Page 21

Lincoln

I’m so turned on, it’s dizzying. Just looking at Isabel—her eyes locked on me with such blatant desire—has my thoughts spinning in reckless circles. My blood pounds in my ears, but I manage a smirk as I push myself off her in one swift move.

“Hold that thought,” I say, my voice ragged with need. “Get completely undressed while you wait for me.”

She props herself up on her elbows, a playful frown tugging at her lips. “Where are you going?”

“You’ll see,” I reply with a low promise. My heart thunders as I stride out of the room, making for the living area. I head straight to the bag I brought to the club, the one concealing a little surprise that’s about to make this night even more interesting.

When I enter the room, I’m spellbound. Wow . Isabel’s a dream. She gazes up at me completely nude, and my heart hammers around my rib cage. I hold up the vibrator, and her eyes flash with surprise.

“Oh,” she whispers, as I set it on the dresser.

“Oh is right,” I say, removing my shirt in one quick tug. I kick off my socks and shoes and unbutton my pants, lowering them down my legs as Isabel sucks in a breath. I’m left in nothing but my boxer briefs as Isabel’s eyes roam down my body.

“Now it’s my turn to memorize you,” she whispers.

I give her a quick grin before removing my briefs. I grip the base of my cock with one hand, and pick up the toy with the other, making my way toward the bed. “I want every part of you, Isabel.” I toss the toy onto the bed, and lean down to trail kisses up her body starting at her ankle. “Your skin’s so soft.” I move up her long legs, kissing and nibbling as I go.

My cock’s so hard at the sight of her. I keep peppering kisses the higher I go, until I settle my body between her legs. I grab the toy and turn it on.

“The other night you were driving me insane when I was using this on you,” I admit to her.

“You had me coming undone,” she tells me, and I smile at her words.

“Now it’s my turn to play with you.” I slowly drag the toy over her inner thigh, bringing it closer to her center.

She moans as I circle it around her clit. Her hands fly into my hair, pulling and tugging at each strand. “I’m so close already.”

Our eyes collide at her admission, and I smile. She’s soaked as she thrusts herself against the toy. I drag my tongue over her wetness while savoring the taste of her. I’ve wanted Isabel for so many years, it’s insane that I’m actually here with her right now.

I’ve always believed in karma—that the universe balances itself by rewarding the good and punishing the bad. Lately, though, I haven’t been the man I aspire to be. But for Isabel, I want to change all that, to become someone she truly deserves. Because if there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that after tonight, I’ll never be able to let her go.

I push the toy against her clit, using it in time with my tongue. I push one hand against her thigh, spreading her legs further apart. She’s completely mine right now. The way I’m controlling her pleasure. She’s all mine, and the thought has me spiraling, my cock pulsing with need.

I drag the toy away from her clit and push it deep inside her, giving her no chance to prepare for it. I sit up, wanting to watch her take the toy. It has a little nub near the base that lines up with her clit, and I make sure she’s enjoying the toy properly.

I grip her shoulder as I thrust the toy deep inside her, pulling it out and then slamming it into her again. Her back arches as her mouth falls open. I lean forward, kissing those succulent lips, letting my tongue mirror the motion of the toy inside her, letting her taste herself on me.

It turns me on even more, and I know she’s enjoying the toy, but I need to feel her too. “Hold the toy inside you,” I tell her as I hand over the vibrator for her to hold. She guides it back inside her as her body vibrates. She’s so fucking close, and I want to feel her come all over my cock.

I grip my dick with one hand as I grip one ass cheek with the other, spreading her more. “I need inside you.”

She starts to pull the toy out of her, but I shake my head.

“No,” I tell her, “I can share.” I work the head of my cock to her opening, pushing inside her alongside the toy.

She holds onto my shoulders, her nails digging into my hot flesh. “Oh my god, Lincoln,” she cries out. “It’s too much.”

