40. Lincoln

"Come on," I growl, my voice low and rough with anticipation as Iris and I head toward my motorcycle. My arm slides around her waist, pulling her in close. She fits against me like she's carved from the same marble I am. Her hands, those slender fingers that know just how to push me, wrap around my waist, clinging tight to the fabric of my shirt.

I pull my jacket on before helping her into hers. Tugging on her helmet and doing the chin strap for her before putting my own on. I quickly get on the bike and wait for Iris to mount behind me. She's a heated presence against my back, her arms circling my waist like she's claiming me for her own. I can feel the press of her chest against me through the leather of my jacket, and it's a call to every cell in my body. Her thighs grip mine, and her breath tickles the nape of my neck, sending shivers shooting down my spine.

"Lincoln," she breathes close enough to my lid that I can hear her. "You didn't need to do what you did in there."

"Nobody messes with what's mine," I growl, revving the engine beneath us. The motorcycle vibrates, alive with potential, just like the charged space between Iris and me.

"Ready for this?" I ask, smirking down at her.

"With you, always," she replies, her green eyes flashing with that untamed spirit I can't get enough of.

The engine roars to life beneath, causing Iris' hold on me to tighten. The lights blur as we accelerate, leaving behind the suffocating weight of our two parental figures behind us. Wind rips through my lid, cooling the heat that built up after dealing with her dad.

"Fuck, this feels good," I shout over the engine's growl.

"Keep your eyes on the road, hotshot," she teases, but there's a tremble in her voice that tells me she's just as caught up in the rush as I am.

The city noises fade, replaced by the thrumming pulse of just us and the bike. We're flying now, nothing ahead but open road and the promise of everything. It's freedom, raw and untamed—just like us.

"Where are you taking me?" she yells, her voice carried away by the wind almost as soon as it leaves her lips.

"Anywhere and everywhere," I call back, the idea of having her all to myself setting my blood on fire. "Hold tight."

The hum of the engine reverberates through my bones as I weave us between the languid stream of cars, their headlights stretching into long, ghostly trails. Iris presses herself closer to me, as the faster we go the sharper the wind is even with our gear on. The night air is crisp against my skin, but the warmth from her breath as she leans in sends shivers down my spine.

"Lincoln," she purrs, her lips grazing the shell of my ear, "do you always ride this hard, or am I special?"

Her fingers dance across my abdomen, dipping lower and then coming back up. I can feel the sharp edges of her nails, a prickly sensation that's all promise and threat. My grip tightens on the handlebars.

"Only for you, angel," I shoot back.

She chuckles, a low, sultry sound that licks at my self-control. Her hands venture lower, cupping my dick. My jaw clenches, every muscle tensed to keep the motorcycle on a straight path.

"Careful, or you'll get more than you bargained for," I warn, the growl in my voice barely concealing the edge of pleasure.

"Is that a promise?" Iris teases, her touch lingering over the bulge in my jeans.

"Damn right," I say, but the traffic light ahead flashes to red, forcing me to slow down. The sudden deceleration pushes her flush against me, and I catch the scent of her mixed with the exhaust of the ride—it's intoxicating.

We stop, and I steal a glance at her reflection in the rearview mirror. The light turns green, and I twist the throttle, eager to leave the prying eyes far behind.

"Let's see what you really got, Blackwood," she challenges, her tone laced with double entendre.

I smirk. She wants to play? Fine. I veer off the main road, taking us toward the outskirts where darkness swallows the land whole. Here, the only witnesses are the stars, too distant to cast judgment on the things we're about to commit.

"Better hold on tight," I say, my voice a low rumble against the night's canvas.

"Lincoln!" Iris shouts, the wind stealing her words even as I catch the urgency.

"What?" I holler back, not turning because all it takes is one glance and I'll be lost.

"Go faster!"

She doesn't have to tell me twice. The throttle twists under my palm, and the bike roars its assent.

