“What could happen? Another orgasm? That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
She stills her hips, even as her eyes flutter closed in pleasure. I feel her orgasm this time, but it’s subdued, a mere gasp before she writhes beneath me. It takes my breath away, and I swallow hard. Stammering to find words, I tilt my hips up to slide out of her hot body. The air hits my cock, and it’s cool. Maeve feels like home. Like a toasty fire and roaring laughter. Like Sunday morning and that first sip of coffee. She’s the anecdote, the cure for my fucked-up life. My piece of heaven. What if I’m the opposite for her? She came today, though, and that means she chooses me. There are a million reasons why she could leave, starting with what I did last night, but she wants me. And Turner. Maeve won’t abandon me. She can’t, I think. I don’t let my mind dwell long because Maeve is looking at the foggy, back window with a strange, sad look in her eyes. She drags her pointer finger down, and it makes a squeaking noise, cutting a dark line, before leaning over and pressing her lips against the steamy glass.
When she pulls back, she admires the lip print for several silent moments and whispers my words back to me, “Blood doesn’t form a person. Love does.” Maeve turns to look me dead in the eye, and a tear falls down her cheek. “I love you.”
I smile what I think is a warm smile. “Ditto, babe. Ditto.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MAEVE
The sun slants through the window and hits my face. Rolling over, I hit Lincoln with my shoulder. His breaths are even and steady, so I roll back, intent not to wake him. We were up most of the night having sex with serious conversations scattered in between. A glance at the clock proves we’ve slept in later than I planned. If there was ever a time to stay together, it’s now as we try to sort everything out. We picked Turner up from school together, something the boy was over the moon excited about, and told him we were going to stay at my house. He was over the galaxy excited about that too. It’s funny. People don’t give kids enough credit in the deduction department. Last night when it was time for bed, Turner asked if Lincoln and I would be in the same bed so he knew where to go in case he had a nightmare. Lincoln stalled, surprised by the question, but recovered quickly, admitting that we would be sharing a bed. The truth is always easier, and lying to Turner doesn’t do him any good.
Yesterday was confusing and enlightening, and after everything Lincoln told me, I decided to let the Autumn Glass coincidence stay tucked neatly away where she can’t reach us. And it is a coincidence. I’m sure of it. Folding my arms behind my head, I look at the wooden beams above my bed and try not to think about anything. I envision the color black. Though my solitude doesn’t last long. Lincoln’s hand creeps between my thighs and under my nightshirt.
“Mmmmm,” he says, voice growly from disuse. “Good morning.”
I spread my legs, granting access. “‘Morning right back. You sure wake up in a good mood.”
“How could I not when I have this fine slice of perfection next to me.” He slides over to lay his head on my pillow. “You don’t wear panties to bed, Maeve. It’s a forgone conclusion that I’m going to want to put stuff inside you when we share a bed.”
I let out a peal of laughter, but it silences when he rubs my clit between his thumb and forefinger. “Oh, okay. Well, technically you’re not putting anything inside me right now, but I still like it.” My breathing speeds, and my pulse ratchets up from a deep slumber. He presses his lips to my pulse at my throat.
“I can fix that. I know something you like even more,” he replies, rolling over to settle his hips between my legs. Lincoln pushes inside me with one, very well placed thrust, and I nearly come on the spot—the head dragging across my G-spot.
He doesn’t thrust, he keeps his hips still, jerking his cock inside me. “How’s that for inside you? You like it?”
Lincoln is still unmoving, so I use all the strength I can muster and push his shoulders over so I can ride him on top. I do a poor job and he slides out, but when I straddle his wide hips and lower myself on him we both sigh in relief, his noise a little more of a hiss of pleasure. He puts up his palms facing me, so I grab onto them and lace my fingers with his. Using his strength as leverage, I bounce up and down, circling my hips as I raise and lower myself. I strangle an erotic plea because we have to keep our lovemaking silent. It makes it more erotic. His face is a picture of hot carnal desire as he watches me bite my lip to stifle my pleasure.
He swallows hard and moves his hands to my hips and bucks against my movements. When he takes control, I lose it, the ache throbbing uncontrollably until it blooms in a million different directions. The fire of my orgasm ignites and Lincoln pushes my hip bones down so he’s buried deep, and holds me there as he explodes. The pulsating knot quiets, but he’s still lifting me and slamming me down in fast, short bursts, fully enjoying emptying every last drop inside me. My heart is thudding and Lincoln’s cheeks are ruddy with exertion when Turner knocks on the door a few times. Panicked, I roll off his cock, then the bed, and scurry into the ensuite bathroom and crank on the shower. I hear Lincoln talking to Turner, but not what’s being said. Lincoln appears, swaggering,
