Chapter two
Lincoln Huntington was lethal.
I was curious.
Together we were a disaster, a catastrophe in the making. The proof was in the way my pulse kicked in my veins as I stood in his bedroom doorway watching him stroke his cock.
In all the years I’d known Lincoln, the only time he talked to me was to tease me. My hair, my clothes, my choice in music—it was all fair game to his commentary. I’d learned to throw it right back. Our verbal sparring would make a trucker blush. Something changed the day of my mother’s funeral. The banter grew more serious. He looked at me differently, talked to me differently. And I’d started looking at him the same way.
Less than five minutes ago, we were downstairs in the kitchen together. I thought I’d imagined how his joggers had outlined his very hard, intimidatingly large dick. I turned away andhopedI had imagined it because… My god. Now, he was on his bed naked, and I couldn’t make myself look away this time. My heartbeat pounded rapidly, and a nervous energy boiled inside me, like thunder rolling in the distance before a storm came in.
He knew I’d be walking past his room to go back to Tatum’s. He knew I would see his open door, hear his labored breaths, watch his body thrust against his hand.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
Why now?After all this time, why now?
Trails of dark ink covered his upper body. Images and lines, words and numbers, all kissed his skin from his throat to his fingertips. His head tipped back, digging into the pillow as his tattooed hand easily moved up and down his length. He lifted his ass off the bed and stroked faster. With his other hand, he cupped his balls and hissed through clenched teeth.His soft grunts and moans floated through the room and straight to the bottom of my belly.“Aahh. Fuck. Jesus.”Followed by the slick friction of skin rubbing against skin. I would hear those sounds in my mind for the rest of my life.
And then I caught it—the glint of silver on the tip of his dick. Four tiny balls circled the head. North. South. East. West. Like a cross begging me to kneel before it.
He was pierced. I should have known. Nothing about Lincoln was average—not even his dick.
I clenched my thighs together as a need burned deep in the pit of my stomach, a desperate ache craving to be filled. I’d touched myself. I’d made myself come until my toes curled. (Thank you, Twitter porn.) But I had never, ever been so needy, so hungry, so fucking turned on.Breathe, Lyric. Don’t forget to breathe.
Then he stopped.
His body went lax as his gaze shifted to the door—tome. Everything in that look screameddanger. “You just gonna stand there and watch, or do you plan on coming in and helping?” he asked with a slow smile. He had the best smile. It was welcoming, easy, perfect teeth and full lips with a hint of dimples. But the kicker was in his hazel eyes. That was where the mischief lay.
I opened my mouth to answer, stopping myself when he sat up and cut me off.
“Come here.”
I didn’t. I stood silent, still, watching him with my blood racing through my veins.
Lincoln was sexy and he knew it. I’d be lying if I said I never noticed. But he was my best friend’s older brother. This wasn’t just coloring outside of the lines. This was going off the whole fucking page. I wished I’d just kept walking.
I took a step into the room, barely able to breathe, hardly able to think.
His jaw strained as he searched my eyes. “Close the door.”
Right. The door. Because heaven forbid someone walk in and slip on my drool.
He held his index and middle fingers together and motioned to me.Come here.
And like the mush-brained, horny, teenage girl I was, I put one foot in front of the other and didn’t stop moving until I was standing in front of him.
His large, rough hands gripped my hips, then slid around to my ass, squeezing my cheeks almost to the point of pain.
“Lincoln,” I whispered. Everything about this was wrong. Nearly seven years of loyalty and friendship were lost in a tangle of need and want. “Did it hurt?” I asked him because my brain was a mess and words were lost somewhere in the jumble.
“Did what hurt?” He brought one hand to his dick, swirling his thumb around the tip and smearing dewy pre-cum all over the head. “This?” He moved up and down his length again, stopping to run the pad of his thumb over the silver balls. “Nothing hurts when you’re numb to it all.”
I had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about his flesh, and something about that split my heart right open. He must have seen the change in my expression because his eyes narrowed.
“You look like you’ve never seen a dick before.”
I was a sixteen-year-old virgin, which was saying a lot considering the world we lived in and the people who surrounded me. That didn’t mean I didn’t know what a dick was.