The engine purrs beneath us, a growling beast that's been tamed—barely. I pull over; the road crunching under the weight of the bike, a signal that playtime is over—or maybe it's just getting started.

"Easy there, angel," I warn, amusement lacing my tone like whiskey in coffee, smooth with an underlying bite.

Iris dismounts with the grace of a feline predator, a smirk playing on her lips that promises she's anything but tame. She whips off her helmet and tosses it to me, a challenge sparkling in her emerald eyes. Instinctively, I catch it, my fingers brushing against the cool surface.

"Try to keep up," she taunts, already taking steps away from the bike, her hips swaying in a rhythm that echoes the pulsing desire coursing through me.

"Damn you, Iris," I mutter under my breath, torn between irritation at her audacity and intrigue at her boldness. Her invitation is clear as day, and my competitive streak roars to life, refusing to be outdone by this woman who knows just how to push my buttons.

With a rev of the engine, I turn the bike off, and I'm after her, the chase igniting within me. She darts ahead, laughter trailing behind her like the tail of a comet. She's quick, but I'm relentless. I keep a safe distance, not wanting to end this too soon.

"Can't catch me, Blackwood!" Her voice is a melody carried on the wind, enticing and provocative, stoking the flames of my desire to a searing blaze. I watch as she tosses her jacket off into the field and as I pass by I drop mine so the his and hers leather mingles together, safe until we come back for it.

"Watch me," I growl back, the edge of my smirk sharp enough to cut through the thick tension that hangs between us like a promise.

The grass is a cool whisper against my heated skin as I finally close the gap, my arms snaking around Iris' waist with predatory ease. She bucks in my hold, her body a live wire of energy and defiance. But it's no use; with a swift movement, I've got her pinned beneath me, the soft earth our only witness.

"Gotcha." The word is a husky triumph against her ear, my breath hot on her neck.

She writhes, her back arching, pressing the length of her against me, and damn if the sensation doesn't shoot straight to my groin. My senses are dialed up to eleven—the scent of her hair, the feel of her curves melding into mine, and the sound of our ragged breathing syncopating with the night's rhythm.

"Lincoln," she gasps out, her voice full of challenge and surrender.

"Shh," I command, though my voice trembles with barely restrained need. "Just feel."

Her hands roam over my back, nails grazing my skin through the fabric of my t-shirt, sending shivers down my spine. There's a hunger in her touch that matches the beast within me, yearning to break free.

Then, suddenly, there's a shift—a flicker of something more.

"Lincoln?" Her call is a feather on the breeze, laced with uncertainty.

"Still here," I murmur, though my face remains obscured by my helmet, a barrier of enigma between us.

"Show me you," she whispers, reaching up. Her fingers tremble slightly as they find the clasp of my helmet. I could stop her, but I don't. I'm frozen, caught between the thrill of being seen and the fear of what she'll find.

The helmet lifts, and the moonlight bathes my cheeks. My lips part, words teetering on the edge of existence, but none come. There's no need for them, not when every inch of me is pressed to every inch of her.

"When they call the devil handsome, they're definitely talking about you," she says again, this time her voice is a siren's call, pulling me under with the tide of my own feelings.

"Fuck, Iris," I swear, the intensity of my want etched into every syllable. "What are you doing to me?"

"Only what you let me," she retorts, her bravado returning, wrapped in a new layer of intimacy.

Her fingers trace the line of my jaw, and I can't help but lean into her touch, like a man starved of affection finding succor.

"God, Iris," I rasp out as her fingertips ignite trails of fire on my skin. The night air is alive with the scent of earth and lust that wraps around us in our clandestine haven.

"Fuck," she breathes back, her lips a whisper away from mine. She arches beneath me, a silent plea for more, and damn if I don't want to give her everything.

I kiss her like it's the only language I know, deep and demanding, with a promise of what's to come. She responds with equal fervor, nails raking down my back in a delicious sting that pulls a growl from my throat.

