IF | A Novel Page 11

  His hands leave my waist and wrap around my wrists. As he brings my arms above my head, he links his fingers through mine, pressing my hands against the brick wall behind me. His mouth is still on mine, wet and hot. With each kiss, I tighten my grip on his fingers, afraid he’ll slip away and fade into the night.

  He steps between my legs, pressing me into the wall. There’s not one hint of gentleness in his kiss. It’s raw, rough, and demanding. When my lips part in an attempt to moan, his tongue invades my mouth as he continues his never-ending assault.

  One of his hands untangles from mine and he edges it down the nape of my neck, over my bare rain-soaked shoulder, closing it gently around my throat. My back roughly slides over the wall and I can feel the bricks scratching my skin through my wet shirt. The pain mixed with his annihilation of my mouth sends waves of pleasure throughout my body.

  He leans back, both of us panting as he stares down into my eyes. My pulse jumps wildly under his large palm covering my throat. Warmth floods between my thighs despite the chill in the rain-filled air. Closing his eyes, Lincoln lowers his head and slowly drags his nose across my cheek, licking the drops of water off the skin before meeting my mouth again and brushing his lips back and forth in a teasing manner over mine.

  “You should tell me to stop, Em.” His voice is deep and husky.

  My heart is pounding in my chest. “Don’t stop.”

  With a low rumble, he clenches my throat tighter, pulling me toward him.

  I hold his stare. “I want to feel you in my veins again.”

  He silences my gasp when he fills my mouth with his tongue again. Trembling with a mix of desire and fear, I grip his shoulder with my free hand as he shoves his leg farther between mine, pushing my thighs apart. His wet jeans brush against my own, which feel too heavy on my body. I move my hand to his face, but he snatches it and in one move, turns me so I’m facing the wall as he pins my wrists above my head with his right hand.

  Lincoln places his left hand lightly on my throat again and moves it down, over my chest, then my stomach. I arch back into him, dropping my head onto his shoulder, and he begins to unbutton my jeans. At his touch, my entire head spins in a desire-filled haze.

  “Tell me to stop,” he demands again.

  “No,” I moan out.

  The moment his hand slides into my panties and I feel the pressure against my clit, I lose the ability to think or breathe. His fingers languidly glide back and forth, coaxing me, teasing me until he moves lower, sliding two fingers inside of me. My hands flex against the brick. At the same time, he presses his thumb against the sensitive spot he was just coaxing, tracing lazy, unrushed circles over it.

  His lips hover over my ear and the sound of his ragged breaths, combined with the pouring rain, becomes an intoxicating, heady mixture that has me rocking into his touch.

  “Keep your hands on the wall and don’t move.” His husky whisper fuels the fire.

  The hand he was using to hold mine together disappears. I blink rapidly when his left hand disappears from inside my pants. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize he’s sliding my wet jeans down my hips. Common sense and morals almost have me hesitating for a split second, but I’m on the edge and decide that his skilled fingers should finish what they’ve started. For once in my life, my safety rules go out the window.

  Suddenly, my hair is tugged roughly to the side, forcing my head to snap to the left. Lincoln brings his mouth down on my bare shoulder, which is showing thanks to my off-the-shoulder shirt, as I feel him roll on a condom behind me. When he’s done, he brings his hand up, caressing my shoulder, then slowly trails his touch down my arm, lacing our fingers together. He positions my palms against the wall, his covering mine as he bends me slightly and with one quick move, slides into me from behind, causing me to cry out.

  Lincoln growls against my skin as he stills inside of me, giving me a moment to adjust to him before he bites into the flesh of my shoulder, his wet tongue following, soothing and sucking the spot savagely. Compared to two years ago, he’s gotten more dominant, and I like it. Every touch and sensation feels primal, like he’s branding me. My soul.

  “I like fucking you in the rain, Em,” his deep voice rumbles in my ear.

