17. Lincoln

Ilead Iris down the dimly lit hallway toward my bedroom, trying to process the scene we just left behind in her dorm. The destruction was everywhere - furniture smashed, clothes torn and scattered across the floor, threatening messages written on the walls and mirror. I can feel her trembling beside me, but I don't want to push her further than she's already been pushed. I don't know what kind of trouble she's gotten herself into, but I'm damn sure going to protect her. Only I'm allowed to terrorize her.

We reach my door, and as the lock clicks open, I'm hit with another wave of protectiveness. This space is mine—every inch of it—and allowing her in feels like peeling back layers of my soul.

The room smells like my cologne and leather, and I want her here. I want her to drown in my scent.

"Get your ass in my bed," I demand, my voice low and commanding. She looks at me with tired eyes and nods.

But before she crawls into bed, she tells me she needs a shower. And something inside me snaps. "Fine," I grunt, handing her a towel and some toiletries. "But don't take too long."

She nods, and I watch the sway of her hips as she disappears into the bathroom, the click of the door sounding far too final. I can't shake the urge to control her every move. The hiss of the shower fills the silence, and I lean against the wall, closing my eyes. I shouldn't think about the water cascading over her curves, the way the steam will cling to her bare skin—but I do. I'm trying to resist the temptation to barge in and take what I want.

"Are you just gonna stand out there the whole time?" Iris' voice startles me out of my thoughts.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, feeling exposed. "Just hurry up."

"God, you're such an asshole," she snaps back at me.

"Better than being a pushover," I retort, not missing a beat.

I finally hear the water stop, and Iris emerges from the bathroom, wrapped in nothing but a towel. My eyes roam over her body, taking in every curve and dip, and I feel my cock grow hard. Her hair clings to her shoulders, damp tendrils framing her flushed face. My fingers itch to peel it away.

"Can I borrow a shirt or something?" she asks, breaking me out of my trance.

"Fine," I grunt, tossing her one of my old t-shirts. "But no panties."

"Jesus, Lincoln," she groans, rolling her eyes. "You're impossible."

I watch as she dresses, admiring the way the fabric clings to her curves, and I have to fight the urge to take her right then and there. But I know I need to be patient if I want to keep her in my life.

"Alright, you can sleep now," I say, trying to sound casual as I lead her to my bed. "And angel?"

I watch her for a moment, taking in the way she looks so vulnerable and exhausted. And then I hand her an Ambien, wanting her to knock the fuck out and get some actual rest.

"Take this," I say, my voice low and commanding. "You need to sleep."

She takes the small white pill without resistance, swallowing it dry. I crawl into bed beside her and try not to think about the feelings stirring in me from the act of taking care of someone. No, not someone. Her, it's from taking care of her, even in this small way.

She collapses onto my bed; the exhaustion etched into every line of her body. My sheets swallow her up, and she's already drifting, succumbing to the chemical lullaby I provided. As we lie there, her breathing slowly becomes more rhythmic, and I feel myself becoming even more aroused.

I watch her for a moment, fixating on how she looks wrapped up in my St. Charles football shirt, before pulling out my phone and texting my brothers about the situation. But my mind keeps drifting back to Iris, and I can't help but feel jealousy rise in my chest in the most possessive way.

I pick up my phone and send a message to my brothers about Iris being here.

Iris is in the house. Her dorm room got trashed, and there's some shit written on her walls.

I type out.

Graham responds first, as usual, with his usual grumpiness.

G-Wagon

Great another girl in the house. This ain't a goddamn sanctuary.

Shut the fuck up

I text back. Graham can be a pain in the ass sometimes.

Jeremiah chimes in next, his annoyance evident even through text.

Mr. Always Right

I don"t want to deal with your shit right now. I have enough of my own.

Then don"t. Handle your own mess and I'll handle mine.

Jeremiah has a full time job trying to pretend nothing is going on between him and Oakley.

