Swing (Landry Family 2)

I don’t know this girl at all, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what’s going on. She’s nervous, careful, and obviously in love. I grin at her, despite my state of undress. Her eyes register my expression and her return smile, while cautious, is warm.

“I apologize,” she says to me. “I’m Camilla. And you are?”

“Swink, this is Danielle,” Lincoln says, “Dani, this is Camilla.”

We exchange greetings and she appears a little relieved that Lincoln forgot his line of questioning. When his mouth opens and I see that tug between his eyes, I talk first.

“Is your mom baking already?” I ask.

Camilla’s shoulders slump in relief. “Yes, she is,” she says hurriedly. “Sienna and Ford are helping her. I think she put a butterscotch pie and a pumpkin pie in the oven and a coffee cake for breakfast.”

“Wow. I love coffee cake,” I say.

Catching on to what I’m doing, Camilla giggles. “Me too. I’m going to grab a shower and get some sleep. I’ll talk to you guys in the morning.”

The door closes before we can say much more.

“She seems nice,” I say, yawning.

“She needs to work on her game.”

“What?” I laugh.

“She’s a terrible liar. I have no idea how my family is so confused as to what’s going on with her.”

“What’s your guess?”

“Swink has a boyfriend Daddy won’t approve of.”

“You think?” Of course, he’s right. That’s exactly what’s going on. I’m sure of it. But how does Lincoln know this?

Lincoln laughs, maneuvering himself in one swift move so that I’m straddling him. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Yeah,” I giggle. “I think so.”

“Graham is getting to the bottom of it. Of course, she can do whatever she wants . . . as long as it’s safe.”

“Such a big brother thing to say,” I laugh.

He just shrugs. “You know what else is obvious?”

“What’s that?” I say, feeling him harden beneath me. Bunching up my shirt, I move so that my opening sits against his shaft.

His pupils dilate as he holds my breasts again. “I don’t remember.”

“Ah, come on, Landry. Focus,” I joke.

“Oh, I’m focused all right.”

Swiveling my hips in a circular motion, I let him feel just how wet he’s made me. “You haven’t even touched me yet, but do you feel that?” I ask, a little moan escaping my lips as the velvety length slips across my clit.

He pushes against my belly, rocking me back. His fingers slide against my flesh. The pressure is just enough to elicit a want, no, a need, for more. Rocking my hips against his hand, angling for some relief from the intensity pulsing through my body, he denies me. I begin to object, to outright beg, when his stare takes my breath away.

“I’m going to stretch your pussy wide open and watch you try not to scream my name,” he says, a hint of a smile on my lips. “How does that sound?”

“Please.” Every ounce of desire I feel is tinted in the word. The hunger in his gaze intensifies. Like gasoline on an already-blazing inferno, the look he gives me nearly sends me over the edge.

Lincoln reaches for the glass he carried in here and reaches his long, able fingers inside. A piece of ice glistens between his thumb and forefinger.