  I push against the wall with my hands, trying to get him to move, and feel his lips curve into a grin against my shoulder. Letting go of my hair, he takes both my hands in his, bringing them behind me and locking them around his neck, pressing my front into the wall more. He snakes his arms around my waist, holding me up with one hand and zeroing in on my throbbing clit with the other. Lincoln fingers it in perfect time with his deep, long strokes as I quiver and clench around him. My cries morph into deep gasps as my cheek presses and rubs against the brick. It stings and at the same time, it feels so damn good. Damp strands of hair stick to my face as he leans the top of his forehead against the back of my head and my body pulses and spasms as he brings me to an orgasm.

  My deep cries disappear into the darkness of the night, absorbed by the rain.

  “Oh shit,” I manage to groan.

  “Fuck, Emerson,” he rasps near my ear, as his fingers dig into the flesh of my waist.

  The way he says my name has me high on him as he slides into me a few more times.

  “Em . . .” He breathes out my name like a prayer as he releases inside of me.

  We stay like this for a moment, Lincoln inside me with my body pressed against the brick wall. We’re both panting uncontrollably. His face is buried in the top of my head.

  My body feels numb and on edge all at once.

  After a while, Lincoln slowly pulls out of me and steps away. My body immediately mourns the loss. With his heat gone, I shiver in the cold. Without looking back at him, I push myself off the wall a bit, but keep my forehead pressed against it while I look down.

  I try to focus in the dark, but everything is still hazy. Once I’ve fully caught my breath, I yank my soaked jeans and panties back up, fixing myself as best I can in the downpour.

  Behind me, I hear Lincoln zippering himself back up. He doesn’t look at me when I face him. The fact that he isn’t looking me in the eyes tears up my insides and leaves me raw. Robotically, he disposes of the condom in the trash behind the bar.

  When Lincoln finally steps back into the small amount of light shining from a street lamp, the silent war he’s waging within himself plays out over his perfect face. My heart sinks. I can see that he’s already regretting what we did. From here, I can almost smell his fear and remorse. A stinging sensation on my right cheek has me wincing.

  Seeing my flinch, he takes three steps to me. His fingers curl under my chin and move my face to the side, so he can look at what I’m sure are ugly scratches from the bricks.

  “Shit, Em,” he blows out in a rough exhale. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m fine,” I assure him, and try to pull my face from his fingers unsuccessfully.

  His breath hitches as my eyes meet his in the dark.

  Ever so slowly, his other arm wraps lightly around me, his hand moving up and slipping beneath my damp hair. We stand here, in the rain, holding one another a while before he leans his chin on the top of my head and releases a content sigh. I try not to get wrapped up in how perfectly we fit together. Or how safe and warm his arms are.

  With his other hand, he runs his fingers up and down my back, pressing me into him. Each time, his fingers go a bit lower, over the small of my back and the curve of my ass.

  My breathing hitches with each touch.

  My fingers curl into his wet shirt as I bury myself into him, never wanting to leave.

  “I never should have—” he starts.

  I lean back and look up at him. “You should have. I wanted you to.”

  His mouth is a tight line. “Are you sure?”

  I nod. “This was the agreement, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay.” I sigh and let go of him, stepping back. “I’m okay, Lincoln.”

 
; “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  He gives me a hesitant smile while straightening his shirt. He looks oddly shy.

  I smile gently back. “I should go. Kennison is probably freaking out.”

  Lincoln pauses, as if he might say something, but he doesn’t.

  “I’ll see you soon?” I ask, hopeful.

  “See you soon, Em.”

  Relief floods through me as he steps aside, letting me pass. He watches as I get back into the restaurant safely. Once I’m inside, I slip into the ladies’ room and exhale. Leaning over the porcelain sink, I grip the sides and squeeze my eyes closed, slowly counting to ten, attempting to reel myself in before opening them again and looking in the mirror.

