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Chapter thirty-one
Everything Lincoln felt, he felt with a fierceness. Anger. Pain. Passion. He’d always been that way. It was one of the things I loved most about him.
As I sat here on his lap, the air around us was charged with all of it. His emotions were a presence. The dress I was wearing rode up my thighs, exposing hot skin to cool night air. The fabric of his jeans was rough against my smooth flesh.
His hand slid up my thigh and I trailed my fingertips over the ink on his forearms, across his hands, stopping to rub the black band on his middle finger. I gave him that ring for his nineteenth birthday. Since then he’d added three more rings to his collection. God, his hands were sexy, and I wanted them all over my body. Needed it more than anything.
He nuzzled his face in the crook of my neck and breathed against my skin. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”
Not nearly as much as I missed you.
Lincoln dug his fingertips into my thighs, harsh and bruising, like he needed to make sure I was real. His other hand slid across my collarbone and to my throat.
God.
This.
Every cell in my body was awake and tingling, burning with need.Yes. Fuck. Yes.
Then he tipped my head back and sank his teeth into the hollow of my neck.
I shoved his chest. “What the fuck was that for?”
He laughed and then ran his tongue across his bottom lip. His eyes darkened as he looked at me and brought his hand to my hair, sliding the strands between his fingertips. He tipped his head to one side, studying me. “You don’t look like my Songbird.” He leaned in, stopping with his mouth just above mine. His breath tangled with my breath. “Do you taste like her?” He licked his lips again. This time the tip of his tongue grazed my mouth.
I parted my lips and sucked in a breath, begging for more. God, I needed more. My body was desperate for it. A touch. A kiss. Something.Anything.
“Do I?” I breathed.
“You taste like you want me to do it again.” He brushed the tip of his nose along mine. “Do you want me to taste you again?” He let go of my hair and moved his hand down my body, inching it inside the unbuttoned part of my dress. His words and his touch were casual, like I wasn’t about to explode right here on his lap.
I couldn’t think. I could only feel.
“Yes.”
His lips curled into a grin. “Good girl.” Then he shoved my dress to the side and brought his mouth to my nipple, biting me through the white lace of my bra.
My nerves, bundles of them, all over my body, were like a thousand tiny sparks firing all at once. I pressed my ass into his lap and quivered at the solid erection pressing back against me. Years of built-up tension all boiled down to this momentright now.
“I always loved making you squirm.” And then he froze, his gaze locked on the scar on my chest—the one Kipton Donahue gave me. “Who did this?” The anger in his eyes was a tangible thing.
The memory of that night was like a whip to my soul. I wanted to pull my dress closed and cover my skin. I didn’t want any part ofthatnear any part ofus.
“Please, Lincoln.”
He held my face in one hand and forced my eyes to his. “Who. Did. This?”
I knew Lincoln. He wasn’t going to let it go.
“Kipton Donahue.”
“Kipton Donahue is dead,” he said, unblinking, unnerving, and full of malice—completely different from the gentle way his fingertips ran over the raised skin on my chest. “Is he the one who took you from me?”
Kipton Donahue is dead.
“What did you just say?”
How did I not know Kipton was dead? Why didn’t Grey tell me? I’d just seen him a year ago at the dinner party.
