Intoxicating, page 7
Jackson leaned forward, folding his hands on his desk, the snowy-white dress shirt rolled to the elbows drawing a sharp contrast to the ebony skin of his muscular forearms. Linc had forgotten how large the other man was, how intimidating he could be with his tattoos and shaved head. Even without a rifle in his hands, Jackson looked lethal, like he could tear a man apart. Civilian life looked good on him. He was seven years younger than Linc, but he had seen just as much time in the desert. Yet, here the man was, running one of the most successful private security companies in the country.
“While we’re on the subject. You wanna tell me how that boy actually got those bruises around his neck?”
Linc rubbed his hands over his face. “Not really, no.”
Jackson opened his desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of whiskey. He opened it and took a sip before passing it to Linc. “I’m afraid I’m going to insist.”
Linc took a swig, letting the fire lick down his esophagus to his stomach. “It was nothing. I had a…a nightmare. The kid was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
There was a long silence, and then Jackson asked, “Was that wrong place your bedroom?”
Linc flicked his gaze to his friend before taking another swig and handing the bottle back. “It wasn’t like that. He came in to thank me for leaving him dinner. When he saw I was having a bad dream, he tried to wake me up and…couldn’t.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. Jackson didn’t have to know everything.
“You were having another flashback.” It wasn’t a question.
Linc scoffed. “I don’t have PTSD. It was just a nightmare.”
Jackson leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “A nightmare that could have cost a kid his life and me my company. You need to see somebody, man. I shouldn’t have to tell you this. Martinez ate his gun less than a year after he got out. I have a great shrink. I’ll give you her card.”
Linc was already shaking his head. “I can’t afford your fancy-pants therapist, Avery. All my money’s gotta go to Ellie right now.”
“You can’t afford not to go, brother. Consider it a perk of the job.”
“You already do too much for me.”
The chair groaned as Jackson shot forward, his face growing stormy. “Fine. Then consider it an order from your employer. I can’t have you choking out the bodies I have hired you to guard…even if it’s what they want.”
Linc’s whole body went hot, then cold. “Excuse me?”
Jackson sighed. “Be careful with him. I gave you this job for a reason. Two other guards couldn’t handle this kid. They both said the same things. Reckless. Self-harming. Suicidal.”
Linc’s pulse throbbed behind his eye. He didn’t like feeling he was being manipulated on all sides. “Meaning?”
“Meaning it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why Wyatt is the way he is. You know what it’s like to not be accepted for who you are. Some kids cut, some drink and do drugs. Some join the military and turn themselves into bullet sponges. You’re uniquely qualified to watch this kid because you were this kid.”
“So, you hired me so I could—what?—mentor him?”
Jackson shrugged. “I thought maybe you could give the kid something he needs. Something you both need.”
Linc stared at his friend for a long time, trying to puzzle out exactly how much Jackson understood about Linc’s needs. If Jackson really understood, he’d know he was the worst possible thing for Wyatt. But they were all in way too deep now. “What exactly is it you think I need?”
“Purpose. You’re in free-fall, brother. I’m just trying to offer you a safe place to land.”
Wyatt was a ghost haunting his own house. Ten days had passed since his father and Linc had talked things out in the kitchen, and things had been weird ever since. His father had left but was never really gone. He was like a demon; even though you couldn’t see him, the toxic weight of his hate permeated the place, leaving Wyatt restless.
He didn’t know what his father said to Linc, but any time Graciela even so much as referenced the good senator, Linc clenched his jaw, grunted, and went to work out for an hour. At this rate, he was going to look like the Hulk before their six months were over. Not that Wyatt was complaining…or looking…at all. Well, not much anyway. Just enough to know that Linc was definitely not looking at him, and it was driving Wyatt crazy. It was like living with a roommate who got along with everybody but him. A roommate who starred in his jerk-off fantasies at least twice a day.
