skirting taking accountability.
Sure, he takes some of it, but now he's chalking it up to having been a reason, as if he had no willpower of his own to not fuck his co-worker.
As if to put a punctuation and a conclusion point on our argument, there's a ping.
It's from Lincoln's phone.
Staring at the screen, his eyes light up.
“Morris's GPS tag is back online. It says he's back at the house,” Lincoln says, looking over at me.
Contrary to the anger I just felt moments ago, my heart feels relieved.
Putting the car in drive, Lincoln takes off to head back to the house.
When we reach the house, Morris is waiting on the lawn in the nearby bushes, just lying down there like a sphinx, as if nothing happened.
The moment he sees us pull up, he meows, happily trotting up toward Lincoln, who picks him up and hugs him.
“Hey buddy, you scared the shit out of me,” he says in a much happier tone than he had used for me.
“Morris, baby kitty,” I say, walking up to the both of them as Lincoln holds the cat in his arms.
We both give him a kiss on either side of his face as he meows.
“Somebody's hungry,” I say in a high voice.
When we get inside the house, we give him food.
After everything settles, and we make sure that he doesn't have any injuries, wipe him down with some wet wipes, and brush him and just give him a lot of love to make sure that he's safe and happy, everything feels normal again.
“Lincoln? I'm sorry again. I'm sorry that you had to go through this, but I'm glad that he's safe. I told you he'd be.”
Lincoln nods, some of his fury having washed away, but his guard remaining.
He then retreats to his room with his cat and locks himself in it.
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