Lex (Unconventional Hearts) (20 page)

“Lex.” Somebody nudges my arm. “Lex!”

“Uh?” I mumble, rolling onto my back and
stretching my arms above my head as I force my eyes that are matted
with sleep, to open.

“You had me worried. You weren’t answering my
calls.” Lincoln says, looming over me, next to the couch in his
uniform.

“I’m sorry.” I croak, running my tongue over
my teeth. My mouth feels nasty. I need to brush my teeth.

Lifting my legs, he slouches into the couch
and drapes my legs over his lap. His hands instantly attack my
feet, rubbing the arches with his thumb. I groan and smile at
him.

“You need a wife.” I tease, smirking.

“No… What I need is my girl to answer her
phone before I have a stroke.”

“Why am I your girl…? Dang Linc that feels
soooo good.” Moaning, I close my eyes, relishing in his amazing
foot massage. His fingers gently press each pad of my toes, sending
spikes of relaxing pleasure to rack my entire body.

“Because…you just are.” He shrugs, his eyes
focusing on my feet. Not my face.

“You don’t like me
that
way do you?” I
guess I’ve never thought to ask this before. I assumed it was no.
But he’s always been there for me and we’ve been friends for
years.

“Yes. I do. Even though I shouldn’t and
can’t. My lifestyle does not go with what you need. You could never
be a Submissive, Lex. And I don’t even want you to be. That’s why
I’ve never pushed anything. I love you a lot. More than a friend
kind of love, but, like I said, it’s never going to be more.”

My heart climbs up and fills my throat. He’s
right; I could never live like that. And I can’t believe he
actually feels something for me. This is news.

“What about my
lady
?”

“What about it? You think that’d deter any
man from wanting you? You’re prettier and sweeter than most women.
Who cares about that? I surely don’t. Any man worth your love
wouldn’t either. If I didn’t get my kicks the way I do. I’d make
you mine. But I’m a Dom down to the bone, have been for half my
life.” His voice is low, and sexy. It’s always sexy but right now,
it’s even more so.

“Do you have a Sub?” I inquire, treading
lightly. I don’t want to push for more information. I guess this is
a night of question and answers. I’ve never asked him about his
lifestyle before.

“I have three.”

“Three?” I choke on my words and cough,
pounding on my chest with my fist to clear my windpipe.

Chuckling, he sweetly pats my calf. “Yes,
three.”

“Do you beat them all?”

Shaking his head, now laughing, he looks at
me with a giant smile. “Lex, I don’t beat anybody. Well, perp’s I
do. Not the women I take as Sub’s. It’s not like it was with you
and Brian. I don’t hurt them. I pleasure them. There’s a huge
difference. Did you ever get pleasure from the things he did?”

Cringing, I shake my head. I never liked a
damn thing Brian did to me. None of it was pleasurable. It hurt.
Bad.

“See, that’s what I thought. I’ve been with
two of my Sub’s for almost ten years. My newest, I met through one
of them and I like her too.”

“Do you sleep with them all?”

“Yes. But it’s not about me. It’s about
them.”

“How’s that possible? A Dom gets pleasure
from a Sub.”

Shaking his head, he pats my calf again and
returns to rubbing the soles of my feet. “It’s not like that with
real Dom’s, Lex. We don’t force Sub’s to pleasure us. They do it so
we will service them the way they need to be. Some like it rougher
than others, and I’ve always been careful not to push the limits
too far with my Sub’s.”

“If you don’t push limits then why am I not a
contender?”

Did I really just ask him that? Do I want
Lincoln to take me to bed? No! I don’t want anybody to take me to
bed. I can’t believe I asked that. I’m an idiot.

“There is pain involved. You deserve a man
who doesn’t want to put you through any pain. You’ve had enough of
that. I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you. I’m glad Gage got to
Corey last night before I did. If he hadn’t, Corey would be lucky
all he ended up with was a few fractured cheekbones, bruised ribs,
and a broken nose. I wouldn’t have been as nice.” Lincoln’s facial
expression has switched from normal and handsome to menacing. His
voice, dripping with malice.

Sitting up on the couch, I wrap my
robe-covered arms around his neck and pull him into a side hug.
Kissing his cheek I whisper, “I love you, Linc. When do you have to
go?”

“I love you more. I’ve got to get going now.
I just came to check up on you. Sorry about the conversation.”
Moving my legs to the side he gets up from the couch, kisses my
forehead, and leaves.

Chapter Thirteen

Sunday

The Suit Master

“Can I help?” I ask, peering over my sister’s
shoulder, into the salad bowl on my father’s countertop.

“You can’t cook.” Tasha teases, bumping me
with her hip.

“It’s not cooking. It’s tossing a salad.” I
remind her, tickling her sides and making her squeal.

“Stop it!” she scolds, then whines, “Dad,
he’s doing it again!” Flashing me a naughty grin, knowing she’s
won. I wonder how her husband Brock handles her, and these weekend
family lunches. Every Sunday we meet at my dad’s in Lords to
congregate. His new wife Chelsea, who’s younger than I am, always
helps my sister prepare the meal. While my brother Max corrals the
kiddos in the family room, and my Dad watches sports on TV from his
recliner in the living room.

“Is the lawyer tormenting you again?” Chelsea
chortles, carrying an oversized watermelon in from the back
porch.

“Here, let me help.” I retrieve the
watermelon from her struggling arms and set it on the counter, with
a loud bang.

“Such a man.” She winks at me and my stomach
churns with distaste.