With his bruises long gone, it felt like what happened in Linc’s room had all been some elaborate wet dream. Except, it wasn’t. Wyatt could recall every detail with savant-like accuracy every time his hand trailed below his waist. He remembered exactly how Linc’s lips felt on his, how his teeth bit down onto Wyatt’s earlobe as he growled at Wyatt to beg. Sometimes, if he closed his eyes hard enough, he could pretend it was Linc’s hands on him instead of his own, but it was never the same. Wyatt wasn’t trying to quote lame movies but Linc was definitely his particular brand of heroin, and Wyatt was afraid he’d be chasing that high forever. The feeling was clearly not mutual.
Okay, Linc still made Wyatt meals and left them in the microwave and he still left him water bottles with little notes reminding him to drink them. But wasn’t that worse? A person shouldn’t get to ignore another person after giving them the best orgasm of their life and still get to worry if they’re adequately hydrated. Like, what the fuck? Who did that? People who played head games, that’s who. Linc was trying to break him down psychologically.
Even now, Linc was walking around the kitchen putting away dishes in loose-fitting sweatpants that did nothing to hide the outline of his dick. Each time he reached up to put something on a high shelf, his t-shirt rode up, exposing a strip of tanned, toned belly and a happy trail Wyatt wanted to trace with his tongue. This torture had to be deliberate. It had to be. And two could play at that game.
Wyatt put on his gray joggers that Charlie had forced him to buy because they rode low on his hips and “hugged his ass to perfection” and slipped on his favorite pale green hoodie but left it unzipped. This was war. He wasn’t ripped like Linc, but he was lean and toned in all the right places and tons of guys were happy to tell him so. Maybe Linc just needed to know what he was missing.
When he got to the kitchen, he went straight to the cabinet where Linc stood and wedged himself between him and the counter. “Excuse me,” he said, giving no sign he meant it. He snagged a glass and tried to ignore the twinge of arousal that hit him when Linc’s knuckles grazed his belly.
Linc just grunted, his preferred form of communication lately. Once Wyatt had filled his orange juice glass, he took a seat at the island, pretending to gaze out at the patio. His plan to ignore Linc until he noticed he was the one being ignored quickly went south when Linc slid something across to him on the counter.
“Eat this,” Linc commanded.
Wyatt looked down to see a granola bar, grimacing. “I’m not hungry.”
Linc’s response was a low rumble that went straight to Wyatt’s cock. “Did it sound like I was asking?”
Wyatt pursed his lips and tilted his head, glancing up at Linc through thick lashes as he deliberately pushed the bar back over to Linc. “You’re not the boss of me.”
Linc leaned across the island until they were almost nose to nose, and Wyatt most definitely regretted his decision to go commando. “Kid, I’m the textbook definition of the boss of you. Now, eat.”
Linc slid the bar back across the island, one brow arching upward as a smirk spread across his face.
Wyatt huffed through his nose and made a show of tearing the wrapper and taking a big bite, pulling a face as he chewed. “Why does this taste like cardboard?” he asked, mouth full.
Linc chuckled. “Because it’s healthy. It’s packed with vitamins and healthy nutrients. You need the calories.”
“‘Healthy nutrients’?” he mimicked around another bite. “You’re so old.”
“I didn’t realize nutrition was something only old people cared about. Now, eat.”
Wyatt forced himself to swallow down the bite with a shudder. “I don’t want to eat this. It’s disgusting.”
“Well, you didn’t eat your dinner last night, so this is the consequence.”
Wyatt’s already hard cock throbbed at the word ‘consequence,’ his gaze darting to Linc’s. “You can’t be serious. Lincoln, come on. I’m twenty-two years old. I don’t have to eat if I don’t want to.”
Linc’s honey-brown eyes pinned him in place. “I don’t think you want to test that theory. I’m in a mood.”
Wyatt’s mouth went dry, his tongue darting out to lick his lower lip. What did Linc’s moods look like? Would Wyatt end up with more bruises? He couldn’t remember another human being ever having this kind of effect on him.
Wyatt had no idea what would happen next, but he sure as shit wasn’t going to finish that cardboard granola bar. “Well, I’ll see your mood”—he stood and walked to the trash can by the island—“and raise you mine.” He opened the lid and dropped in the granola bar before turning on his heel and sashaying down the hallway with as much attitude as he could muster.
