Page 76 of Firefly Effect

I’m still dizzy when his lips slip from mine, and he shifts me off his lap then pushes himself off the counter. There’s no time to wonder what he’s doing, not when he swivels me to face him, spreads my legs, and presses himself against me with another soul-rending kiss.

He practically bruises my lips before ripping his mouth away and reaching for the bottle of Fire. “Take a shot.”

I let out a startled laugh. “What?”

He holds the bottle up to me. “Take a shot. I can’t taste the whiskey on your lips anymore.”

Still confused, I do as he says, tipping the bottle to my lips and letting the cinnamon-flavored liquor set fire to the back of my throat. When I pull the bottle away and my eyes catch on Lincoln’s, his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, then he reaches for my skirt and tugs. I lift my hips to help him slide the fabric down around my ass then my legs. He takes my panties too, leaving me completely bare.

His heated gaze scrolls the length of my body in one slow sweep. His hands move to my ass as his lips find the space between my breasts, and he kisses me there before lifting his head to kiss my whiskey-coated lips.

“That’s better,” he murmurs against my mouth. “My turn.”

He pulls away as I lift the bottle to his mouth, but he shakes his head with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Not like that. I want to taste it on you.” He lowers his body onto a stool then frames himself between my open legs. “Here.” He grips my hand around the label and pulls it down before twisting my wrist, pointing the bottle down so reddish-brown liquid starts to slide out and down onto my belly.

A gasp slips past my throat as the cool liquid pools in my belly button. I try to tip the bottle back to stop the endless waterfall, but Lincoln’s grip is too strong. Soon, the whiskey overflows in every direction, and his tongue is there, too, saving the liquid from reaching my clit. He licks each streak of liquid then sucks the pool in my belly button, making me shiver.

With one devilish glance up at me, he slides his mouth back down, this time flicking his whiskey-covered tongue over my clit. He laps me once, twice, then places both lips around my sensitive bud and begins to flick his tongue while sucking me hard. The cool buzz of sensation on my clit is overwhelming, thanks to the cinnamon liquor that adds to my pleasure.

My insides coil tightly as he moves my hand to set down the bottle and places both of his hands on either of my thighs. The pleasure has my head spinning and my muscles tense, the force of his mouth enough to make my body convulse. The bottle drops from my hands and lands on the counter with a thud, and my palms slam onto the bar top behind me as an orgasm lights me up from the inside, illuminating my release and sending me straight into a free fall. Like a firefly producing light to seek a mate, I know without a doubt that I’ve found mine.

My orgasm is already ebbing when Lincoln pushes two fingers deep inside me. “Y-yes.” I wheeze the words, feeling the way my walls pulse around him.

His eyes roll with his groan. “Fuck, you’re so wet, Evie. I should be inside you for this.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“I want to memorize every inch of you to keep me company late at night.” He rolls my sensitive clit with the pad of his thumb, like I’m not already revving up for a second release. “You know, since you won’t move in with me.”

His fingers enter me again, deeper this time.

“Keep that up,” I moan, “and I just might.”

His eyes widen, and he flexes his fingers, flicking them rapidly. It’s like he’s punishing me with pleasure, milking me for all I have to give. At least he’s nice enough to let me come again before sweeping me off the bar and heading for the stairs to my apartment.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-EIGHT

LINCOLN

Someone forgot to close the blinds.

Squeezing my lids tighter, I groan and roll over, expecting to bump into the petite bed hog who kept me up all night with her constant movements, every single one triggering me to tighten my hold on her. So when I realize there’s nothing to hold onto, my heavy eyelids fly open. My heart rate instantly triples as I look around the small apartment in one full sweep but don’t find her.

I rip the comforter away, ready to leap off the bed, when I hear the flush of a toilet and the squeal of the faucet followed by the sound of shower water hitting the porcelain tub. Chill, dude.

Everything seems to have me on high alert these days, between the recent murders, the break-in at the bar, then last night’s fight. I just need to know Evie is safe. Knowing Francine and Lucy have been far away from this place is one thing I haven’t had to stress about.

I consider joining Evie in her shower, but every muscle in my body is screaming with pain. Why the hell am I so sore?

I quickly think back to the events of last night—the fight with Billy, dinner on the bar, body shots, carrying Evie up the spiral staircase, and then a marathon of sex. With every give, there was a take followed by another give. Everything about being with Evie feels so new, like we’re randy teenagers. I’d never tried so many different positions in one night, but we couldn’t get enough of each other. I certainly couldn’t get enough of her. I never will.

Stretching, I glance around the room, smiling at just how perfectly the entire vibe of the room matches Evie. The simplicity. The coziness. The mismatched color palette that makes no sense but somehow works well. And the rows upon rows of colorful book spines.

When I finally get the strength to slide from bed, I head to the kitchen and start the coffee pot. I’m going to need several cups to make it through the day. Lucy and Francine will be home in a few hours, and then it’s daddy-daughter day—a time when I commit to doing anything and everything Lucy asks me to do to show her how much I missed her this weekend.

While waiting on the coffee, I peruse Evie’s bookshelf the way she’d explored mine in both of my offices. She’s such a book lover that it’s interesting to see what she has in her personal collection. I had assumed I would find classic literature, like the book she was reading at the Deep Creek picnic area, but no. Evie’s collection consists of a mixture of genres and subgenres.

---