Finally, Penn responds with his typical bullshit.

My Dipshit Brother

Well, this should be fun. Can"t wait to see what kind of trouble you two get into by playing house.

Shut the fuck up Penn

I say, rolling my eyes at his response.

I set my phone aside, my mind already drifting back to Iris. I retrieve my switchblade from my nightstand, absentmindedly flicking it open and closed as a nervous tic.

Without thinking, I pull back the sheet, revealing the curve of her hip. I lift the hem of Iris' t-shirt, exposing her breasts. The edge of the knife traces gentle lines over her skin, leaving faint red marks in its wake and I know I should stop, but I can't help myself.

"Mine," I murmur, the word slipping out like a prayer or a curse—I can't tell which anymore.

"Beautiful," I catch myself saying, my voice nothing more than a rasp. It's not just her looks—it's the raw vulnerability, the way she trusts me enough to sleep while I'm consumed by this… hunger. For connection. For her.

I shift closer, drawn by a force I can't resist. My fingers hover above her cheek, desperate to feel her warmth. But I hold back, clenching my fist instead. Can't touch. Not yet.

"Lincoln?" Her voice is a drowsy murmur, eyes still closed. She's dreaming, maybe about me. Maybe not.

"Go back to sleep, angel," I whisper. The thought of her dreaming of anyone else twists something inside me.

Unable to resist my desire any longer, I roll over until I'm above her, positioning her legs apart, spreading her wide open for me and exposing her bare pussy. I run my fingers up and down her legs and through her wet slit, feeling her arousal. I can't take it anymore. I need her, and I need her now.

"Lincoln," she moans my name again like I'm the only fucking thing she could possibly be thinking about, arching her back and pressing against my hand.

"Shh, baby," I say, careful not to disturb her anymore. I like her like this, soft and compliant. It's a stark difference from her bitchy barbie persona she puts on.

"God, you're so wet for me," I murmur, probing her opening with my fingers and scissoring them inside her. Her moans only heighten my own arousal.

"Please, Lincoln," she begs, but I'm not ready to give her what she wants just yet. Leaning over, I spit directly on her pussy and my fingers, using them to push my saliva into her and the lewd sounds we make have my cock so hard I think it could split my basketball shorts.

Iris fights the drug coursing in her system that makes her slow to react, but her tight cunt does all the talking for her. Fuck, I want to crawl into her and make a home in between her walls where she can never dig me out. Embedded in her very foundation.

She cries out in pleasure, and I know that I have her right where I want her. I continue to play with her, driving her closer and closer to the edge until she's begging for release.

"Please, Lincoln, please," she moans sleepily, and I can't resist any longer, forcing a third finger in her tight channel and leaning down to suck her plump little clit in my mouth and I bite down hard. I feel her orgasm triggered as she grips me harder and then a gush is rushing over my hand, and I feel droplets of her climax hit my neck.

Fuck. That's so fucking hot.

The need to own every inch of her has me dragging my wet digits down until I start circling and rubbing against her asshole. It's forbidden and I'm going to claim it. Not today, but one day. She falls back asleep after her sleepy orgasm and I'm ready to come and go the hell to sleep myself.

I pull down my shorts and stroke my dick as I look at all of her. Every inch of her, from her pretty fucking face to her perky tits, down her curvy sides, and her firm calves. All of it belongs to Blackwood. No, belongs to me. I spread my legs to brace myself, so I don't fucking fall on top of her as I punish my cock hard and fast. Each pass of my fist from root to tip and back again has my balls drawing up tight and ready to burst.

It doesn't take much longer before I feel my vision blur and then my own orgasm hits and I ejaculate onto her pussy mound, making her my own little toaster strudel.

I rub my cum into her skin because I refuse to wipe myself off of her. She's going to wear all of my marks. I do pull her shirt back down before laying back down beside her, and covering us both with a blanket, finally succumbing to my own sleep.