“You can handle it. You’re Isabel fucking Maddox, complete badass. I once saw you take down another security company single handedly because they’d encroached on your territory. I know you can handle anything. Now you wanted this fucking cock, so take it. Take what’s yours.” I push further inside her.

The toy vibrates against my cock, and sends my heart hammering into overdrive. It all feels too fucking good. Fuck. I keep working my cock inside her.

“I’m so close,” she moans. “Lincoln, please. Oh my…” her words turn to gibberish on her tongue.

She’s got the toy seated deep inside her, the clit stimulator directly where it’s supposed to be as Isabel’s legs grip around my waist. I’m nearly all the way inside her as her orgasm crashes over her.

“Oh god,” she calls out into the empty room. “Lincoln, oh, Lincoln.” Her eyes squeeze shut as her mouth falls open in a silent scream.

“Keep riding my cock. Don’t stop grinding your hips. Keep your orgasm going, baby.”

She does as I say as her orgasm rolls into another one. She grips me as I keep fucking her with the toy and my dick. She’s so tightly wrapped around me, and I click a higher speed on the toy as I keep it in place. I’m thrusting my dick in and out of her as the toy vibrates at full speed.

“Fuck me,” Isabel screams out. “It’s too much, Lincoln, please.”

“Keep coming, baby. Keep coming over my cock. Show me who you belong to.”

“You,” she whispers out as my mouth collides with hers. I keep kissing her as I slam my cock deep inside her. “You own me.” She pulls the toy out of her, letting my cock get all the way inside her.

I stall, my eyes gazing down at her. “You’re perfect pussy grips me so fucking tightly, Isabel.”

Her hands fly into my hair, tugging me closer to her, and I kiss her once more, letting my body pick up speed. She flips the toy off as I get lost inside her.

I’m pounding, pushing—fucking—her. I lose control, my body unable to stop as I gaze into her eyes.

“Pill?” I shout out, my orgasm nearly here.

“Yes,” she nods quickly. “I’m on the pill. Oh, Lincoln, please come inside me.”

I don’t even have time to think before my orgasm unleashes. I pulse and jolt as my release slams through me, making me see stars behind my closed lids. Fuck me. I’m never letting this woman go.

I wake with a start, tangled in cool sheets, blinking to orient myself. For one disorienting moment, I wonder why my bed is so warm. Then I realize it’s not the bed—it’s Isabel, curled against my side, her head nestled on my shoulder. My entire body tightens at the memory of how we ended up like this, the way our desire finally sparked into something real and undeniable last night. Just the thought of it sends a surge of heat through me.

But the warmth is quickly followed by a wave of guilt. Isabel’s still asleep, her hair a dark spill across my chest, her breathing slow and steady. Gently, I slip free from the sheets, placing her head carefully on a pillow so I don’t disturb her. I pause for a second, studying the slight arch of her cheekbone, the delicate flutter of her lashes against her skin. She looks so peaceful, it almost hurts to disrupt it.

A dull ache settles behind my ribs as I ease off the bed. Even after everything we’ve shared—the tension, the closeness, the way she drove me wild last night—I can’t escape the looming problem… Dean . He has no idea what we’re doing, infiltrating these parties, using every ounce of subterfuge we’ve got. And now we’ve crossed a line that complicates everything. Part of me thinks I owe it to him to tell him what’s going on. But the other part screams it’s too dangerous, that we could blow the entire operation if he intervenes.

I gather my clothes from the floor and tiptoe out of the room. The safe house hallway is quiet, morning light slanting through the small windows and illuminating a faint swirl of dust motes in the air. I slip into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me with a soft click. My face in the mirror tells me everything: dark circles under my eyes, hair a mess. I look like a man who slept less than a handful of hours, which isn’t far from the truth.

Splashing cold water on my face helps a little, but does nothing to ease the tangle of emotions lodged in my chest. Guilt, yes, but also an undercurrent of fierce protectiveness for Isabel. Last night was sexy.

