Page 218 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

“Linc,” Sophie murmurs desperately as her hips move to match mine.

I can’t get deep enough like this and I need to bury myself in the center of her being. Gripping her curvy ass, I lift her off my desk. “Wrap your legs around me.” She does, locking her feet around my hips. Spinning around, I press her back against the wall and rut into her. My hips piston relentlessly and when I slide my hands around her thighs to open her further, I sink that much deeper into her tight heat. A groan vibrates from my core, rumbling up my throat and past my lips. Sophie swallows it, meeting it with one of her own.

With her arms wrapped around my shoulders, her tits pressed tightly against my chest, she bounces on my cock. “You’re so deep like this.” She moans into my ear, her hot breath coating the side of my face, sending my need to come into the stratosphere. Her fingers slip up into my hair and tighten around the strands.

Lightning flashes through my veins and my muscles shake with the need to release. I drop my head to suck one of Sophie’s nipples into my mouth as I continue to snap my hips, adjusting the angle to hit the spot inside her. I need her to fucking come. The telltale sign of her impending orgasm as she fists around me has relief firing through my synapses.

“God, I’m so close again,” she exclaims, a tinge of disbelief in her voice. Her short nails claw my shoulders and I tighten my grip on her sensational thighs.

“Give it to me, Soph,” I grunt as lightning shoots down my spine toward my balls.

Drawing on every reserve I have, I piston my hips with long, deep strokes. Her tits slide against my pecs with every thrust and the sensations are almost too much. I slam my mouth down on hers and attack her tongue with rough strokes—stealing her breaths as my own. Desperation takes over, and I grab her ass cheeks and squeeze. Her walls clamp tight and the rhythmic tensing of her internal muscles sends me flying over the edge.

A kaleidoscope of color fills my vision as I pull Sophie away from the wall so I can wrap my arms around her and hold her tight. Nuzzling her neck, I groan as I bury myself one last time and fill the condom with my release. Wave after wave of hot cum and for the second time tonight, I wish I wasn’t wearing a condom—that my release was filling her. A concept so completely foreign to me, it takes me by surprise.

My body shudders against hers as she wraps her arms around me, holding me as tight as I’m holding her. Our chests expand and deflate rapidly with our breaths, and our hearts pound with a frantic rhythm.

Her hands slip into my hair and her mouth finds mine. I open eagerly, wanting this experience to last as long as possible. Without severing our connection, I find my chair and sit. Our kiss deepens and as we get lost in it, Sophie moves her hips slowly, taking us both over the edge again.

Eighteen

Sophie

I can’t peel my eyes away from Lincoln.

Every twitch of his muscles and every movement of his hand brings forth erotic memories from what we did last night and again this morning. I had to soak in the tub when I got home and I slept the best I have in a long time. I guess several intense orgasms will do that.

My body vibrates with a chuckle as I finish cleaning Ken’s station so I can observe Lincoln as he tattoos his client’s side with an image of a nineteen-fifties pin-up girl.

The vibration of my phone against my butt startles me, but I ignore it. Even though Linc said I could have my phone with me, I don’t want him to think I’m taking liberties now we’ve slept together. The vibrating stops and immediately starts again. A prickling sensation crawls down my spine, and the need to check my phone becomes overwhelming. The vibrating stops, and I exhale a relieved breath, but it starts again.

Lincoln raises his head. His dark eyebrows slashed low over his gorgeous blue eyes. He gestures with his chin toward my pocket. “Do you need to get that? Someone seems desperate to get in touch with you.” The buzzing stops, then starts again.

“Do you mind?” I stand, digging into my back pocket, but don’t pull out my phone, waiting for his approval.

“It seems it may be important. Take it in the office.”

I nod once—“Thanks.”—then take quick steps into the office to check the screen. Four missed calls from Dad. Shit. It vibrates in my hand again, and I immediately accept the call. “Dad, I can’t answer the phone whi?—”

“I’m so sorry. I fell asleep. I was up late last night writing. I didn’t even realize how tired I was until I woke up with my cheek stuck to my keyboard,” he blurts in a rush.

“Dad, slow down.”

“I can’t slow down. I was late to collect James from the bus stop, and he wasn’t there!” he shouts, frantic.

My heart drops to my feet, and the world around me slows. The blood in my veins moves like molasses, and my brain pounds. I grip Lincoln’s desk to hold myself up before I collapse onto the office floor. “Wha …”

“Did you hear me? James wasn’t at the bus stop. He knows the way home from there. It’s not that far. He couldn’t have gotten lost. He’s missing, Sophie! It’s all my fault!” He sobs, and I can picture him frantically rubbing his free hand through his thick salt and pepper hair.

My head pounds, filled with cotton and stealing my ability to think. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. There has to be. “Maybe he missed the bus, and he’s still at school?”—that has to be it—“Or maybe he went to a friend’s house? Have you checked with Tyler down the street?”

“Of course I checked with Tyler,” he snaps. “He said they got off the bus together. He said James started walking home on his own.”

Dizziness overwhelms me, and acid creeps up from my stomach, so I run to the bathroom, banging through the door noisily. I make it just in time for my lunch to reappear, dropping my phone to the floor as I crash to my knees.

“Fuck! Sophie, what happened?” Steady hands gather my hair and pull it out of the way as I empty the contents of my stomach.

“Sophie!” Dad’s tinny voice calls from the phone on the tiled floor. “Sophie! Are you okay? What’s happening?” His voice is frantic through the speaker, but I’m incapable of speech right now as more of my lunch evacuates my body. I don’t recall eating all that much, but this seems never-ending. My hands shake, sweat coats every inch of my skin, and I grip the porcelain tighter so I don’t end up face-first in the bowl.

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