Chapter 32

32

ASHER

I 've never relished the idea of kissing. In fact, I've always thought most human touch was revolting and unnecessary, but I've recently discovered there are some exceptions to that, most of them coming in the form of Logan, but then there is Lincoln Blackwell. His lips are warm and firm as they press against my own, and unlike kissing Logan, Lincoln's are completely claiming with no room for argument. He kisses me like he owns me, like there isn't any doubt that I belong to him, and it consumes me completely.

For once, the thoughts in my mind are quiet, as his darkness collides with mine, and hides us both in the shadows together. Even injured he takes control, squeezing my throat tightly, and using his thumb to tip my head back to deepen the kiss even more. His tongue traces along the seam of my lips, and just as with Logan, I open my mouth on instinct, allowing him access. As soon as our tongues collide, he groans long and deep, pushing up off the sink and pulling me into him completely, like a man starved.

He kisses me like it's the end of the world, and I kiss him back because after last night, it feels like it just might be. It's all lips, tongue, and teeth, until I feel like I might pass out from lack of oxygen, but still I don't want to stop. Kissing him is better than breathing, and if this is how I die, then so be it.

When he finally pulls away we are both panting, and I have never seen his eyes so dark and focused before, holding me captive until his hold on me tips my head to the side, and his mouth begins trailing down my jaw and neck. Every brush of his lips is a delicious torture, and I can feel myself getting more aroused with every passing second.

Is this what it feels like? To want to be touched by somebody, to crave their skin against yours in unholy ways, and kill anyone who tries to take them from you? I never understood obsession before, the need to find someone, but with Lincoln's lips licking against my skin, I think I might finally understand it.

"Fuck, Ash, I always knew you'd be so fucking sweet," he groans, nipping and lapping at my throat like I am the best thing he has ever tasted, and fuck does it feel good.

"That's probably Billy's blood," I say in response, attempting to control my rapidly beating heart, but when I feel his smirk against my skin, all it does is pound even harder.

"Do you think that will deter me?" He asks, a dangerous lilt in his tone. "That you, killing a man and ripping his heart out for me, will scare me away?" His unamused laugh is wicked and hot against my neck, sending molten lava through my veins. "Do you have any idea how long I have been waiting for you to play with me, Dark Prince?" The gravel in his voice makes my head spin, and when he pulls away and looks at me expectantly, all I can do is shake my head. "Since the night I went on that mission with Elle and you stayed behind to watch Cass," he starts, kissing me again, before pulling back and letting his gaze dance down my bare torso. "If I'm remembering correctly, I think you threatened to boil my limbs in acid while I watched if I let anything happen to her," he muses with a grin, and for once I can't hide my own smile, remembering that exact moment with ease .

"Yeah, that sounds like me," I exhale, attempting once more to calm my heart rate, and in turn, my cock.

Lincoln shifts, and I see a flash of pain in his stare, but before I can say anything else, the hand around my throat slides down to my chest, his thumb brushing over the scar left there by my father's bullet that was meant for Elle. "Life is so fucking fragile, yet we so often forget to live it," he whispers, no doubt remembering the day I was shot better than I do. "We know more than most how easily it can be abused and taken," he adds, his eyes finally dancing back up to mine. "So I need you to know I'm in this, Asher, no matter how deep it goes, I'm all the way in, okay?"

I'm sure his words would scare most people, but for me they are a burning promise I hope he never breaks.

"Okay," I breathe, kissing him again, and the only reason I stop is because I can feel the sweat slick on his skin. "You need to shower," I tell him sternly, and before he can refuse, I reach out and slip down his boxers, my eyes never leaving his.

Then I reach for my own, and discard them too, before holding out my arm and gesturing towards the shower. He moves slowly, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, one that widens when I put my arm around his waist and help him under the hot spray. Then I'm reaching for a washcloth and some body wash, but he grabs it first, squirting some of the woody-scented liquid onto the cloth and pressing it against my chest.