  The reflection nearly makes me regret all my life decisions. I blink at myself. I’m a mess. My cheeks are tinted pink and my eyes are glassy. My wet hair is stuck all over my face and the scratches on my right cheek, which I thought were small, are red, raw, and angry. If Kennison sees me like this, she’ll kill me for sure. And then she’ll kill Lincoln.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  I don’t do stuff like this.

  When I’m lost in Lincoln, my common sense and control disappear.

  I’m not sure that’s a healthy situation for either one of us. Using some of the paper towels, I run them under the water and try to fix the charcoal eyeliner and black mascara now smeared in streaks under my eyes and on my cheeks. Ignoring my red, swollen lips, I wipe off all the residual rain from my skin and use the hand dryer, trying to look less like a walking disaster. Once I’m semi-dry and a bit pulled back together, I stare at myself.

  My gaze drifts to the blotchy red mark on my shoulder as memories of Lincoln’s mouth biting and sucking me as he gripped me tightly sends a desire-filled wave through me. My favorite new thing about Lincoln is this raw power he’s gained. I love the way he doesn’t hold back. He wants me, and he wants me to know just how much he wants me.

  Which makes me want him all the more.

  Over and over, no matter how little sense it makes.

  I meet my own eyes in the mirror once more.

  Nothing about Lincoln is casual or uncomplicated.

  Even so, I don’t want this to end.

  17

  I tap my pen in a steady angry beat on the stack of papers in front of me as I stare at Lincoln taking his final. As if sensing the weight of my stare, he looks up briefly, catching my gaze, and the whole world around me fades away. Even though the scratches on my face have disappeared, I still feel them. Feel him. I can smell the rain and taste his lips.

  After our alley sex, I’d woken up the next morning with a dull ache on my cheek. When I opened my door to leave for class, there was a gift basket of medical supplies for my face and detailed instructions on how to care for the bruises and scratches. That’s the last correspondence we’ve had with one another. Even in class, he sits in the back row, slipping in after class begins, and leaves a second before it ends.

  It’s frustrating and annoying.

  And yet, I know it’s what I signed up for with him.

  Casual. Meaningless interactions. Sex. No relationship.

  I sigh, not knowing how to feel about what I’ve gotten myself into with him. He didn’t promise me anything more than what happened between us. I agreed to it. Willingly. But this new distance between us—it hurts. There’s this tiny voice in the back of my head that keeps telling me to walk away from this before it becomes too complicated.

  Then the voice reminds me that it’s already too complicated.

  Lincoln looks straight at me for a moment, as if he can read my thoughts, before he returns his attention to the test booklet he’s writing in. I glance at the clock and frown when I realize I have another hour of this torture. Sitting here in silence. Watching him from a healthy distance. I need to get a grip. All I can think about is how his hands felt on me as they burned my skin wherever they touched. I’ve become obsessed with the way he feels inside of me. I’m pretty sure I am not going to survive whatever this is we’re doing.

  Twenty minutes later, Lincoln slides out of his seat and places the test booklet in front of me. I lift my gaze and we lock eyes. He lingers for a second and I hold my breath. God, I just want to breathe again. Ever since he stepped into my world, I haven’t been able to breathe like a normal person. He’s branded my soul and there is no escape from him.

  “You okay?” he asks quietly.

  I nod, trying to act nonchalant. “Why do you ask?”

  “You’re pale,” he sighs. “And you look like you’re about to have a panic attack.”

  The accusation pisses me off. I have no idea why. It’s not like he’s wrong. Maybe it’s the direct way he’s using a weakness of mine against me. That has to be the reason.

  “I’m fine,” I clip out.

  The lecture hall doors open and Dr. Garcia steps in, checking up on the exam. He looks around before stepping back out, closing the doors quietly behind him.

  Annoyed that Lincoln’s lingering, I sigh.

  “If you’ve finished, Mr. Daniels, you may leave.” My voice echoes in the room.

  “Come over tonight?” he whispers.

  “What?” I practically shout, because this isn’t the time or place.

