Chronicles of a Rockin' Mess, page 13
“Come on…” she starts.
“Asher,” I finish.
“Come on, Asher, let’s get you some fresh water,” she says as she walks over to where we’ve placed dog bowls.
My phone buzzes and I look down. It’s Kade. I see Lark eyeing me, and I decide it’s time to put my plan in action. Screw it. I’m in love with this woman, and she’s about to find out.
“Hey, think you can help me get ready for a date?” I ask her. Her smile immediately falters, but she’s quick to replace it with a fake smile.
“Sure. Celia?” she asks.
“Something like that,” I say as I pat Asher on the head.
“Just let me do a little work, and then I’ll be up to assist you,” she says. It’s awful, but I always ask Lark to help me dress for every occasion, even dates. I realize this has probably made me a dick boss, but she does have a great fashion sense. I wonder why she doesn’t apply that to herself. Although she did have on a hell of a dress at the festival.
I run upstairs and try to straighten up my room a bit and put away my stuff which I left sitting in my suitcase. Normally, I make Maria do that, but I’m feeling like a new man. A man that will not be treating anyone like he did before. People can change, and damn it, I’m going to prove that to Lark this evening.
“Mr. Lincoln, I have your dinner in the fridge with heating instructions. I am heading home for the evening,” Maria calls out. “Has Asher gone potty?”
“Oh, shit, uh, nope,” I say because I am officially a shitty dog owner. “Hold on, I’ll do it.”
I run back down stairs and grab Asher’s leash before taking him outside. My yard is fenced in, but I don’t need Asher running all over the place again. Surprisingly, he does his business quickly, and I praise him before letting him loose in the family room. He curls up in a ball on his doggie bed and is falling asleep as I head back up to my room. I notice Maria has filled his food bowl. So much for being responsible.
I make sure all the clothing items that Lark likes best are front and center in my closet. I grab a quick shower before calling Lark up to my room.
“Just a minute,” she calls out from the office downstairs.
I pace in my room. I haven’t been this nervous in forever. I question whether I’ve done enough “homework” on Lark. I’ve tried to ask about her, every chance I’ve had. I even have snuck past the office and checked out her playlist on her iPhone when she’s not paying attention. I feel like I know everything now. I can only hope that she still feels the same way about me.
Chapter 25
Lark
“Everything needs to be perfect,” he says as I walk into his bedroom.
I roll my eyes. He’s God’s gift to female kind, and he’s worried about the ambiance in his bedroom.
“You don’t have to try so damn hard,” I mutter as I fluff his pillows.
He looks over at me from where he stands in front of his enormous walk-in closet. He’s been watching me lately. I keep finding him looking at me, and it’s unnerving. We’d shared one drunken kiss, days ago, and now he watches me. I don’t know what to make of it, but every time I see his eyes fixated on me, a chill runs down my spine. I have to stop thinking about him like that.
He clears his throat and beckons me to him with a wave of his hand. “Help me pick out an outfit,” he says.
I follow him like I’m a freakin’ magnet. My body craves him, but I won’t give in, I can’t give in.
“So?” he asks, turning so that I can feel his breath on my ear. I feel the goose bumps rise on my skin as the heat of his breath caresses my earlobe.
“Blue button-down, dark jeans, and those shoes,” I state, pointing to a pair of leather boots that he wears often when he performs. I’m not a boot girl myself, but Lincoln would look hot in anything, and Celia will like them. I internally sigh…Celia. She’s perfect for him. She’s clean as a whistle. A real Hollywood-type sweetheart. He needs this to work. His image needs this to work. Shit, the band needs this to work. He strips in front of me and puts on the clothes that I’ve picked out for him. He looks absolutely edible.
“What about my cologne?” he asks, motioning to his colognes set out on a table in the middle of the walk-in closet, slash that, wardrobe room. I don’t have to think for this one. I point to my favorite scent. The one that makes my knees weak. He sprays it on his neck.
“Very good,” he says softly. He’s standing so close to me that I can feel his body heat and smell that damn cologne. He presses a palm to my lower back and guides me back out to his bedroom. He dims the lights.
