higher.
He winks, his shoulder pressing to mine. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Twisting to face him, I touch his chest, smiling. “This doesn’t change anything,” I whisper, biting down on my lip. “But you’re leaving, and I want sex. Okay?”
He wets his bottom lip, a smirk following. “Got it.” Laughter rolls through him as he pulls me in closer. “Doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means something,” I admit, sighing.
Brushing the underside of my jaw with his lips, he whispers, a tremble to that gravelly voice, “It means everything.” And then he pins me with a desperate look that paralyzes me. His mouth meets mine. He kisses me, hard, working his hands underneath my legs. With little effort, he hauls me up in his arms. After carrying me to his room, he pushes the door shut and then places me in the center of his bed.
For a moment, he stops what he’s doing and stares at me. No words are spoken, just watches me. “You’re beautiful,” he tells me, his lips twisting into a smile.
I motion him forward with a wave of my hand. “Come here.”
Removing his shirt and then his jeans, he kneels on the bed. It dips with his weight, a soft creak to it as he moves closer, hovering over me and propped up by his hands. Our connection, it’s deep and very much still present between the two of us.
Bending at his elbows, his weight presses into mine. Leaning to the side, he runs his fingertips over my scar.
Tears sting my eyes. Is it her he’s imagining?
“It’s you I want,” he assures me, seeming to once again know my train of thought. His lips meet mine again. “When I touch you, it’s because you’re the one I can’t stop myself from wanting. Not her.”
I search his eyes for a truth I’m not sure I can believe yet. “It might take me some time to come to terms with that part of it.”
He nods. “Well, until then, I’m going to keep reassuring you I want you.” There’s a heady edge to his words now, the swell of him against my thigh reminding me that he’s right, he does want me this way.
Driving his tongue into my mouth, I swallow his groan, greedy for more. Everything from his touch between my legs to him removing my clothes is different this time. It’s careful and so unlike any other time I’ve been with him. If I had to guess, this, tonight, this is what people refer to when they say we made love. For a long time, I never understood the meaning because how can you make love? It’s a feeling, not physical. Or is it? Now, I’m not so sure.
He pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me and guides my face to his chest. Cradling my head with one of his hands, I listen to the beat of his heart.
“Lincoln?”
“Hmm?” he hums, running his fingers over my spine.
“I’m really glad you didn’t tell me over lunch.”
He laughs, his chest shaking with the movement. “I probably would have chickened out anyways. I couldn’t see a way to start that conversation that didn’t end in you leaving.”
“It was easier this way,” I tell him, tracing a circle over his heart, around her name. There’s no need for jealousy here, not anymore. Not from me.
“What way?” His voice is soft, a low murmur barely heard over the furnace kicking to life.
I turn my head, my chin resting on his chest. He peers down at me, curiosity in his eyes. “Finding out the way I did. I think if you would have been in town at the time, I don’t think I would have processed it as clearly as I did.”
He runs a hand over my hair, his thumb brushing my cheek. “Why did you need a heart transplant?”
It’s then I realize I’ve never told him about it. “I….” I stop and blow out a breath. I haven’t told many people. I usually leave it at the fact that I had a transplant, not the events that led up to it. “I was eight. Went in for chest pain, and they told me I had cardiomyopathy. It’s a heart muscle disease that makes your heart muscles thick, and you can’t pump blood to the rest of your body. I remember my hands and feet were always ice cubes.” I laugh at the memory of always sticking my cold toes against my dad’s legs and having him tickle me until I stopped. “At the time, we