Intoxicating, page 15
“Who do you belong to?” he murmured against his ear.
“You, Daddy,” Wyatt sighed.
“That’s right. What do you want, sweet boy?”
“Just you, Daddy.”
“You’ve got me,” Linc vowed, meaning it more than he would ever admit.
Wyatt sucked in a breath but said nothing.
“You’re gorgeous like this,” Linc rumbled, tracing the shell of his ear with his tongue. “You were born for this, to be owned, possessed, marked…used.” As he spoke, he punctuated each word with a biting kiss along Wyatt’s neck, the knobs of his spine, his hip. Wyatt didn’t respond, just gripped his bindings, pulling ragged breaths into his lungs. Linc pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades and lowered his hips, rubbing his clothed cock against his ass. “See what you do to Daddy? See how hard you make me?”
“Daddy, please.”
Linc bit back a groan as he allowed himself a minute to grind his erection against the boy. “You want to be good for me, don’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Wyatt said through a sob.
Linc pressed a tender kiss against his temple. “Then relax for me, baby. I want to taste you.”
Wyatt seemed to melt, his hands loosening their death grip as Linc sat back on his feet, taking a moment to look at the picture Wyatt presented. He let his fingertips tease over Wyatt’s ankles, the backs of his knees, his inner thighs, before hauling Wyatt’s hips up, spreading him open. He leaned close, letting his breath fan across Wyatt’s tight little hole.
“Is this what you want? You want my mouth on you?”
Wyatt arched his back, pushing his ass higher like a cat in heat. “Please, Daddy.”
“Say it again,” Linc teased, leaning down to bite the globes of his ass.
“Please, Daddy. Please. You promised,” Wyatt moaned. “You promised,” he said again, almost like he didn’t know he was talking.
Linc had promised and Wyatt had done everything Linc had asked. He leaned forward, sweeping the flat of his tongue over Wyatt’s tight pucker. He keened, pushing himself back on Linc’s face. He held him in place, nibbling, licking, and sucking until Wyatt was a sobbing, shivering mess beneath him.
He reached between Wyatt’s legs, wrapping his fist around Wyatt’s neglected cock, working him slowly until the boy babbled. “I need more. I want more. Please. You said. You promised, Linc. Please.”
Linc’s imprisoned cock leaked at his name on Wyatt’s tongue. Wyatt had never uttered Linc’s name like that before, like a prayer, like he was the only person who could give Wyatt just what he needed. Linc growled, stabbing his tongue against Wyatt’s greedy hole, feeling it give just the slightest bit. He squeezed his own cock, trying to pull himself together enough to take care of his boy.
He snagged the lube from the side table. “Daddy’s gonna take care of you.” He coated his fingers, massaging Wyatt’s hole with his thumb, applying pressure but not enough to penetrate him. “Color?”
Wyatt’s response was one long, drawn out, “Green.”
Linc pressed his thumb past that first tight ring of muscle. Wyatt hissed, body tensing until Linc’s finger was in a vice grip. Jesus fuck. Linc rubbed circles on Wyatt’s hip until his body adjusted to the minor invasion. Once he relaxed, Linc pressed farther, all the while studying Wyatt for signs of distress, hyperaware of the boy’s ragged breathing and the light sheen of perspiration on his skin. Linc watched, transfixed, biting his tongue until he could taste blood. He could probably come just watching his finger disappearing in and out of Wyatt’s body. But it wasn’t about him, Linc reminded himself, taking Wyatt’s cock in hand once more, working his flagging erection back to hardness.
Wyatt fucked himself into Linc’s fist, and Linc allowed it. He pulled his thumb free and replaced it with his finger, probing deeper until he found Wyatt’s prostate, applying pressure to the spongy gland.
Words spilled from Wyatt’s lips without thought. “Fuck! Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. That’s… Oh, God. More. Don’t stop. Please…” He trailed off, his hips losing their rhythm as if he couldn’t decide whether to shove himself back on Linc’s finger or forward into his slick fist. When Linc pulled his finger free, he pressed two back inside.
