Sara quietly knocked on the door. His truck was parked in the driveway so she knew Lincoln was home. She waited and when he didn’t answer, she let herself in. The scent of coffee lingered. It was silent in the house and no lights were on, casting grayness to everything in the house. Her stomach kept turning over. She didn’t know if Lincoln would be happy to see her or not; probably not, but it had been too long. Sara needed to see him.
The straggly Christmas tree caught her eye. There was a twinge in her chest at the sight of it with the ornaments and white lights she and Lincoln had put on it. She couldn’t believe Lincoln had left it up so long or that it was still alive. Her stride was awkward, hesitant, as she made her way up the stairs. To the right was Lincoln’s bedroom. The door was open. Her insides jumbled at the sight of him. Longing hit her and Sara briefly closed her eyes against it.
The room was medium-sized with wood floors and walls. A black comforter covered the bed and framed pictures of outdoor scenes covered the walls. There her painting was; above the bed like he’s said; a forest of trees in browns and greens. Her heart gave a twinge as she looked at it, wondering how often Lincoln looked at it; wondering if he looked at it to feel closer to her.
The room carried Lincoln’s scent and that of laundry detergent. She shivered though it was warm in the room. Sara stared at his broad back as he folded a shirt and put it in a dresser drawer, her stomach swirling as she waited for him to notice her. It didn’t take long. Sara had never realized before how Lincoln always seemed to know when she was near before anyone else did.
He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Why are you here?”
Those magnetic eyes locked on hers, causing her insides to quiver. They were dark with an unnamable emotion. Why was she there? Because she couldn’t stay away. Sara opened her mouth, only the sound of her hurried breath leaving her, faint and raspy. Words failed her.
“What is it, Sara? What do you want?”
“I…” she trailed off, not sure how to voice what it was she wanted.
“You told me to leave you alone. So I am. Why are you here?” he repeated, enunciating each word slowly, as though to make sure they registered in her head.
What did she say? Sara didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know why she was there; she only knew she couldn’t stay away any longer.
“I didn’t—I didn’t say that.”
“You did. You said it when you didn’t call me, when you didn’t come here, when you said nothing; when you left without even a goodbye. You told me to leave you alone without saying a single word. So…what do you want?”
Their eyes connected and Sara couldn’t breathe. Lincoln had made it easier for her to breathe since her world had fallen apart not once, but twice. This time, though, he made it impossible to. There was heat in his flint-colored eyes and in the tense set of his jaw. Sara pushed everything from her mind; all thoughts, anything that could remind her of the past, of what used to be, of all she’d lost and would never have again. Instead she thought of what she had now.
“Make it go away. I need you. Please. Make it all go away,” she whispered, her eyes pleading, but her head angled proudly.
Lincoln stared at her, a noticeable tick in his jaw. His shoulders were slightly hunched and his face went completely devoid of expression. Sara thought he was going to turn away, reject her. Her heart ached at the thought. She would die if he did. Sara wouldn’t recover from the rebuff, not at this moment, not when she needed someone the most. Him; Sara needed him. She told him with her eyes what she would never be able to say with her lips.
With a soft curse Lincoln reached for her, his muscled body slamming into hers, shooting sensations through her, forcing her body to life. His grip was tight, suffocating, and Sara wanted it to smother it all away; kill the remorse and pain, make it no longer exist. Maybe for this one moment it was possible. Lincoln needed her as much as Sara needed him. She knew by the way his heart pounded against her chest, she could tell by his grip that clung to her as much as it held her. Who was saving whom? Maybe they were saving each other.
She entwined her fingers in his silky hair and jerked his head toward hers, his chest heaving against hers as their lips ensnared one another’s. Sara’s legs went weak when he moaned low in his throat. His hands on her, rough and warm, up and down her back, squeezing her outer thighs, made her weak with longing. Lincoln spun them around and the back of her legs hit the bed. They fell onto it, their lips still locked. His mouth was gifted, tugging and sucking and loving hers. So long. It had been so long.
His weight was heavy and welcomed. Sara sighed against his lips at the feel of it. His hardness fit with all the soft parts of her and she let go; Sara left her reality to cherish this moment; to revel in all that was Lincoln. His unshaven jaw chafed her neck as he teased her sensitive skin with his lips and teeth.
There was no room for her husband here and that’s how it had to be. That’s how Sara wanted it to be. She’d hate herself later. There was no time for it now. It felt right with Lincoln. How could it feel so right?
Lincoln pulled back just far enough to question her with his eyes. If he asked her if she wanted him to stop, if he looked at her like that too long, she’d lose her courage. She’d leave. Sara would forsake this moment of reprieve to wither away in the suffering that followed her everywhere.
“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.