Page 104 of Roses in Summer

He smacks my ass again, not eliciting any pain but in a way that tells me exactly who’s behind me. “This ass, Sera. I swear to God, this fucking ass keeps me up at night,” he growls as he wrenches my hips upward. “One day, I’m going to fuck your ass while you fuck yourself with those little fingers. You like that, don’t you? I see the cum dripping out of this cunt just from my talking about it.” He’s right; I do like the sound of his threat, though I know I shouldn’t.

He leans over me, aligning his chest to my back, and I feel the head of his cock against my opening. I try to shift back, but he holds me still. “I’m never going to get enough of you, Seraphina. I swear on all that I hold holy, I will never get enough.”

I expect him to piston into me, to fill me in a swift motion that robs me of air and sensible thought. But if there’s one thing I know about Lincoln, it’s to expect the unexpected. He sinks in slowly, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated and pinning me against his body with his hands and legs. “How is it that every time gets fucking better, ciern? How?”

I shake my head, too full to respond to him but sharing the same thought. He moves slowly, dragging his cock against my inner walls in movements so measured it’s hard to breathe.

“You were made for me, Seraphina. The perfect fucking woman,” he murmurs against my back, pressing kisses along my spine as he continues to move in and out. My mouth opens in a silent scream, no sound coming out as he plays with my body. “I’m not going to last, Seraphina, not when your pussy clenches me like a damn vice, and I can hear every breath you take. What do you need to get there, ciern?”

“Clit,” I rasp out, closing my eyes and pushing back against him. “Pl-please.”

He licks at my shoulder, bringing one hand around to play with the nerves between my legs. All it takes is a few gentle circles, his mouth on my body, and his cock buried deep for me to still in his hold, the orgasm washing over me with a mellow intensity, one that may not render me speechless but is all-consuming. Lincoln follows me over, stilling inside me as he comes.

It takes a moment for our breathing to calm down, and we’re still out of breath as the hot water turns cool, hitting us with icy pellets and forcing us apart. “Shit, fuck, that’s cold.”

“I told you.” I shiver, standing up as I grab the soap from the shelf and squirt some on my hand. I hold it out to him, and he frowns, probably at the knowledge that the blissed-out state we were just in evaporated as quickly as the hot water. He takes it anyway, pouring some into his hand before rubbing his body down with an aggression that shows he wants to wash off as quickly as possible. I mimic his haste and step under the cold spray, gritting my teeth as the cold water washes away the last of the soap and our cum and step out of the shower.

“Dammit,” I mutter, realizing that we brought in no clothes for the walk back to my room. Reaching into the linen closet, I pull out two white towels and quickly dry myself off before wrapping the cotton around my body. I hear the shower turn off and hold out the spare towel for Lincoln, who takes it without hesitation. Opening up a vanity drawer, I grab a microfiber hair towel and bend over, placing it over my head and covering my hair in a well-practiced move. Standing up, I meet Lincoln’s stare in the mirror.

“What?”

He shakes his head before grabbing me and pulling me into his body. The move isn’t sexual but comforting. “This feels right.”

I hold his stare in the mirror, tilting my head so that he can rest his jaw on my bare shoulder. “I know.”

With a final kiss on my skin, Lincoln straightens to his full height and grabs our discarded clothes and shoes from the floor, towel wrapped around his hips. I step in front of him, listening for any sign of movement beyond the door. “I don’t think anyone is home.” I open the bathroom door and peek out, confirming my suspicions.

He hums, following me as I walk across the hallway to my bedroom. Moving to my closet, I bite down on my lip, weighing the choice I’m about to make. “I have a pair of oversized sweatpants. They’ll be too short on you, but they’ll fit. And, uh, I have your hoodie.”

He snorts at my offering. “Of course you do, ciern.” I move to my closet door, pulling it open to grab the sweatpants and old sweatshirt in question.

“I want this back,” I say as I hand him the clothes.

“The sweatshirt or the sweatpants?”

“Both. But hurry up and put those on… I’m hungry. I’ll order something.”

He stills at my words. “Do you have groceries?”

“Of course.”

“Then you’re not ordering shit. I’ll cook.”

“Lincoln, you don’t have to do that.”

“Seraphina, I love to cook. If you order a saltine-cracker pizza, I’m going to throw it at the delivery man, so do us both a favor and get your hot little ass in some sweats and come be my sous-chef.”

“So damn bossy.”

“And you fucking love it,” he teases, pulling his arms through his old sweatshirt before slipping the opening over his head. “I’m going to go inspect your pantry and fridge.”

I wave him off, turning my back to him as I rummage through the sweatpants and sweatshirts folded in neat rows, settling on a “Guns N’ Roses” graphic sweatshirt with a collage of different types of flowers. It’s corny, but after I discovered my love of gardening, I couldn’t stop myself from buying the kitschy sweatshirt. Slipping into a pair of black leggings, I check the security on the towel on my head and trace Lincoln’s footsteps into the kitchen, unsurprised to find him slicing a zucchini at the island.

Sliding onto a stool across from him, I reach for a water bottle he set out on the counter. “What are you making?”

“Zucchini alla Nerano. You good with that?”

I nod, my stomach rumbling at his words. “I love zucchini.”

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