Wyatt hissed in discomfort, but it didn’t stop his desperate rhythm as he chased his orgasm. Linc wanted to pull his fingers free and drive his cock into Wyatt’s tight channel until he spilled inside him, breeding him, marking him as his. But this was about rewarding Wyatt for his good behavior, for letting Linc in. “Come for Daddy, sweet boy.”
The noise Wyatt made was somewhere between a shout and a scream as his body shuddered and his cum spattered the comforter below. He collapsed on the bed, burying his face in the pillow, shoulders shaking as he cried. Linc lay on top of him, peppering kisses in his hair and along the side of his face. “You did so good, baby. So good. You were perfect.”
Linc reached between them and freed his own aching cock, content to just rub himself off on his boy. Wyatt had done well, but Linc didn’t want to push it. He shoved his pants and underwear out of the way before wrapping his arms around Wyatt and working his cock against him, eyes rolling at the friction. It wasn’t long before he came, spilling his seed onto Wyatt’s lower back once more.
By the time Linc recovered enough to release Wyatt’s hands, the boy was out cold, snoring softly beneath him. Linc massaged Wyatt’s wrists, making sure the blood had returned to his hands, before shifting to stand up. Wyatt reached out to snag Linc’s hand, pulling him back down and linking their fingers, nestling his face deeper into the pillows.
Linc sighed, kissing the boy’s sweaty shoulder and closing his eyes. His pants were still around his knees, his shirt twisted around him, cum drying on his skin and pubic hair, but he made no move to untangle himself. Getting changed could wait. Getting cleaned up could wait. For Wyatt, the entire world could wait, and Linc wasn’t sure what to do with that.
Wyatt didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he opened his eyes again, the room was dark, the moon outside a faint glow behind a sea of dark clouds. Linc spooned him, one arm under Wyatt’s pillow and the other wrapped around his waist, snoring softly against his neck. Warmth crawled along his body as he remembered what they’d done. What he’d let Linc do. It was a strange thing to be proud of, Wyatt knew, but he’d let Linc inside, had come so hard on Linc’s fingers. He could still feel him. It was a strange, almost pleasant ache, nothing like how he used to feel after…
He shook the thought away before it could take root. He wasn’t about to ruin this. He shifted his weight, grimacing as his bladder protested. He tried to slide from under Linc’s arm without disturbing him, but it tightened around him. “Where do you think you’re going?” Linc growled against his skin.
Wyatt laughed. “Bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
Linc released him, pinching his hip. “You’d better be.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “So bossy,” he quipped, a strange weightless feeling in his chest as he dropped a kiss on Linc’s stubbly chin and headed to the bathroom.
Once he’d relieved himself, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His hair stood on end, and faint shadows formed half-moons under his eyes. And then there were the bruises… If anybody saw him, he’d never be able to convince them he’d wanted this, but each mark sent a thrill through him, served as a reminder that he belonged to Linc…at least, for now.
He headed back into his bedroom where Linc lay just as he left him, on his side, eyes closed, full lips parted. Even in sleep, Linc looked intimidating, like some sleeping Roman god had wandered into Wyatt’s bed and fallen asleep. He crawled back into bed, worming his way under Linc’s heavy arm, facing him this time, fitting his head under Linc’s chin. Wyatt’s body fit perfectly. He pressed his nose to Linc’s throat. Why did he always smell so good? And why was he always so warm?
Wyatt’s hand smoothed over the muscles of Linc’s back, working his thigh between Linc’s knees. Linc’s arms crushed him closer, his hand smoothing over Wyatt’s ass. “Don’t start anything you aren’t willing to finish, kid,” he murmured in his ear.
Wyatt shivered, nipples stiffening at just the sound of Linc’s voice. “I’m not trying to start anything,” Wyatt claimed even as he rocked against him, rubbing his half-hard cock against the groove of Linc’s hip. “You just feel so good.”
Linc chuckled, making no attempt to stop Wyatt humping his leg. “Oh, yeah?”
Wyatt nodded beneath his chin, trailing his tongue along Linc’s collarbone, enjoying the tang of his skin. “Yeah. It’s kind of my new favorite thing.”
Linc leaned back, tipping Wyatt’s chin to kiss him, but there was no heat behind it. “Seriously. Are you okay after what happened earlier?”
