Page 15 of It Takes a Thief (Ring of Thieves #2)

M y fingers dig into the couch cushions, and I can’t believe Linc is on his knees, pleasuring me with his mouth. My hips undulate and sensation unlike anything I’ve ever felt before zings through my body.

“Sooo good,” I moan. Even though he warned me he wasn’t gentle, he’s moving in a way that shows care and consideration. Tenderness. I get the feeling the big, former fighter might’ve been trying to scare me off. I’m so glad I didn’t fall for it.

A pressure begins building, and I try to twist away, but he’s far too strong.

He’s holding me up and my legs are shamelessly wrapped around his head.

That wicked tongue of his laps up my center, prodding and teasing until my legs quake.

It’s sinfully good. But it gets even better when his lips encircle my clit and lightly suck, making my entire body jerk.

“Ohhh…”

“You taste so fucking good, Mer.” He groans and the vibrations add a new level of sensation.

I think I’m about to lose my mind, teetering on the edge of sanity, when he shifts my weight into one large hand, freeing up his other.

As he’s sucking my clit, he slides a thick finger inside me.

I’m panting hard and my eyes squeeze shut as he begins thrusting it in and out.

A second finger joins the first, moving faster.

In and out. In and out. In and out.

He sucks harder, tongue teasing, and I see freaking stars.

My inner muscles spasm and I cry out, arching as my release hits.

My first from a man. And I couldn’t have chosen a better man to do it.

My body tenses, toes curling, and he gives me a moment before slowly lowering my ass down, gently setting it on the couch again.

Before I can recover, he picks me up. Bliss washes over me as he carries me up the stairs and down to my bedroom. I can’t believe I’m going to have sex—much less with this big, amazing man who makes my hormones squeal with delight.

Anticipation sizzles through me as he lays me on the bed.

Looking up at him through my lowered lashes, I immediately notice the absolutely ginormous bulge tenting his cargo pants.

My nerves kick up because even though I had a feeling he’d be well-endowed, I’m suddenly doubting my ability to handle all that.

His knee hits the mattress, and he leans down and presses a kiss to my lips. “Goodnight, Mer,” he rasps, then stands back up.

Wait, what?

I reach for him, confused, and his hand curls around mine. “Where are you going?” I ask.

“To bed. And you need to do the same.” He lets go, scrubbing his hand over his face. “It’s been a long day.”

“I thought you were staying in here with me tonight.” I can’t help the hurt crawling into my voice. The desperation, too. Why is he rejecting me? He just ate me out downstairs, for God’s sake.

“That’s not a good idea. What happened…” He straightens up. “It shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Hot anger pierces through me, and I scowl. “Don’t you dare be sorry, Lincoln!” I snap, pushing myself up into a sitting position. Suddenly, I’m so angry I could scream.

“You’re a client—”

Not this excuse again.

“Get out,” I seethe, cutting him off, not wanting to hear his lame rationalization for why it’s okay to go down on me, but not have sex. Humiliation washes over me because this has nothing to do with me being a client. He’s straight-up rejecting me. “Go!”

He frowns, hesitating, and I’m so upset I can’t see straight. I suppose it might have something to do with the tears blurring my vision. Reaching around, I grab my pillow and whip it at him. It harmlessly bounces off his hard body and falls to the floor.

“Mer—”

“Get. Out.” I send him my most haughty glare, mustering up every ounce of royal consternation within me. But, inside I’m crumpling fast. If he doesn’t leave now, I’m going to burst into tears and make an even bigger fool of myself.

His mouth tightens into a flat line before he turns and walks out.

After the door closes softly behind him, I slump against the other pillows and hot tears slide down my cheeks.

Pressing my lips together so I don’t make any pathetic sounds, I squeeze my eyes shut and want to sink into the bed and die of complete mortification.

I offered myself to him—my virginity—and he didn’t want it.

Doubts hit me hard. What turned him off? God, did I smell funny or taste weird? A million questions flit through my mind. How did everything go from hot and sexy to a frigid goodnight? I’m getting so far in my head, it’s starting to ache.

With a sigh, I slip out of bed and head into the bathroom for a couple of Tylenol and a shower. Then I’m going to go to sleep and try to forget what happened. Or, in this case, what didn’t happen.

But I’m pretty sure there’s no way I’m ever going to be able to forget the way Linc’s hot mouth felt between my legs.

∞∞∞

After tossing and turning all night, I wake up feeling tired and maybe a little hungover. I don’t know if it’s from the alcohol I drank, the way Linc hoovered me into ecstasy, or a bit of both. Either way, I’m dreading going downstairs and facing him.

Maybe I overreacted a little, but his rejection stung.

I take my time getting ready, mentally preparing myself.

After obsessively going over everything that happened last night, I decide the best course of action is to act like nothing happened.

If he addresses it, I’ll agree with him that it was a mistake.

