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She looked around at the brick walls, hard wood floors, and exposed duct work. The windows normally kept the place feeling light and fresh, but I’d pulled the heavy black curtains closed while I was gone.
Something on the kitchen island caught my eye just before Lyric glanced that way.
Fuck.
Deuce had dropped by to take care of Lucifer while I was away, and thanks to his anal-retentive habit of keeping shit where it belonged, had picked up any trash I’d left out. But I threatened his life if he ever touched my stash, and sure as shit, right there on the middle of the solid black granite countertop was a bag of Percs and an eight ball. The one time the fucker actually listened to me had to be now.
“Fuck, hang on.” I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed the trash can. I held it at the edge of the counter, then swiped my hand across the smooth surface, clearing all the contents into the bin.
Lyric grabbed my forearm. “I know you, Linc. Remember?” Her big blue eyes looked up at me. “I might not like it, but you don’t have to it hide from me.”
“I don’t want this shit anywhere near you. I won’t make that mistake again.” I let go of the trash can, letting it fall to the floor with a metallic thud.
She brushed my hair off my forehead. “The only mistake you made was thinking it was okay to put that shit anywhere near my body. That’s where the guilt ends for you. You weren’t the one who took my life.”
“I know that now but for four and a half years… four and a half fucking years, Songbird…” For four and a half years the guilt was like a tumor, killing me slowly, painfully. I fed it pills and cocaine and watered it with alcohol until it blossomed into a recklessness that I wished would kill me.
“I know.” She stroked the side of my face, and I leaned into her touch—a touch that calmed my demons like nothing else could. Just like she’d done yesterday on the boat when I thought about what could have happened to her, what couldstillhappen to her if she went back. “I know.”
I turned the faucet on the kitchen sink and squirted a handful of soap into my palm. No way was I touching her with tainted hands. And Iwasfucking touching her. It had been a full six hours since I’d had my hands on her. I’d dreamed of her being here like this, of hearing her moans echo off these walls too many times to wait any longer.
She hopped up on the countertop and watched as I lathered up my hands. Her tongue crept out and wet her bottom lip. That fucking lip glistened with her spit—begged to be sucked, bitten and bruised by my mouth, then coated in my cum.
Fuck.
My eyes scanned her body from her tanned, bare legs to her short yellow ruffled skirt and the way her nipples peaked through her thin white shirt. I wanted to get that shirt filthy as fuck. Just like that she was in my veins thicker than those drugs ever could have been.
A slow grin spread over my lips. I held my hands under the water, then filled them with another dollop of foamy soap. Lyric stared at me, her lips parted and eyes dark. I loved it when she looked at me that way—innocent face with a dirty mind. I loved it a whole fucking lot.
I lathered my hands until they were covered in foamy suds, then ran them up and down her bare thighs.
She swallowed on a shuddered breath. “What are you doing?”
“Whatever the fuck I want.”
My hands trailed farther up her thighs, spreading her legs and covering her skin in soap as I went. I leaned forward and bit her nipple through her cotton shirt. She tilted her head back and moaned. Fuck, that sound. I was high on her. Every sound she ever made from now until forever belonged to me. Those were my whimpers. My moans.
I rubbed my hands up and down her thighs from the inside out, harder, digging my fingertips in deeper. I wanted to mark her, to bruise her. I wanted reminders of me all over her skin.
I bit her other nipple and the sweet sound of another moan filled the room. God, I could listen to that sound forever.
“There’s no one here, baby. You don’t have to be quiet anymore.”I’m going to make you scream.
I wet my hands and covered them in soap again. This time I trailed them up her sides, beneath her shirt to her perfect fucking tits. “Take this off.”
She lifted the shirt over her head, then unfastened her bra and pulled it off too.
Her tits were perfect, full, and begging for my cock to bruise them again. My hands slid up her sides and to her breasts. My mouth immediately began to water. Fuck. This woman was my undoing. I covered her body in suds, easing my fingertips beneath the waistband of her skirt until her body was writhing against the countertop and my hands. Jesus, it was sexy. I went back between her thighs, grazing my thumbs over her pussy through the fabric of her panties. The thin white fabric outlined her pretty, swollen lips—and the dampness between them. God, I loved the way that looked.
“Already so fucking wet.”
A breathy moan. “Please, Lincoln.” She rolled her hips against my hand.
Lyric had this way of begging me to touch her with her eyes. One look was all it took and I was hard as fuck. But when she used her body and that word—that goddamn word—it was like going to church. The way the reflections of stained glass and echoes of an enchanting choir made some people feel was exactly how I felt when Lyric begged. It was holy.
“I want you to come on my fingers, Songbird. On my tongue. I want to taste you every time I lick my lips,” I said as I pushed her skirt up around her waist and yanked her panties off. Then I ran two fingers down her slick cunt and back up the seam between her lips.
“Fuck,” she gasped as her hips lifted toward my hand.Ready. Always so fucking ready for me.“Lincoln.” She licked her lip, so I bent down and pulled it between my teeth.
