Page 59 of Roses in Summer

“I-I. Dammit, Lincoln,” she huffs out, her body finally relaxing against mine. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was supposed to see you and be okay with seeing you. I wasn’t supposed to react like this.”

I absorb her words, comprehending her meaning, because I’m there with her.

“Seraphina—” She cuts me off, plastering her lips to mine, and I stand there, stunned by the move. When I don’t respond, she rips her mouth from mine, looking up at me mortified.

“Oh my god. Lincoln, I’m so sorry.”

For years, I’ve had to fool myself into thinking that the sole kiss we shared was nothing—that its intensity was a figment of my imagination to get through the days, the months, the years, knowing that someone like Seraphina slipped through my fingers so completely. But this? This solidifies that I wasn’t building up sandcastles in my head.

Shaking my head at the pained expression on her face, I grab her face in both my hands, and I dive in, capturing her mouth in a kiss that conveys everything I want from her. It’s not gentle or smooth; it’s rough and needy, and I don’t hesitate to lick at her lips and coax her mouth open for me.

With a moan, she complies, admitting me access and letting my tongue lick into her mouth, feasting on her like the most delicious dessert I’ve ever fucking tasted.

She tastes tart, like the drink she had earlier, and reality hits my consciousness. I pull back, pride pounding on my chest at the dazed, blissed-out look on her face and her swollen red lips. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

I hold myself back, waiting for her response. I bought her a cocktail, but I have no idea if it was her first or one of many. Before things go further, I need to know that she’s okay, that she’s not drunk or unable to make decisions.

“I had half a drink. That tequila you bought me was it. I didn’t have anything at the apartment before we came here.”

“Do you feel tipsy? Drunk?” I need the assurance that she’s sober and wants this. I won’t continue if she’s not.

“No, I’m not tipsy. I’m not drunk.” She shakes her head, emphasizing her point.

“Thank fuck.” I dive back in, taking her lips again and resuming the kiss like we never stopped. I don’t think about anything else.

It’s a dam breaking, years of “what if” coming to fruition as my mouth consumes hers, a sense of rightness and need coursing between us in a way that’s scary. But right, so fucking right.

Like a woman possessed, she meets each lash of my tongue with one of her own, not battling me for control of the kiss but meeting me like a partner in a duel. She’s fucking addicting, and if all I could ever do was kiss this woman for the rest of my goddamn life, I wouldn’t complain.

Breaking away from her mouth, I trail kisses up her jawline, tracing a path from the smoothness of her face up to her ear.

“Fucking earrings,” I murmur against her jaw, letting my tongue out to trace right below the hole where the golden hoop pierces her skin.

“Next time, I’m going to rip these out and lick every part of you.”

“Next time?” she questions, her voice rising an octave as my hands move to the hem of her dress and drag it up.

“Yeah, next time, ciern.” I nip at her cartilage, licking away the sting at her hiss.

I let my mouth roam from her jaw down to her throat, kissing her skin as I settle my mouth on her clavicle. Like a starved man, I can’t help but suck on the skin, savoring the slight sheen of sweat and nipping her décolletage.

“God, Lincoln. Don’t mark me. I can’t wear my hair down in this heat.”

I breathe into her body before standing up and stretching to my full height. “If you’re thinking about your fucking hair, I’m doing it wrong.”

She swallows at my statement, looking up at me with her big, expressive eyes. Dropping my hands, I let my fingers fall to the hem of her dress, pulling at the fabric lightly. I should slow down, put physical distance between us before I do something like fuck Seraphina Rose Gregori against the side of a building in the middle of the city.

But my hands have autonomy, and one brush of my fingers against her smooth thighs overrides everything else I’m thinking.

“Is this okay, Seraphina?”

She stares at me a moment, contemplating her answer. I hold my breath, giving her time to decide what she wants. Whatever she sees on my face must convince her, and she nods at me. I don’t break eye contact as my hands resume their mission and pull the skirt of her dress up to her waist, exposing her lower half to the humid evening air.

“Can I touch your pussy, ciern? Can I feel you on my fingers?”

Nodding again, she tilts her head up, and I don’t deny her the kiss she is seeking. Capturing her lower lip between my teeth, I tug, relishing the moan she emits into the alley and letting the sound wash over me. Licking her, I step back to fully admire the woman in front of me.

Letting go with my left hand, I adjust my cock, moving it to a more comfortable position while I stare at the purple lace covering her pussy.

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