"More," she gasps against my mouth, the single word spiraling me deeper into madness. The need to possess her, to claim her as mine, roars through me—a beast uncaged.

But then, in the midst of this, I pull back. I watch as confusion clouds her expression, her body trembling with the aftershocks of denied release.

"Fuck!" The curse falls from her full lips, a mixture of frustration and longing. There's a wildness in her eyes, a desperation that latches onto my resolve and tears at it with tooth and nail. But I stand firm, even as her needy whines fill the air, that almost shatters my control.

"Lincoln, why?" She's panting, her chest rising and falling with rapid succession, her gaze locked on mine, searching, pleading.

"Because this—" I gesture between us, my voice heavy with a hunger that's far from sated, "—is just the beginning, angel."

All of this is for her. It's about power, dominion, a tangible assertion of what's mine. Her surrender is absolute, her body yielding like she's been waiting for this—waiting for me—to cross this line.

I can't help the smug curve of my lips as I peel away the last barrier of Iris' clothes from her skin. My jacket and shirt follow, discarded like an afterthought; my jeans, a surrender. Nothing but flesh and air under a sky that's too vast to care about what we're doing under her.

"Come here," I murmur, voice thick with desire as I lay back on our makeshift bed of clothes. The field is ours. She straddles me, hesitation flickering in those striking eyes, but it's swallowed by the hunger that I've come to know all too well.

"Lincoln..." It's half-question, half-plea, the kind of tone that shreds the last of my restraint.

"Trust me," I say, not a command but an invocation, and she lowers herself onto me. There's a rawness between us, no space for anything less than everything we are. The urgency is a pulse—steady, relentless. Her skin against mine, slick with sweat and moonlight, is the only reality I want.

"God, yes," she gasps, and I feel power surge through me, the kind that has nothing to do with being a quarterback or any other label the world wants to throw at me. This is primal, this is truth.

I let her be in control, for once, for this moment, and she doesn't disappoint. The way she fucks me, fervently. Desperation leaking from every pore, every movement as I hold her steady with my hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. It's the only way she won't tumble off me with the way she's using my cock solely for her pleasure.

Her tits, goddamn her tits are bouncing and I'm fighting to draw my eyes from them, to watch as her slick cunt devours me. I want to look everywhere at once and I can't. She looks like a goddamn queen. She is one.

Her rhythm drives us both to the edge, but when she crests, shuddering with release, I choose to hold off. She collapses against me, breathless laughter mingling with my low growls. But it's a temporary reprieve—I flip us swiftly, my hands guiding her onto her knees.

"Lincoln... what—" Her voice is shaky, uncertain now, but thrumming with excitement.

"Shh," I soothe, even as my fingers trace the unexplored path between her cheeks. I probe, gentle but insistent, a silent promise of more. "Remember, just feel."

My fingers dip into her pussy, gathering all her slick from her orgasm and dragging it up and pushing my fingers into her ass. One digit at first, and as soon as she relaxes, I add another until I'm scissoring my fingers, spreading her open so I can fuck her and claim the last hole as mine as well.

And hell if I don't want to savor every damn second of this. I position myself at her entrance, the heat from her body inviting me into her. The tip of my arousal nudges against her, a silent question to which her hips answer with a tilt—an invitation.

"Fuck, you're tight," I groan, pushing into the velvety clasp of her ass, inch by slow inch. The resistance is maddening, exquisite, a slow burn that has sweat beading on my brow. Her breath hitches, a sound so sinfully sweet it's all I can do not to lose myself right here, right now.

"More," she demands, head thrown back.

I smirk, but damn if she doesn't test me.

I oblige, sinking deeper, the tightness engulfing me, pulling me further into where only sensation and Iris exist. My hand finds her hip, grip firm, anchoring her to me.

"Is this what you wanted?" I rasp, the darkness in my tone matching the night around us.

"God, yes," she moans, her voice a velvet caress against my heightened senses.