Only then does he pause, eyes trained on mine, and I realize he is asking for permission to touch me. He knows my past, he heard what I said, and despite some of the times he's touched me without asking in the moment, he still knows there are certain invisible lines that I have never crossed with anyone. My heart is beating so fast I feel like it might explode, yet still, I manage a slight tip of my head to signal that he's okay to touch me. T hen he is washing me, slowly dragging the sud-filled cloth across my skin and erasing the blood of the man that will always be buried at our feet.

I don't realize I am struggling to breathe until he has finished and my upper body is clean. I don't mean for it to happen, it's just, no one has ever touched me like this, so gently, so without agenda, and suddenly I am back in my room with all those women, and bile floods the back of my throat. I grip his hand, halting it in place and sensing my impending panic, he gestures to the bench seat behind us, and I help him over to it. Then without another word, I slip out of the shower, grabbing a towel for my waist and head into the bedroom to take a moment to catch my breath.

Once there, I go through the motions of drying off, slipping into a fresh pair of gray sweats, before quickly finding some clean sheets for the bed. The entire time my eyes stay fixed on the bathroom door, wondering what he's doing, what he's thinking, and once I've exhausted getting the room back in order, I give up. I head back toward it, knowing he probably needs my help, but before I reach it, it opens, steam billowing out, as Lincoln appears wrapped in a towel.

I rush forward, grabbing his waist and helping him towards the end of the bed. "You should have waited, I would have helped you," I scold, as he grunts in pain, and I move to grab the first aid kit so I can freshen up his bandages now that he is clean.

"And miss out on playing doctor with you? No way," he huffs, as I kneel at his feet and lean forward to start pulling away the medical tape.

"You were stabbed, Lincoln, please take that seriously," I spit, ripping away the bandages and showcasing the nasty looking wound below his ribs.

The feeling that killing Billy and ripping his heart was not enough, roars through me, and I force deep breaths in through my nose in an attempt to control my fury. That stupid fuck stabbed him too low, it's most likely the only reason Linc managed to get away, but it doesn't make me feel any less angry about it.

"Shh, I'm trying to enjoy the view of you finally on your knees for me, and you're kind of ruining it," Lincoln whines, and when my eyes flick to his, he is smiling suggestively.

I try to force away the image he just painted, swallowing thickly, as I muse, "I see those painkillers have finally kicked in." Yet he doesn't respond, just watches me quietly, as I clean and redress his wound with fresh bandages and tape.

His stare is piercing and branding, like he is memorizing every single swipe of my fingers against his skin, and he isn't exactly hiding the thick length of himself beneath the towel. Is that a reaction to my touch? Is he as desperate as I am?

This feeling is new to me, so it's not exactly something I know how to deal with, so when I toss aside the trash and first aid kit, I don't move. I stay kneeling at his feet, watching, waiting. I track the remaining water droplets that run down his slick six pack to the edge of the towel, erasing themselves from existence, and suddenly my hands burn for something.

Lincoln once again captures my chin with his hand, tipping my head until our gazes can collide. His eyes are stained with lust, making my throat go dry as he asks, "Do you want something, Dark Prince?" There is no smirk on his face anymore, he knows how serious this is, and I know if I denied him, he would release me without another word.

My hands reach out to rest on his thighs, flexing around the rough material of the towel, wishing it was his skin. "I'll probably need some guidance," I force myself to say, my hands ever so slowly moving upward. My thumbs graze the outline of his hard cock, as I reach for where the towel is tucked in place.

"Ash, I've fantasized about your mou th wrapped around my cock hundreds of times," Lincoln purrs, brushing his thumb across my lips and parting them gently. "But if you want me to tell you exactly how I like it, baby, I can do that."

I don't realize I've frozen until his other hand comes to rest on top of mine, guiding it to undo the towel. This close I can't help but marvel at how beautiful and thick he is, as I lick my lips in preparation for the first taste. One of my hands strokes along gently, savoring the smooth feel of it against my skin, before I reach for the base and grip it, making him grunt. I stroke him up and down, enjoying the weight of him in my hand, and the short gasps that leave his lips at my touch.