Wyatt’s heart tripped behind his ribs, his hips going still. “Yeah, I’m fine. Really. Better than fine.”
Linc examined him like the truth of his words lay somewhere on his skin. Whatever he saw seemed to reassure him. He kissed his forehead before tucking Wyatt’s head back beneath his chin. They lay there in the quiet, Linc’s fingers tracing patterns along his back and Wyatt’s hand trailing fingers along Linc’s spine.
“Can I ask you a question?” Linc asked after a while.
Wyatt’s pulse sped up, but he gave a jerky nod. “I guess so.”
“What’s the deal with your grandmother?”
Wyatt couldn’t help the surprised laugh that burst from his lips. “I’m not sure I want to know how long you’ve been lying here thinking about my nana.”
Linc chuckled. “Not long enough to cause concern…at least, I don’t think. It just seems like you don’t know her well. How does that work?”
Wyatt sighed. “I guess because we don’t know each other. She and my mom don’t get along. I don’t know why, but if I had to guess I’d say it was my dad’s fault. We used to see her at fundraisers and charity balls. She’s a pretty powerful player in certain circles, or she was until they had her declared demented and were somehow granted power of attorney.”
Linc gave a disgusted grunt, which Wyatt found sounded similar to his not-listening grunt but nothing like his horny or hungry grunts. Wyatt didn’t blame Linc. His family was awful. “I guess I pictured you guys being the type to have awkward Sunday dinners in some grand mansion.”
Wyatt sighed. “I don’t know if you’d call Nana’s six-million-dollar condo a mansion, but it is right on the ocean. When I was little, we would go to dinners there, and my brother and I would run around on the beach while the adults did whatever they did inside. I don’t remember much about it, except, it usually ended up with my mother drunk and screaming and my father ranting in the car all the way home. After my brother died, we just stopped going.”
“She and Charlie seem close,” Linc observed.
Wyatt snorted, tucking his head against Linc’s chest. “Charlie has met her twice, including tonight. She just knows how much my parents hate her, and that makes her an ally in Charlie’s book. The enemy of my enemy and all that.”
Linc’s voice vibrated against his cheek. “Your grandmother seems fond of you, though.”
Wyatt pondered that. “Does she? I feel like she’s polite out of obligation. She doesn’t even know me.”
“She doesn’t seem like a woman who does anything out of obligation, and she seems to know enough.”
Wyatt supposed that was true, but he doubted any shred of affection—should it exist—would survive if she found out her only grandson was same-sex oriented. His mother had given birth to him and even she wasn’t a fan. She ignored that part of him, hoping it would go away. He imagined his grandmother’s reaction wouldn’t be much different.
“After Landon died, I used to dream that somebody would come rescue me. I would make up these elaborate fantasies about how my dad wasn’t my dad and some other man would eventually take me away, or that there was a mix-up at the hospital and I’d find out I went to the wrong family and I actually belonged to a nice family. That one was definitely wish fulfillment because I look just like good old Eugenia, much to her delight.” Wyatt hated talking about this shit, but he couldn’t seem to shut up now. “Of all the people I thought might come and rescue me from my parents, Nana was never one of them. She was never a big part of my life. I don’t even remember ever getting a hug from her. She would just get down on one knee and shake my hand and tell me a good handshake was important, that it was a sign of strength and trustworthiness. Then she’d usually just glare at my dad. When my dad got into politics, my mom mentioned her less and less. Even when they ran into each other at charity functions and galas, they acted like semi-hostile acquaintances more than family.”
“Have you ever tried talking to her outside of campaign dinners?”
“Tonight was the first time I’ve seen my grandmother in forever, and that’s only because my father’s image consultant clearly has no idea how our family works.”
“Maybe you should try talking to her. It might be nice to have somebody in your corner.”
Wyatt trailed his lips along Linc’s collarbone. “I don’t think you understand how my family works either.”
“It’s just a thought.”
“Are you close with your grandmother?” Wyatt countered, uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation.
“My grandparents are all dead.”
Wyatt probably should have stopped prying there, but he didn’t. “What about your mom? When you talked about her, the one time you said… Is she…” He trailed off.
