Page 52 of Blue Collar Hotties

Our lips brush. So much gentler than I expected. When does he work out all that pent up energy if not in moments like these? But our first kiss is whisper-soft, and his stubble tickles my chin, and Lincoln’s grip is tight on my hip, such a strange contrast to our cautious mouths.

My heart rattles around my rib cage.

“Lincoln,” I whisper, our lips brushing as I speak. “Kiss me harder—mmph.”

There he is. My wild roommate tilts his head, chest rumbling, and presses his lips to mine. And this—this is what I thoughtit would be like. This is what I’ve imagined in my bed each night, my hands furtive and roaming under the covers, my eyes screwed shut as I picture the scratch of his stubble against my skin.

I pictured a rush of heat.

Grasping hands and pounding hearts.

Quiet moans I can’t hold back.

It’s all that and more as Lincoln kisses mehard, like he’s issuing a challenge, working me over until my jaw aches. He traces the seam of my mouth with his tongue. My lips part on a gasp.

And that’s it. I’m lost to him.

Because Lincoln iseverywhere, his tongue hot and slick as it invades my mouth, his fingers working my bun free before he fists a handful of my hair. His other large palm flattens on the small of my back, urging me closer, until we’re sealed together, and he’s rocking me along his hard length, and oh god, I can’t think. I can’t think.

“S-slow down.”

Lincoln snatches his hands away like he’s been burned. Seeing him hold them up in surrender, gazing wild-eyed at the ceiling—it’d be funny if his jaw weren’t clenched so tight.

“I don’t want to stop,” I tell him quickly, plucking at his shirt. “That’s not it, I swear. I just…” My face burns impossibly brighter. “I forgot how to breathe.”

There’s a pause.

Lincoln blinks at the ceiling, then lowers his chin. My photographer looks at me again. He’s still got those stick-em-up hands, but his gray eyes are so serious that I swallow down all the jokes I want to make.

“Was that the sort of kiss you wanted, then?” His voice sounds like pure gravel. I wrinkle my nose, thinking.

Is it what I wanted? Honestly, I didn’t have super specific ideas beyond Lincoln’s lips touching mine. And ideally, I wanted him to like it too; I wanted him to burn up for me like I do for him.

Wriggling my ass against the lead pipe in his jeans, I think I can say: mission accomplished.Hellyeah.

“Jenny,” he grits out. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Clutching his shirt tight like this, I’ll crease the fabric all to hell. Still, I choke out a laugh. “Feeling smug, that’s what. Is, um.” I rock myself along his length again, the friction tickling between my legs as Lincoln curses darkly. “Is this for me?”

“Who the fuck else would it be for?” My roommate asks, and he sounds kind of mad. My stomach swoops, my arousal snuffed out like a candle. “Now who’s making fun?”

Smile faltering, my hips slow. I’ve gone wrong here, I’ve overstepped a boundary, but Lincoln’s already sighing and shaking his head. His hands fall to the sofa.

“Sorry, sweetheart. This doesn’t mean anything. I know.”

I go very still.

…Right.

That was the agreement.

And it’s so freaking unreasonable of me to want Lincoln to have been swept away like I just was—to want his whole world to have been shaken around like a snow globe by one kiss, just like mine. It’s ridiculous for my heart to be so raw, each breath painful as it squeezes in and out of my lungs.

I promised him it meant nothing. I can’t take that back now.

“Yes. Sorry,” I whisper, climbing off his lap with wobbly legs, and I’m not even sure what for, exactly. Sorry for ruining the moment? For humping him like a pillow? For making this weird, like I makeeverythingweird, and throwing his patience and generosity back in his face?

“Jenny,” Lincoln says, but I’m shuffling backward. Staring at the wall behind his head.

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