23. Approval

My senses are on overload. I don’t know what to say or how to move. I don’t think I could speak even if I wanted to. The same goes for moving—Caleb has me in a solid hold. His hand wrapped around my throat makes everything fuzzy and light. I can breathe fine, but the confident command of his grasp unlocks something inside of me. It makes me theirs.

“Up on your tiptoes, doll,” Caleb says.

As soon as I obey, the head of his cock presses against my entrance. Lincoln removes his fingers. When I flick my gaze down, I can see him watching me. He’s jacking himself, using my arousal as lubrication.

Fuck. It’s so freaking hot, I think I’m going to combust.

Caleb pushes inside, filling me with his thickness. He keeps my neck under his control as he strokes in and out, and Lincoln leans forward to start licking me once more.

I don’t stand a chance. Even if I wanted to hold back my orgasm, it would be impossible. I give in, allowing them to control my pleasure as my muscles tense and release, bliss rippling through me in waves.

“Oh, doll,” Caleb says. “I knew you’d come so pretty for us.”

He presses open-mouthed kisses to my neck, tugging on my necklace as he does. Lincoln grunts out his orgasm, and then Caleb strokes a few more times before he comes, too.

“I know what you were doing,” I say as Caleb pulls out of me and Lincoln goes to my bathroom. I lean my head back against Caleb’s shoulder.

“What were we doing?” Caleb asks.

Lincoln emerges with a wet washcloth, which he uses between my legs. He says, “Yeah, what do you think we were doing, Trouble?”

“You invented some crazy competition with a guy thousands of miles away, and you just had to prove you could get me off better than he could.”

“Nah,” Lincoln says. “He’s merely another excuse for us to touch you.”

But they don’t need an excuse. I welcome their touches, their admiration and approval.

I need that approval like I need air or water, and that need is something I despise about myself. It’s sick, but I don’t know how to stop it.

Also, I think—no, I know—I love these men. But they could never feel the same, so I’ll be taking the knowledge of my love to the grave.

“I…I have to get ready,” I say.

“Where are you going?” Caleb asks.

I don’t bother trying to hide the glum tone in my voice when I say, “Coffee with my mom.”

She texted me yesterday, wanting to chat about the wedding. Speaking of my sick need for approval, I see it with her, too.

Lincoln fiddles with the key on my necklace, tracing the shape against my chest. “You don’t have to meet your mom if you don’t want to.”

“I know that,” I say.

“Do you?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I do.” I frown when he continues to look skeptical. “I do.”

“Okay, Trouble.” He drops the key and pulls me into a hug, kisses my forehead. “Go on and meet your mom, then. Tell her I say hey.”

Does he know how loaded of a greeting that would be? I know about what happened between Mom’s friend’s sister and him.

While I gape at him, wondering if I should tell him what I know, Caleb smacks my ass and whirls me into a hug. “See you later, doll.”

* * *