“How about that?” he asks, his voice deep and gravelly. His voice alone could make a woman’s ovaries burst.
“Yeah, that’ll work. Anything else?” I ask him, taking in a deep breath to steady myself.
“Music,” he says as he crosses to the screen on the wall. Oh hell, here we go again. This is what got us in trouble before. Alarm bells go off in my head. My brain is putting my senses on Defcon 1. I can almost hear the sirens wailing between my neurons.
I clear my throat. “I-I think you got that,” I stutter.
I hear “I’ll Be Seeing You,” by Billie Holiday blaring through the speakers. I look over at him.
“Dance with me,” he says as he strides across the room and offers me a hand. I feel my hand slip into his of its own volition. He pulls me to him, looking into my eyes. I only move because he moves. The magnetic pull between us propels my body back as he steps forward. Neither of us speak as he spins me around his room. Our eyes remain locked. His stare burns through me, and I know if his arms weren’t wrapped around me, holding me up, I’d fall to the ground.
I think he’ll pull back as Billie’s voice dwindles in the background. There’s a brief moment of silence where, I swear, he can hear my heart thumping in my chest. It’s in that moment I realize I’m not breathing.
“Breathe, my little bird,” he whispers in my ear. Just as I think he’s pulling back, “At Last” by Etta James comes on, and he keeps dancing with me, keeps watching me. Every hair on my body is standing at attention. His big hand is caressing the skin that has been exposed just above my skirt. “Your skin…is so soft,” he coos.
I know for sure that I’m dreaming. Yes, that’s it. I’m dreaming. I’m definitely not dancing to my favorite music, in Lincoln’s arms, in his bedroom. He’s not wearing the clothes that I just picked out or the cologne. This is all a figment of my imagination.
“This isn’t a dream,” he says softly. I quirk my head at him, wondering if I spoke my inner monologue. He chuckles and spins me around. I can’t help giggling as he pulls me back against him. Billie Holiday’s voice comes back on with “The Very Thought of You.”
“How…” I trail off as I stare up at him.
He gives me a sly smile. “A magician never reveals his secrets,” he says. I roll my eyes, and he looks sharply at me. I flush and look down at our feet, finally breaking the intensity of our locked gazes.
“Lark,” he says, and I peer up at him from under my lashes. He removes his hand from my back, and I immediately miss the warmth of his gentle caressing. Then, I freeze as he cups my face. My face seems impossibly small in his hand. He runs his thumb over my bottom lip.
“I haven’t been able to think about anything but our kiss,” he admits as his thumb continues to caress over my bottom and then my top lip. “Your mouth is perfect. You. Are. Perfect.
“I want to kiss you again, Lark. I want to do it sober. I don’t want it to be a faint memory, hazy with alcohol. I want to feel your skin on mine. I want to taste you,” he says to me. My mouth must have fallen open because he runs his thumb over my bottom teeth. My tongue involuntarily juts out to meet his skin, and he groans.
The music stops, but he doesn’t. Just as he leans into me, “All of Me” by John Legend comes on. “I found the perfect song,” he whispers against my lips before I feel his breath mix with mine. He literally takes the air out of my lungs as his lips trace mine, followed by his tongue. His movements are slow as though he’s testing me. I feel his other hand come up to cup the other side of my face. He tilts my head, giving him the access that he wants to my mouth, and then he makes me his. He claims me with his kiss. My hands come up to his chest. Part of me wants to push him away, but I don’t. I grab on to his shirt, fisting it so the fabric creases between my fingers.
I’m going so far down the rabbit hole, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to find my way back out again.
He pulls back after what might be hours but is likely just minutes. I’m certain the earth has tilted on its axis. I grip his shirt now, not in lust but in fear that the gravity keeping me planted on the ground has dissipated and if I’m not latched on to him, I’ll simply float away. John Legend is still singing in the background and his words…I look into Lincoln’s eyes.
