Wyatt wanted Linc to fuck him, to hold him down and use him until he didn’t feel so empty inside. He glanced over at the side table. The lube remained, but the condoms had disappeared. In the drawer maybe? Wyatt couldn’t bring himself to ask, instead saying, “Use me, Daddy. Fuck my mouth until you come down my throat. Make me take it all.”
Wyatt’s cock hardened as Linc’s pupils dilated, his heated gaze feral as he flipped Wyatt onto his back and rose onto his knees above him. The knot in Wyatt’s chest loosened. This he could do. There was more than one way for Linc to fill him up, and Wyatt intended to try them all. Something had to work eventually.
Wyatt was insatiable.
It was like somebody had flipped a switch. In the seven days since his run-in with that Victor guy, Wyatt had gone out of his way to push Linc’s buttons until he either punished him or got him off, usually both, and Wyatt didn’t seem to care how it happened. No punishment seemed brutal enough, no orgasm seemed hard enough to satisfy him. Linc found it unsettling, but he had no fucking clue what to do about it and even if it made him a terrible person, it didn’t stop him from giving Wyatt what he craved.
Even now, they sat in Wyatt’s bed, the boy riding Linc’s two fingers like it was his cock, his head thrown back as he chased his fourth orgasm in the last twenty-four hours.
“Please, Daddy,” Wyatt cried. “Please. I’ve been so good. I just…” His voice tripped on a sob. “I need it. I need you. All of you.”
The “it” he referred to was Linc’s cock. He was desperate for it. He told Linc so every time he was naked beneath him, but still, Linc hesitated. Since that confrontation with Victor, it was like the guy was a ghost in their bed and Linc couldn’t shake the feeling Wyatt did all this for him. To prove to that sick fuck that he hadn’t broken something in him.
But each day that passed it became clearer to Linc that somethingwasbroken in Wyatt, something his dick couldn’t fix. Sometimes Linc thought he should shut the whole thing down for Wyatt’s sake… but he knew he never would. Maybe that made Linc an asshole, but if Wyatt needed to get off, needed to be punished and used, then Linc would do it because some part of him feared Wyatt might go looking for his pain elsewhere with somebody who didn’t care as much as Linc. But he wouldn’t fuck him until he knew it was about them and not proving something to the man who’d abused him. That was his line in the sand. He didn’t know why it mattered—his fingers, his cock, his tongue… they were just body parts—but it did. It mattered to Linc and he wouldn’t waver on this, no matter how much Wyatt begged, not until Linc was sure.
“Fuck me, Daddy. Please. I want it so bad. Your fingers feel good—so good—but your dick would be better. I know it would. Please, I’m ready.”
“You’re not ready,” Linc managed, crooking his fingers inside the tight heat of Wyatt’s body, working his prostate until Wyatt sobbed, his cock leaking as he slammed himself down on Linc’s fingers.
Wyatt pinned Linc with his stare, pupils so blown his eyes looked almost black. “Please. Please. Ineedthis.”
Linc fisted his free hand in Wyatt’s hair, gripping it tight enough to get the boy’s attention. “Why? Tell me why you need it.”
Wyatt froze, staring at Linc like he was coming out of a trance. “What?”
“Why do you need it? Need me? Why do you need more than this?”
Wyatt flushed, a hundred emotions playing over his beautiful face: shock, confusion, betrayal. Anger contorted Wyatt’s features, tears brimming in the darkness. “Fuck you, Linc.”
He slid off Linc’s fingers and out of bed.
“Where are you going?” Linc asked.
He shot Linc a sullen look. “Bathroom. Do I need your permission for that too?” Wyatt asked, not waiting for an answer before he disappeared inside the darkened room.
Linc sighed, staring up at Wyatt’s wobbly ceiling fan. “Nice job, dickhead.”
He had no idea what was going on in that kid’s brain, but the last thing he’d needed was Linc grilling him about his motivations in the middle of sex. This was supposed to be a casual fuck. A fling. Charlie had even said they’d be sick of each other in no time. But Linc never tired of Wyatt’s face, hearing his voice, his laugh. Even his subconscious mind seemed at ease when Wyatt was near. He had fewer nightmares when in Wyatt’s bed and he never tired of waking up with Wyatt curled against him. Linc had had more than his fair share of casual hookups. This didn’t feel like a fling. It felt heavy and personal and way too real, and it was fucking up Linc’s life in every way.
This should have been the easiest fucking job he’d ever had. Babysit the kid, collect a huge paycheck and get his sister free of their father, and then go back to the desert where he belonged, far away from all the people he could hurt. All he’d had to do was keep his head down and stay out of trouble and mind his own business. Now he was in it up to his fucking eyeballs.
He’d fought a war in the desert against insurgents hell-bent on killing him. He’d witnessed countless deaths and things so horrific he couldn’t even utter them out loud to another living soul, but Wyatt scared him more than any of those things. This fucked-up kid with his fucked-up life and his fucked-up family, and his permanently crossed wires, had somehow wormed his way into Linc’s head and made himself at home and now it wasn’t just a job and it wasn’t just sex… fuck, Linc didn’t know what it was, but he wasn’t giving it up. He wasn’t giving Wyatt up.
Not yet.
Minutes stretched but Wyatt didn’t return. Linc’s mind drifted back to the last time he’d found him in the bathroom, some girl slicing into his flesh with a razor. He was up and moving before he even fully comprehended it. The bathroom door wasn’t closed all the way. Linc pushed it open, heart stopping when he saw Wyatt sitting in the bathtub just like last time. He flipped on the light, blinking until his eyes adjusted.
Wyatt cut his eyes toward him, glowering at the intrusion. Linc didn’t apologize, examining Wyatt for any sign of injury from where he stood in the doorway. The boy seemed fine, the only bruises the ones Linc himself had applied. Wyatt sat in the empty tub, curls snarled and knotted, green eyes luminescent under swollen, puffy eyelids. He’d clearly been crying. Linc sighed, kneeling beside the tub and pushing the stopper into place before turning on the water.
When the temperature was acceptable, Linc grabbed the soap from the shower and a clean washcloth and stepped into the large tub, sliding Wyatt forward to slip in behind him. Wyatt didn’t relax against him, just hunched himself over, wrapping his arms around his legs.
“Come here,” Linc said, pulling back on Wyatt’s shoulders. He resisted at first before reclining stiffly, his head resting against Linc’s chest.
Linc didn’t talk to him. It was clear Wyatt was still upset. He soaped up the washcloth, gliding it over the boy’s chest and stomach, not worried as much about cleaning him as he was about soothing the rough edges of Wyatt’s hurt.
Wyatt relaxed in increments, eventually sinking back against Linc. He used his foot to turn off the water before saying, “Talk to me. What’s going on with you?”
Wyatt huffed out a breath. “What’s going on with me? What’s going on with you? I’m literally begging you to fuck me and you keep rejecting me,” he shot back, voice cracking.
