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n my low belly, fingers working the button of my jeans, and I bump my hips away from the wall, urging him on. I reach down and grip him through his pants, squeezing just hard enough to make him grunt, but before I can do more than that, he’s got my fly down. Then he’s tearing my pants down my legs, the action so fast and rough I almost stumble and fall. He rips my shoes off and discards my jeans in a pile, and without letting me catch my breath, he buries his face between my thighs.
A breathy, plaintive cry falls from my lips as he sucks and nips at my clit through my panties, making the already damp fabric even wetter. My hands are in his hair, and I don’t know if I’m trying to push him away or pull him closer or find some kind of anchor in this storm, but I keep hanging on as he shreds the delicate fabric from my body and runs his tongue all the way up my slit.
He circles my clit with hard, demanding strokes as he slides two fingers inside me, pumping them fast and deep, and when my knees start to shake, he surges to his feet, unzipping his pants and shoving them down around his hips as he uses the slickness left on his fingers to coat his cock.
His expression is feral, determined, and hot as he releases himself and palms my ass before lifting me in his arms like I weigh nothing. He kisses me in a frenzy as his hips bump against mine, and the second the head of his cock slips inside my pussy, he drives forward, pinning me to the wall again.
He’s big, but I’m so wet the intrusion doesn’t hurt. I just feel full. Totally consumed by him, overtaken by him. As if the last thin barrier between us has vanished, and with every hard thrust, he’s literally melding us into one being.
I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on as the collision of our bodies shakes the wall behind me. We’re not even kissing anymore. Our faces are millimeters apart, our noses practically brushing, our lips nearly connected. His eyes are too close to mine for me to focus on them properly, but I stare into them anyway, unable to look away.
My clit is throbbing, my walls clenching around him. Every time he drives into me, pleasure spikes in a higher wave, and when he finally jerks to a stop and grinds his pelvis against mine, when I feel him pulse inside me as he lets out a deep grunt, it makes me come like I never have in my life. My legs lock around him as if I’m trying to keep him from ever pulling out, and I roll my hips over and over, riding his dick until the last aftershocks of pleasure die out.
He uses the wall to hold me up, still impaled on his cock, as his head drops to my shoulder, his hot, damp breath hitting the crook of my neck. My heartbeat is a heavy, dull thump in my chest, and I can feel his pounding against his ribcage too.
Neither of us moves for several moments. But with each second that passes, reality settles in a little bit more.
I just fucked my boss’s son, the boy who’s made my life hell in more ways than one for weeks, in the hallway of the house where I work. A house I’m not even totally sure is empty. I’m naked from the waist down, my panties and shirt are in tatters, and I can feel his cum oozing from the place where we’re still connected.
What the fuck did you just do, Harlow?
Maybe Lincoln is thinking something along the same lines, or maybe he has his own completely different reasons for shutting down, but I can feel it happening. He’s still inside me, and I can feel the walls between us going back up.
He pulls out, and although his touch is gentle as he lowers me to my feet, he won’t meet my eyes. He gives me a second to get my shaky legs under me before he lets go and steps back.
I can’t look at his face either, can’t handle what I know I’ll see there. So I bend and gather my scattered clothes, clutching them to my naked body like some kind of shield.
“I have to go. I have to… work.”
He doesn’t speak or try to stop me. I can feel his gaze on me as I make my way back down the hall, but I don’t glance back. His cum is sliding down my leg, sticky and wet, and my body feels like it just went to war.
I can’t believe how fucking stupid that was. My mom’s gone, and I know his parents are out of town, and Gwen, the cook, shouldn’t be arriving for another hour or so. But what if she came early? It’s not unheard of.
Fuck.
As I dart past the west wing stairs, I glance over at them, needing to confirm that Gwen isn’t standing there, having seen everything.
She’s not.
But River is.
He’s standing midway up the stairs, and his gray-blue eyes track my movement as I freeze in place. His expression is unreadable as our gazes lock for a split second, and my heart drops into my stomach.
He knows.
Whether he saw it all or not, he knows. There’s no mistaking the way I look, the state of my clothes, the smell of sex that probably still hangs in the air.
Down the hall behind me, I hear Lincoln’s door click shut. He doesn’t know River is here.
And there’s no fucking way I’m telling him.
Tearing my gaze away from the quiet, mysterious, entirely too observant boy, I turn and practically sprint for my room.
21
I told Lincoln I had to clean, but I don’t.
Instead, I shower and change into a tank top and shorts and then curl up under the covers in my large, soft bed. My body feels bruised and marked, and despite having just showered, I can still feel Lincoln everywhere on me—in me. I swear his scent permeated my skin or something, because no amount of pomegranate body wash has erased the musky coriander smell of him from my nostrils.