My dad and Chelsea are newly married. Dated
three months and married for another seven. I’ve had a longer
relationship with my running shoes than the ten months they’ve had
together. She’s a sweet gal, short pixie blonde hair, nice rack,
petite. Still…has nothing on my Lex.

Suddenly claustrophobic in my dad’s small
kitchen with the two women. I disembark and head into the family
room with Max, my brother, and Tasha’s two rug rats.

Dropping my street clothed self on the brown
leather sofa, I lean back and watch as Max plays Harley and Stephen
on the Xbox.

“Die! Die, Uncle Max.” Twelve-year-old Harley
yells at the screen, playing some sort of first person shooter
game. My brother is a video game nerd and my sister’s kids are both
nearing their teen years. They seem to have the same brain
capacity. My brother isn’t the brightest. He’s not an idiot either,
but I can’t imagine he needs to use that much intelligence to be a
gas station attendant.

Oh…the joys of spending quality time with my
family. When I was married to Melissa, she hated to come here. My
sister Tasha hates her and my father hates her even more. He’s not
a pleasant man and doesn’t take kindly to many people in his old
age.

I wonder what Lex is up to? Maybe I should
text her to see. That’ll keep her on her toes. This game I’m
playing with her has started to wear heavily on me. I wish I could
just come out of hiding now and reveal myself, but I know she
wouldn’t accept me. Not yet. That’s why I’ve got a weeks’ worth of
tricks up my sleeve. Hope she enjoys the surprises that await
her.

Lex

“What do you mean you want me to go on a date
with Maxwell?” I snap, pacing the front of my mom’s florist shop.
My brown kitten heeled sandals clicking loudly on her wooden
floors.

“Oh…come on, Lex, you need to go on a date.
Maxwell always looks so lonely when I stop to get gas or coffee.
It’ll be good practice. He’s a good looking fella.”

Is my mother insane? Maxwell, the gas
attendant? Seriously? He is an attractive man. He’s also a poor
dresser and he’s shy. I can’t believe she’d even consider this. One
second she’s spouting about not dating and now she’s playing
matchmaker. I wish she’d make up her freakin’ mind.

“Mom, no.” I hold my stance, placing my hand
on my hip and staring her down. She’s behind her floral station
tucking flowers into a sweetheart bouquet order that was just
placed. Her hair is atop her head in a firm bun, her pants are
jeans and her shirt is a white V-neck tee. My mother is not a
fashion conscious woman. Her and Roni, both agree about that. I, on
the other hand, have on a yellow knee length flowing dress, with a
chocolate thin braided belt and a simple silver heart necklace with
dangle earrings. My hair’s tied back in a ponytail.

“Please…” My mom begs, looking up from her
station with sappy eyes. I hate when she uses those against me.

My phone beeps in my purse.

Saved by the phone!

Holding up my finger for her to wait a
moment, I fish it out of my bag and slide on the screen.

Suit Master:
Faith consists in believing
when it is beyond the power of reason to believe.

What the…? Ya gotta be kidding me…another
cryptic message that can be deciphered a hundred different
ways?

I’m not in the mood for this today. I turn my
phone off and tuck it back into my purse. Walking around the back
of my mom’s counter I drop my purse into the wicker basket where
she keeps hers and remove my heels, placing them alongside it.

“Put me to work.” I hip bump her and throw my
arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a side hug as she works
her floral magic on a daisy sweetheart arrangement. Cutting stems
in her steel sink filled with water and tucking the flowers into
the wetted floral foam that’s placed into the bottom of the antique
silver, elongated pedestal urn.

“Are you done talking about Max?” she
asks.

Rolling my eyes, I walk away from her, my
bare feet smacking the smooth hardwood floor of her pristine shop,
heading into the back to grab a water bottle. My mom’s store is
design perfection. It’s not like most floral shops where they’re
covered in flowers and cheap looking. Hers is refined. She has a
large, etched glass flower fridge that people can come in and
purchase premade arrangements out of. Then in the back, she has
another fridge where she stores all of her flowers. The walls
inside her shop are a deep indigo color and in the front, she has
an entire iron bench and two chairs seating area for guests and her
clients. To me it screams impeccable sophistication.

Returning to the font with two water bottles,
I open hers and set it on the workbench.

“No, Mom, Maxwell is not a man I can see
myself dating. I’m sorry, but thanks for trying.” I sweetly state
and kiss her cheek. Then I get to work standing next to her.
Stealing flowers from the black round container, trimming stems and
leaves in the sink with an extra pair of pink handled floral
shears, and tucking the flowers into the foam. I’ve done this
hundreds of thousands of times, and I might not be as good of a
floral artist as my mother might, but I’m no novice.

I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my
Sunday than working alongside my workaholic mother in a shop that
feels like home.

Gage

“Emma, do we really have to go see Mrs. Faith
today?” I ask my five year old who is bouncing excited in her car
seat, riding in the back of my fully loaded black Yukon Denali.

I pray she says no. I don’t have to grocery
shop today. I bought groceries yesterday and the only time we drop
by Faith’s is so Emma can help make a small arrangement while I
shop. It’s easier that way and Faith loves Emma. I wish Emma’s
mother loved her that much. This was Emma’s mother’s weekend. She
gets her twice a month for a total of four days. I can’t stand the
bitch. She’s a terrible mom and my daughter doesn’t even like her.
Which is saying something because Emma is the friendliest and
sweetest five year old I’ve ever met. Well that’s not saying much,
I’ve not spent a lot of time around other five year olds. Just
mine.