Page 58 of Blue Collar Hotties

When he starts guiding me by my hair, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.

When he mutters filthy praise, my toes curl in my fuzzy socks.

And when he finally stiffens, tapping me on the shoulder and warning, “Jenny,” I don’t sit back. Whole armies couldn’t drag me away.

I hum as salty wetness spills over my tongue. I swallow him down, spurt after spurt, and maybe it’s shameless but I don’t care.

I wantallof him. I want him imprinted on my skin, and coating my insides.

“Fuck.” Lincoln collapses against the back of the sofa, his stomach muscles twitching. He’s still holding my ponytail with one hand, the other cradling my jaw.

Lincoln stares over my shoulder at the wall, expression bleak. “You’re going to ruin me, Jenny. You could destroy me with a flick of your hand.”

Well, I won’t, then.

Seems simple to me.

I kiss his thigh through the denim, and then I’m lifted into the air. Cradled on my roommate’s lap.

“I’m not posting that ad.”

“I know.” He did warn me, and I don’t want him to. If Lincoln wants to claim me, I’m not crazy enough to stop him. Because he’sallI want, he’s so bold and untamed, and I’m…

Not.

I sink down against Lincoln’s chest, frowning. His heartbeat is rapid, audible through his t-shirt.

Maybe he doesn’t want to leave right now, but he’s adventurous to his core. He travels the world and takes risks and is building a star photographer career. He’s really going to stop all that for me? Would I evenwanthim to?

Lincoln’s lips press against my hair, and I burrow closer to his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow down.

I…

God. Ireallydon’t want to let this man go.

Lincoln

Jenny doesn’t let me taste her. She doesn’t want anything in return for the best experience of my damn life except to cuddle up on my lap and trace my tattoos with the tip of her finger.

I’m so fucking hungry for her, but I don’t push the issue. I never will.

She knows best what she’s ready for.

Still, I can’t help prowling after her through the apartment for the next few days, always desperate to smell her throat, to touch her skin, to nibble her bottom lip. To feel her arms loop around my neck and hear her relieved sighs. And she always welcomes me, every time I go to her, but she never seeksmeout. Not since shattering my world on that sofa.

I try not to think about that fact.

And I sure as hell don’t ask her to kneel for me again.

* * *

“Lincoln?”

I’ll never get over the way Jenny says my name. Soft and shy and full of so much buried hope. Like she can’t really believe that I’m here, and she doesn’t want to jinx it.

I know the feeling.

I grip my phone tight, tilting my head back to peer up at the stars. “Yeah, sweetheart?” I started this ritual the week I movedin with Jenny—coming up to our building’s roof and sitting up here in the silence, escaping from the urges pounding through my veins whenever my adorable roommate is near.

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