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Usually we can only get reception when we’re in the orphanage, and even there, it’s not always reliable. Linc has daily chats with Hope, since she’s back in NYC, keeping things running smoothly at Moorehead. Aside from Armstrong and his occasional douchebaggery, that is.
Hope has been extremely patient with him, and they seem to be developing some kind of oddly workable sibling relationship. He’s still a pain in the ass, but he’s less of one with her around.
“Sure, no problem, what’s up?” Lincoln’s voice is gravelly.
“Are you sick? You look flushed. Wait, are you in bed? Oh my God! Why are you so sweaty?”
“Is that a FaceTime call?” I whisper.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s hot here,” Lincoln replies, half to me, half to Hope.
“Is that Wren? Where is she? Did you answer a call in the middle of sex? You know you can do that without the video component, you asshole!”
“I’m not in the middle of anything.”
“You’re such a liar! How many times have I knocked on your office door after you two have had one of your private meetings?” I can hear the italics in her voice at the last part. “I know your post-sex face, which is really disturbing, Linc. This is too much for a sister to handle. I’m hanging up.”
“I thought you had a question?”
“It can wait. Finish servicing your fiancée and call me back. In the meantime, I’m going to call my therapist and bill you for the appointment.”
“Sorry, Hope!” I call out.
“You could’ve tried to stop him!” She sounds more amused than angry. “I’m hanging up now!”
I slap Lincoln on the chest as he tosses the phone on the nightstand. “I can’t believe you did that!”
“She’s the one who FaceTimed me.” He curves his hand around the back of my neck and pulls me down until our chests meet. Then he rolls us over, so he’s back on top of me in a smooth, coordinated surge that makes every single one of his cut muscles flex.
My fiancé is hot as hell.
“Now, where were we?”
I clasp my hands behind his neck. “Trying to have some quiet sex, pretty sure your sister’s shrieking has alerted everyone within a mile radius.”
“Guess you don’t need to be quiet anymore, do you?” He rolls his hips, hitting that spot inside that makes fireworks pop below the waist.
Lincoln’s mouth covers mine, and his tongue sweeps inside in time to swallow up my soft moan. I wrap my arms and legs tightly around him, skin still slippery with sweat—his and mine. It doesn’t take long to bring me back to the edge. My body shakes with the impending orgasm, and I fight against the urge to dig my nails into his back when the first waves hit.
Lincoln loves nothing more than wandering around shirtless, showing off the crescent-shaped marks that last for hours afterwards.
He only disengages from the kiss when I stop shaking and then pushes up on his elbows, framing my face with his hands.
“I love you,” he whispers against my lips.
“I love you.” I hold onto his wrists as he pumps into me, watching his brows pull down as he gets closer to release.
“I’m going to come,” he warns and pushes up, but I keep my legs wrapped tightly around his waist.
“In me.”
“Wren.” It’s another warning. We ran out of condoms a week ago, right after the supply run, and another isn’t scheduled until next week. The condoms were less about contraception and meant more as a way to circumvent the potential mess. However, my pill prescription also lapsed last week, and I won’t be able to get anymore until the next town run, or we get back to New York. We’re only here for a few more weeks, then it’s home for two months before we start another project.
On account of the aforementioned issues, Lincoln comes in one of two places—a tissue or my mouth. My mouth is obviously his preferred location.
He pushes up on his forearms, so he can look at me. His gaze is questioning, and under that inquisitive expression is tentative excitement. “You realize what you’re asking for?”
I tip my chin to the side, where my tank lies discarded beside my head. “We can put that under me so the sheets aren’t crunchy tonight.”
He slows his movements. “Don’t play with me right now, Wren. I’m right on the edge.”
“I’m not playing.” I stroke his cheek tenderly, pressing my fingertip to the divot in his chin. “I want you to stay in me.”
Lincoln rolls his hips. “I thought you said we’d have the baby talk after this project wrapped up.”
I lift a shoulder. “It doesn’t hurt to start trying now, does it?”
“I kind of planned to marry you before I knocked you up.” Another grind of his hips, another low moan from me.
“We don’t have to do it in any specific order, do we?”
