Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
The weight of his confession steals the air from my lungs. Our eyes lock, and I realize he’s completely serious—he’s seen me, studied me, in ways I haven’t even begun to imagine. My heartbeat hammers a frantic rhythm in my chest. “Is that so?” I manage, forcing myself to keep the banter alive, though I’m hardly convincing. The truth is, I’m undone by his words. How long has he been watching me? And why haven’t I memorized him the same way? It’s a heady realization, and I can’t pretend I’m not completely turned on by it.
“It is,” he says, mirroring my words back at me. “Every smile. Every movement. I’ve had a thing for you since we first met.”
“That was years ago.”
Now it’s his turn to wink at me. “I said what I said.”
I drop the tie on the floor, and unzip my dress, removing it slowly as the heat between us intensifies. I let the dress drop to the floor, letting Lincoln get a glimpse of me in nothing but my bra and panties. “I’m sure you don’t have this memorized.”
His gaze travels languidly over every inch of my body, and a delicious shiver snakes up my spine in response. There’s something thrilling in the weight of his attention—just like earlier at the club, when he watched me as though I were the only thing in the room that mattered. Even now, his stare is hungry and unyielding, sending my pulse skittering.
“You’re fucking stunning, Isabel.” His voice is rough-edged and thick with need, as if the very sight of me is a physical ache. The rasp in his tone tells me he’s teetering on the edge of restraint, and I can’t deny how it makes my blood race.
I’m half-tempted to undo his cuffs and have him devour me. But the pulse between my legs and the way he’s staring at me keeps me going. “Ready?” I ask him as I climb onto the bed, keeping my bra and panties on.
Lincoln’s eyes glimmer with a raw intensity—a hunger, or maybe something deeper. Without breaking that heated gaze, I swing a leg over his thighs and settle into his lap. I feel his sharp inhale against my body, a quiet sound that sets my nerves on fire. He’s still dressed in his trousers and a half-buttoned shirt, giving me a tantalizing view of what lies beneath.
Starting at his collar, I undo each button at a languid pace, savoring the anticipation crackling between us. One by one, they slip free, and his shirt gapes open to reveal a chest that looks carved from solid stone. Every muscle stands out in stark relief, and I can’t help but run my fingertips over the hard ridges of his torso. My pulse skitters at the sheer strength under my touch, while a flicker of need coils low in my belly, urging me closer.
I dip forward, letting my lips press light, teasing kisses along his chest, reveling in the smooth planes of his pecs. Each brush of my mouth elicits a slight hitch in his breathing, and the fact that I can provoke such a response stirs desire low in my belly. It’s heady, knowing I have him this undone, and it only spurs me to continue my slow descent.
“I’m not going to complain,” Lincoln says, his voice ragged but still edged with humor, “though this doesn’t feel like much of a punishment.”
He’s right, of course. I settle back on his lap, awareness buzzing through my veins. My hands slip behind my back, and I pop open my bra with a practiced flick. My eyes linger on his as I ease the lacy fabric down my arms and discard it with a soft rustle.
“You want punishment?” I challenge softly, arching my spine just enough that he can’t possibly miss the sight of me. His gaze darkens with anticipation, and my heart pounds at a rapid pace, every pulse thrumming with a decadent sense of power.
“I need to touch you,” he growls, fighting against the restraints. He strains forward, only to realize there’s no give, and a ragged curse breaks from his lips. “Fuck,” he breathes, the muscles in his arms flexing in protest. “This isn’t funny.”
I offer him a slow, provocative smile, sliding my palms over my breasts with deliberate intention. My fingertips graze my nipples, sending a tremor through me that I can’t hide. Watching his frustration morph into a deeper, almost desperate desire sends a hot flush across my skin. I feel him grow harder beneath me, and my own arousal intensifies, a wicked spark igniting in my veins.
“Not funny at all,” I murmur, letting my hands wander in a way that only heightens the ache between us. The tension in the room is tangible, each second ticking by like a test of wills. And by the look in Lincoln’s eyes—dark and stormy with need—I know exactly who’s winning.