Steamy.

Out of this world insane.

Part of me wants to rush back into the room, see if she’s woken up, wrap her in my arms again. Another part warns me to keep my distance, to stay focused on the job. It’s not easy to balance these impulses.

I dry my face, pull on a fresh pair of gray sweatpants, and slip out into the living room. The morning sun brightens the living area in soft gold, and for a moment, I just stand there, letting the stillness sink in.

We have bigger problems than my guilt, I remind myself. Morris Rolfe is still out there, and we’ve come up with squat. Vera and Trey might be friendly, but they haven’t delivered anything solid. And if we want to get closer to Rolfe, we might need Dean’s help whether Isabel likes it or not.

I sigh, heading into the small kitchen to make coffee. Normally, this is a routine I can do without thinking—measure the grounds, fill the filter, add water. But today, my brain churns so hard, I nearly pour water onto the counter instead of the machine. Once it’s percolating, the smell of fresh brew soothes me a fraction, though not enough to quell the knot in my stomach.

That’s when the knock comes at the door—three sharp raps that jolt me out of my thoughts. My spine stiffens, adrenaline spiking. We weren’t expecting visitors. My first instinct is to protect, to keep Isabel safe. My gaze darts to the side table, where I see my gun lying next to the laptop. In three strides, I grab it, the cool metal reassuring in my hand. Then I walk carefully to the door.

I peer through the peephole, my pulse hammering. Shock slams into me when I see who’s standing on the other side: Dean Maddox himself, face set in a tight line. He lifts his knuckles to knock again, impatience clear in his tense posture.

Shit. My stomach flips. I flick the safety on my gun, though I keep it at my side as I unlock the door. Opening it only a crack, I force a weak smile. “Dean. What are you… doing here?”

He doesn’t return the smile. With a push, he shoulders the door open, stepping inside. “Is that how you greet your boss, Lincoln?” His gray eyes sweep over my bare torso and the gun in my hand, and if anything, his face darkens further.

I swallow, stepping back to let him in. The morning sun catches on his hair, and I remember how he’s always looked a bit intimidating, even before we started working together. “Never can be too careful,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. I set the gun down on the nearest end table, the safety still engaged. “Dean, man, you could’ve called first.”

His jaw flexes. “I did. Several times. You didn’t answer.”

I glance around, mind racing. “Phone’s probably on silent,” I lie, heart pounding. “What’s going on? Something up at the office?”

Dean takes a slow, measured look around the living room, then turns back to me. “I had an interesting conversation with Devereaux yesterday.” His tone is deceptively calm, but the undertone cuts like a blade. “He told me he saw you and Isabel at Club Greed.”

A chill scuttles over my skin. “We were—well, we were checking out a lead,” I hedge, trying to piece together a plausible explanation on the fly. “Isabel was worried about some threats, and we heard rumors that Rolfe might be connected.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “So you thought you’d just stroll into a swinger’s club without telling me?” His voice rises, anger crackling around the edges. “And you brought my sister into that environment—an environment that even Devereaux says is, and I quote, ‘not for the faint of heart’?”

I wince. He has every right to be upset. “Look, I know it sounds bad. But we were careful. We’ve been careful.”

“Careful?” He rakes a hand through his hair, pacing across the living room. “Devereaux said you two have been there more than once, mingling with his crowd, pretending to be—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head like he can’t even finish the thought. “Isabel’s never done anything like that. Why the hell didn’t you tell me what was going on?”

Guilt roils in my stomach. He’s not entirely wrong—I owe him some explanation. He’s her brother, after all. And I did consider telling him just this morning. “Dean, we didn’t want to worry you,” I manage. “And the threat to Isabel seemed connected to people who frequent that club. We were trying to keep it under wraps until we had more to go on.”

Dean’s gaze is molten steel. “You think me not knowing is safer? I run one of the biggest security firms in the country. I have resources—contacts—who could’ve helped you sort this out properly.”