“Yes, sweet girl. I mean every word of it,” he admits. I see the vulnerability dance across his face for the briefest of moments, so brief, I’m left questioning if I really saw it at all.
I shake my head, willing myself to step back to reality.
“Celia…” I manage.
He shakes his head. “No.”
I nod. “Yes. It’s perfect for you. She’s perfect for you,” I urge, as I swallow my pride, my feelings, my love for him.
He shakes his head again. “You, are perfect for me,” he replies.
“But—”
He places a finger over my lips. “Celia and I…aren’t happening because I need someone else. Someone who completely understands me. Someone who loves me even with my many faults. But not just ‘someone.’ I need you, Lark. Please,” he pleads as his eyes go from dark with desire to…no, that’s not possible.
“The kiss was a mistake, Lincoln. I never should have…” I stop myself because I honestly don’t know what to say to him.
He leans down slowly and presses a soft kiss to my lips, and then my jaw, and then my neck. I feel his fingers come up and begin pulling up my tank top.
“If you don’t want this, then say so now,” he murmurs as the hem of my tank top reaches the bottom of my breasts. I feel his finger caress my skin there and suddenly I don’t give a damn. I want Lincoln Grant, and I fucking want him right now.
“Oh, fuck it,” I say exasperatedly as I reach down to the hem of my tank and pull it over my head, exposing my breasts to him. His eyes look down, and I swear the heat from his gaze could melt steel.
He leans down and kisses me hard, before spinning me around and unzipping my skirt. It falls to the floor, leaving me in only my pink thong. He kisses along my shoulder as he walks me over to his mirror. He unbuttons his shirt, and it flutters to the floor. I watch it fall in the mirror, and then I look up at him. He brings his hands around to cup my breasts, rubbing his thumbs over my nipples.
“Look how beautiful you are, my little bird,” he whispers against my hair.
I swallow hard. I should tell him. I should tell him now. I turn around in his arms and look up at him.
“Lincoln…” I start.
He suddenly looks concerned. His hands leave my body and cup my face once again. “Lark, baby, what’s wrong?” he says as his eyes search mine.
“I need to…I should tell you…” I bite my lip.
I know the second he understands. “Fuck,” he says so slowly, it takes a moment for me to understand what he just said.
I blink up at him. “It’s OK,” I say with a sigh and begin to step back, mustering my last shred of dignity.
But strong hands stop me. “No,” he says, urgency in his voice.
John Legend stops singing and the room is completely silent, except for our heavy breathing. Even in the dim light, I can see the rise and fall of his chest.
“Why didn’t you…damn it…I wish…” he stammers, shaking his head.
Then he looks into my eyes. “Are you sure?” he asks me. “We can stop.”
I’m on the precipice of the mountain now. I know it. This is the moment that changes everything. I don’t have time to debate within myself. I remember something Kade said to me…something about “going with my feelings.”
I reach up to touch Lincoln’s cheek. I can feel the energy pulsing between us, and I know this is my destiny. “Yes,” I breathe.
He nods and steps back as he slowly unbuttons his jeans and pulls them along with his boxer briefs down his long legs, kicking off the boots as he does so. He stands before me naked, truly naked, for the first time. His soul is bared to me, and it’s oddly comforting.
“How?” he asks as he looks at me.
I’m momentarily confused, or maybe just distracted.
“Why haven’t you?” he clarifies.
I feel myself turning a deep shade of red. I glance down and close my eyes as mortification seeps through my bones.
“It’s not that I haven’t done things. It’s just…I…there hasn’t been anyone,” I say, dancing around the truth like it’s a pit of snakes. There’s no way I can blurt out the real reason. Because the real reason is now standing naked in front of me. I was saving myself for an impossible dream that is now becoming a very possible reality.
He puts out his hand, one last chance to escape, that’s what he’s offering me. I take a deep breath and place my hand in his. He smiles at me as he walks us to his bed. I look down at it.
His arms come around me, and he pulls me against him, hugging me to his body. I’m momentarily taken aback by this outward display of affection. I slowly wrap my arms around his torso as he places his chin on the top of my head. We stay like that for a few minutes.
