Fool Me Twice Page 5

  He’s a dangerous man, and I need to keep my head clear and my focus sharp.

  I shake him off, the contact of his hand to my arm breaking. “It’s temporary, should wash out in the shower. But, I think it’s sexy. I’m thinking about keeping it.”

  “Everything you do is sexy. You don’t have to worry about that.” His eyes dilate, and I don’t miss the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

  The heat of his gaze is like a branding iron moving down the center of my chest, and when he leans over on his tiptoes, I swear I feel the shadow of his fingers skimming my most private parts.

  “Well, I enjoy being someone different, even if it’s just for the night. How about I show you who I am?”

  My intention coming into this party was to get physical with Lincoln. It was time. If I held out for too long, some other girl would come along and suck his dick. Boys like this are easily distracted. But if I gave in too soon, agreeing to make on base, any base, the first time we met well, my plan would have been over before it even started.

  Without letting Lincoln get another word in, I grab his hand, our fingers lacing. Anticipation flutters in my stomach as I locate the stairs in search of, at least, an unoccupied bathroom.

  If one of the bedrooms is unlocked, that’ll be even better.

  8

  Henley

  As soon as we make it to the top of the stairs, Lincoln is all over me.

  From behind, his big hands wrap around my waist, kneading at the suit jacket covering my skin. I melt into him, wanting nothing more than to grind against the erection I feel so rigid at my back. If I don’t find us a private space in the next three seconds, we’ll be giving whoever floats up here from the party below a show.

  Giggling and moaning as Lincoln affixes his mouth to my neck, nibbling the skin there, I move awkwardly with him at my back. Jiggling each door handle as we move farther down the hall, each one not budging an inch. About three doors from the end of the hallway, one finally gives way, and we stumble into a small full bathroom.

  The sink and toilet are practically on top of each other, and I don’t even want to open the shower curtain to reveal the disgusting boy filth inside. But at this point, I couldn’t care less. My heart is pumping an overload of lust into my veins, and that thing that Lincoln is doing to my ear has white spots popping at the edges of my vision.

  Turning at the same time he pulls me flush up against him, I’m ready to explore all the dangerous that is Lincoln Kolb. The bastard is grinning right before his lips descend on mine, and in the split second before he kisses me, I put my brain in check.

  This is for Catherine. I will not develop feelings for this man. Sex and connection are separate entities, and Lincoln will never see the true nature of my emotions. In order to go through with this, I need to put ice around my heart. And freeze it I do in that moment.

  His lips take mine in a moment of domination and surrender, the dance of a woman and a man in full play. Lincoln’s hands reach down, slipping beneath my suit jacket and covering both ass cheeks. He kneads them, spreads them, as his tongue invades my mouth. I give over control, let him take me where he wants us to go, as I fist my hands in those beautiful locks.

  The kiss goes from a discovery, a searching exploration, to fucking with our mouths. It’s hot and heavy; the bathroom suddenly feels like a sauna, and sweat slicks my skin.

  Breaking off before this all moves too quickly, I slap a hand to the bare skin exposed by his undone buttons.

  “No sex.” I hold a finger up at him.

  I see it, that flicker of disappointment at not being able to put his cock inside me. I’m not saying I’m not disappointed, but this is both a measure to protect myself and to coax him into coming back. If you make something off-limits to a man, or a football jock with the mentality of a ten-year-old, he’ll crawl at your ankles until you give it to him.

  “But that doesn’t mean I can’t do this.”

  He turns me so that I face the mirror, those gorgeous features watching every muscle of my expression. Slowly, he brings his hand up, caressing my cheek and then skimming down my neck. His fingers brush over my collarbone, and I swallow, realizing I’m absolutely parched. But before I can catch my breath, or try to swim above the hazy fog of lust settling firmly over my senses, Lincoln strikes.

