Page 88 of Burden of Proof

“Take off your boots, Lincoln.” I scratched the same spot a second time, letting out a breath. “Take off everything.”

His chin quivered, but he didn’t argue.

Lincoln undid the laces on his boots, then stepped out of them and peeled out of his socks. The tank was next, then his shorts and an indecently tight pair of briefs that I almost told him to keep on. The sight of him was breathtaking. My need to come after three days aside, Lincoln was perfect…even if he didn’t see it when he looked in the mirror.

“Come here.” I beckoned him with a crook of my finger, and as soon as he pushed off the door and headed for me, I scooted back until my head was against the pillows. Lifting the covers back, I made room for him on the side of the bed that had already become his, then waited patiently while the sheets fanned out on top of us.

There was space between us, more than I would have liked, but clearly what Lincoln needed, so I forced myself to sit with it.

Five minutes, ten, and finally he said, “I miss Silas.”

“I know.”

“I don’t like that I miss him because it makes me feel like I’m nothing without him.” Lincoln swallowed hard, throat clicking. “I don’t like missing you.”

“I don’t mind missing you,” I whispered. “It reminds me of how much I love you.”

His weary eyes went wide, and I finally closed the gap between us, reaching out and tracing my fingers over the rise of his cheekbone. I shook my head, letting him know he didn’t have to say it back. He didn’t need to say anything back.

“I…” Lincoln pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, sucked in a sharp breath. “I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore. I thought I was one way when I had Silas, but now I don’t have him?—”

“Yes, you do.”

“Not in the same way,” he said quickly. “And that’s fine. But I don’t have him the same way, and it’s making me question all the other things about myself.”

I thought about my brother then. About how forlorn Smith was over the same things and how much it hurt me to see him struggle with finding his own footing separate of us and of our last name.

“I think that’s just something that happens in life sometimes,” I told him, even though I wasn’t sure it was theright thing to say. “But I know that doesn’t make it easier to go through.”

Lincoln didn’t say anything.

“I felt the same way before I met you,” I whispered, leaning in a couple of inches but not too far, not too close. “Finn was the one who put me on that app, who wanted me to be different than I was.”

“A man who fucks for money,” Lincoln teased, smiling sadly.

“No lies detected.”

He leaned into my hand and I curled my fingers into his hair.

“Are you different?” he asked.

“Very, and it’s because of you, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I’m grateful for the things you’ve shown me about myself. For what I’ve learned being with you.”

“Tell me.” He breathed the words more than spoke them.

“I learned how good it feels to be on my knees for you,” I said, because it was the truth. “How amazing it feels to trust you enough to give that to you. But I’ve also learned how amazing I feel when you kneel for me.”

“I like it too,” he said. “I like the things I call you and the way it makes me feel to use those words no matter who is kneeling.”

I slid my fingers a little further into his hair, and Lincoln scooted closer, bringing our chests flush. It brought my mouth toward his forehead, and I kissed his still sweaty skin. The only thing between us were my pajama pants, which I wouldn’t have worn if I’d known he was going to come over, but didn’t think to take off before he’d arrived.

“I also like when it’s not either of those things, when it’s none of those words,” I told him, skating my fingers down his back, relishing the way he shivered in my arms. “I like just being withyou, all ofthataside.”

He was quiet for a moment, then he tipped his head back enough I could see his face. His eyes were watery, but he wasn’tcrying, and I shifted enough to take his face into my hands and bring our mouths together. He let out a soft cry when I slipped my tongue into his mouth, and I kissed him slow and deep until the noise turned into something more like a needy kind of whimper.

There was probably a conversation that needed to be had about Lincoln’s insecurities around himself, but we talked just fine with our bodies. It was late, and we were both tired, and it was easier for us both this way.

And that was okay.