Independently Vulgar

Independently Vulgar
GINGER

The heat of Lincoln’s gaze burned the side of my face as I worked to control my emotions and relax against the plush velvet of the dining room chair.

That outburst had cost me too much. Revealed too much. And I was struggling with the very real fear of having satisfied Zelda’s demons with my inner turmoil. Something I have succeeded in keeping to myself for three long years. But feeling Lincoln’s stare dance upon my skin, I lifted my chin and cast my eyes in his direction.

Lincoln’s moss green gaze was bright with concern, just as I suspected, and the tendons of his neck flexed tight with what appeared to be latent anger for everything he'd just heard me say. He held a fork in one hand, spinning it between his fingers as he stared back at me and commanded, “It’s time for everyone to eat, the food is getting cold.” Lincoln shifted his gaze to Zelda’s. “Go on, mother,” Lincoln cooed, picking up her hand and wrapping her fingers around the stem of the cutlery. “You may begin.”

“I will not!” Zelda snarled. “Do not be ridiculous! This plate is disgusting!”

Lincoln sighed, apparently bored. “What exactly does that have to do with you eating your dinner?”

Zelda gasped and I suppressed a smile, my entire body heating at the sight of Lincoln’s bare forearms and the way they bulged and flexed with every slight flick of his wrist.

“Lincoln!” Zelda whined. “Enough! You’ve made your point.”

Lincoln smiled, his dimples winking devilishly in the light. “Obviously not if you still are not eating.”

“I won’t eat this!” Zelda scoffed. “I already told you. I refuse.”

Lincoln’s face dipped close to Zelda’s and he whispered loudly, “You will or else I will hand feed you myself.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Zelda challenged, her eye twitching as she gazed up at her firstborn.

“Oh come now Alpha Lincoln,” Goldi Locks cooed and I found myself biting down on my bottom lip to keep from snarling at her. “You can’t be serious. She’s your mother. Be reasonable.” Smiling, Goldi reached over with her left hand and stroked Lincoln’s deliciously sculpted forearm, saying, “I’m sure whatever she’s done, it doesn’t erase years of maternal devotion.”

That quickly I found my hand gripped around my steak knife, ready to cut the bitch’s digits one by one, but before I could so much and turn TO threaten her, Lincoln fixed her with a cold stare and said benignly, “Stop touching me, bitch, Unless you want to lose your hand. Let that be your final warning.”

“Oh!” Goldi gushed, startled. “Well…I-I…what kind of betrothal dinner is this?”

“Not yours, apparently,” I heard Rafael’s Beta whisper behind a laugh.

My cheeks positively burned to smile, but by the grace of the Goddess I was able to keep my face blank, crossing my legs as I regarded her with the knife still in my hand.

“Strawberry,” came Lincoln’s deep, husky voice and I felt the touch of his attention on the bare length of my thighs now exposed by my new position. “Where should she start? The crispy black tongue? The charred bit of cheek? You decide.”

For a moment, we locked eyes, and I could only hope that the hunger I found so easy to read in his gaze was mirrored in mine, because everything he’s done for me this evening has been pulsing in my clit and I need him to know how much I want to reward him for it.

Lincoln’s gaze flashed with yellow fire and he tasted his bottom lip, arching an eyebrow toward the ceiling before tracing my silhouette in a slow perusal. 

Feeling the fire of a blush erupt along my skin along with the speculative glare of one Timberwolf female, I lowered my eyes and smiled, glancing back down at my plate.

”Strawberry?” Zelda mocked, her lips twisting into a sneer. “Isn’t that what you used to call her when she was little? She isn’t a toddler anymore, Lincoln. She’s a full grown, independently vulgar sl-mmmph!!!”

Overdue anger coupled with the sound of dishes clattering and Zelda sputtering had my head whipping in her direction and my mouth dropping open to spew venom, but…

Lincoln stood there with one hand covering his mother’s mouth and the other holding her nose closed causing a temporary malfunction in my brain and rendering me speechless. My eyes fell toward the discarded fork on the table…the one nearest to Zelda’s right hand…the one…which still carried a good sized chunk of lamb cheek upon the tines. It was also stained with an equally damning amount of the desperate red lip stick that Zelda liked to wear.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my eyes suddenly hazy and starved for all things Lincoln as I realized what must have just happened.

Holy shit. He fed her. Just as he said he would.

My gaze locked on the relentless grip Lincoln had on his mother’s head and the way his fingers locked over her mouth, causing the inked letters that they bore to brighten over the whites of his knuckles. Finally, I could make out the letters.

F-E-R-U-S.

Ferus? What the devil?

Is that Latin?

“Oh my Goddess! Let her go! Let her go!” Goldi was screaming.

“Shut the fuck up, Marci.”

Goldi leapt to her feet, throwing her napkin on the table. “My name is Marsha and I’m going to have to insist that you let your mother go! Just release her and we can leave. I think you both probably just need some space from one another, ya know? A little break from each other. I think that if you…and me…get out of here, the rest of them can probably-”

“Either shut the fuck up, get the fuck out, or sit the fuck down, Marsha. I am not interested in hearing anything you think. Not now, not later. Be silent or bounce,” Lincoln interrupted her, his voice flat and his eyes never straying from his mother.

“Fine!” she whimpered, dropping back into her chair and crying out like a spoiled little fool.

She’s touched. She must be. Weak and clueless.

I dropped the knife. 

“Swallow your food,” Lincoln told his mother calmly, not even breaking a sweat as he held Zelda pinned to her seat. “Swallow…or choke…it’s entirely up to you.”

“Should we…” Rafael’s Beta said helplessly, casting a questioning look my way.

“No!” Giselle, Mario, and I replied at the same time, the three of us gazing on as if hypnotized.

The sound of an agonized gulp followed by a tortured inhale filled the room and I don’t think there was a soul at the table that wasn’t watching Zelda’s throat bob as Lincoln released her lips.

Rotten meat, even after being cooked, has an extremely distinct smell. An almost, pungent sweetness. A soured stench. An aroma that you can almost see wafting through the air in waves and Zelda just swallowed it.

Holy shit balls.