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He turns serious when he sees me. “Hey.”
Sam looks from him to me and must assess that I’m angry even though I have no reason to be. “I’ll, uh…give you two a minute. I need to get out of these heels, anyway.” She scurries down the hall to her room.
“How’d it go?” I repeat.
“Fine. Everyone seemed to buy it. Are you okay?”
“I’m wondering why I thought it was a good idea,” I answer honestly.
“Wait a minute. Are you…jealous?” he asks, and his lips quirk up a little as he says the word.
“No. Of course not. Don’t be silly.”
He draws in a dramatic gasp. “You are!” he accuses.
I fold my arms over my chest and glare at him.
“Jolene. Come on. You have exactly zero reason to be jealous. We had fun, but Sam is nothing more than your friend. Okay?” He walks over and pulls me into his arms, but I don’t unfold my arms so it’s sort of just an awkward, one-sided hug. “I may be seen publicly with her, but I’m coming home to you.” He presses his lips to my forehead.
“Fine,” I mutter.
“I’ll cut it off with her right now if you think it’ll make you feel better,” he offers. “But you should know that Rivera was there, and he totally bought it.”
“He did?” I ask, and he’s piqued my interest.
He nods. “Everyone did, and not because we were putting on a show, but because you don’t take random women to afternoon product launches. It meant a lot to have her there—that it’s more serious than a flashy show at a charity ball. You know? It was the right time to debut this thing, and might I remind you of the reason we’re doing this?”
I finally unfold my arms and let them drop to my sides, and his arms tighten around me. I can’t resist. I wrap my arms around his waist, and it feels good here.
It feels right here.
“I know,” I say softly.
“Do you? Or do you need me to take you into your bedroom and remind you?”
“Can I say both?” I squeak, and he laughs.
But the laughter fades quickly as he sweeps me up into his arms. He carries me to the bedroom and he shuts and locks the door behind him.
“What time is your son getting back?” His voice is a demand, and it’s hot.
“Four-thirty.”
He glances at his watch. “Not nearly enough time for what I want to do with you, but it’ll have to do.”
And then he gets to work. He shoves my jeans down my legs, and I kick them the rest of the way off. He pulls his cock out and strokes it a few times. “Bend over the bed,” he commands, and I do as I’m told.
He slams into me from behind, and the feeling of ecstasy is nearly immediate.
He’s driving against the ache I’ve felt since the last time we did this—a full week ago after Sam signed the paperwork then left the two of us alone. We haven’t seen each other since. He’s been busy planning OTAs and I’ve been busy putting together stories and turning what I have into Marcus.
I’ve missed this, and it’s a type of relief I didn’t know I could feel.
And I already know why.
I’m addicted, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get enough of Lincoln Nash.
The second the thought hits my brain, he reaches down and brushes my clit.
