Each thrust shakes her down, faster and faster, hammering her into the mattress. It isn抰 long before she blows, going off in a flurry of gasping breaths, her nails digging into my back until it hurts.
Glorious.
Her pain, I love.
I don抰 care if she cuts me to the bone, just as long as I抦 buried inside Nevermore, pillaging her from the inside out with punishing thrusts. My pubic bone drags against her clit every time I press to the hilt, and soon, I抦 baring my teeth.
She looks up with a question flaring in her eyes, too lost for words, but I hear her loud and clear.
Will you? Will you come inside me?
Goddamn. Could I do anything else?
揌old on, sweetheart,?I growl, rearing back so I control my finish, so I can heave every last drop from my balls in her womb.
She makes me that insane.
She makes me so sure that if we抮e meant to have kids, I want to start early, even if a cooler head suggests something different.
Tonight, fuck cooler anything.
I抦 pure molten steel as I drive into her and her mouth falls open, her eyes roll back, and her pussy steals my soul.
My cock swells in her chaos, jerking, pulsing, spilling into her.
We come together in a ballad of flesh, pure white-hot delirium fit for two lost souls made whole.
Edgar Allan, eat your fucking heart out.
Or don抰。
Because I抦 making better poetry than any I ever imagined with Miss Poe, and it抯 all I need.
25
Fortunato and I （Dakota）
Months Later
Crisp wind nips at my fingers, but I won抰 give in just yet.
I抦 in my writing groove, brain vibing, heart in flames梐nd most importantly of all梬ords flowing.
I cross out a line and replace it. This journal has been a godsend, far more intimate than writing on a computer or hashing out words in my bargain notebook.
We found it at an estate sale in good condition.
Since it抯 come into my hands, the black leather is slightly battered, the pages softly tanning with light exposure and good use.
Lincoln planned this getaway, and it抯 brought my muse to life.
I don抰 know what it is about the coolness and majesty of Mt. Rainier or the vibrant autumn leaves spiraling in the wind, but the verses flow, streaming from my soul.
He slides open the deck door, wearing a tight burgundy button-down shirt, unclasped at the top with his throat exposed. The man doesn抰 even need to call 揅ome in, it抯 almost supper!?to get my attention.
揓ust give me a sec. I抦 wrapping up…？
揟hat means another hour in Nevermore time. Get your sweet ass in here before you freeze,?he growls.
I look up, gazing into his honey-brown eyes and smile.
Will the effect he has on me ever fade?
揑抦 blaming you. When you said I抎 get a lot of writing done here, I didn抰 know I抎 be glued to my pen and paper,?I tell him.
揑 was right. What else is new??He huffs out a rough breath. 揧ou came here to spend time with me, remember??
I wince. Even after all these months and so many changes, he抯 still got an elephant-sized ego.
揑 came to spend time with Fortunato.?
He rolls his eyes.
揚oe, you抮e a freak for naming that journal,?he says.
揂nd you burn for me, Burns. Even when I can抰 fathom why.?
揙h, no, sweetheart. You burn. If you抳e got another poem or two about falling into bed, I抣l remind you how easily I can turn you into ash.?
My face throbs with heat.
Big words from a really big lunk梐nd yet, they抮e horribly true.
揥ell, I do like being in bed with you,?I blurt out, quickly adding, 搕hat is, when you抮e not snoring like a hibernating bear.?
揟here抯 a cost to pleasure.?He grins, his eyes bursting with sweetness. 揊or the record, you抮e my favorite way to warm my bed, too. Now if you get inside sometime this century, we could enjoy it rather than talking.?
I hold up a hand. I need to finish these lines before I lose my mojo.
The bond.
The tether
Always together.
揊air warning,?he rumbles impatiently. 揑f you抮e cheating on me with Mr. Fortunato, I will push him through a shredder.?
I glare at him. 揇on抰 you dare, Lincoln Burns.?
揥oman, don抰 try me.?He steps off the deck, plodding down the short staircase and comes barreling at me.
I grab the journal, hop on top of the table I抦 sitting at, and plod down the bench on the other side, running as fast as I can.
Lincoln chases me.
I sprint away, surprised I can still run when I抦 doubled over laughing.
He抯 gaining on me fast.
Crap. Here comes the hill, covered in freshly fallen leaves and emerald greenery still peeking through. Only one escape梐nd it抯 also the best way to piss my man off.
I tuck Fortunato in my sweater, drop to the ground, and roll like I抦 all of twelve years old again.
揇akota!?he screams.
Before I can tumble three solid times, strong hands grab my sweater, tearing me back and blunting my momentum.
He scoops me up with ease, holding me like a naughty puppy.
揂re you crazy? Do you see how steep that drop is? You could抳e gotten hurt.?He jabs a finger down and梠ops, yeah. He抯 right.
It抯 steeper than it looked in the heat of the moment, especially with the leaves carpeting everything.
揃ut I wasn抰。？I smile at him slowly.
揙nly because I caught you in time,?he grumbles. 揇on抰 tell me I have to pull double duty as your boyfriend and your bodyguard? This is getting weird considering I抳e been your boss.?
揂s long as you抮e nice to Fortunato…we抣l see.?
He daggers me with a look so dirty it抯 hysterical.
I slide my hand under my sweater, expecting to pull out my journal, but?揙h, crap. It抯 gone! I must have dropped Fortunato when I rolled.?My heart climbs into my throat.
揋uess you deserve it then.?
揕incoln, this isn抰 funny. Put me down! I have to find my journal. I can抰 lose my work.?My throat goes tight, and a hundred ways the little booklet could wind up waterlogged or carried off by a mischievous fox spin through my mind.
揥ho抯 the workaholic now??He wraps his arms around me, holding me to his chest.
I lean up and kiss him before my panic resumes.
揇ude. As cute as that is, if I don抰 find my journal, I抣l never forgive you.?
He sets me down with a slight exasperated sound.
揌old on. I抣l go rescue him,?he promises.
揧ou will??
揕ike I抎 risk your wrath, Nevermore. There抯 a hell of a lot of places out here to hide my carcass, and I抦 sure you抎 find the worst,?he jokes.
揧ou抮e so dramatic.?I laugh at him anyway, marveling at how his dumb jokes can brighten up even scary times like this.
揂nd you抮e the one who named your damn journal.?
We walk together, staring at the ground, searching. Lincoln starts down the steeper incline, pulling his former Marine card and demanding I stay put.
Insanely annoying, but also sweet.
揑 think I see it!?he calls up from the bottom of the hill, kicking leaves aside. He bends down, grabs it, and starts back up.
Delicious relief floods my system, cool and peaceful. I almost don抰 notice the tiny flakes prickling my skin.
Just a handful at first, and then a proper dusting that swirls through the trees.
Weather gets intense at these elevations, and in late October, it isn抰 unheard of for the rains to turn to snow.
I pull the tops down over my fingerless gloves and stick my tongue out as Lincoln approaches. 揝ee what you did? I抦 blaming this weather on you, Captain.?
Beside me, he chuckles. The last couple months, I抳e taken to calling him that. But he抯 anything but a dipshit now.