Page 75 of Sweet Spot
“So damn proud of you.” His lips meet mine in a caress, and when he speaks again, his words drift to me softly. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
“You’re here now.”
I make the move this time, smashing my lips against his. It feels better than any victory. Electricity courses through me as his hands fall to my hips and then swoop under my ass to pick me up. My legs wrap around his waist as my fingers sink into the dark hair at the nape of his neck.
Lincoln’s lips pull into a smile against my mouth before he says, “Let me guess, yours is the unmade bed?”
“I was busy today. Hello, Valley Invitational tournament winner.”
I kiss him again, so he doesn’t look around at the rest of the mess.
He lays me on the bed and stands beside it staring down at me. “You’re beautiful.” He tosses a shirt off the foot of the bed and then a tube of mascara follows. “Messy as hell, but beautiful.”
His sexy smirk stays in place until I sit up and take my shirt off. I toss it in the same direction as the others. That moves him to action. With one hand at the nape of my neck, he guides me back and then settles on top of me.
My hands go to the hem of his shirt and tug. We break apart only long enough to remove it and then he’s back at my lips, tasting and teasing.
I yank at his thick, dark hair as his expert mouth explores mine and then lowers to my chest. He palms one breast and nips at the other as I arch into his touch.
He takes his time even as I trail my hands down and try to cop a feel by squeezing my hands inside his pants.
“Pants. Off,” I finally mutter.
“I’m celebrating up here.” His tongue circles my nipple and then his teeth clamp down on it.
“Can you celebrate with your penis inside me?”
He chuckles but doesn’t relent. My orgasm is on a hair trigger when he finally kisses down my stomach and pushes my shorts and panties down past my hips. Every inch of my stomach gets kissed or licked or nipped before he finally removes my clothes completely and his lips descend to my pussy. He kisses it, and the small amount of friction pulls a long moan from me.
He settles between my legs and looks up at me. His dark eyes shine with mischief and my heart thumps wildly.
Finally, he pushes my legs apart wider and licks me. One long swipe of his tongue that makes me feel drunk and desperate.
“Lincoln,” I pant as he presses a thumb to my clit and moves it in slow circles as he tastes me.
My body quakes, and the noises that pour out of me are porn-star worthy. He’s porn-star worthy. I want him to stop and to never stop. The orgasm that builds is so powerful I’m sure it’ll break me into a million pieces.
Stars dance behind my eyelids while he moans as if my pleasure is getting him off as much as it is me. My eyes fly open as I come. Our stares collide, and my heart squeezes as so many things I can’t or won’t say pass between us.
As I’m panting and trying to get my world to stop spinning, he undresses and grabs a condom. His fingertips slide across my cheek and tuck my hair behind my ear before he tears the foil opens and sheaths himself. He positions himself at my sensitive core and slowly eases inside.
The walls of my pussy squeeze him, and he hisses a breath as he buries himself completely. The rhythm is slower than the last time, and something about it makes my body soar faster.
This unhurried pace and the look in his eyes as he stares down at me seems to blur the lines we’ve drawn and all the rules we’ve set. Not that we set them exactly. He told me he couldn’t be a boyfriend, and I accepted that. But tonight, I feel as if he’s giving me more of himself, and I cling to it, taking it, savoring it, hoping for more.
I close my eyes, letting his touch be the sensation that overpowers all others.
“Look at me,” he says, stilling until I comply. His lips hover over mine as he whispers, “Congratulations, baby.”
He takes my mouth in a bruising kiss and pumps into me faster. Raking my hands along his back and lifting my hips to meet each thrust, I use my body instead of words to thank him for being here, for seeing something in me that no one else has, and for breaking the rules—whether he realizes he’s breaking them or not.
* * *
Lincoln puts on his boxers and jeans while I lie naked in bed watching him. I grab his hand. “Stay.”
I try to fight the yawn, but it’s been a very long day and my body is like putty. “I missed you. Don’t go.”
“I don’t think there’s room in that bed for two of us.” He turns his shirt right side out and puts it on before sitting on the edge of the bed. “I don’t want to, but I have to get up early for work.”
