Guilty As Sin (Sin Trilogy#2)

Unfortunately, the fact that I want it to open doesn’t magically make it so. I drop my hand, and my first instinct is to close the door as I back away, but I don’t. Instead, I leave it open as I walk to the bar cart and finish pouring my drink.

After the day I’ve had, there may not be enough Scotch in this hotel to stop my brain from working, but I can try.

A shot of Whitney would do a hell of a lot better.

I take the glass back to the sofa and sit, but my attention stays on the door.

Is she on the other side? Does she know that it took everything I had to stop myself from knocking?

A minute later, I hear another noise. I bolt off the sofa and step closer.

At first, it sounds like a muffled voice. After a few seconds, I realize it’s a moan.

“Whitney?” I say her name quietly, my mouth only inches away from the wood that separates us.

“I’m so close.” She whispers the words just loud enough for me to hear them. My dick jumps against the silk lining of my suit pants.

“Open the door, Blue.”

“That’s a bad idea.”

“I disagree. It’s a fucking great idea.”

She moans again, and all the blood in my head rushes south. I can picture her against the door, touching herself and writhing, and all I want is to see that firsthand.

“I just want to come . . . and then I’m going to bed.”

“Even better. Now open the door, and I’ll make that happen.”

“Still a bad idea. You won’t trust me in the morning.”

A stab of guilt catches me, and it’s one I deserve. “I promise that won’t happen again.”

Another groan filters through the door before I hear a thump.

“I want you. I do. I can’t help it. But it never ends well.”

I press my palm to the door. “Give me one more chance, and I’ll prove to you that it never has to end at all.”





31





WHITNEY





LINCOLN’S VOICE, even through the wood, is way too dangerous to my composure. It’s crumbling as we speak.

Everything I want tonight is on the other side of that door. It reminds me of that saying—everything you want is on the other side of fear. I think I actually have it printed on a T-shirt.

I fear what Lincoln makes me feel. I fear how things will undoubtedly fall apart. But even more, I fear never touching him again.

“I’ll prove to you that it never has to end at all.”

I’ve always said girls like me don’t get happily-ever-afters, but my newfound positive streak shuts down the thought before it can populate in my brain. I kissed Lincoln today, and that didn’t end in disaster. I laid down my stipulations, and he respected them. I even went up against that awful bitch Maren and came out the other side with a new Riscoff ally in McKinley.

Good things are happening.

Whether it’s my outlook shifting or life finally going my way, everything seems to point in the direction of me flipping the lock, stepping beyond my fear, and taking what I want.

“Please open the door. You can slam it in my face again if you want in five minutes.” He’s not exactly begging, but I can hear the plea underlying his words.

He’s right.

I can be the one to end it whenever I want.

Something about that realization sends a wave of power through me, and I unlock the door. I step aside as it swings open, and Lincoln stands there, suit jacket missing, tie loose, and his chest rising and falling like he just climbed twenty flights of stairs.

His gaze drops to where my fingertips are still caught in the waistband of my shorts.

“Fuck. Me. You were getting yourself off.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Oh my God. “Were you picturing me . . .”

Lincoln nods slowly, and I attempt a covert glance at his crotch.

The bulge is massive.

That wave of power whooshes through me again. “Were you going to . . .” My gaze dips to the bulge as I take a step forward. “Get yourself off thinking about me?”

“Damn right.”

I take another step forward. “I want to watch you.”

He reaches out to catch the loop on my shorts. With a gentle tug, he pulls me closer to him. “Is that right?”

“I was picturing you in my head. I’d rather see it for real.”

He reaches for my hand, the one I still haven’t bothered to pull out of my shorts, and guides my fingers toward his mouth. “You were touching your sweet little pussy while you thought about me jacking off.”

Shivers ripple over my skin, and my nipples tighten into even harder buds as he sucks each digit into his mouth.

“What if I want to taste you instead?” He scrapes his teeth along the pad of my finger, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to agree to whatever he wants, but I find the strength to shake my head.

“I want to watch you first.”

His hazel gaze heats. “Then that’s what you’re going to get.”

With my hand tucked into his, he leads me toward the bedroom in a suite that’s even larger than my own. I should probably ask why he’s here, but I don’t care enough to waste the time.

“Where do you want me, Blue?”

I don’t hesitate to nod at the chaise in the bedroom. “Right there.”

My breathing picks up as his lips curve, and he backs up until he’s a foot away.

“Any other requests?”

I bite down on my lip, wondering if I really dare ask for everything I imagined in my fantasy. “Shirt and tie off. Don’t sit yet.”

My orders sound confident . . . because I feel it. Lincoln’s following my commands. I’m in control. It’s a heady feeling.

He pulls the tail of his tie free of the knot and holds it out like he’s going to drop it on the floor.

“Throw it to me.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Whatever I want.”

His gaze heats further as he tosses it toward me.

I snag the tie out of the air and wrap it around my fist. “Now, strip.”

Nostrils flaring, Lincoln undoes one button at a time, and I reach for the snap on my shorts. As he drops his shirt on the floor, I shove my shorts down my legs and kick them aside. Lincoln’s teeth graze his lower lip as he reaches for his belt.

I settle on the bed, the tie slipping from my fingers as I get comfortable.

“If you touch yourself, I’m not gonna last long.”

“You mean if I do this?” I slide my fingers into the waistband of my panties and let out a little gasp as they skim over my slickness.

“Fuck me,” he says on a groan.



I shake my head. “Not right now. I’m busy.”

Part of me can’t believe the words that are coming out of my mouth, but I feel no shame. No embarrassment. Actually, the more his control shreds, the more powerful I feel. I’m calling the shots here.

Lincoln shoves down his zipper, and his cock bobs free of his pants.

My fantasy was wrong. There are no boxer briefs.

I drag my index finger over my clit, and my hips jerk at the spike of pleasure.

“Jesus, fuck. You’re so goddamn sexy.” Lincoln fists his cock and gives it a rough tug.

I put more pressure on my clit and demand, “Do that again.”

Lincoln slowly jerks his shaft, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I push two fingers inside myself and buck against my hand. His chest rises and falls as he watches me, lust practically rolling off him in waves.

“You look like you want to see more.”

“Fuck, Blue. I want to see it all. Want to feel you. Touch you. Fill you up until you don’t remember what it’s like not to be full of my cock.”

His dirty words unleash another rush of moisture between my legs.

“I’m so wet.”

He squeezes his eyes shut as he gives himself another tug. A bead of pre-cum rolls off the head of his cock, and my tongue swipes along my lips.

I want to taste.

Lincoln’s eyes snap open when I realize I said the words out loud instead of in my head.

“I want to give you everything you want, Blue. Just say the word.”

I push another finger inside myself, but even that’s not enough to fill me the way he will. I strum my clit harder and faster, and my orgasm builds.

“I want you to watch me make myself come while you stroke yourself.”

His rough breathing is the only response he gives other than a nod.

I focus on his hand and the flex of his muscles as he works his cock, and I strum my clit. “I’m close. So close.”