Wyatt glanced over his shoulder. “Hey, Graciela. Did you hire a stripper?”
“Aye, yes. Send him in, he’s late,” she yelled over the noise before waving a dismissive hand. “No, you stupid boy. Your father sent you another babysitter. I hope this one is smarter than the last.”
The man’s lips twitched as if attempting to hold back a smile, and Wyatt tried to ignore the fluttering in his belly. Could his father really be so cruel as to send the most beautiful man Wyatt had ever seen to guard his body for the next six months? The answer was yes. What a fucking bastard. What the hell was he supposed to do with this guy?
“You could start by letting me in.”
Jesus, had he said that out loud? “Uh, come on in, I guess.”
The man frowned at him until Wyatt realized he was blocking his path. He took a hasty step backward, trying to recover his equilibrium.Pull it together, asshole. He’s just another warden.“So, you’re my dad’s latest super-soldier, huh? Graciela’s right. The last guy was a moron. Hope you’re a lot smarter, GI Joe.”
“It’s Lincoln, but you can call me Linc.”
Wyatt wanted to call him a lot of things, but he needed to shut this shit down. “I’m not going to call you anything. In fact, I’m going to pretend you don’t exist. You should do the same. Stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours and we’ll just do our best to get through this next six months. Cool?”
The man—Linc—snorted, before closing what little distance there was between them, forcing Wyatt to take a step back or have his nose buried in the taller man’s chest. Even with distance, Wyatt could smell the man, could feel the heat of his body, and that was very much not okay because he smelled like an old-school manly cologne like Old Spice, which Wyatt liked way too much for a guy wearing only skintight boxer briefs.
If Linc noticed Wyatt’s predicament, he didn’t say so. He leaned close, his voice a low growl. “Listen, kid. I don’t know how things worked with your last babysitters and I don’t really give a shit. Pay attention. When I speak, you’ll acknowledge me, and when I tell you to do something you will do it because I don’t just run my mouth for no reason. I can smell the liquor on your breath and that stops right now. If you’re doing drugs, that stops now too. You’ll get up at a reasonable hour every day, put on some fucking clothes and eat something healthy because you look like you’re wasting away. You’ll do something productive with your time and lights out will be midnight and not a minute after. Do I make myself clear?”
Wyatt’s throat clicked as he swallowed, his mouth bone dry and his dick rock hard.Don’t look down, don’t look down, he chanted silently as he debated covering his hard-on with his hands. What was wrong with him? It was just a lack of options. It had to be. His father—and the sheriff’s department—had held him captive there for months with not a man in sight, and the two attempts he’d made to venture out with his ankle monitor on had ended with him recaptured before he hit the lobby. He just needed to jerk off, and he’d be fine.
He wasn’t sure there was a non-humiliating way out of this situation. Too late, he forgot the man was waiting for an answer. “Yeah… yeah, sure. Whatever you say, GI Joe. We’re good.”
With that he turned on his heel and marched down the hall, his feet sticking to the marble tile.
“Graciela will show you around,” he tossed over his shoulder before entering his room and slamming the door shut behind him. Once inside, he leaned against it as if the man might follow. “Holy shit,” he muttered, sliding his hand inside his underwear and wrapping it around his cock, squeezing hard to stave off the sudden arousal. He took a few deep breaths, trying to will his body to relax, but he was too far gone.
Wyatt had never had such a visceral reaction to another human in his life. Linc’s voice was gruff and growly and it struck a chord low in Wyatt’s belly. Even with the bulky fabric of Linc’s cheap black suit jacket, Wyatt couldn’t miss the massive size of his arms. He just knew those arms could grip him hard enough to leave a mark, could throw him around, make Wyatt bend to his will.