I set my jaw, forcing myself to remain calm despite his fury. “We know. But we also know how protective you are of Isabel. She insisted on investigating, and I… well, I was assigned to protect her.”

His anger radiates off him in waves, but there’s a flicker of conflict in his expression. “Don’t pin this all on her,” he warns. “You’re the professional, Lincoln. You should’ve told me from the start.”

The pang in my chest intensifies, but before I can respond, movement in the hallway draws our attention. Isabel steps into view, wearing only an oversized T-shirt that hits mid-thigh—she must’ve thrown it on after finding me gone from the bed. Her eyes widen at the sight of her brother looming in the living room. I see the flash of panic in her gaze.

“Dean?” she asks, voice laced with both shock and alarm. “What are you doing here?”

He turns on her, frustration pouring from every rigid line of his body. “I’m here because Devereaux told me you two have been playing undercover games at his club. I had to find out from him? Did it never occur to you to call me, Isabel?”

She flinches at his tone, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “Dean, calm down. It’s not like I was going to a lethal arms trade. We were just… investigating leads, okay?”

“In a damn swinger’s club,” Dean snaps. “You told me you wanted protection, but then you ignore me and dive into that scene with Lincoln?”

I feel Isabel stiffen beside me, and a surge of protectiveness swells in my gut. I step forward, placing myself partially between them. “Stop,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “This isn’t the time or place to do this. Let’s sit down and talk it out.”

Dean’s glare flicks to me. “Fine,” he says, though the word is practically spit through gritted teeth. He crosses his arms, turning away from us to pace the living room, clearly trying to get his temper under control. Isabel, looking shaken but resolved, moves closer to me, and I catch a glimpse of how tense her shoulders are.

I nod toward the couch, silently urging both of them to sit. Dean and Isabel exchange a glance before reluctantly following my lead, and I grab my T-shirt from the armrest of a nearby chair, tugging it on to at least look somewhat decent. My skin still prickles with adrenaline.

Once we’re settled—Dean on the couch, arms crossed, Isabel perched on the other end with a blanket wrapped around her, me standing—an uneasy hush settles. The coffee machine in the kitchen gurgles, an almost laughable background noise given the storm brewing here.

“Dean,” I start quietly, trying to keep my tone measured, “we’ve been trying to get close to Morris Rolfe. We think he’s linked to the threats Isabel’s been receiving. We heard rumors he frequents Club Greed or has associates there, so we went undercover to see if we could glean information.”

Dean’s jaw works. “And you didn’t trust me enough to tell me?”

I hesitate, aware that telling him “we didn’t want to worry you” isn’t going to cut it. But it’s the truth. “We knew you’d be upset,” I admit, “and we didn’t want you to blow up the operation before we got anything solid. Devereaux might be your contact, but if he suspects we’re not legit, we’ll never get near Rolfe.”

Isabel shifts, pulling the blanket closer around her legs. “Dean, it’s not like we planned for it to get this deep,” she says softly. “One lead led to another. We met Vera and Trey—people who claim to be close to Morris. We haven’t gotten a face-to-face yet, but we’re trying.”

Dean’s shoulders slump a fraction, some of the anger melting into concern. “Damn it, Iz. You’re my sister. I’d do anything to keep you safe. Why can’t you let me handle this? You’re risking everything going undercover in a place like that.”

She lifts her chin. “Because I want to handle it. I’m not a child, Dean. I need to figure out who’s threatening me and why. I can’t stand by while everyone else does the work.”

He scrubs a hand over his face, exhaling harshly. “I get that, but you had no right to cut me out completely. And Lincoln—” his glare swivels back to me, “—you know better.”

The accusation stings, but I stand my ground. “She insisted,” I say, surprising myself with the bluntness. “I knew she’d go in alone if I refused. So I agreed to help. To make sure she stayed safe. I never intended to keep it secret forever, but we needed to keep it contained.”