He’d almost made it back to his bedroom when Linc caught him, pinning him against the door, one hand tangling in his hair, tugging his head back. “You’re just begging for it, aren’t you?” he growled into Wyatt’s ear. “Did you think if you misbehaved, I’d jerk you off again? Hmm?”
Wyatt swallowed past the lump in his throat, grateful that his super obvious erection was being crushed against the wall. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, tongue all but tripping over his lie.
“Bad boys don’t get to come. Bad boys get punished. Do you understand?”
He didn’t understand, not really. He gave a jerky shake of his head, suddenly not sure what to do with his hands hanging uselessly at his sides.
“Then I’ll demonstrate.”
Wyatt sucked in a startled breath as Linc yanked Wyatt’s pants to mid-thigh, his dick slapping against his stomach and revealing his arousal. The sudden cool air had goosebumps erupting along his overheated skin. His heartbeat became erratic. “Wait.”
“Too late for that.”
Before Wyatt could ask what he meant, Linc’s hand cracked across his bare ass. Hard. Wyatt yelped, face flushing at the sound. This wasn’t how he’d seen this playing out. They were in the hallway where anybody could see…could see Linc punishing him, spanking him. His head swam, thinking of the many people who could waltz into his house any time they pleased. “You can’t—”
Two more sharp slaps turned Wyatt’s words into a low moan. If this wasn’t what he wanted, his fucking body wasn’t getting the memo. His body bowed, pushing his hips toward Linc like a whore. Fuck, it would just figure Wyatt would like to be spanked. God, he really wasn’t paying his therapist enough.
“I. Can’t. What?” Linc asked, punctuating each word with another blow until Wyatt’s ass burned and tears pricked at his eyes.
“Please,” Wyatt heard himself whisper, breathless.
Slap. “Please what, baby?” Linc purred in his ear.
“I—”
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Tears rolled down Wyatt’s cheeks, skin blazing everywhere Linc’s blows landed, and all he could think about was whether he’d still see Linc’s handprints on his ass tomorrow, whether he’d still feel them. It made the pain worth it. It made him crave it.
“You finished misbehaving?” Linc asked.
“I don’t know,” he heard himself say, his voice sounding far away.
He swore Linc chuckled before he delivered another three slaps. “How about now?”
Wyatt wiped his face against his forearm, bracing it against the door. His limbs felt heavy and numb. “Yes,” he mumbled.
The barest hint of a slap had Wyatt hissing. “How do you address me?”
“Sir?”
“Wrong answer,” Linc growled. “You know what I am. Say it.”
“Daddy,” Wyatt whispered, every nerve ending standing at attention. “Yes, Daddy.”
Linc’s lips grazed Wyatt’s throat, his teeth tugging his earlobe. “Good boy. Kiss me.”
Wyatt turned his head, crushing his lips against Linc’s, kissing him like he held the cure for whatever poison had infected Wyatt. Linc spun him around, shoving him against the door, before finding Wyatt’s mouth once more. He melted against him, letting Linc explore.
When Linc finally wrapped a hand around Wyatt’s cock, he sobbed. Linc’s thumb swiped over the tip and Wyatt moaned into his mouth. Even with the copious amount of pre-cum leaking, Linc’s hand was a punishing dry friction that had Wyatt whining. He could only bury his face against Linc’s throat, holding on as his knees buckled. “You want to come, sweet boy?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Then you should learn to do what you’re told the first time.”
Linc’s hand disappeared, and Wyatt keened, both relieved and disappointed. “Please, Daddy,” he begged, his lips still against Linc’s throat.
“Look at me.”
Wyatt pulled back, dragging his gaze upward until he was staring up into Linc’s stern face. He cupped Wyatt’s cheeks, wiping his tears away with his thumbs. “Say it again.”
“Please, Daddy,” Wyatt begged, meaning every word.
“On your knees.” Wyatt dropped so fast he was sure he’d regret it tomorrow. “Eyes on me.”
Wyatt’s gaze locked on Linc. He pulled his cock out with one hand, the other hand braced on the doorframe above Wyatt’s head. Linc’s cock was perfection: thick, cut, and leaking pre-cum. Wyatt wanted to taste it, to feel the heavy weight of it on his tongue. But he didn’t dare. “Don’t you dare touch yourself until I say,” Linc snarled, working his hand faster.