  Students who are still taking the exam shift their focus to us. Lincoln looks over his shoulder at them, then back at me with a flatness to his lips. Once people stop watching us, I clear my throat and look at him again, this time with a challenging arch of my brow.

  “Tonight. My place. Seven p.m.,” he states, and walks away before I can say no.

  This isn’t a date. Just two people hanging out. No big deal. Nothing to freak out about. I frown at myself in the mirror and continue to attempt to coax my hair into a manageable style. I’m completely overreacting. I showered, twice. Shaved. Waxed. And went through six outfits before deciding that I need to look like I am not trying so hard.

  After an hour, I finally settled on jeans and a black sweater. I brush my teeth for the tenth time before applying lip gloss, then immediately scrubbing it off like a crazy person.

  Kennison appears in the doorway. Catching my eyes in the mirror with hers, she crosses her arms. “I thought you said nothing was going on between you and Lincoln?”

  “Nothing is.” I grab the mouthwash and rinse.

  “This is a whole lot of effort for . . . nothing,” she challenges.

  After gurgling, I spit, then turn and face her. “We’re just friends.”

  “Friends who have sex?”

  I roll my eyes at her crassness. “So?”

  “So,” she draws out, tilting her head. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, Em. This isn’t exactly what I meant when I said you should think about a second chance with him.”

  Waving her off, I slide past her toward the kitchen, but she just follows me. “What makes you think I’ll get hurt?” I ask, putting on my boots with her gaze still hard on me.

  “He fucked you in an alley, then ignored you, and ever since, you’ve been moping.”

  “I’m fine with this situation, Kennison.”

  “When it comes to guys like Lincoln, and this situation, it’s inevitable,” she replies.

  I look at her and tilt my head in confusion. “What’s inevitable?”

  “Hurt. You aren’t built for a nonemotional sexual relationship,” she explains.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Are you falling for him, Em?”

  I shake my head. “No,” I clip out. “It’s not like that.”

  “What is it like, then?”

  Quickly, I look away, because I don’t even know.

  “See?” she sighs.

  “I can handle it.”

  “What if you can’t?”

  “What if I can?”

  “This back and forth has been going on since freshman year between you two. Even when you were in London, you never dated anyone seriously. Do you realize not one of the guys yo
u dated over there ever made it to a third date with you?” she poses.

  “What’s your point, Kennison?”

  “My point is . . . it’s always been Lincoln for you. But has it always been you for him?”

  We’re both quiet for a moment while I process what she’s saying.

  After a moment, she walks over to me and fluffs my hair, offering me a small smile.

  “I’m fine,” I assure her. “I can handle this.”

  “Okay. But if, and when, you can’t”—she pauses—“I’m here.”

  She heads into the bathroom to get ready for her date and I go over to Lincoln’s. I should have given myself ten minutes to get my head on straight after my chat with Kennison, but I didn’t. Now my mind is filled with everything that she pointed out.

  Like a poison, her words run through me. You aren’t built for a nonemotional sexual relationship. My emotions are erratic and heightened. She’s right. What if I can’t handle this? I knock and fidget for a second before Lincoln opens the door, dressed casually in jeans and a dark blue thermal. The dark color makes his eyes look even more gray tonight.

  Yup. I totally can’t handle this.

  He smiles down at me. “How do you feel about burgers?”

  I pause, taken aback by his question. “I, ah, like them?”

  “Good. I’m craving a burger. Want to come?” He slides on his leather coat.

  “Um.” I frown. “You want to go for burgers? Where?”

  Lincoln brushes his hair off his forehead and steps forward. “I know a place.”

  I nod slowly, trying to be casual. “I need to grab a jacket.”

  “I’ll wait.” He closes the door behind him and I stare at him for a minute.

  “You’ll wait?” I repeat.

  “Right here.” He points to the ground.

  “And then, we’ll go out. For burgers?”

  “Yes. Burgers.”

  I just stare at him for a moment, confused by what’s happening. Is this a date?