Page 36 of Lillian

Our tongues tangle together in a heated dance. Lincoln’s hands drop down to my hips and start to move them against him again. This time, I follow his lead and grind down on his erection. The fabric of his gray sweatpants does little to mask the feel and shape of him. Each grind of my hips has my clit rubbing against him in a deliciously sinful way.

I’m about to beg him to pull my panties to the side and let me ride his dick until I can’t walk straight. Hell, my legs are already starting to tremble from our mindless dry humping.

My hand snakes down his sweats until I’m gripping him, hot and heavy and rock hard against my palm. I pump a few times, dragging his precum down to act as a lube.

“Take your pants off, Frasier. I need you to ride me,” he grunts as his hips buck against my hand.

I pull my hand out from the waistband of his pants, and just as I lift my hips to take off his pants, and then my own, I hear the screen door swing open.

The soundof a throat clearing startles me so bad that I jump mid-kiss, bite Lincoln’s lip harder than is acceptable, and scramble off his lap with so much haste and lack-of-coordination that I knee him in his balls.

Groans of pain from Lincoln mix with cursing from my sister as she ushers Grace quickly back out the door and tells her to wait with Nicky in the car for a second. By the time the screen shuts again, I’ve stood up, have flattened my now dry hair as much as I can, and am tugging the oversized shirt I’m wearing as close to my knees as I can get it.

“Well, well, well,” Kim starts smugly, “brought the party home, huh?”

Lincoln grunts as he stands next to me with a hand cradling his still-hard dick.

“Mozeltov,” Kim grins saucily as she eyes the hand that doesn’t cover his entire crotch. But then her eyes trail up his toned abdomen visible through his shirt, past his shoulders, andland on his absurdly handsome face. The cheeky smile drops in an instant, replaced by an astonished look.

Startled eyes bounce from Lincoln’s face to my own, and I know she knows who he is. They never met, but she’s seen pictures.

“I don’t…” Her mouth opens and shuts, searching for words. “Did you go to thatpartylast night?” She emphasizes ‘party’ like it’s a secret we’re keeping from Lincoln. Keeping him in the dark lest he find out I was signed up for a sex party.

“She went,” he chimes in helpfully, humor in his voice, and draws Kim’s gaze back to his as she pops out a hip and crosses her arms over her chest.

“I was asking my sister, thanks.” Her words are as icy as the look in her eyes. Yeah, she definitely recognizes him. Doesn’t seem like she’s too keen to see the man who caused her sister so much heartbreak in my living room in a compromising position. One too many days catching me swiping tears from my eyes while I put on a strong façade, I suppose.

The way she speaks to Lincoln seems to surprise him. It draws his shoulders back, his face sobers, and he looks at Kim with more trepidation. When he stays silent, obedient almost, I answer my sister.

“We both did. I met Lincoln there,” I offer her as an explanation. She doesn’t stop glaring at him long enough to catch my eyebrows playing gymnastics on my face and telling her to cool the third degree.

“You knew he was going to be there?” she asks.

“No.”

“It was just a happy coincidence, then?” The sarcasm in her voice stops me in my tracks as I consider her question.

From my peripheral vision, I see Lincoln’s hand go up hesitantly like we’re in grade school again. Kim snorts, a smile gracing her lips before she remembers she doesn’t like him.

“What?” Her stern tone sounds more forced.

“Um, well,” Lincoln stammers. It’s my turn to snort, but I do my best to disguise it with a cough. He glances my way before addressing Kim again. “Is that question for me this time?”

Kim rolls her eyes. “Sure.”

“It wasn’t a coincidence.” Iknewit.

“Oh?” Interest peaks through her anger, ever the gossip queen. She’s playing like she’s a hard-ass, over-protective sister, but she’s just as eager to hear his story as I am. There is high probability that her and Jim will be whispering about this over a glass of wine—or sparkling water in her very pregnant case—later when Nicky goes to bed.

Instead of answering Kim directly, Lincoln turns to me and says, “I knew you’d be there. Since I ran into you on the street I’ve been, well, keeping tabs on you. Kind of. In a non-stalker sort of way.” That last bit is said with a side-eye toward my sister.

“You knew I’d be there?” I confirm.

He nods.

“So, what was the plan? What if you drew someone else’s name? We’d have fucked other people? Where would we be now?”

Kim interjects. “You randomly drew her name?” Her eyes are lit with intrigue. When Lincoln looks back to her to nod, she composes herself back to an emotionless mask.

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