Page 43 of Taking What's Mine

“That was years ago.”

Now it’s his turn to wink at me. “I said what I said.”

I drop the tie on the floor, and unzip my dress, removing it slowly as the heat between us intensifies. I let the dress drop to the floor, letting Lincoln get a glimpse of me in nothing but my bra and panties. “I’m sure you don’t have this memorized.”

His gaze travels languidly over every inch of my body, and a delicious shiver snakes up my spine in response. There’s something thrilling in the weight of his attention—just like earlier at the club, when he watched me as though I were the only thing in the room that mattered. Even now, his stare is hungry and unyielding, sending my pulse skittering.

“You’re fucking stunning, Isabel.” His voice is rough-edged and thick with need, as if the very sight of me is a physical ache. The rasp in his tone tells me he’s teetering on the edge of restraint, and I can’t deny how it makes my blood race.

I’m half-tempted to undo his cuffs and have him devour me. But the pulse between my legs and the way he’s staring at me keeps me going. “Ready?” I ask him as I climb onto the bed, keeping my bra and panties on.

Lincoln’s eyes glimmer with a raw intensity—a hunger, or maybe something deeper. Without breaking that heated gaze, I swing a leg over his thighs and settle into his lap. I feel his sharp inhale against my body, a quiet sound that sets my nerves on fire. He’s still dressed in his trousers and a half-buttoned shirt, giving me a tantalizing view of what lies beneath.

Starting at his collar, I undo each button at a languid pace, savoring the anticipation crackling between us. One by one, they slip free, and his shirt gapes open to reveal a chest that looks carved from solid stone. Every muscle stands out in stark relief, and I can’t help but run my fingertips over the hard ridges of his torso. My pulse skitters at the sheer strength under my touch, while a flicker of need coils low in my belly, urging me closer.

I dip forward, letting my lips press light, teasing kisses along his chest, reveling in the smooth planes of his pecs. Each brush of my mouth elicits a slight hitch in his breathing, and the fact that I can provoke such a response stirs desire low in my belly. It’s heady, knowing I have him this undone, and it only spurs me to continue my slow descent.

“I’m not going to complain,” Lincoln says, his voice ragged but still edged with humor, “though this doesn’t feel like much of a punishment.”

He’s right, of course. I settle back on his lap, awareness buzzing through my veins. My hands slip behind my back, and I pop open my bra with a practiced flick. My eyes linger on his as I ease the lacy fabric down my arms and discard it with a soft rustle.

“You want punishment?” I challenge softly, arching my spine just enough that he can’t possibly miss the sight of me. His gaze darkens with anticipation, and my heart pounds at a rapid pace, every pulse thrumming with a decadent sense of power.

“I need to touch you,” he growls, fighting against the restraints. He strains forward, only to realize there’s no give, and a ragged curse breaks from his lips. “Fuck,” he breathes, the muscles in his arms flexing in protest. “This isn’t funny.”

I offer him a slow, provocative smile, sliding my palms over my breasts with deliberate intention. My fingertips graze my nipples, sending a tremor through me that I can’t hide. Watching his frustration morph into a deeper, almost desperate desire sends a hot flush across my skin. I feel him grow harder beneath me, and my own arousal intensifies, a wicked spark igniting in my veins.

“Not funny at all,” I murmur, letting my hands wander in a way that only heightens the ache between us. The tension in the room is tangible, each second ticking by like a test of wills. And by the look in Lincoln’s eyes—dark and stormy with need—I know exactly who’s winning.

I lean forward, bringing my nipple almost within reach of his mouth, and he bucks forward, trying his best to clamp his mouth down around me. “Isabel,” he warns, voice low and threadbare.

“Is this what you want?” I purr, leaning in tantalizingly close. Just when his lips part in anticipation, I pull back, leaving him straining for contact.

He lets out a low, frustrated growl. “You’re teasing me, Isabel,” he accuses, his eyes sparking with both annoyance and arousal.

A soft giggle escapes me, and I flash him a playful smile. “No, sir,” I say lightly, feigning innocence. “This is your punishment.”

His gaze snaps up, the heat behind it sizzling. “You’d better be careful,” he warns, voice taut with restrained hunger.

“And why’s that?” I lean forward again, letting my nipple brush dangerously close to his mouth, my heart pounding at the risk of it. But once more, I withdraw before he can capture me.

“Because once these cuffs are off,” he says, voice dark and edged with promise, “I won’t hold back. I’ll claim you, Isabel. You need to be ready for that.”

A tremor ripples through my body, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath. A surge of molten need floods every cell, and it’s all I can do to keep up this act of playful defiance. “Promise?” I whisper, my pulse throbbing at the base of my throat. The way he looks at me—like he’s seconds away from snapping the cuffs himself—makes my whole world ignite. I’m not sure I could want him more than I do right now, but every time he opens his mouth, he proves me wrong.

“Take the cuffs off and find out,” he challenges, voice laced with dark promise. The sparks in his eyes dare me to be bold, to loosen the restraints and see how he’ll respond. A flush of adrenaline surges through me, making my heart beat a wild staccato. My gaze flicks to the cuffs encircling his wrists, then back to the raw need etched across his face.

I can feel the thrill dancing under my skin, a heady mix of curiosity and blatant desire. In this moment, I want to give in, to unshackle him and see how far he’ll go to claim me. The very thought sends a delicious shiver down my spine, filling me with a sudden burst of courage.

“Maybe I’m ready to find out,” I murmur, voice quivering with anticipation. And I realize with a jolt that the idea of releasing him—giving him the freedom to do whatever he pleases—is almost too tempting to resist.

I slide up his body with deliberate slowness, my pulse thundering as I reach for the key dangling from his cuff. With a soft click, I free one wrist, then the other—my heart hammering at the thought of what might happen next.

The moment he’s loose, he wastes no time. His powerful hands seize my waist, and before I can even draw a breath, he bucks me off his lap, flipping me onto my back with a swift, confident move. A startled gasp escapes me, adrenaline and a molten rush of need sparking in my veins.

He’s on top of me in an instant, his knees planted on either side of my hips, his body looming above mine. My eyes lock with his, and the heat I find there makes the air crackle. Every inch of him vibrates with tension—like a coil wound too tightly, ready to spring.

“You’re mine,” he growls, low and possessive. The sound skates over my skin, sending waves of longing through every nerve. His gaze blazes into mine, and in the space between heartbeats, I feel the heady thrill of letting him have this power, of surrendering to the raw, palpable electricity that binds us together.

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