Wyatt whimpered. He wanted to come so bad, but he wanted to touch Linc more. He wanted to wrap his hand around the velvet length and run his tongue along the thick vein that ran underneath. He wanted to be the one making Linc breathless.
“You can touch yourself, but don’t you dare come until I tell you.”
Wyatt was almost afraid to do as Linc commanded; he was far too close. This was all too much. He bit down on his bottom lip, moaning as his hand wrapped around his aching erection. The base of his spine was tingly and hot, and he didn’t stroke himself so much as squeeze, attempting to stop the orgasm threatening to engulf him.
“Open your mouth.”
Wyatt did as he was told, tipping his head back and sticking out his tongue. Linc made a choked-off noise, and then his cum was painting Wyatt’s face, the bitter tang coating his lips. He swallowed it down, his eyes pleading with unspoken words.
“Now, you can come.”
It only took two strokes, and Wyatt was spilling over his fist, his toes curling as waves of ecstasy crashed over him, and his brain fell temporarily offline.
Wyatt was crashing. Linc watched the endorphin rush ebb, leaving the boy dazed and listless. “Come on.”
He tugged Wyatt to his feet, pushing open his bedroom door and leading him inside. Wyatt didn’t fight him when he settled him in bed or when Linc brought a warm washcloth and gently cleaned the evidence of their hallway escapade from Wyatt’s skin. He left Wyatt long enough to grab some water and other provisions before returning to the room and locking the door behind him. Linc’s self-preservation instincts were finally kicking in somewhat now that he’d defiled Wyatt in the middle of the hallway in broad daylight.
If your self-preservation instincts were really kicking in, you’d turn and walk away right now, a voice nagged.
Whatever. He’d berate himself over it later. For now, he needed to take care of Wyatt, who had curled himself into a tight ball in the center of the mattress and was doing his best to convince Linc he was asleep. He sat, bracing himself against the headboard before easily maneuvering Wyatt, arranging him so his back was to Linc’s chest, his head resting against his shoulder. “Drink this.”
Wyatt gave a sleepy laugh. “Tell the truth. You have stock in this bottled water company, don’t you?”
Linc grinned despite himself. “Yep. Can’t babysit ungrateful brats forever, can I? I’m already so old.”
Wyatt craned his head to meet Linc’s gaze, and he had to remind himself this was temporary. That it was over. No matter how perfect Wyatt was. No matter how much Linc wanted to put him back together. It had to stop. They could only get away with it for so long without getting caught, and that was a Pandora’s box he could never close if opened. The consequences would be too far-reaching.
When Wyatt finished his water, Linc handed him the orange slices he’d pilfered from the crystal bowl on the counter. Once again, Wyatt flicked his gaze to Linc, smirking. “Afraid I’ll get scurvy?”
“I’ll bet you fifty bucks you don’t even know what scurvy is.”
Wyatt scoffed. “A vitamin C deficiency. Most people think it only affected sailors, but it’s been around since the thirteenth century. Napoleon’s army got it from consuming horse meat.” When Linc blinked at him, he batted his lashes. “True story.”
“I’m not paying you fifty bucks,” Linc warned.
“Hah, my father paid almost fifty grand a year for me to go to that pretentious-as-fuck private school. The least I could do was pay attention.”
Wyatt was full of surprises, or maybe Linc had just made assumptions based on the limited information his father had supplied. Now that Linc understood what Wyatt had endured growing up, it wasn’t hard to see why he acted out like he did. It wasn’t any excuse for drinking and driving—he was lucky he’d hurt nobody but himself—but it shed a light on Wyatt’s state of mind. Graciela had warned him that Wyatt wasn’t stable. Jackson had used the word suicidal. The signs that Linc should turn and run weren’t just there, they were flashing in red neon, but Linc couldn’t do it. At least not professionally. Somebody had to watch over Wyatt.
Linc dropped an absent kiss onto Wyatt’s curls. “Eat, you stubborn boy.”
