Chapter Twenty-four: Guilty as Sin

Chapter Twenty-four

Willow

GUILTY AS SIN

Performed by Taylor Swift

When I was this close to Lincoln, it was as if his pheromones rewired my brain, because the fear subsided, the self-reproach and terror receded to the far corners, and desire washed over me. A desire not just to have his body tucked up against mine, but a wild need to have this man in my life every day. Every moment.

He'd run down the street, chasing after Poco like some barefoot knight.

I snorted to myself. Falling asleep to Heath Ledger jousting had filled my brain with nonsense. But the truth was, Lincoln was more beautiful than any make-believe hero could ever be.

He was real. Alive.

His vibrancy was addicting.

While my conscience was screaming at me to go, to leave before he became collateral damage, before more darkness caught him in its grasp, my feet refused to obey. Indecision warred. Calling the Marshals was the smart move. Calling Mom.

But God, I didn't want to.

Instead, I wanted this. The tingling sensation that covered me from head to toe simply because he was touching me.

It was selfish and risky, but all I wanted to do was exactly what he'd demanded. I wanted to stay. I wanted him. I wanted to stretch out every powerful second of these heart-stopping moments. To feel only the delight of his touch and the fire igniting deep inside. To celebrate the life streaming from us. Because living was all that mattered, wasn't it? Grasping with both hands at the good when it presented itself?

To steal joy instead of fear.

It should be so simple. But it wasn't. Everything with Lincoln was a dizzying twist of right and wrong. Everything was confusing.

Except one thing.

The yearning I felt for him wasn't confusing at all. It was clear cut, and it insisted on relief, required me to answer its call. It was louder than my conscience. Louder than my fears. So, instead of stepping away, instead of putting more space and an entire street between us, I stepped closer, eliminating any gap.

Our thighs touched, arms and chests colliding, and that flickering flame burst through my body. This. This was what I really wanted. Him. Me. The tantalizing touch.

Our gazes locked, his cobalt eyes darkening as he watched me rise on my toes and thread my hands behind his neck, tangling my fingers in those dark locks. It brought our mouths closer together, our breaths mingling so it was impossible to tell whose was whose. I wanted our bodies to do the same.

The blood pounding through my veins seemed to thicken. Goosebumps traveled over every inch of me, and still, we continued to stare. One heartbeat, two, a dozen went by until the desire in the room was so large it was almost its own entity.

I wasn't sure which of us made the final move, but suddenly, no air separated us, and our mouths were joined. He'd been furious when he'd kissed me in the doorway, insisting he had every right to make demands. But none of that fury remained. It had been replaced by a wild longing that edged toward madness as soft silk glided against silk.

He tasted of honey and tea.

He tasted of belonging and acceptance and courage.

I wanted it to be mine. All mine.

He deepened the kiss, parting my mouth with an expert flick of his tongue. The swift movement, the control and command, sent another wild throb through me, warmth settling deep in my stomach and seeping into my core. I pressed into him more, my soft curves colliding with the hard length of him.

He lifted me onto the counter, stepping between my legs, and all the while, his mouth did things to mine that felt illegal. That felt like sin had been given free rein. Or maybe the reverse. As if heaven was granting us a gift, and angels were singing.

My thighs tightened around his hips, and his eyes clouded with lust. Warm hands slid under the soft shirt I'd borrowed, lifting it and sending it sailing. And then, those clever lips dropped to my neck, sucking at my throbbing pulse before dipping down, down, down to taunt a pebbled tip with tongue and teeth.

I whispered his name like a song, and I felt him smile against my skin.

My body felt languid, drunk, and yet dizzily alive as he caressed and tormented and soothed.

He traced a wet line along my rib cage.

"Beautiful. This dusting on your body," he groaned as he tugged at the waistband of the sweats so his fingers could follow the smattering of freckles that pirouetted below. He pulled the sweats off, leaving me in a pair of basic white cotton underwear on his bathroom counter.

I didn't have time to think or be embarrassed as he moved on to worshipping my body. Warm hands slid over my legs, gently caressing an ankle, a calf, a thigh. He placed a hungry kiss on my belly button, tongue teasing the stud I'd gotten while at culinary school—an act of rebellion that seemed ludicrous now because no one ever saw it but me.

It wasn't like I ever had a chance to wear a bikini when I never left the confines of Cherry Bay. Never went beyond any of the boundaries I'd set for myself, including the cage that had nothing to do with location and everything to do with this…with emotion and lust and longing that I'd said I craved and yet had done everything to keep at bay.

Lincoln looked up, eyes darkening into pools of desire I wanted to dive into. Wanted to get lost in. I cupped his cheeks, drawing that wicked mouth up to mine, before devouring him as he'd been me, with want and wildness leading the way. Pure instinct rather than experience showing me how to plunder and demand.

Another breathy, desperate moan left me as I pressed my body closer. Needing more. Needing him.

