The Wrong Picking Number

CHAPTER 18

LINCOLN

Iwatched in a stupor for a moment as Monroe walked away. Again. I only had so much patience, and there would come a time—very soon—when I'd make sure she never tried to leave again. When she wouldn't even think about doing it.

Carolyn reached out her hand to touch me, but I jerked away and stalked Monroe, who was pushing through the crowd like her life depended on it.

"Lincoln," Carolyn breathed desperately behind me. Whoever invited that bitch to this party was going to be blacklisted. I'd hooked up with her a few times over the years, until I learned how sharp her claws were when I overheard her destroying a young fan about her weight who'd been waiting to meet me outside the locker room—all because it was interfering with me taking Carolyn to dinner.

I forgot all about Carolyn when I saw someone spill their beer all over Monroe as she passed by. She stumbled, clearly frustrated and on the verge of tears. The crowd was thick and slow-moving, but I bulldozed my way through it, fueled by the need to reach her. They parted much easier for me than they did for her, and in just a few seconds, she was within reach. I grabbed her hand, pulling her close to me. She froze in my grip, her body tensing as I pulled her closer. Relief rushed through me when she didn't try to move away, at least not until we were in the elevator, and the doors hid the sight of the party raging out of control.

The second we were alone, she recoiled from me, retreating to the far corner. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, and she was trembling. I hit the emergency button to stop the elevator and closed the distance between us, pressing her against the wall. She struggled against my hold, but I pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, the other one coming to rest lightly around her throat, my thumb tracing the rhythm of her fluttering pulse, the beat of it somehow soothing to me.

"What's wrong, dream girl?" I murmured as she glared at me with red-rimmed eyes that I wanted to drown in.

"What's wrong, Lincoln? Are you serious?" she spat, her voice thick with sarcasm...and a hint of despair. "I don't even know what we're doing right now. Why am I with you? Why did you bring me to this party? A room full of women desperate to have you, and you let them touch you. You let them have pieces of you, all while my cum was dried all over your face!"

A sob escaped her, and a sense of satisfaction washed over me. A small smirk pulled at my lips as she struggled against my grasp, but I couldn't help it. Her jealousy eased something inside me, a glimmer of hope that this consuming, relentless hunger I felt was reciprocated. It was a monster that had grown stronger with every passing moment, but maybe, just maybe, she could feel its claws digging into her skin as well.

I felt her stop struggling, and a tear trailed down her face. "I just met you and I already feel like I'm losing my mind," she whispered.

I tilted my head, studying her intently. "Well, at least I'm not alone then," I responded, before sliding my tongue up her cheek, capturing the salty droplet. I ached to claim every part of her, to make her mine in every way possible.