  That large, callused hand settles right over my heart, in between my breasts. He’s touching my bare skin, so close to the nipples that could cut steel at this moment, watching my face as he undoes me. I can barely breathe, every inch of my flesh buzzing with arousal. If he cups my breast right now, I know my panties will flood with desire.

  “You’re a fucking knockout.” He breathes in my ear, our eyes never breaking connection in the mirror.

  I lean back into him as he slides his hand in, rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Shuddering, the sensation only serves to create more friction between my legs as I grind against Lincoln’s tented pants. He’s so hard, I can feel the pulse of the head of his cock beneath the material.

  I want to unzip him, feel the hot weight of him in my hand. Because as much as I’m doing this to further my plan, to get revenge on Lincoln, I’m a woman. I have needs. I want to have fun and let loose in a bathroom at a party. These are supposed to be the wildest times of my life, and I’m ready for them.

  Before I know what’s happening, Lincoln’s hand is passing the elastic of my underwear, moving down until it finds the wet, swollen nub between my thighs.

  “Oh my God,” I moan as he circles his forefinger around it, rubbing in the spot that makes me see stars.

  “That’s right, watch what I do to you.” His deep vibrato echoes through my skin.

  Lincoln watches me as his fingers invade me, as he works me higher and higher, my knees shaking. His other arm holds me around the waist to keep me from falling. His lips work my neck, my arms reaching back to grip onto those sexy, lumberjack locks.

  I’m squirming, my climax building to a height it’s never reached before. The moment he pushes another finger inside me, I feel the wire snap, and with it, all of my control.

  “Come on my fingers, Henley. I want to taste them hours after we leave here.”

  His shameless dirty talk throws me over the edge of the cliff, a brick tied to my ankles.

  I come in puffs of breath, moaning into the air of the bathroom. Lincoln watches my face so intensely, it’s like he’s studying this portrait to paint it from memory. He doesn’t remove his fingers as my orgasm coats them, the pressure of those thick digits only prolonging the shudders that wrack my body.

  The high of my orgasm still sings through my muscles, but I know what I need to do. Not only do I want to feel him, to taste him on my tongue, but I need to leave Lincoln craving. A stellar blow job is just the way to keep him coming back for more.

  I turn quickly, dropping to my knees before him and working his belt. He doesn’t protest, doesn’t say that I don’t need to repay him. Yes, he’s a scumbag from the rumors I’ve heard, but he’s also a hot-blooded male who isn’t going to turn down a chance to be sucked off. He’s not the gentle, eager-to-please guy. He knows his power, his ego, and he brandishes them like a sword.

  In seconds, I have him in my hand, the full, throbbing heat of him enormous on my palm. With an anaconda like this in his pants, no wonder he walks around campus like the whole world can see his cock.

  “Fuckkk …” Lincoln breathes as I deep throat him in one swallow.

  Having no gag reflex really comes in handy when you’re trying to seduce a known player and ruin his life.

  I suck at him, pulling him into my mouth with just the right amount of suction. I let him grab my chin, tangle his fingers in my newly dyed hair, and curse obscenities above me every time I lick that certain spot just by his balls.

  In a matter of minutes, I can feel his knees begin to shake, and the curses come more frequently.

  “I’m going to come. Fuck, Henley, I’m going to …”

 
; Lincoln explodes down my throat; the salty taste not a welcome one, but I can bite back the initial disgust of it. No girl ever likes to swallow, and if they tell you otherwise, they’re lying.

  But I’m no coward, and when I set out to do a job, I finish it.

  Every drop he gives me, I swallow, relishing his husky growls and the way his wild eyes come undone as he looks down at me. As I stand, the alcohol wearing off, I’m aware that I need a stiff drink to recover from this encounter.

  Because Lincoln Kolb is as good as they say, and part of me wants to do this over and over again. Even in a dingy bathroom.

  I notice the way he doesn’t kiss me after I blow him, which is basically the equivalent of a fuckboy saying he doesn’t want feelings involved.