He lifted me easily, moving us out of the bathroom. The cool air of the bedroom hit my naked flesh, causing a shiver to trail over me. He laid me down on the dark brocade before settling between my legs, our mouths already seeking each other again.

Strong hands glided down my arms, the gentle caresses turning me on one nerve ending at a time. Then he was stroking my sides, my waist, my hips, until his fingers slipped beneath the only item of clothing I had left and found a new home.

I broke our kiss as a gasp of pleasure ripped through me. My hips slammed against his palm. When I dared open my eyes, it was the look of awe on Lincoln's face that nearly sent me soaring.

"You're exquisite. So damn stunning," he said and took my lips with his again.

His fingers spun, turning, curving, sliding, cavorting.

A dam built inside me, stroke by stroke, threatening to break at any moment.

Until the intensity was almost too much to bear.

His mouth slid down my neck, teeth nipping at the soft juncture by my ear just as he plunged inside me again, and my body shook and let go.

I'd never felt more real. More human. More alive.

He slowly removed his fingers as my body trembled to a stop. His kisses turned softer and less demanding. I opened my eyes again as he rested his elbows on either side of my head, pushing up and away, taking that delicious mouth and keeping it just out of reach.

I knew what he was doing. I saw the look on his face as he tried to stop the train we'd started, but I didn't want it stopped. I wanted to finish this with him buried deep inside me. To feel that pleasure he'd just given me all over again. Stronger. Fuller. Deeper.

I tugged at his T-shirt, pulling it over his head as he huffed and laughed. His eyes were alight with humor when they found mine, but I wanted the dark pools of desire. So, I leaned up and nipped at his lower lip, sucking it into my mouth as my hands traveled over the tense muscles of his back. They were defined. Smooth as silk and yet hard as stone. A dichotomy that fit Lincoln completely.

When I squeezed his butt cheeks, his hips landed against mine with a grunt. "Sweetness—"

I cut him off with another kiss. It was hard and fierce, just like the one he'd given me by the door.

"Shut up, Lincoln. Shut up and finish what you started."

He laughed, and the deep joy of it rang through me, making my body quiver again, almost as if his fingers were inside me all over again.

"I think you're the one who started this in the bathroom," he said.

"Oh, believe me," I responded, "you started it from the moment you showed up in the cemetery."

He stared at me for a long moment, hand skimming my cheek.

I thrust my hips into his.

"Please. Please don't stop," I said, and I didn't even care that it sounded like a beg. All I knew was I needed this. I needed to feel and think of nothing but the way the weight of him felt on me. The way his kisses lit me up. The way my body seemed to notch perfectly to his.

He cursed and slammed his mouth against mine once more.

The gentle tango became a desperate crescendo. Bodies pushing. Hands seeking. Mouths soothing. Exploring each other with tongue and teeth and fingers. His deep moan sent a delightful thrill along my veins.

When I pushed at his sweats, he rolled away to stand by the bed, slipping them down his thighs, and I finally caught sight of all of him. He was beautifully carved. Every muscle held the same hungry look that existed in his eyes. I fought my natural instinct to cover myself. Instead, I placed a hand on my belly, playing with the diamond stud, and his nostrils flared.

He knelt on the bed, the mattress sinking, sending me sliding toward him as he reached for my underwear and all but tore them from my body before covering my core with his mouth. All it took was a few flicks of his tongue and those masterful fingers to send me over the edge all over again, my entire body crying out with pleasure and release.

It was too much and still not enough.

I wasn't sure I'd ever have enough when it came to him.

"Are you done yet, Sweetness?" It was a growl, daring me to say no, and when I responded with, "Not even close," those beautiful eyes turned to midnight.

He remained frozen, staring at me for a long time, as if trying to assess if I truly believed my own words. I pushed the dare, curling my hand around the length of him, palming the tip, sliding down the base. His eyes fluttered closed in the most delightful way.

He leaned across my body, reaching for a drawer and coming back with a condom wrapper he tore open with his teeth and slid on with an expertise that had one little beat of truth hitting me. This may be my first time, but Lincoln had done this many, many times.

It didn't really matter. All that mattered was right now. These seconds beating between us. My arms welcomed his return as he settled back between my legs, mouth finding mine as if we'd been apart months rather than seconds.

His tip was at my entrance when his hand tipped my chin upward.

"Are you sure?"

The deep, throaty question had me answering with a simple thrust of my hips that nearly embedded him.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said softly, eyes boring into me.

My soul seemed to expand at those simple words. I hadn't told him it was my first time, but he seemed to have figured it out anyway.

"The only thing that will hurt is if you stop."

He groaned, head resting on my chest. When he looked back up, he pushed slowly inside me, stretching me as my heart swelled. My body quivered. My lungs forgot to breathe.

"You feel so good. So goddamn good." Worry coasted his brow. "You're sure I'm not hurting you?"