Maybe even blame it on the alcohol in an attempt to save what’s left of my dignity.

Drawing in a deep breath, I finally drag myself downstairs. It’s after ten, and I’m sure Mr. Crack of Dawn has been up for hours.

The doors to the small balcony are open, so he must be outside. I pause as I pass by and he immediately looks up, but I don’t have anything to say to him and hustle into the kitchen for some much-needed coffee.

Linc comes inside while I’m preparing my caffeine fix, but I pretend not to notice.

“Can we talk?”

I punch the brew button, but don’t turn around. “Nothing to talk about,” I say coolly.

“Yeah, there is,” he argues.

Why does he have to make this difficult?

I wonder. Channeling my inner zen warrior princess, I slowly turn around and arch a brow.

As usual, he’s wearing a fitted T-shirt and cargo pants, and he looks absolutely edible.

Mentally cursing my one-sided attraction, I wait for his spiel, hoping it’ll be quick.

“I get that you’re mad—”

“I’m not mad,” I interrupt, trying to keep my tone light and unaffected. It kind of works. Now it’s his turn to hike up an eyebrow.

“You’re not?” Doubt laces his voice, and it instantly irks me.

“I barely remember what happened last night, Linc. I drank too much and everything is a bit of a blur,” I lie.

“I mean, I remember almost getting run over and then coming back here and fooling around, but it’s fine.

I’m alive and still a virgin, no thanks to you.

We’re all good, so you can go back outside or check the security system again. Whatever you need to do.”

Dismissing him, I turn around and reach for my mug.

But not before I catch the look of disbelief that flickers over his annoyingly rugged face.

Blowing lightly on my coffee, I turn back around and walk past him, heading for the balcony.

I enjoy drinking my coffee out here in the morning, and I refuse to change my normal ritual because of him. Hopefully, he doesn’t follow me.

But, of course he does. I sit down on the comfy rattan sofa and cross my legs. After a brief hesitation, he drops down in the chair across from me.

“If I hurt your feelings,” he says in a low voice, “I’m sorry.”

His softly-spoken statement catches me off guard.

Dammit, why does he have to be all nice about it?

I’d much rather he be a jerk, so then I can see his true colors.

But, no, he apologizes. My chest tightens and I can’t keep up this silly charade of not caring.

Because I do care, and he did hurt my feelings.

My stupid bottom lip quivers. I’m scared if I try to respond, my voice will crack. The truth is I threw myself at him and he wasn’t interested. I have to live with that, and I’ll find a way. Just like I’ll figure out how I’m going to return to a life in Arcadia and marry a man I don’t love.

“I’m sorry, too,” I finally say. “I put you in an awkward position and now I’m thoroughly embarrassed. I read too much into things, and I thought you liked me.”

“I do like you.”

His voice comes out all rumbly, and I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything.

“Right, as a friend and a job. I understand now, and if you want to leave—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says firmly. “I’m here to protect you, and that’s what I’m going to do. But…”

The way his voice trails off, so low and vaguely promising, snags my attention. “But, what?”

He heaves out a breath. “I’m trying my damnedest to ignore whatever is happening between us, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t want you.”

Hope surges up, flooding my heart. “You want me? Then why didn’t you take me? I offered myself up on a silver platter.”

“Because you aren’t like everyone else. And that means you shouldn’t be treated like it. You deserve a really special first time, and I’m not sure I’m the man to give you that.”

I blink in confusion. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Lincoln “Lights Out” Decker is doubting himself. But, why?

“You’re everything I could want and more,” I insist.

He shakes his head, swiping a hand through his cropped hair. “You’re a princess, Merritt. Real-life royalty who deserves a helluva lot better than me.”

“That’s not true,” I whisper fiercely. “You’re a good man—”

He snorts out an abrupt laugh. “You have no idea who I am, sweetheart.” He leans forward, dark eyes glittering, hands dropping between his splayed legs. “If you did, you’d tell me to leave and never come back.”

“Tell me then.” When he doesn’t respond, I lean forward, too. “Who are you, Linc?”

“I’m nobody,” he says simply. Softly.

The way he says those two words, with so much conviction, makes my heart ache. “I disagree. I think you’re the bravest, strongest man I’ve ever met. You saved my life last night, and I should gift you a kingdom for your bravery.”

His lip quirks up. “A kingdom?”

“You think my life is worth less?” I ask archly.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he hurriedly assures me.

“I’m kidding,” I say, and we share a smile. The air between us seems to clear, growing lighter and more comfortable again.

“I’m really not that noble,” he says.

“I disagree.”

“The truth is I’m not exactly who you think, and that’s why I walked away last night. You should know the man you give your virginity to, Mer.”

He’s talking in circles, so I meet his dark brown eyes, teeming with uncertainty. “Then I’ll ask again—who are you, Lincoln?”