  Damn, that was fun. And as I grin at Lincoln in the mirror behind me, his thick fingers that smell of me running through those gorgeous brown locks, I take pride in the satisfied, exhausted smirk on his face.

  I, once again, have him right where I want him.

  9

  Lincoln

  I wipe the condensation from the mirror.

  Every single one of my muscles ache, from the cords in my neck to the flexors in my ankles. We had a gym session today that could have kicked JJ Watt’s ass, and I’m a guy who likes to pride himself on being in shape.

  I know I said it before, but college is a whole different ball game. Or playing field. Or whatever sports metaphor you want to use to describe it as really fucking hard compared to high school. The trainers here are at the top of their game; they know which muscle to work to get you throwing better, running better, winning fucking championships.

  But it doesn’t come without full-body paralysis after, thus the forty minute, scalding hot shower I just took. At least it’s the middle of the day, and everyone else is in classes. I’ve witnessed a few fights over the showers on my dorm floor, and I’m in no shape to kick someone’s ass for bitching at me about using all the hot water.

  As an athlete, my school schedule is a joke. I take the minimum amount of credits each semester so that it can look like I’m working toward graduating, even though I’m going to declare for the draft my junior year. My courses consist of education seminars that a monkey could pass, and I barely have to attend before the professor puts an A on my paper.

  I’m a decently smart guy, memorizing entire playbooks isn’t for dummies, and I could probably take on more challenging material. But I don’t want to. The only thing I’ve ever wanted to do is play football and sidetracking from my dream will only mean both areas of my focus would suffer. So, I don’t split them.

  It’s why I’m alone on the dorm floor while everyone is attending two p.m. classes. The football team is done with our second workout of the day, and I’m so fucking pumped for this weekend.

  Our first game. I haven’t been named the starter, but I’m hoping Coach Daniels will let me get a rep or two in. Over the past week and a half, I’ve been rotating in with the first team, and my numbers don’t lie. I’ve hit pass after pass, aced every drill they asked me to. During our scrimmage the other day, I beat Wayne Tivan’s passing yards by fifty, and that was with the B squad. Wayne is the junior starting quarterback who played for Warchester all season last year. He’s decent, but he’s not me.

  Soon enough, I’ll be leading the university’s team to victory. For now, I just have to focus and keep my head on straight.

  In the mirror, my scar gleams a bright, nasty red after being exposed to such hot water for such a long time. I run a finger down it, thanking God I haven’t had to explain it to anyone just yet.

  Especially Henley. That girl has no weakness, and the last thing I want is sympathy from the spitfire. I wouldn’t be able to bear seeing pity in her eyes when she finds out I was the kid in elementary school with cancer. The one who missed six months of school for chemo, the one they had fundraisers for, the little boy whose shaved head appeared in his second grade yearbook.

  She didn’t get a glimpse of it, seeing as the only thing I could manage to get off my body was my pants and boxers before succumbing to Henley and her scarlet-haired seduction. Fuck, who knew that even without those blond curls to grab onto, I’d be so fucking attracted to her that I’d have to actively stop myself from blowing my load too soon.

  Jesus Christ. Her mouth, those lips, the perfect suction she created. The way she almost growled my name as I added another finger inside her and made her come all over my hand. Just thinking about the way she tossed her head back, those light brown eyes rolling …

  It gets me hard as a steel pipe just thinking about it. I might need to get back in the shower to finish myself off, let the hot spray wash the come away.

  This is the type of girl who could get me in trouble. Because we hooked up, we got all of that sexual chemistry out of our system. Even if I didn’t lay her down and lay into her, I got my nut off and that was usually enough.

  I’m beginning to realize that one time will never be enough with Henley Rowan.

  We went at it in the bathroom at the CEOs and hoes party two days ago, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. I want to track her down, drag her back to my dorm, but I know how desperate that looks. She barely talked to me after we left that bathroom and had the nerve to sidle up to some other dude at the flip cup table. Henley stayed at the party with her roommate for probably an hour or two after our hookup and never spoke to me or looked my way once.