Dean releases a heavy breath, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. For a moment, he looks less like the formidable head of Maddox Security and more like a worried older brother. “Devereaux told me about your, uh, performance. Mentioned that you two looked pretty comfortable playing the part of a married couple.”

My stomach twists. If Devereaux told him that, we’re in deeper trouble than I realized. Isabel’s cheeks flame at the mention, and she ducks her head, avoiding Dean’s gaze.

To my relief, Dean doesn’t press that angle—maybe because the idea of his sister posing as my wife in a swinger’s club is too much to contemplate. Instead, he fixes me with a hard look. “You’re sure you can handle this? You said you found people close to Rolfe, but have you gotten anything of substance?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. But we’re close. Maybe if you step in now, you can get Devereaux to play along.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, struggling with the decision. Silence hangs heavy, broken only by the drip of coffee in the kitchen. Finally, he lifts his head. “All right,” he says, voice strained. “I’ll call him. You know, it’s funny but his sister and best friend did something similar to this.”

“Really?” Isabel asks.

“Yeah, Greer Huxley pretended to date his best friend for publicity.”

“How’d that work out?” I ask.

“They’re married with a kid on the way.” Dean shifts. “Listen, I don’t like this one bit, but I promise not to interfere. Be safe, and smart. No more secrets.”

Isabel visibly relaxes, relief softening her posture. “We will,” she promises.

Dean’s gaze flicks between us again, something still burning in his expression. “I don’t like this,” he warns. “If anything happens to Isabel?—”

I nod firmly, stepping closer to the couch. “I understand. It won’t.” My own voice carries a weight of conviction I’ve rarely felt before. Protecting her isn’t just a job, not anymore.

Dean grunts, then pushes to his feet. He looks at Isabel, and for a beat, all his anger dissolves into plain worry. “Call me,” he says quietly, “if you need anything at all.” He hesitates like he wants to say more—maybe about her staying here, or about the bigger secrets we’re obviously not discussing—but in the end, he just exhales and heads for the door.

I follow him to the threshold, arms at my sides. “Dean,” I murmur, keeping my voice low so Isabel doesn’t hear, “I’ll keep her safe. I promise.”

He nods once, a tight dip of his head, then slips out without another word.

When I lock the door, relief mingles with fresh anxiety. We dodged a bullet, but we’re far from safe. My chest feels like a battleground of guilt and relief, and I can’t stop thinking about how close we came to a complete disaster if Dean had walked in just a half hour earlier, or if he’d pressed for more details about the personal relationship I’ve formed with his sister.

As I return to the living room, Isabel stands near the couch, arms wrapped around herself, that overlong T-shirt skimming the tops of her thighs. She looks at me, eyes wide, uncertain. “So,” she says softly, “that happened.”

I rub the back of my neck, wishing I could wipe away all the tension in one go. “Yeah.”

She gives a shaky laugh, though there’s no real humor in it. “You think he bought it? That we’re just… infiltration partners?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “Dean’s sharp. If Devereaux fed him details—” My mind strays to the kisses, the dancing, the way we touched each other. I swallow hard. “He might suspect more.”

Isabel nods, pressing her lips together. For a moment, she looks on the verge of saying something—maybe an apology, maybe a challenge—then she just sighs. “Thanks for backing me up,” she says quietly.

“Always.”

The coffee machine beeps, signaling it’s done. We exchange a wary look that almost makes me laugh—like, out of all the chaos, the coffee pot’s polite beep is the only normal thing in the room.

“Well,” I say, forcing a semblance of calm, “shall we get some coffee? We’ve got a lot to figure out.”

She nods, drifting toward the kitchen, the tension in her posture telling me she’s as rattled as I am.

One thing’s certain: after last night, after the closeness we shared, there’s no going back to how things were before. And if Dean’s sudden arrival taught me anything, it’s that we can’t hide this forever.