It had pinched. There'd been a stab of pain mixed in with the pleasure, but it was already fading. I shook my head and shoved my hips at him again.

"Hold on, then," he said, and he drove deeper inside me. My entire being sighed in approval. In want.

We shifted into a slow, erotic dance that had every part of me melting into him until there was no end of him and no beginning of me. Just one being moving together. One kiss. One thrust. Singular touches and licks and gasps.

My legs curled up, locking behind him, the angle intensifying every stroke.

It was the singular most magnificent moment of my life.

Our movements went from soft and slow to hungry, searching for the mountain top, the edge we needed to dive off. And when the summit was reached, when the inexplicable gateway to heaven opened, pleasure slashed through me like nothing I'd ever thought possible.

And as my body trembled and shook, he let out a quiet roar and dove over after me.

We kept moving, gentle rocks, until every last ripple of pleasure had been felt.

When we finally came to a stop, I hated that we'd reverted to two people instead of one.

I wanted to go back to that place where nothing but the singular "us" existed.

He rolled to the side, taking me with him, arm banding around me with a force that felt both possessive and protective.

He pushed a strand of my hair back, tucking it behind my ear. His eyes glittered, and pleasure curved his lips. Happiness filled every crack and crevice of my soul until there was no more room. Until pure bliss threatened to explode from my body like confetti.

"You stun me, Sweetness. With your beauty. Your strength. Your passion. Thank you for giving me this time with you."

My hands slid over the dark stubble on his jaw. Rough and edgy. Sexy.

The reality hit me like a hammer.

I'd had sex with Lincoln. It was one thing to sleep with the determined man who'd come to my rescue. It was a completely different thing to have slept with Lincoln Matherton.

I swallowed hard as a wave of some emotion I couldn't quite define hit me.

I didn't regret what we'd done. I felt remorseful because I'd known if I took this step with him, I'd want to keep him. I'd want him to be mine forever, and my forever had the potential to be too damn short. Too damn hurtful.

This was absolutely the most selfish thing I'd ever done.

The risk to Mom's life and to Lincoln's life was just not worth any joy I might have received.

I'd taken the pleasure, these moments with him, even though I'd known I couldn't return anything more than these fleeting hours.

There was no forever. Not for us.

The love he'd experienced before had been accompanied by so much loss and remorse. How could I possibly have thought I could add one more to his list? He'd said he wouldn't stand by while another woman he cared about went through tragedy, and even if the Viceroys never found me, even if I could stop hiding or somehow stay hidden amongst his very visible life, nothing would stop me from dying if I'd inherited a mutated gene.

My eyelids closed as waves of grief and remorse flooded over the pleasure, stealing my joy.

He placed quick, gentle kisses along my cheeks, my nose, and my forehead. "You're making me worry here, Sweetness. Tell me you're okay."

When I opened my eyes again, only concern and kindness existed in the depths of his, and it made me feel impossibly worse. He'd given me so much in such a short span of time. Marked so many things off my list. Added so much happiness.

I'd wanted to banish his shadows from the moment we'd met, but the truth was, all I could do was bring him more.

I swallowed over the lump in my throat, knowing I couldn't tell him any of that, knowing he'd object and insist there was a way for us to be together. I stroked his face gently and gave him the truth so he'd feel it as much as I did. "It was beautiful, Lincoln."

When his face broke into an enormous smile, it took my breath away all over again. The exquisiteness of it had me leaning in to kiss him softly before burying my face in the crook of his neck.

I wouldn't ruin this moment for him. I'd already acted selfish enough. I'd give him this.

I'd give us both this, and then I'd have to find a way to untangle us. Find a way to sever the ties before I wounded him in some irrevocable way.

It was too late for me. I was already marked and maimed and branded. But the pleasure of this brief encounter would have to last me a lifetime because I'd learned something through it. I'd never let someone leap into the void of the unknown with me again. If you truly cared about someone, you wouldn't willingly accept their love and then turn around and put it in a blender. You did whatever you could to protect them. To keep them whole in body, spirit, and mind.

I didn't need to worry about potential FFI symptoms kicking in and ruining things for us, because we'd never survive past these stolen hours. I couldn't choose my happiness over his or my mom's. I wouldn't risk either of them losing more than they already had.

So, in the morning, I'd go home. I'd do something to ensure he stayed away. Say whatever it took. Push him back to his corner before it was too late.

But for now, I wrapped my arms around him tighter and listened to the rhythm of his heart beneath my ear. Soothing. Calming.

He relaxed completely, his breath turning easy and soft, his shoulders letting go, and his arms loosening. And finally, he slept. Even though I desperately wanted to see his face while he dreamed, I didn't move for fear of waking him. If an insomniac slept, you let them. You did nothing to disturb them. You let them get those few minutes. Those few precious hours.

I'd keep him close for a handful more poignant and beautiful moments, and then I'd let him go.