Chapter 14

14

LINCOLN

I thought my first time on a plane would be tedious, but watching Asher Donovan squirm under my attention has quickly become my favorite pastime. Yet right now, I am struggling to keep my composure as we soar through the air above the clouds, without anything but him to distract me. After his sickening admission on the tales of how his virginity was stolen from him, things quickly turned silent, and after downing more than half the bottle of vodka I acquired for him, Asher is sitting rigid in his seat with his eyes closed. I know from experience not to try and speak to him right now, not like this, but it doesn't stop me from imagining murdering every single woman who was in his room that night when he was fourteen.

I guess I really am my father's son.

My own drink has long since been discarded, and all I can focus on is the rigid tension along Asher's jaw, the way his chest inflates with every breath he takes, like it's an effort to even take them, and the steady tap of his fingers against his armrest, as if he is trying to distract himself. It makes me want to throw myself to my knees before him, whether to beg for forgiveness, or to beg to give him salvation, I'm not sure. All I know is that if Elliot Donovan wasn't rotting in the ground, I would enjoy taking my time mak ing him pay for everything he did to his youngest son.

I can't help but wonder if he has ever indulged in his own sexual wants and needs. Does he even know what they are? Or was he just abused and put on show like a damn stallion until he was old enough to escape it? I can't even begin to understand what that must feel like. I knew, from the moment a girl in foster care tried to kiss me when we were ten, that I was gay, never once taking an interest in any girl, and I haven't looked back since. I have never been forced to shy away from who I am, what I want, or explore my sexual desires, and have indulged in many over the years.

Elliot Donovan just presumed his son would be the same brand of sickness as him, and Greg, he didn't stop for a second to consider anything else. What kind of fantasies did he have before that? Did he like girls? Did he like guys? Did he have desires he wanted to fulfill before his father tainted his childhood? What would he have been like if he grew up in the light?

My thoughts are clouded with wonder as I imagine meeting him before. Before Cassie was born, before Elle was raped, before everything went to fucking shit and his entire life was blown to pieces. Would we have gotten along? If I flirted with him, would he have flirted back?

I can't stop my eyes from trailing over him once more, this beautiful and brooding dark prince who is so strong and so broken at the same time. And I know he tries, that he puts on a mask for Cassie to give her the peace and safety he never experienced as a child, but her tiny and fragile hands aren't big enough to hold the jagged pieces of his heart. Asher might be rich and powerful, a Donovan in his own right, but he's still vulnerable, and I don't think he even realizes it, and I know because I was the same.

Before Elle came along, I thought I was fine just coasting along, with my brothers by my side. I'd already felt the stain of grie f and loss against my black heart, and I wasn't interested in it anymore. Yet now I have a whole family I would give up my life to protect, and I thought I was done, but then Logan came along and changed everything. He worked his way under my skin, deeper than I anticipated, and I know he's there to stay, but my heart still wants more. It wants Asher Donovan in all his fucked up glory, but for the first time ever I am truly scared that I will never be able to have him.

My eyes trail over him again, taking in the strong column of his throat that my hand itches to wrap around, the smooth planes of his chest covered by his shirt, that I know is hiding his angel tattoo and the bullet scar that almost took his life, and the long length of his legs beneath his slacks. Fuck, what I would give to feel them wrapped around me, to have him writhing beneath me and moaning my name. My cock thickens in my jeans, and I inhale deeply in an attempt to calm my rapidly accelerating heart rate, but it's no use. From the moment I got up close with Asher Donovan he has had this effect on me, and nothing short of owning him and letting him have every part of me will be enough.

I jump up from my seat and his eyes snap open, meeting mine in confusion, and I'm not sure what he sees in them, but his own darken slightly. He opens his mouth to say something, but I am already moving, desperation and lust clinging to me, as I storm toward the bedroom at the back of the plane and fling open the door. As soon as it closes behind me, I blow out an unsteady breath.

"Fuck," I yell, slamming my fist into the wall, before I reach down and roughly rip open my jeans, shoving my fingers inside and gripping my hard cock, squeezing it tight.

It's leaking and aching for release, just from the sight of him, and I use my precum to coat my shaft, jerking myself hard and fast to the image of him. I picture him coming in here after me and drop ping to his knees, I picture touching him and tasting him, and erasing every other person who ever has, until I'm grunting and rutting into my fist like an animal. I imagine his hand instead of mine, his cock rubbing against my own, his ass swallowing me whole until we are panting and sweating against one another.

"Oh fuck," I groan, the image so clear in my head that I can't stop myself from thrusting into my hand, wishing it was his. "Yes, fuck yes," I hiss, slamming my other palm into the doorframe, and thrusting into my fist as if Asher is right here with me.

"Blackwell," he suddenly calls from the other side, and just knowing he is right there lights my entire body on fire. "They are about to serve dinner," he adds, his voice stroking the flames licking my skin, as I continue to stroke my cock knowing there is only one word I need to hear from him right now.