He felt Linc nod above him. “Yeah. She died of a drug overdose when I was seventeen.”
“Jeez. I’m sorry. That sucks.” Linc rarely talked about himself or his family. Wyatt didn’t have that luxury since Linc had a front-row ticket to all of Wyatt’s family drama. “Growing up with a drug-addicted mentally ill mom couldn’t have been easy.”
Wyatt’s mom was cold, but she wasn’t an abusive drug addict.
“I had my sister. Ellie did what she could to shield me. She took the brunt of my mom’s reign of terror.”
Wyatt curled his hand over Linc’s hip, nestling closer. He didn’t know what to say about that. “Tell me about Ellie.”
“She’s amazing. She’s a costume designer in Los Angeles. Or she was, anyway. She was just getting some recognition for her work when she reconnected with my dad and learned how sick he was. She left a great job to come to Orlando and take care of him.”
Wyatt pulled back to look at Linc. “Why?”
Linc frowned in the shadows. “Why what?”
“Why sacrifice her own dreams to take care of somebody who left her behind?”
Linc’s hand cupped the side of Wyatt’s face, brushing over his mouth with the rough pad of his thumb. “I imagine for the same reason you hide your sexuality and your makeup for the sake of a man who would never do the same for you. Because he’s our father, and deep down, that means something to her.”
The words weren’t said with any malice but they felt like gravel under Wyatt’s skin, and he wanted to pick at it to get it out. Linc was right. Wyatt was no better than Linc and his sister. He hid away for his father’s comfort, his father’s career, knowing full well his father wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire. “I can’t believe you’re the one who lived.” His father would have exchanged Wyatt’s life for Landon’s. Wyatt had a scar on his hip to prove it. Deep down, his father still blamed him for Landon’s transplant failing as if Wyatt had willed his cells not to work, had somehow murdered his own brother.
Wyatt suddenly felt trapped, suffocated. The reassuring heat of Linc’s body was now a furnace setting Wyatt ablaze. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered, disentangling himself from Linc’s body and shutting himself in the bathroom.
Once the lock clicked into place, he paced, fisting his hands until the blunt edges of his nails made half-moons in his palms, trying to use the pain to distract from the insects crawling under his skin and the cold sweat making him shiver, but nothing quelled his shaking insides. He couldn’t stay in there forever. Linc would come to make sure he was okay. He wasn’t okay, not by a long shot, but he couldn’t do the thing that made it better. He’d promised.
He glanced toward the locked door before slipping his hand between the medicine cabinet and the wall. He slipped free the tiny paper taped there and hopped onto the counter to stare at it. He just needed to look, to hold it in his hand. Maybe that would be enough. He opened the packet, palming the shiny new razor blade. Something shuddered within him, and the compulsion to press the blade to his skin became a living thing inside him, a demon whispering in his head that only the slicing of his flesh would make it all better.
But he couldn’t. Linc had made him promise. He’d said he’d end it if Wyatt hurt himself. Linc had never commented on the hash-mark scars on each of Wyatt’s inner thighs, but he’d licked over them, pressed his lips against them. He’d made it clear he knew what Wyatt was capable of.
He let the back of his head thud against the mirror, closing his eyes and trying to picture the blade against his skin, cutting him open, relieving the pressure, letting all the pain and anxiety flow down the drain, easing the lead weight in his stomach.
It didn’t work. Nothing in Wyatt’s imagination felt the way cutting did. Nothing relieved the pressure the way a sharp edge did. But he couldn’t disobey Linc. If he did, he’d lose him. If he lost Linc, he wasn’t sure he could get through the minefield of the next five months. He bit down on the inside of his cheek until it bled, letting his tongue play with the jagged cut, finding some solace in the taste of copper flooding his mouth. He wrapped the razor blade back in its paper but couldn’t salvage the tape, so he slipped it on top of the medicine cabinet and went back to the bedroom.
Linc’s concerned look made Wyatt flush, something withering inside him. He’d almost betrayed him. He still wanted to, even now. His stomach churned, his brain firing, like he’d had too much caffeine and not enough sleep. He needed a distraction, something to ward off the voice in his head telling him that nothing would be okay again until he gave in and pressed the blade to his skin.
