The Player's Club: Lincoln (14 page)

The stencil itself was huge, making Lincoln wonder how the kid had managed to pull it together in only two short weeks. He was starting to suspect Terrence had been working on this idea for some time—he’d never had the courage, or the cohorts, to pull the stunt off. And it was no little stunt, for sure.

Lincoln looked quickly for his number. It was painted on mesh, in glow-in-the-dark paint. Quickly and as neatly as he could, Lincoln filled in the area with his spray cans.

“Looking good, looking good,” Terrence’s voice came through his earpiece. “Juliana, how’re you doing?”

“Doing fine,” she answered. “Lincoln, how are you doing?”

“Just dandy,” he answered. He started to move lower, then frowned. “Except…now my rigging’s stuck. Damn it.”

“Not to alarm you guys,” Scott’s voice broke in, after they’d been at it about twenty minutes, “but somebody’s called the police.”

“Oh?” Lincoln still struggled with the pulley. Whose idea was it to use window-washer rigs? And where did they get these ancient ones?

“Yeah.” Even though Scott was trying to sound nonchalant, the tension in his voice was apparent. “If they’d just said you guys were a bunch of gang taggers, I don’t think it would be that bad. But apparently, somebody thinks there’s a terrorist invasion—a bunch of ski-masked guys coming down off rappelling lines seems to have been slightly too dramatic.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Terrence squeaked.

“All right, let’s keep our heads,” Finn said, calm as a Zen lake. “Anybody who’s done painting, get to the ground. The rigging’s bought—if we have to leave it behind, we can. Important part is splitting up. Ditch the ski masks, get to your cars, drive off slowly. You know the drill.”

They all started to descend like racing spiders. All except for Lincoln.

“Come on, damn it,” he muttered, struggling with the rigging.

“Linc, you okay?” Finn asked, finally showing some concern.

“Yeah.” He thought he heard sirens—a ways off, but still too close for comfort. Lincoln looked below. He was about three stories from the ground. Too far to fall, he calculated.

Everyone else was on the sidewalk, and disappearing fast. The rest of the crew on the roof were dropping lines over the side, until only Lincoln remained.

“Cops are going to be here,” Scott said, panicky. “Any second.”

“Everybody else get out,” Lincoln barked. Then he pulled out a thick knife from his pocket. Hanging on to the rope, he took a deep breath and cut through the harness. Within moments, he was freed…and hanging on to a rope with his full weight, swaying in the San Francisco wind.

“Lincoln!” Juliana yelped.

“I’m fine. Just go. Meet me at the car.”

With that, he attached a backup loop on the rope, and slid down, hitting the ground with a quick jolt to his feet. He disengaged himself, stripping off his mask and taking off his fleece. Sweat trickled down his back.

He hastily walked down the street, checking a few times as he went, until he got to his own car. Juliana was standing there, leaning against his Maybach sedan, pale as the moon.

“Lincoln,” she breathed, throwing herself into his arms.

Relief flooded through him like dopamine, and he crushed her to him, kissing her passionately. She clutched at him as if she never wanted to let him go.

The sound of sirens rushing by one street over quickly brought them to their senses. “Let’s go,” Lincoln said, and they shakily got into the car. He drove off sedately. More police cars sped past them, going in the opposition direction, and Lincoln gripped the steering wheel as relief and adrenaline flooded his system.

“I didn’t think about how big this would be,” she said, and her voice shook. “I didn’t think…the police. How mad are they going to be?”

Lincoln thought about the chief of police’s stance on the club. “Pretty mad. Especially when they do the math and figure out it was the players.”

“Should I even go home tonight?” she wondered, with an uneven laugh.

He started to reassure her—of course the police wouldn’t go to her condo. They didn’t even have any idea it was the players, or if they did, what any of their addresses were, especially not hers. But then something clicked.

“No, you probably shouldn’t,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even. “You probably shouldn’t even stay in the city.”

“What? Really?” Her gaze snapped to him, and her mouth fell open in shock. “Where am I supposed to go?”

“Maybe you should go down to South San Francisco,” he ventured. “I’ll bet they wouldn’t dream of looking there.”

He knew what he was asking her. So, he guessed by her slow smile, did she.

“Now, if only I had a place to stay,” she said, and he felt her hand press warm and steady on his thigh.

It was probably stupid. He didn’t really care.

“Oh, I think I’ve got just the place.”

EVEN WITH LINCOLN TRYING to drive “sedately” through San Francisco to avoid police attention, they still made record time down to South San Francisco, especially since there was really no traffic at three o’clock in the morning. Juliana didn’t notice any of her surroundings. She hadn’t had a single alcoholic thing to drink all day, yet her blood sang as though she’d downed a bottle of Moët Chandon.

God, how I want this man!
Her skin tingled as though she was being brushed by chinchilla…every nerve ending felt alive and was screaming for attention.

He screeched into his driveway, and she already had her seat belt off and was opening the door before the engine had turned off. They both sprinted to the doorway, and she laughed breathlessly when he struggled with the keys, dropping them clumsily in his haste.

“I’ve broken into a hundred houses, and I can’t manage my own damned keys,” he muttered, but she heard it clearly in the still morning air.

“Why did you break into houses?”

He glanced up, startled, as he put the key in. “What? Never mind,” he said, and reached for her as he got the door open. He tugged her across the threshold, his mouth finding hers in the darkness of his foyer. She kicked off her shoes as he shut the door, kissing him hard as he groped, reaching for the dead bolt of his door. For a second, they stood like that, like a quick-burning fire. She felt his palms cup her breasts, then streak down the planes of her stomach to grip her hips, his erection weighing heavy and solid against her stomach. She lightly bit his lower lip, sucking on it as she gripped his shoulders, then wove her fingers in his hair.

