“Don’t do that,” she whispered, shaking her head.
Sara reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged. Lincoln let her, helping to get it over his head. He tossed it aside. His gaze never left hers and the intensity in it made her stomach swoop and her mouth go dry. Sara’s insides warmed and melted as she rubbed her palms down the front of his sculpted chest and defined abdomen, satisfaction and a sense of power surging through her when his skin pebbled and he sucked in a sharp breath. His body replaced the one committed to memory, his flint-colored eyes took over the blue, and Sara let it happen. She lost herself in him and found a piece of herself at the same time. It was only a tiny, small piece, but it was something she hadn’t been sure would ever return to her.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered roughly, caressing the side of her face. Sara turned her face to his palm and kissed it, surprising herself at the tenderness she felt for Lincoln. When had it happened?
“Love me, Lincoln,” she told him.
He gently pulled her top over her head and put his cheek to hers. “I already do.”
Not what I meant, she thought as her chest constricted, but Lincoln was already moving them up the bed, into the middle of it, and Sara let his declaration fade from her mind as sensations took over. His eyes were so dark with feeling they almost looked black. All thought left her at the force of his expression. It was strong enough to debilitate any she may have had.
His fingers trailed along her skin, his lips following after them. Shivers went over her, goose bumps rising on her flesh. Sara’s breaths turned fast, gasping, as he hurriedly removed the rest of her clothes, his actions jerky, frenzied. His next move was at complete odds with the previous. He went still, silent. Lincoln stared down at her, his eyes worshiping, his features tight with an emotion unnamable. It was hot, feral, and possessive. And something else.
Lincoln studied her body and face like he would die if he didn’t; like she was his air and he was fighting for her; or maybe like he knew he’d never see her again after today and he’d forget what she looked like over time so he had to memorize each part of her and keep it alive in his mind forever. That look ruined Sara, altered her, and changed everything she’d thought she’d known. She was reborn in Lincoln’s eyes, and if only for a short amount of time, at least it was hers to have.
He didn’t have to say anything. Sara was burned, singed, from the way he looked at her. Then he spoke. “I need you,” he panted, swallowing hard. She knew. Sara had seen it in his eyes. She needed him as well.
Her eyes must have said so. Lincoln groaned and gathered her against his chest. His heart thundered there, arousing her more. The feel of his skin on hers was euphoric. Sara was whole in his arms. Lincoln only released her to quickly shed his clothes, and when he knelt before her, proud and unapologetic, Sara was undone. She didn’t care if it was right or wrong; she only knew it was necessary. For her, for him, for their souls.
Their bodies were slick with sweat, hot. Sara’s heart pounded and she simultaneously felt weak and strong. Sara’s and Lincoln’s bodies met and connected in a way Sara had only experienced once before. Don’t think about it, she told herself. Sara focused on Lincoln instead; the way his breath hitched, the fire in his eyes, the feel of him inside her, how his body moved with hers, and that fleeting interval when they both were enraptured and as one.
That moment was perfection and Sara wanted it to never go away; that moment when their human bodies worked magic. That moment when Lincoln looked at her like she was everything. Too soon reality came back, crashing around her, turning something meant to be beautiful into something ugly. Shame, fierce and inescapable, burned through her cheeks.
When she tried to pull away, Lincoln’s arms stiffened around her. He turned them so his body covered hers, his arms bracing either side of her and raising himself up to be at eyelevel with her. His lips thinned when he took in her expression. “Don’t look like that.”
“Like what?” she whispered, turning hollow inside.
“Like that was a mistake,” he ground out, his jaw clenched.
The life that had flared up in Sara disintegrated, leaving her lost and weak and shattered again. She closed her eyes, trying to forget what she’d just done. It reared up, black and glaring with accusation. An instant of completeness for endless regret. Had it been worth it? She began to cry; silent streams of grief fell from her eyes. Lincoln moved so that he was on his back with one arm holding her against him. Sara wanted to let him hold her, she wanted to let him take it all away, and because of that, she had to go.
“Let me go, Lincoln,” she quietly told him, staring at the ceiling. Even as she told herself to pull away, Sara felt her fingers flex into his muscled side. It was an unconscious action, but not missed by her.