Page 50 of Firefly Effect

“Last chance,” he warns.

When he latches his mouth back onto me, he pushes me closer to the brink. A little further and he won’t be able to stop the orgasm aching to burst free.

Everything is different with Lincoln than with anyone else. He touches me, and I melt into him, wax to his flame. He talks dirty to me, and the vibrato of his baritone resonates deep inside me. He comes near me, and I’m engulfed by his cool evergreen scent. He goes down on me, and I feel worshiped by a man who knows how to pleasure a woman.

But I can’t bring myself to say the words.

I’m almost gone, lost to the heavens in this journey he’s controlling, when he begs me again, but I hold back my reply. Why am I so damn stubborn?

Just when I think he might pull away completely and starve me from the release threatening to unravel at rip-roaring speed, he pushes a second finger inside, plummeting me over the edge.

My toes curl and my back arches, breath squeezing from my lungs as I ride out the endless waves that roll through my body. When my body calms, he slips his fingers from me then falls back on the floor of the bounce house.

I turn to face him, my eyes slipping to his tented shorts. Guilt eats away at me, and I want nothing more than to repay the favor. Sliding my hand down his chest and abs, I grip his hard length through his shorts. My mouth salivates at his size, and I begin to stroke him.

A strong hand lands on mine, stopping me midmotion. “I can’t just be someone casual to you, Evie.” He shakes his head. “I want more than that from this.” He turns away, a single line denting his perfect forehead.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper shakily as disappointment racks my body, pulling my hand away and lying back on the bounce-house floor.

Just when I feel like I’ve ruined what might be the most important relationship I’ve formed since I was a child, Lincoln’s warm hand envelops mine. Then he says two words that rupture my already-bleeding heart.

“I’ll wait.”

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

LINCOLN

Five days. That’s how long it’s been since I worshiped Evie and nearly deprived her of an orgasm. I’m not usually an arrogant man, but I saw the way she came alive at my touch, I felt the way she kissed me back, and I tasted her sweet juices as she opened up for me in that bounce house. No one could question the intensity of her reactions. I was so confident, in fact, that I was sure she would say the words I desperately needed to hear.

She didn’t.

She isn’t ready.

But like I told her that night, I’ll wait.

It feels like I’ve already waited my entire life for her. For someone who gets me on a deeper level and who inspires me as much as she steals my focus. Such a contradiction, I know, but I wouldn’t trade this feeling for the world.

There’s something about her I just can’t pull away from—beyond her intoxicating scent and transcendent eyes. She’s gripped my soul and sank her teeth in, branding me hers for the rest of my days. Some might call it an unhealthy obsession—I just call it fate.

I’m not sure when or how to make my next move, knowing that things with her could have gone so much further that night. Both of us wanted it, and for once, we were completely alone with nothing but the stars staring down at us. But Evie isn’t some woman I want to get my fill of and leave. She’s someone I want to keep, as wrong as I know that is.

Wanting her is bad enough, but there’s guilt there too. Guilt that I haven’t been fully honest with her, that my move here wasn’t entirely tied to J.D. leaving his practice. As much as I want to share everything with her, I can’t—my hands are tied. And as much as I want to justify my lies, they’re eating me away inside.

I push my laptop away, remove my glasses, and rub my eyes. Lucy fell asleep in the guesthouse with Francine, so I drove into town to the office with the intention to focus. So it’s just me, lost in my thoughts, failing at the task at hand.

Firefly Effect

The title stares back at me like it’s alive, taunting me. In a way, it is. I’ve been stuck for years, not for lack of inspiration—for some reason, the words just aren’t flowing the way I thought they would.

What started out as a dissertation for my PsyD program at Duke in which I investigated and explored the Firefly Man serial murders became so much more after graduation. I blame the vast amount of research I conducted and all the rabbit holes I wandered down in the process of trying to stay on topic. With inspiration from author Dr. Rohls, who became my mentor, I set out to create a short story that wove together the psyche of someone who could commit such heinous crimes, using fireflies to symbolize human life.

I skip to where I’m getting into the meat of my story, based on the philosophical take on truth and time and the idea that fireflies never truly die. It’s a choice to live life as a guiding light for others or to stay masked in darkness. It’s all one elaborate metaphor for how we can wield our knowledge as power for good or bad. The choice is up to us.

To dim our light is to close ourselves off to growth and opportunities, to choose ignorance.

Ugh. I close my laptop. It all feels wrong. Unfinished.

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