When I flick my eyes up to him, he is watching me in fascination, desperate to see what I'll do next, and I hold his stare, as I lean down and suck the head of him into my mouth for the first time. The taste of him explodes on my tongue as I start to swirl my tongue across his tip, and burn to memory every single sound he makes because of me.

When I slip my tongue into his slit, he groans, deep and guttural. "Oh, fucking hell, Asher," he gasps, sliding his hand into my hair, and my name falling from his lips has my stomach flipping over.

His fingers flex at the base of my neck, massaging me there, as I lap the head of his cock eagerly before slowly pushing my mouth down around him. His forest-colored eyes hold me hostage, as he tightens his hold on me and slowly pushes his cock along my tongue, guiding me into sucking him. The thickness of him is unholy and masculine, as he drags himself back and forth along my willing tongue, and I note his every reaction. I want to please him, I want to suck his cock exactly how he needs it, and show him that I am just as deep in this as he is.

"Look at you, Dark Prince, look how fucking perfect you look on your knees with my cock in your mouth," he praises, pulling a moan from me that vibrates around his length, and forces his hand to p ull me in a bit tighter. I bob my head back and forth, finding a rhythm that has him panting and pulling at my hair. "Can you feel it? Can you feel how fucking hard I am for you, baby, and how good you're taking me. You suck me so fucking good." Every word is gritted out, as if he can barely concentrate on anything but the feel of my mouth against him.

I feel the long length of him with every bob of my head, and from his grip in my hair, and the tightness of his body, I know it's taking everything in him to hold back and not hurt himself, and all that does is make me want to please him more. I move my head faster, working my tongue harder, and when I look up at him again, I hold his stare, as I take the full length of him to the back of my throat. The urge to gag tries to take over me, but I breathe deeply through my nose, swirling my tongue around his underside, and holding him there until my eyes begin to water, only then do I pull back.

His thumb swipes at my cheeks, but I don't stop, I push on until his hand takes over, gripping my hair and forcing my head back and forth along him. "Fuck, your throat feels fucking perfect," he groans, holding himself there until the only thing I feel is, him. "Swallow, baby, I want to feel your throat closing around my cock," he demands, and I do it on instinct, reveling in the noise that escapes him. "Yes, good boy, exactly like that."

I pull back, not waiting to catch my breath before I do it again, and again, sucking and swallowing, until he shudders in my mouth, his thumb swiping at my tears, but I can't stop. The taste of him is unreal, the sound of his moans are like a symphony, and the look in his eyes as he watches me suck him off, is like the devil falling in love with hell for the first time.

Spit drips from my mouth, as I pull back and swirl my tongue around his crown, sucking it roughly into my mouth before pulling back again and flicking my tongue across his slit. Sweat lines his forehead, as he uses the grip on my hair and neck to hol d me in place, as he starts thrusting up into my waiting mouth. I'm sure he's using every bit of strength he has, as he starts fucking my throat roughly, but for him I take it. With tears staining my cheeks, and my throat raw, I take it, and nothing has ever felt so fucking good. Not just because it's him, but because I am choosing this, I want this, and no one is forcing my hand.

He hits the back of my throat again and again, tearing moans from me, as a ramble of praises fall from his lips. "Yes, Ash, so fucking good. You're mouth is fucking perfect, you're fucking perfect. I can't wait to fuck you, you're mine, fucking mine."

When I swallow around him again, he explodes without warning, yelling loudly as he falls over the edge, with hot squirts of cum jetting down my throat, but still his thrusts don't falter. He keeps my neck gripped, rolling up into my eager mouth, drawing every last bit of pleasure he can, until he collapses back onto the bed with exhaustion.

My throat burns from his assault, but the only thing I can wonder is when I am going to get to do that again, because Lincoln Blackwell's cum might be the best thing I have ever fucking tasted.

I shift to stand, but then his grip is back on my chin again, squeezing it brutally, as he stares down at me and demands, "Show me you swallowed it." As if on pure instinct, I open my mouth wide, sticking out my tongue, and the pride and lust-hazed stare he gives me will be branded within me forever. "I knew you were a good boy," he purrs, stroking my lips, reliving every second of what we just did, before he adds, "Your turn."