Page 36 of Reckless Conduct

He’s right, vanilla sex was never in the cards for me. I needed something darker, something twisted. Because I… I was just as fucked up as him.

He wraps his arms around me, carrying me up the stairs and into his bathroom. He strips me of my clothes, hands caressing every curve of my body as his tub fills with steaming water. Rose-scented oils filling the air. He picks me up again and I giggle, holding on to his neck as he slowly places me into the overly huge tub, which is more like a giant Jacuzzi, and I lay my head on the bath pillow as bubbles hide my body, closing my eyes. As soon as I’m about to fall asleep, I hear the bathroom door open and shut quietly.

Opening my eyes, I see Lincoln loosening his tie until he tugs it off, tossing it on the brown marble counter. Then he slowly undoes his belt and lets it drop to the floor. He teasingly undoes each button of his shirt as I watch it show off his sculpted build hiding underneath. He’s giving me a show and I can’t help but watch his every movement. Once he drops his pants, I take in his beautiful V to his thick thighs and finally, I look at his cock. It’s long and thick with a mushroom-shaped head and veins wrapping around it.

“My eyes are up here, Doll Face.” I hear the amusement in his voice and quickly look away to hide my blush. “Scoot up,” he whispers, and I do as he sinks in behind me, bringing my back to his chest as his dick pushes into my lower back.

I like this side of Lincoln, the side that takes care of me and treats me as if I’m made of glass. But I love the side of him that treats me as if I should lay at his feet and praise him. No one has ever been reckless with me. Ever treated me as if I’m something to be owned and cherished. I’ve spent my entire life being abandon, tossed away like trash. Never the one to be the favorite, the first to be picked. I’ve been selfless, hiding the pain behind a bright smile and light-as-air laughs. But with him… I don’t have to pretend when days are hard, or life feels like it’s choking me. But the thing is, being happy around him doesn’t take any effort, it just is.

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” he asks, using his hands as a sponge to clean my body.

“You.”

“Me.”

I giggle when his finger brushes over my nipple, quickly moaning when he pinches it between his fingers. “Yeah, you.”

“What about me?” he asks, hands trailing beneath the steaming water atop my thighs teasingly.

“You’re grumpy.”

He chuckles. “So I’ve been told.”

“But also, wonderful. You make me feel free even though you constantly restrain me. Like seeing for the first time with glasses. Everything with you is clear and—”

He jerks me back by my hair, so my head lays on his shoulder. “I don’t like the tone of voice you’re using, Doll Face,” he growls against my neck, nipping at the tender flesh there. “You almost sound like you’re falling in love. And as you know, I don’t do love. I take, break, and toss away. You’re lucky you’ve lasted as long as you have. You can thank that teenage pussy of magic for that.”

“You don’t have to be rude because you’re scared.”

He laughs, “Scared? What would I possibly be scared of?”

“Me.” He sinks his teeth into my neck, causing my eyes to flutter closed as he sucks. “You’re scared because you like me too, maybe even love me.”

He sighs, his forehead resting against the side of my head. “I think it’s time you leave.”

I roll my eyes, but he can’t see that, though. “I think it’s time you finally kiss me.”

He chuckles, the hot air whispering across my skin. “Only in your journal, baby.”

As his cruel words brush against my skin, I know I’m in too deep. And I have to get out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Journal entry: He clipped my wings as easily as you would a butterfly’s.

I knowmy sense of self-love is fucked. That I grow attached too easily, expect the very least from someone as a true form of love when I know deep down, I deserve something more, something everlasting. But that’s the thing about little girls who grow up without a father’s love, they look for any form of attention and paint it as affection. Forever searching for the approval of a man and left wanting when he doesn’t turn out to be who you truly need them to be.

Take Lincoln, for instance. I let my teacher fuck me, taste me, devour me without ever laying his lips against mine. Let his cruel words consume me, brushed them off as if they don’t hurt. Accepted them as a form of affection.

I pull up my wool cardigan as I make my way to the history building. Choosing the scenic route, instead of the close-packed hallways. Somewhere between all the weekends spent with Lincoln, the warm weather has turned to cloudy gray skies and crisp air. I walk into Mr. Boyd’s class, feeling a little lost. I’ve been ignoring him this week. I can feel the static energy of resentment in the air. It practically leaks from his pores as he watches me take my seat.

The bell rings and Lincoln immediately goes into teacher mode, talking the class through today’s lesson. But I can’t focus, no, the only thing I can focus on is my journal. The scripted six words I’ve written today.

I wish I didn’t love you.

“Miss Madison,” Mr. Boyd snaps.

My vision tunnels from the groggy state I was in and Jake’s hand flexes on my thigh.

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