Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Hearing it, hungry for more, he pulled me against him again.
He didn't need to make it happen a third time.
The need overtook me, let me take over, drove me on, leaving me riding him, writhing, letting out loud moans muffled by his lips on mine.
The orgasm built to a fever pitch, Lincoln's lips ripping from mine, suddenly pushing me back a few inches on his lap, pressing his fingers between my thighs, pulsing against my clit through the layers of fabric, pushing me over the edge, sending me spiraling down into the waves, his name tearing from somewhere deep as I curled forward, burying my face in his neck.
"Fuck," he hissed as my body shuddered.
I had to agree to the sentiment.
Fuck.
Coming back down still left me in a dreamy sort of reality, brain floating, body humming.
I took a deep breath, breathing him in.
And then the spell was broken.
By a very unmistakable sound.
The beep of the keypad from the other side of the door.
I'm not sure if I flew up first or if Lincoln tossed me to the side first, all I knew was that one minute, I was on his lap, recovering from a pretty epic orgasm. The next, I was on my ass on the couch as he was reaching for his gun even though there had been no fumbling at the keypad like someone was trying to figure it out. There were the steady, quick beeps followed by the long beep of access granted.
"Thought I saw Gemmy's car out on the street!" Bellamy's voice met my ears, taking a long second to sink into my frazzled system. "Think you can put the gun away," he added, making it clear Lincoln wasn't exactly thinking clearly either because it was still raised.
"Did you talk to Quin?" he asked, putting the gun on the coffee table.
"Not since my last reaming out. Why, does Dad need to speak to me again?"
"Depends, did you get yourself into any trouble this week?"
"Define 'trouble,'" he demanded, that mischievous smile that melted panties across the globe lighting up his already stupidly good-looking face.
"So, that's a yes."
"Probably. So what are you guys doing hanging out here, of all places?" he asked, moving over toward the couch, dropping his body in the very narrow space between us, slapping a hand down on each of our knees. "This is cozy."
"Think you mean invasive," Lincoln supplied, leaning forward to grab his coffee.
"Oh, for me? You shouldn't have," Bellamy said, pulling it from Lincoln's hands, taking a long sip. "No TV or music?" he asked, tssking.
"No, we were just... talking," Lincoln supplied with a very unconvincing cough at the word 'talk.'
"About anything interesting?" Bellamy asked, and I suddenly got the impression that he was being deliberately obtuse.
Sure, he was a generally light-hearted, superficial, out-for-a-good-time guy. But that didn't mean he was dumb or unobservant. If anything, he was someone who really paid attention even when you least expected him to.
So I really couldn't quite believe that he wasn't picking up on the charged air around us, the flush to my face and neck, the tension all over Lincoln's body.
He had to have known what was going on with us.
Yet he, someone usually likely to bring up uncomfortable topics for the heck of it, said nothing.
"How Gemma's face got busted up," Lincoln told him, voice a bit tight.
To that, Bellamy jolted, turning fully to face me for the first time. His gaze--usually so light, airy, carefree--was steely, cold. Frigid.
"Who am I killing?" he asked.
It was not a joke.
He was completely serious.
"We're having a meeting about this in the morning," Lincoln interjected. "I think maybe right now, Gemma could use the time to relax, not be questioned."
"He's probably right," Bellamy agreed, leaning forward to grab the remote and my tea. He handed me the tea, tossed the remote at Lincoln, then grabbed my legs, draping them over his, giving my knees a playful squeeze. "So, what do you watch to relax? A little Carrie and Big? Ross and Rachel? Nick and Jess? Sookie and Bill?"
"Sookie and Bill?" I repeated.
"I know, I know. She's really got more chemistry with Eric or even Alcide. And in the books, she ends up with Sam, of all people..."
"I have no idea what you are talking about," I admitted, but did so with a giant smile.
"You're right. Probably too much violence for you, sweet girl. Sitcom it is!" he announced, selecting one at random, putting it on. "You know what would be perfect right now? Popcorn. Maybe Lincoln will make us some."
And just like that--likely wanting to stop being so crushed by Bellamy--he did.
I got to watch Nick and Jess meet and develop feelings, but found myself passing out on Bellamy's shoulder before they could fall in love.
"The fuck was that about, Bell?" Lincoln asked, intruding on my sleeplessness, but not waking me up entirely, just leaving me in that dreamy in-between, aware enough to know what they were saying, but body still mostly sleepy.