Lincoln is rough around the edges, moody and gruff and cynical. But he’s also incredibly sweet and genuine and honest to a fault. And he’s gorgeous, which really doesn’t hurt. Also, that damn chin dimple is winking at me, again.

So I nod and whisper, “I’m here for you, Lincoln, not because of a contract, but because I want to be.”

He exhales a long breath that sounds a lot like a groan. I settle my palm against the side of his neck, and Lincoln’s fingers drift along the length of my arm. I notice—stupidly—that his nails are jagged again, and I probably should’ve scheduled him a manicure.

The minor distraction doesn’t last long. I lean in closer, breathing in his cologne.

“Wren?” It’s a question and a plea, as his hot eyes roam my face and land on my mouth.

“You almost kissed me in your office.” I caress the edge of his jaw, seeking confirmation that I’m not misinterpreting signals.

“Almost,” he agrees.

“If we hadn’t been interrupted, I’d know what your mouth tastes like.” I run a finger along the contour of his bottom lip.

“Is that what you want?” His voice is low and rough like his stubbled cheek.

“Yes. What about you?”

“I’ve been thinking about your mouth obsessively since then, before then, even.”

I almost want to laugh because of course we can’t just kiss; we have to talk it through first. “Obsessively, huh?”

“Very obsessively.”

I brush my lips over his, a whisper of connection, and then wait, albeit impatiently, for him to continue.

“I kept second-guessing myself, wondering if I’d read the situation wrong.” He speaks against the corner of my mouth. “But here we are again.”

“Here we are.” I wet my bottom lip, the tip of my tongue touches the corner of his mouth, and I taste the bitter tang of aftershave. “No second-guessing this time.”

We turn into each other, and his fingers curve along my neck as he sucks my bottom lip aggressively, teeth skimming the sensitive skin. He releases it only to flick his tongue along the underside of my top lip before sucking that one too.

Well … this is a weird first kiss.

Before I can decide whether or not I like it, he pulls back, wearing an oddly smirky grin, which very quickly turns into a frown. “What the…” He doesn’t bother to finish. Instead, his expression shifts to determination, and he dives back in, this time stroking along the seam of my mouth.

I open, somewhat hesitantly, because I’m worried now that the idea of this kiss is going to be a lot different than the reality, and potentially a disappointment.

Thankfully, he doesn’t start tongue-thrusting into my mouth. Instead, he sweeps inside, slowly, softly, tongue sliding against mine. Okay, this is nice. I can get into this. Especially when Lincoln groans into my mouth, and his fingers slip into my hair and wrap around the strands, tightening just enough to send a shock of heat through my body.

Untwining our still clasped hands, Lincoln wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer, which isn’t easy since we’re sitting beside each other on the couch. I kick off my heels and pull my knees up under me so I don’t have to twist awkwardly to maintain the kiss, which goes from sweet exploration to a full-on mouth battle in the span of seconds.

I run my fingers through his hair, gripping the strands tightly as weeks of pent-up sexual tension unravel civility. Lincoln’s fingers tighten on my waist, and he lifts me so I’m straddling his thick, muscular thighs.

Any thoughts of why this might not be the best idea disappear as I yank his hair, tipping his head to the right while I angle my own in the opposite direction. I bite his tongue when it slides into my mouth, and his fingers dig into my ass.

We keep going after each other’s tongues, sucking, biting, stroking. It’s aggressive and fun and hot, and sweet Jesus, I bet this man’s tongue skills are beyond incredible in every capacity.

He uses my hair to pull me back—not in a forceful, potentially painful way, just firmly. His top lip is curled in the sexiest sneer for all of half a second before his brow pulls into his customary furrow, again. “What the—”

He’s still gripping my hair in his fist, so when he comes back in and sucks my bottom lip roughly between his, all I can do is yelp. He backs off again, still wearing that furrowed brow as he rubs over my lips with his thumb. It’s tender from all the kissing, so I whimper.

“How is that lipstick still on?” He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth and checks for marks. “It should be smeared all over your damn face.”

I bark out an incredulous laugh. “It’s a stain. It doesn’t come off.”

“What?”

“It’s a lip stain; it’s not supposed to come off. I can eat a burger, and it doesn’t go anywhere.”