"Say it," I command, a low growl escaping me as I start moving within her, setting a rhythm that draws out the longing, the lust, the pure hedonistic pleasure.

"Yours," she breathes, and it's all the permission I need. I claim her with an intensity that blurs the lines, branding her from the inside out.

"Mine," I affirm through gritted teeth.

The world narrows to the primal sounds of flesh against flesh, my hips driving forward in a cadence that matches the wild beat of my heart. Iris' moans rise into the night.

"Baby..." she gasps, her voice laced with pleasure and an edge of desperation that sends a surge of satisfaction through me.

"Say it again," I demand, my tone rough with need. I can feel the pressure building, the coil of tension winding tighter within me as our bodies move.

"Baby!" she cries out, and the sound is sweeter than any symphony.

"Fuck, Iris," I groan, pushing deeper, harder, losing myself in the heat and tightness that envelops me. The scent of earth and lust mingles, intoxicating, heightening every touch, every thrust.

"More, please... more," she whimpers, and I comply, delivering each stroke with a mix of tenderness and raw power that teeters on the edge of control.

Her fingers dig into the soil, clutching at the earth as if trying to hold on to reality while we spiral together into ecstasy. My vision blurs, every sensation amplified, until there's nothing left but the explosive release that rips through me, pulling a guttural cry from my throat.

"Mmmph." Her voice shatters the silence once more, her body trembling beneath me as her climax crashes over her like a wave, leaving us both shaking, spent, our breaths coming in ragged gasps.

I pull out slowly, the sight of my cum leaking from her grips me, a visceral reminder of ownership. For a moment, I'm entranced by the sight, the stark evidence of my possession, her submission.

"God, look at you," I murmur, dropping down beside her in the cool grass, my body still thrumming with the aftershocks. I pull her against me, her head resting on my chest, our sweat-slicked skin melding together.

"That was..." she trails off, her breath warm against my skin.

"Intense," I finish for her, my smirk audible even without words. "You're a hell of a ride, angel."

"Only the best for you," she retorts, her voice tinged with that familiar snarky edge I find so damn irresistible.

Blades of grass tickle my back as I pull Iris closer, her scent—musky and sweet with exertion—enveloping me.

"So," she whispers, her voice a mix of satisfaction and wonder, "what now?"

"Wherever we're headed, it's together," I say, my hand tracing idle patterns on her spine. "You got me? There's no going back."

"Back isn't a direction I'm familiar with." Her smirk feels like a challenge even in the dark.

"Good, ‘cause forward is your only option." My chest rumbles with a low chuckle.

"Obsessed much?" She tilts her head up, her eyes glinting with mischief.

"Much?" I scoff, my fingers grazing her jawline. "Baby, with me, it's more than that—it's you can't go anywhere without me. No moves can be made without my say so."

Her breath hitches, and I know I've struck the right chord. Iris lives for the edge, the brink where passion and madness blur. And I…I'm the one to push her over it.

"Sounds intense," She bites her lip, that habit betraying the nerves she tries so hard to hide.

"Intense doesn't begin to cover it." My voice is a growl, possessiveness surging within me. "You won't ever leave my side, Iris. You're mine, in every way that counts."

"Yours..." She leans into my touch, surrender written in the arch of her body. "And you're mine, Lincoln Blackwood. Don't forget it."

"Wouldn't dream of it." I seal my vow with a kiss, fierce and claiming.

"Love me?" she murmurs against my mouth, a tease lacing her words.

"Until every last star burns out." I tighten my grip around her.

"Sounds perfect." She sighs, contentment sweeping through her tone.

"Perfectly fucked up," I correct, but there's no bite in it. Only truth.

"Exactly how I like it," she replies.

I lay back down, staring up at the clear sky and watch as waves of shooting stars streak across the inky expanse above. "You fuel every ounce of wicked fury in my body and nothing and no one will keep me from you."