"I knew you cared about me, Dark Prince," I tease through the wood, wishing I could just rip this fucking door between us off its hinges, and show him exactly what he does to me.

"Lincoln," he warns, his voice like a warm caress, and I am fucking done for, because my name on his lips will always be my downfall.

"Okay, I'm coming," I call loudly, my teeth sinking into my lip so I can bite back my moan, until I feel my orgasm take full control. "Fuck, yes, I'm coming," I add in a moaned whisper, revelling in the long, hot spurts of cum that burst from the end of my cock, covering my fingers, and the door, until I am completely spent and breathless.

I stay locked in that position for a long minute, trying to get my desires back under control. Only then do I tuck myself away and move to clean up my cum. Once I've done that, I unlock the door, striding back to my seat like I didn't just have the most intense fucking self orgasm ever, and slide back into my seat across from Asher. I can feel his stare burning into me, like he knows e xactly what I just did, and instead of denying it, I lift my eyes to his and smirk.

"Something on your mind?" I ask, and his eyes drop to where my hands rest on the table now open between us, and I swear he is looking for evidence of what I was just doing.

His mouth drops open as if on instinct, but then he snaps it shut before blurting, "Are you hungry?"

I can't help but smile even wider, leaning back in my seat. "Oh, I'm absolutely famished, Dark Prince."

Before he can respond, the flight attendants come along and lay out our food, and we both eat in comfortable silence, having shared a hundred meals with one another, and once our plates are cleared away, they announce we will be making our first stop to refuel and switch crews.

As soon as we start our descent, the entirety of tension from when we took off, returns to Asher's body, and all I want to do is reach out and touch him. To pull him into my arms and tell him that I wouldn't let anything happen to him, but I can't do that. So, instead I reach for my bag and pull out my phone, unlocking it and navigating to the folder I need. When I slide it across the table, his eyes snap to mine in confusion, before flicking down to my phone and softening instantly.

"What is this?" He asks, plucking my phone off the table and starting to swipe.

"Just some random pictures of Cass, I thought you might like to see them." My explanation is simple enough, I just want to distract him, but as he flicks through picture after picture, I can't tell what he is thinking.

"There are hundreds of pictures here, Lincoln, and I have never seen any of them," he says in disbelief, seeming to completely forget about our descent.

I shift, slightly uncomfortable at the fact that he's right, I do have hundreds of pictures of her, all from the times we have hung out to gether, or I have seen her having fun with my brothers, or Elle. There are even pictures of her and Ash on there together, taken without them knowing, but the moments were just too good to pass up.

Growing up the way I did, we didn't exactly spend time making memories or taking photos to capture the perfect moment in time. In fact, I only have one photograph of my mom that I have saved from when I was kid, but even if I had a thousand, it would never be enough to remember her by. There will always be days she will miss, occasions she won't be present for, and I will never have another moment to cherish with her again. Just that one picture, and I'm not naive enough to think that I will be blessed with my new family forever. One day we will all just be someone to be missed in a photograph, so I never pass up the chance to immortalize the good moments we do get, into eternity.

"I only have one picture of my mom," I tell him quietly, and when our gazes collide, he nods in complete understanding. "Any that you like, just let me know and I will get them printed for you," I add, swallowing the lump now in my throat, because I might have grown up with nothing, but I plan to be one of the people that makes sure Cassie will also grow up with everything.

"I want all of them," Asher declares, still flicking through each image like they are the most precious thing in the world.

"Yeah sure, I'll print all the ones of you two," I respond, but he is already shaking his head.

"No, I want all of them, every single picture you have taken in this folder."

Hundreds. There are hundreds of pictures in that folder of him and Cass, Elle and Cass, even Marcus, Jace, Zack, Logan, Lily, Helen, and Arthur. Every member of her family, everyone who is important to her, yet the majority of the pictures are of me and Cassie anytime we spend time together. I know why I document all those moments, more for me than they ever will be for her, but I don't know why he wants them.

I nod slowly. "Okay, I will print all of them for you."

Only then does he look at me, lowering the phone and flashing a picture of Cassie and I, sitting in the theater room back at the house, surrounded by stuffed animals.

"You really love my daughter, don't you, Lincoln?" He asks, making my heart thunder in my chest, but I don't know why.

I shrug. "What can I say, she's easy to love, just like her mom." And her dad , I add silently, but I swear it looks as if he heard it anyway, plucking the words right from my brain and stealing them for himself.

Our eyes remain locked, and I swear if it wasn't for this goddamn table I would fist my hand into his shirt and slam my lips to his, consequences be damned, but just like always he remains out of reach. The plane slams into the ground, jolting us from our stare-off, and once again I am left desperate to beg for more from the most unattainable person in the world.