I can’t believe Kurt would do this to Lincoln. He’s his father, for crying out loud. The thought of Kurt doing it because of me makes me feel nauseous.
Lincoln is sound asleep beside me, on the ripped mattress.
Why would Kurt go this far?
I can’t help myself—I have to ask Kurt.
Reaching for my phone, I quickly tap out a text to my ex.
Why did you do this? This isn’t like you.
Maybe he won’t reply. It would make sense for him not to reply. Lincoln exhales beside me, his hand twitching on my stomach. He’s ruined. I’ve ruined him. It’s irrational, I know, but it’s true. Kurt wouldn’t have done this if I wasn’t with his dad.
We’d arranged to go to the store tomorrow and replace the tv and to get some paint for the ‘Traitor’ scrawl on the wall, but Lincoln is heartbroken.
So am I.
I didn’t do it, Alison! Why are you even texting me? Delete my fucking number.
Dropping the phone back onto the bedside table, I curve my body against Lincoln’s, burying my head in his manly scent. You know when you’re a couple, and you adjust yourselves when asleep to accommodate the other? That’s what we do.
A smile plays on my lips that despite everything, Lincoln and I are strong.
Lincoln’s voice only adds to my smile, and I allow my fingers to dance on his chest.
Lincoln tilts my chin back, his eyes searching mine.
I exhale, using my forefinger to trace the outline of his jaw, brushing it against his lips as he waits for me to reply.
“Everything,” I whisper.
He sighs heavily, his fingers stroking my upturned chin.
“This is…” I pause, searching for a word to describe the situation at hand. Nothing fits. “Horrible. Truly awful.”
“This? As in us?” Lincoln frowns, his hand stilling on my chin.
“No! Your home.”
We’re both quiet, but Lincoln shifts, so he’s facing me sideways. Flopping onto my side, I rest my head on my forearm, enjoying the feeling of Lincoln’s fingers on me.
He’s deep in thought, but I want to interrupt him and tell him that I love him, that everything will be okay. The constant need to reassure him nags at me, but who am I kidding? He’s older than me—more experienced in many ways, too—so I don’t get to be the reassuring one with my zero life experience.
I still live with my parents for crying out loud.
“Move in with me.”
The words stun me, my eyes widening as my jaw falls open.
Lincoln isn’t playing.
“Yes, I’m serious.”
He seems to preempt my following words, but it’s too much. Too fast. My head whirls with possibility, the ecstatic feeling in my stomach spilling over into my veins.
But I can’t.
This house holds too many memories for me; almost all of them tainted.
Lincoln looks vulnerable, and it’s suddenly apparent that he’s holding his breath as he waits for my answer.
“I couldn’t. Not here,” I tell him.
Disappointment floods his eyes, which he closes and rubs with his fingers. Shit.
“It’s not you; it’s the house,” I explain, cupping his face in my hand. “I will always be Kurts fiancé here.”
Lincoln narrows his eyes, gripping me by my hips and tugging me close.
The act is primitive and sexy, especially when he stares down at my lips.
“You aren’t his fucking fiancé.”
His mouth presses against mine, and we’re like animals, clawing at one another. His nails drag across my thigh as he tears my underwear down, thrusting into me with such force I cry out.
I can’t get enough of him.
Even when he’s fucking me, I want to get closer. Dragging my tongue over his ear, I nibble on his lobe, earning myself a growl.
We battle for dominance, but he’s stronger, pinning my arms above my head as he slams into me, taking everything he wants.
“Yes!” I cry out, arching my back as he pulls me onto his dick.
Our bodies meet in every way, tongues crashing against one another, skin slapping, cries against guttural moans. His mouth moves to my throat, and he bites down softly, muttering my name as he shoots his cum into me.
“Fuck, baby,” I whisper, stroking his back as he catches his breath. “Where did that come from?”
Lincoln laughs, pressing a kiss to my mouth as he pulls out. I can feel his cum trickling from my core, and he stares down at it with a possessive smirk.
“Sorry, that was a selfish fuck. I owe you.” Lincoln frowns, cleaning himself up before handing me a tissue from the bedside table.
Despite having sex with Lincoln on a regular, I still feel stretched and sore.
Lincoln climbs in beside me, tugging the duvet around us.
“I’m good; I like getting fucked.”
Lincoln stares at me like I’ve just reminded him it’s Christmas morning, and he’s a kid.
“I don’t need to cum every time. It’s a myth that it happens every time for women. Sometimes that’s exactly what we need; a good, hard, fucking.”
“Fuck, Alison. If it’s all the same to you, I want to make you scream my name every time. As I said, I owe you.”
Stroking his lips with my fingers, I snake my hands around his neck, pulling him close.
I can’t get enough of him.
“So you won’t move in with me?” Lincoln asks between kisses.
“I want my own place.”
I’m independent, but I wouldn’t say no to Lincoln moving in with me. Not that I’m asking.
“I see.” Lincoln seems pissed, but I shake my head, my need to reassure him sky-high.
“I’d live anywhere with you, except here. Plus, we need to take it slow….”
My words don’t even sound convincing, and Lincoln makes a face.
I throw my hands up in the air.
“Fuck society. You’re it for me.”
He has a way with words. He makes me want to throw everything into this, but I’m trying so hard to be calm about it all.
He’s my ex-fiancé’s dad, after all.
“And you me,” I murmur, our smiles mirroring one another. “But if Kurt is reacting like this—”
“Listen,” Lincoln rumbles, pulling me on top of him. My wet pussy grinds against his dick, and his eyes darken, I swear. “Fuck everyone else. I love you.”
I reach down, guiding him back into me easily. The stinging that greets him subsides once I’m rocking against him. Lincoln leans back, allowing me to ride him at my speed, his fingers stroking my body like he’s trying to memorise it.
He loves me.
The euphoria that renders me useless minutes later means he doesn’t get to cum a second time, but he doesn’t seem to give a shit.
“I could watch you all day, owning my dick.”
Smirking to myself, I lean down, my lips pressing against his.
“You’re mine, right?”
It’s a serious question, and Lincoln doesn’t even flinch as he answers me.
“Of course I fucking am.”
Before I can respond, he’s flipped us over, his mouth on my nipple as his fingers seek my sensitive nub.
“And you’re mine.”
He proves as much by making me scream his name at least two more times.
I’ve lost count of who owes who.
But I don’t mind paying him back forever.