  Usually, I was the one to brush someone off after a hookup. I kind of felt used by her. And that feeling pissed me off, along with the fact that it gave her the upper hand again.

  It might make me look clingy, finding her after she clearly wanted a one and done, but I know I won’t be able to keep away from her.

  There are bigger fish to fry, though. After my post-shower routine, I head back to my room, deck out in Warchester football sweats, and plop down on my bed with a protein bar.

  Picking up my cell, I hit the speed dial for Mom’s number.

  “Honey! I miss you!” she screeches when she picks up the phone.

  My mom is one of the kindest, most affectionate people to ever walk the earth. She’s one of those moms who would have homemade snacks for us the minute we stepped off the school bus. My mom is the glue that holds our family together, both tough and also flowing; she can be the dictator when she wants, but gooey and lovey ninety percent of the time.

  She and my dad created the perfect childhood for Chase and me, and now they were trying to do the same for my cousins.

  “Hi, Ma, I miss you, too. You guys are coming to the game this weekend, right?”

  Even though there was a small chance I’d play, my parents had already promised to bring Tyla and Brant to see me in uniform at Warchester for the first time. My little cousins were so excited, and my parents only matched their enthusiasm. Chase would be here, too, but his wife was eight months pregnant, and getting a flight from Chicago this close to the baby just wasn’t possible.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, buddy. How you feeling?” There is a clatter in the background, and I just know she’s getting the snacks ready for my cousins to come from school to.

  I miss home in the way you miss an old movie you really love. The nostalgia of it, the familiarity and routine that never changes. I mostly miss walking in the door and having those rug rats tackle me. They’ve had a tough life in their short years, and all of us are only looking to make it better.

  “I’m fine, just ready to play. How are Tyla and Brant? How did the hearing go?” My voice is so anxious, I can’t even hide it.

  Mom takes a deep breath, because she knows how fired up I can get about all of this. “Lincoln, there really hasn’t been much progress since we called two weeks ago—”

  “Come on, Mom. Just tell me.” I try to reason with her.

  Before I left for school, Mom and Dad sat me down and told me that I didn’t have to be invested in every second of the custody battle. That they wanted me to focus on ha
ving fun at college, at playing as well as I could. That they could handle all the legal issues with my cousins.

  I know they can, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want updates by the second.

  She sighs again, but I know she’s going to tell me. “Aunt Cheryl was there this time. None of us expected her to show up, but apparently she could stay sober enough for a few hours to appear like a viable option for the children’s parental guardian. Seeing as she hasn’t shown up for months, and that Donny was in attendance, they didn’t grant her anything further than one supervised visit a month. But it’s going to be another two weeks until we can re-up our guardianship, so I am prepared for a fight.”

  Anger, so hot and blinding, hits me square in the chest. “They allowed her visitation with that fucking criminal sitting in the courtroom? They know his rap sheet!”

  “Lincoln, watch your mouth,” Mom warns, and then sighs. She does a lot of sighing these days. “And yes, they did. I have no idea why the legal system favors some of these parents, although it breaks my heart that Tyla and Brant can’t have the love of their mother. But considering who she is, I want them with me. I just … I never thought she’d turn out this way.”

  Cheryl is her baby sister, the youngest of four, and has always had issues. From what Mom has told me, her sister got involved with drugs at a young age and just never stopped. It’s been years of neglect, abuse at the hands of their mother and her boyfriends, and passing off to family members for Tyla and Brant. I wish Cheryl would just go away, just put the final nail in the coffin of her relationship with her kids. For their sake.

  Now, the court-appointed year of guardianship my parents won is almost up. They wanted to adopt my cousins legally, to finally get them out of my aunt’s care, but it’s at this very moment she has decided to fight for them. It’s all a farce, all for show or for manipulation, who really knows.