“I need you,” she breathed against his jaw, before nibbling his earlobe. “I have never wanted any man as badly as I want you right now.”

He groaned, then said something incomprehensible as he tugged off her fleece jacket and yanked her shirt over her head. She slid her hands under his shirt, and felt his smooth, muscle-ripped chest. When he tugged the hem up and stripped it off, her mouth absolutely watered.

Damn. How in the world had he been managing to hide that six-pack, those yoked shoulders, under those crisp business shirts? She pressed a few hot kisses against his chest, then nipped at him lightly. There was so much to take a bite out of, and suddenly, she was starving.

“Juliana,” he said, on a long exhale. “We ought to take it to the bedroom....”

“Heck with the bedroom,” she said, reaching for his fly, undoing the button and tugging the zipper open. She could feel the heat coming off his cock like a campfire, and she suddenly wanted to rub her fingers over the hard, long length of it. “I don’t think I could make it another step....”

She let out a quick, startled yelp when he grabbed her, tossing her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing. Then she laughed, a full, delighted sound, as he carted her up the curving wooden staircase.

“Trust me, my bed’s a hell of a lot more comfortable than the hardwood floor,” he said. How he managed not to kill them or trip in the dark suggested he was comfortable moving around without any lights, for which she was grateful. But she was even more grateful when he put her down on what felt like a cloud—a big, plush mattress in a room that was pitch-black.

She reached out blindly, unsure of where he was. Her eyes were having trouble adjusting. “Lincoln?”

He seemed to appear out of nowhere, his mouth on her throat, his tongue delving in the hollow of her collarbone. Then, as if by magic, her front clasp bra was undone. Her back arched as she felt the hot, moist heat of his mouth on her breast. He slipped the bra off her, then switched breasts, leaving her nipples tight and hard as diamonds.

“Lincoln…” she breathed. In the dark, his hair felt like cold silk under her fingertips, and his mouth like hot satin. She sank into the mattress, lifting her hips when he tugged off her pants, her panties and socks, leaving her completely naked.

He left her alone for a moment, and she couldn’t help it—she whimpered. She heard the tiny hissing sounds of clothing sliding off, and the thump as he obviously dumped his pants and whatnot on the floor. Then he was sliding against her, his skin just as hot as hers. His mouth found hers again, and she parted her lips, her tongue seeking and finding his as she crushed her breasts against his chest. Best of all, she could feel the hot thick length of him, poking against her, prodding blindly against her thighs. Angling slightly, she tried to ease him onto her, ease him into her so she could get that length just where she wanted it.

He surprised her again, pressing her back against the bed. “No, not yet.”

She whimpered again, a plea and a cry of frustration.

“I’ve waited too long to have you.” His voice was disembodied, full of amusement and still taut with passion. “I’m not going to cheat myself, or you. So you’ll just have to be patient, sweetheart.”

Now she growled. Funny, how intense passion completely robbed her of coherent speech.

He only laughed in response, then she felt him press hot, gliding kisses between her breasts, down her stomach. He tickled her belly button with his tongue, and she found herself giggling, the desperate pressure of desire easing down to an almost manageable level.

Then he moved lower than her navel, and she swore her eyes crossed.

She felt his hot breath first, then he parted her with his fingers. His tongue swirled just at the top of her pussy, and she gasped, her hips jerking involuntarily. He moved down more firmly, his tongue seeking out and finding the hard triangular bump that was growing harder and more pronounced with each damp, ticklish stroke.

Her breathing was coming in short, choppy gasps. She could sense, more than feel, his smile of delight as he gripped her hips, keeping her in place as he pressed more firmly and really started to work.

She went wet in a rush, her head rolling from side to side against the pillow-soft comforter. Her thighs tightened convulsively as his lips and tongue stroked her to delirium. When his teeth grazed her, she let out a mewling cry.

When he pressed inside her with one broad finger, she lost her mind. The orgasm overtook her, and she shivered as her whole body convulsed.

When she went still, she noticed he was shuddering a bit, as well. Then, he retreated slightly.

“That was great,” she said, sounding a bit dazed. Instead of simply plunging in and getting his, now that she’d gotten hers, as she’d expected, he kissed her thighs, nipping her, surprising her. His rough fingertips stroked at the back of her knees.

She wondered if he expected her to return the favor. Then smiled, as she realized that wasn’t a bad idea at all.

She tried pressing him back, and found him resisting. “I don’t think I’m done yet,” he breathed, nipping at her shoulder. He was a nibbler, and she discovered she found that delightful.

“Take a breather, then,” she said, and pushed him more insistently, until he was on his back. “I think I’m going to tag in for a second.”

She stroked her hands down his chest.... God, she’d love to see him, but realized that this near-blinding darkness had its own allure. Next time, she promised herself. Then she reached down until she felt the springy, curly hair covering his balls. His cock jutted up like a pole, hard as a bat, smooth and soft as cashmere. Experimentally, she stroked the rounded cap, and was rewarded by his tremor of pleasure, the feeling of wetness dotting the tip.

“Juliana, you don’t have to…” he said, then she heard him groan as she traced the edge of the cap with her tongue. She felt the vein pulsing thickly at the base. Then she took him in her mouth, as best she could. He was enormous.