Page 59 of Pieces of Us

The evocative memory makes my horniness spike. I don’t need to feel in between my legs to know that I am ready. I can feel how wet I am by the dampness of my thighs.

As I pluck my nipples into stiff peaks, I place removable nipple clamps on each to stop blood from circulating. Just when I’m about to orgasm, I’ll pull them off to heighten my full-body climax.

Over the years, I’ve had to get creative, because the truth is, Lincoln is still the only one who can get me off like a rocket ship.

My fingers explore where my clit is hiding. Once I’ve located it, I place the sucking vibrator over it, grinding it down deep to feel an immeasurable pleasure. With my other hand, I stick two fingers inside me, searching for the holy grail. If I can summon up enough memories of Linc and I, I bet I’ll squirt, which lifts me to another plane.

As I flicker through my hottest experiences with Lincoln, I ascend higher and higher. Flickering videos flit through my mind, from him face fucking me in the toilet stall at lunch, making me drink his cum as the bell rung, to fingering me under the table at dinner one time when we were out with all our friends. The memories sound juvenile, but they are fucking exquisite. The thrill of stifling our moans and sounds, and being on the edge of almost getting caught intensified it for the both of us. Of course, the sex was amazing too. I might have only had him a handful of times, but the times we did it could have sent me to heaven and back. One particular time was in the back of his car as we waited for Jas’ ballet class to finish. We were parked in the very corner of the car park, where we had our very own Titanic moment. There was even a mighty fine handprint left on the window as he pounded into me. Just before he came, he pulled out and shoved his cock down my throat, forcing me to swallow. I could still taste the cum in my mouth when I got home.

Old memories mix with new as I think about how sexy Lincoln is now, with the lump that rests proudly on his throat, the outline of his rough jaw, the fullness of those lips that taste like me and eyes that penetrate my soul.

The dizzying memories of past and present make me fly, and for the first time since I arrived home, I let out a scream, feeling my body release all over my bed. The prolonged orgasm is made even better when I pull the nipple clamps off, which makes me squeal over the hot pain that blooms across my chest. When I finally stop shaking, I take several long moments to regain my breath. The whirring of my sex toy still infiltrates my room, so I reach for it and press down for three seconds to turn the hum off. Tossing it to the side, I decide I’ll clean it later.

I feel sated and exquisite. But I also feel like I could go again, or need more. It’s never been a problem, but since seeing Lincoln again, it’s like I need constant climaxes to stop me from combusting in his presence. I can hate him, love him, be mad at him, feel indifferent about him andstill feel this way.

Feeling around for my toy again, I’m eager to see if I can squeeze another orgasm out, but as I grasp it, a ping from my phone sounds. Someone’s at the door.

What fucking luck!

With Dad out at Uncle Jacob’s, the only guests that we’d be expecting would be Lily or Rome. Not that I know much about Dad’s personal life, but he’d never have a woman show up here. Our family lives out of town, and the rest of his friends wouldn’t just stop by.

Not wasting another second, I scramble to throw on a navy silk nightie and dart downstairs. On my way, I momentarily think it could be Lincoln, as if my sex mind somehow summoned him, but there’s no reason for him to visit me.

As I near the front door, I hesitate for a second, my hand hovering over the lock while my other hand dances on the knob. If it is him, I can’t promise I won’t have sex with him, which would be very, very, very bad, considering the tumultuous state of our relationship.

Mid-thought, my hand opens the door.

‘Hey, Hart.’

My heart stutters, leaping into my throat at those two words.

Gold Coast, in true form, is warm for this time of the evening, despite the sun starting to lower. My eyes trail up his body. He’s in the same sweatpants from earlier, which lower all my inhibitions entirely, and the same shirt, which is probably going to be ripped off his body in a matter of minutes. His hair is damp and his dimples pronounced as he gives me a megawatt smile. Unlike hours earlier, he also seems cooler and calmer. His relaxed posture leans towards the frame, and his hands are tucked safely into his pockets, which only pronounce his giant penis, which I am pretty sure is semi-hard.

The only hint of hesitation is in his eyes; he’s not confident how I’ll take his presence. When his eyes dash down to my chest, I suddenly realise how skimpy I must look. I forewent the panties and bra, and the fabric is barely covering my skin. It is not appropriate for any company, let alone that of my ex-boyfriend, who I just fantasised about.

Both his eyebrows lift as he hones in on my pebbled nipples. I wish I could blame it on the weather, but we both know that would be a big fat lie, so the only conclusion is that he is causing this effect. To hide my arousal, I cover my chest with my arms.

Diverting his gaze back to mine, I see the moment he snaps out of his trance. Swallowing hard, he takes in a shaky breath. ‘Is it okay that I’m here?’

Yes. No. Maybe? I don’t know? The options loop around in my mind.

My hand tightens on the door, indecision running through me. If he comes inside, I’ll definitely want to fuck him. I don’t trust my live wire hormones around him, especially with the way he’s looking.

Why am I so weak?

Why is it that all it takes for me to crumble like a cookie is for him to be in the same room as me?

Even when I hate him, I love him.

If I don’t invite him inside, I’m effectively telling him there’s never going to be any sort of future between us.

‘I swear, baby, I’m done hurting you,’ he punctuates with pleading eyes. ‘I just want to see what moving forward looks like with us. I don’t want to fight anymore.’

His impassioned plea breaks me, and I find myself widening the door, stepping back to allow him to enter.

Relief sweeps over his face as he brushes past me, causing the fine hairs on my skin to prickle. When his arm skims my chest, my nipples tingle at the touch.

‘I’m sick of fighting too.’ I close the door, making a conscious effort to slow down my steps so I don’t accidentally attack him with my mouth—or kill him. It’s going to be one or the other. ‘Living room.’ I nod towards where I want him to walk. I’d go first, but I’m afraid my nightie will cinch up and we’ll never get the chance to talk.

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