“Thank you for trusting me,” he finally says, breaking the silence.
I pull back and look up at him. “You earned it,” I admit. And it’s the truth. He has earned it, again. Why he did what he did before, I may never know, maybe he doesn’t know, but he’s changed. And I love current him more than ever.
He smiles at me, and not one of his patented panty-dropping, made-for-the-stage smiles, but a genuine smile that would make the coldest person’s heart melt into a big puddle.
I glance back at the bed, unsure of what to do next. His hands find my face again, and he kisses me, and suddenly, I forget about everything but his skin against mine. I feel myself getting lowered to the soft satin sheets, and then he pushes us up until my head rests on the pillows.
“Let me make you feel good,” he murmurs against my mouth. I unclench my muscles that I didn’t realize I had been keeping stiff until that very moment.
His tongue proceeds down my neck, to my chest, as he settles himself between my legs. He looks up when his head is mere centimeters from my breasts. He’s giving me one final out. I’m too far gone now. I smile at him, and he grins back at me as his head descends upon my skin.
Lincoln’s a wizard or warlock or something magical because there is no way what he is doing is real. His tongue makes circles around one nipple and then the next. Leaving them wet and cold. The fire of his mouth and coolness of the wind blowing in through his windows has every hair on my body standing at attention, as well as the dark buds atop my breasts. He sucks one into his mouth, nipping at it slightly, just enough that it hardens and lengthens in his mouth. Then he sucks on it so hard, I feel it all the way down in my toes. I moan and shamelessly grind myself against him.
He presses me down with his weight and repeats the process with my other nipple. He pulls back with a “pop” and looks up at me as he mindlessly caresses a breast with one hand.
“You have perfect tits. You know that?” he says as he looks down at them, massaging them in his hands. I squirm against him. “Not too big, not too small, perfect.” I feel the color creep back up my face.
“No,” he says, a tinge of anger in his voice. “Don’t even think of doing that.”
“Of what?” I ask, my mouth falling open.
“You were always beautiful, Lark, always. I’ve always been attracted to you, so don’t think it’s just now because it is not,” he states, his voice raspy.
I look into his eyes, and I know he isn’t lying. I want to melt. He liked me, the old me. I didn’t even like her, but he saw past my bullshit, the walls I built. Maybe, we aren’t so different after all.
He looks back down at my chest and kisses it, right between my breasts. Then he licks and sucks his way down to my belly button. He runs his tongue around it. It tickles and also makes me squirm again.
And then he’s there. He stares at me. “I didn’t think you’d wax here,” he admits, as one of his fingers traces around my folds.
I blush. “I normally don’t, but…Celia talked me into it before we left…so…” I trail off, bringing up her name is like dousing water on the fire that’s been building between us.
Just as I’m about to think more about that, he parts my folds with his hand and licks me from my entrance to my clit, and I abruptly stop thinking.
“I knew you’d taste good, little birdie,” he coos as his wicked tongue swipes up and down over my sex and then dips inside me, flicking my walls. I push up against him. “So greedy,” he murmurs.
I find myself pleading for more, and I can feel his grin against my sensitive flesh. “Patience, baby,” he murmurs as he takes my bud in his mouth and sucks on it just as hard as he did with my nipples. I tremble under him. It’s so intense, unlike anything I’ve felt before. As he continues to suck and flick his tongue against me, his finger slowly slides inside me. I can feel my walls clinging to his digit as he moves it in and out of my entrance.
“Jesus, you are so fucking tight,” he groans. I want to say something sarcastic about being a virgin and all, but if he went to my room and opened my nightstand drawer that contains my B.O.B. collection, he would laugh at that statement. So, I keep my mouth shut, and squeeze my eyes shut too, focusing on feeling him.
I realize I’m panting as I feel him work a second finger into me. “Lincoln!” I cry out as my hands fly to his hair and grip it.
He stops sucking on my clit. “Is that a good ‘Lincoln’ or did I hurt you, little baby bird?” he asks me.