He turned, pressing his forearm to the door before letting his cheek rest against it. Fuck. He bit his lower lip to cut off a moan as he stroked his hand over his cock, the dry friction both painful and exactly what he needed. He pictured Linc’s face, imagined his weight against Wyatt’s back, his gravelly voice against his ear. Imagined him holding him down and fucking him, using him.If I tell you to do something, you’ll do it.His chest tightened, his breath leaving him in tight bursts as he worked himself faster. He wanted this man. Wanted his hands and his words and his demands. What would have happened if Wyatt challenged him? Would Linc punish him? He bit back a moan at the thought.Do I make myself clear?
“Fuck. Fuck,” he whispered, spilling over his hand as waves of ecstasy rolled along his body and he painted the back of the door with his cum.
He stayed where he was, panting, eyes shut tight as he caught his breath. “What the fuck?” he whispered. After a minute, he stepped from his underwear and made for the bathroom. Maybe a cold shower was exactly what he needed.
He settled for a lukewarm shower. As he washed his body with clinical efficiency, Wyatt fumed. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? He would not have some old man ordering him around like he was a child. He was almost twenty-three years old. He wasn’t about to bend to some super-soldier who wanted to give him a bedtime.
He yanked the handle for the water hard enough to make it groan in protest. Once outside the shower, he toweled off and turned to face himself in the mirror, examining his naked body. He wasn’t wasting away. Sure, he was thinner than usual, but that was because he was existing on whatever Graciela brought him to eat and he didn’t know how to cook.
He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at the bluish circles under his eyes. When had those shown up? It wasn’t like he was having trouble sleeping. Hell, he’d slept twelve hours yesterday. What else was there to do? His blond curls were now pasted flat against his scalp making him look somewhat gaunt, but it wasn’t like he was on a hunger strike. It was more like a cleanse, fruits and vegetables chased down with coffee and energy drinks. He ate when he was hungry. He just never really felt hungry anymore, not for food anyway. When his eyes fell to his thighs, he looked away, still not ready to acknowledge the scars there; instead, he poked at his flat belly, examining himself closer. Was he too thin?
“Fuck that guy,” he said to nobody.
Why was he letting a guy he’d known five minutes get into his head?
Maybe ’cause you want him in your pants?
“You shut up too,” he told himself, stabbing the mirror with his finger.
Linc dropped his bag on the plush king-size bed and shook his head as he took in his surroundings. He’d never seen a room so large. The ceilings soared and all the furniture had a sparse modern look that made Linc feel like he’d just wandered into a museum’s art installation. A metal bookcase ran the length of the wall to his right and two uncomfortable-looking curved black chairs sat before the bank of windows that made up two walls of his room. Everything was black or white or chrome, but the bed looked comfortable enough to Linc, and that was all he cared about.
He jerked his tie loose and let it fall on the bed, followed by his jacket, shirt, and pants. The senator hadn’t stated any particular dress code and Linc refused to wear a suit to babysit a spoiled rich kid in a ten-million-dollar condo. He slipped on a t-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans before walking to the window and staring down at the bustling city far below.
Linc wasn’t sure what he’d expected when Wyatt opened the door, but it wasn’t a sullen fallen angel with sparkling green eyes and a riot of blond curls. He was all sleek muscle and sharp edges, lithe like he’d gotten those muscles swimming laps in the pool, not hitting the weights at the gym. His features were almost… delicate. High cheekbones and a perfect jawline. He was… he was pretty. Beautiful, even. Sculptors spent lifetimes trying to create that kind of perfection.
He shook the thought from his head. Wyatt was a kid, eighteen years his junior. He couldn’t even think about him as anything less than a job. Hewasjust a job. A much-needed paycheck. If he thought of him as a troublemaker, a boy in need of a firm hand and correction as his father said, then things could get out of control. Linc knew exactly what to do with boys who needed discipline and that could absolutely not happen there. Ever. No matter how much the idea appealed to him.
He yanked the things from his bag and shoved them into drawers to keep his mind off the boy just outside the door. Fifteen minutes later, a soft knock sounded. He paused before yanking it open. Graciela stood on the other side with a large sandwich and a glass of milk. “I thought you might be hungry,” she said, a placid smile on her face.
