Page 35 of Firefly Effect

“It wasn’t that funny,” I say with a glance heavenward.

She’s still got the uncontrollable giggles and begins wiping tears from her eyes. Retaliation is the only thing on my mind when I slide free of my tube and reach for hers. She squeals and starts to flip onto her stomach to begin paddling away, but she slips off her tube instead.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I wrap one arm around her waist and pull her close until she’s right where I want her—inches away from our lips meeting. I can’t fucking wait to kiss this woman.

Her sapphire eyes lock on mine while my heart hums like a hammer drill. All I have to do is lean in.

She sucks in a breath, that quick inhale the admission I need to continue my advances. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips before her teeth drag over them, showing me she wants this just as much as I do. And after what she confessed to me in my office, she might even need this.

My voice is rough when I speak. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t kiss you right now.” There it is—her out, if she chooses to use it.

Small fingers feather over my waist before digging in to grip me just slightly. One side of her mouth curls up. “Is that a threat?”

I resist the urge to growl out my need and instead lean in so my lips glide against her ear. “Yes. It’s only fair, given that you’ve consumed my mind since the moment I met you. Say it’s not just me.”

She shivers in my arms. “It’s not just you, Lincoln.” One of her legs wraps around my waist, then the other leg follows. My hands move to support her ass, adjusting her enough so we fit together, so she can feel how hard I am for her.

My mouth moves to the crook of her neck. She smells sweet like pineapple and cherries, a unique combination I would love to devour. My tongue darts out, desperate for a taste of her, famished for a decent meal after nearly three years of fasting.

It doesn’t help that her heels dig into the backs of my legs while she grinds her center against me, as if my cock is a tree trunk and she’s using it to scratch an itch.

I pull my head up again, my focus on her lips, anticipating what they might feel like against mine. I start to close the gap until I’m right there, lip to lip, just barely grazing the surface, when a voice calls to us from up on the hill near the road.

“Evie! Lincoln!” It’s Kyle. “Where are your tubes?”

Evie scrambles in a mad dash to separate our bodies, then she looks around frantically, on a mission to find her tube and possibly mine. But they’re nowhere to be seen.

“Oops,” I say.

Evie cringes and looks up the hill at Kyle. “Guess they floated away. I can pay you back for them, Kyle.”

He grins and looks between us, definitely onto our little charade. “Don’t sweat it, boss. This one’s on me.” He chuckles while Evie’s cheeks flame red. “You two need a lift back to the picnic area?”

Evie immediately begins to move out of the water. “Yes, thank you, Kyle.”

I follow closely, begrudgingly, behind. That’s the buzzkill needed to ruin a perfectly good first kiss. I guess that just means we’ll need a second chance at it.

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

EVELYN

Rain pelts my apartment window at a slow and steady pace, matching the speed with which my thoughts roll frame by frame, the events of yesterday playing out again and again. I slap the poetry book I’m trying to read closed, unable to focus on its words.

I keep remembering the moment I spotted Lincoln running toward the creek with Lucy and pretended not to notice. Him finally seeing me and approaching. Our adventure in the tubes, my panic attack, and the conversation that followed. Finally, the most intense almost-kiss I could have ever imagined.

A moan hums through me as I think about the way my legs wrapped around him, giving in to my own insatiable desire. I’ve never felt like this with a man before—desperate for his attention, aching for his hands on every inch of my body, ready to take him however he’ll let me have him.

I no longer need to question Lincoln’s desire for me. He made that abundantly clear yesterday, leaving little room for doubt, when his thick cock pressed into the thin fabric of my bikini bottoms, desperate for entry. I heard the guttural groan that came from deep in his chest as he pulled me closer. I saw the need in his eyes as I rubbed against him and felt the heady undertone of sex when his lips met my ear. And I recognized his deep sense of disappointment when we were interrupted before our lips could completely meet, because I felt it too.

In my mind, it’s no longer “if we have sex.” It’s “when.” And I’m anxiously awaiting that opportunity.

Just like every other morning when thoughts of Lincoln Reed spiral through my brain and trigger my sexual hunger, I’m wet and eager for relief. But rubbing my clit isn’t enough this morning when I’m imagining his hard cock inside me. If we’d only had more time, I would have let him take me right there in the creek. If he had slipped my bikini from my skin and slid me down his shaft, I would have fucked him without a single ounce of regret.

Two fingers slip into my entrance, and I push them inside until I’m fucking myself, imagining it’s Lincoln slipping, sliding, groaning, deepening. Imagining his thick beard scratching and teasing my skin.

Relief erupts from me in a wave of orgasm that leaves me floating for the rest of the morning. Clearly, it’s been too long since I’ve had sex, but I’ve gone months before and the need has never hit me like this—like I can’t function without getting myself off. It’s the Lincoln Reed effect, one I’m not sure I’ll ever get over.

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