He hissed as two fingers pushed into him. Fuck. He’d never get sick of that feeling.
“That a problem for you?” Linc asked, working his fingers in and out.
Wyatt rocked back, moaning like a whore. “No, Daddy.”
Linc chuckled. “I didn’t think so.”
He worked Wyatt open first with two fingers, then three, but it wasn’t enough. “I’m ready, Daddy. Fuck me.”
Linc slapped his ass. “I decide when you’re ready,” he snarled, but the blunt head of his thick cock was already replacing his fingers, and then there was only pressure and fullness and the perfect burn of his body rearranging itself to accommodate Linc’s invasion.
Linc didn’t wait for Wyatt to adjust, fucking into him hard enough to bring Wyatt onto his tiptoes. Linc drove into him again and again just the way Wyatt liked, like he was there only for Linc’s pleasure, like only Wyatt could satiate Linc’s need and he’d take it from Wyatt however he saw fit. He needed to be happy with this, needed to appreciate Linc while he still had him, needed to remember every moment.
“Don’t go quiet on me now, boy,” Linc commanded, gripping Wyatt’s hip and changing the angle enough to make Wyatt cry out. “That’s better. Let me hear you.”
Rain pounded the windows, combining with the sound of their skin connecting and the ragged sounds of their breathing, but Wyatt couldn’t find the words. He was lost in the feeling, trying to memorize Linc’s scent, the weight of him against his back. They had months to go, but somehow this just felt like the end.
Condensation formed on the windows, closing them into a cozy pocket that made it feel like more somehow, something… real. Linc’s hand closed around Wyatt’s neck again and he stopped thinking, stopped worrying. He focused instead on the steady pressure at his throat and Linc’s cock sending jolts of electricity along his spine each time it grazed his prostate. His neglected cock leaked with every thrust, but his hands gripped the counter. Linc hadn’t given him permission.“Can I touch myself, Daddy? Please?”
“No,” Linc managed through gritted teeth.
Wyatt whined, grinding himself back on Linc. “Please, Daddy. I’m so close.”
“I didn’t say you can’t come. I said you can’t touch.”
Linc expected him to come untouched? “I-I don’t think…”
“You can. You can and you will. If you want to come, that is.”
Linc released Wyatt’s throat, his hand forcing Wyatt’s head down to the counter before he gripped his hips, fucking into him with short, rapid thrusts that had Wyatt’s eyes rolling back in his head as pleasure ignited along his spine, his balls drawing up tight against his body. “Oh… oh… that’s… Oh, God. Yes. More of that. Oh, please. Please. I need to come, Daddy. Please?”
“You can come anytime you want, baby boy, as long as you’re not touching yourself.”
Wyatt sobbed. He couldn’t even form words; Linc was hitting him just right, doing everything right. Warmth pooled at the base of his spine, and Linc yanked Wyatt back against him, gripping his throat tight enough to cut off his air supply. “Come,” he growled.
His orgasm slammed into him like a school bus, his knees buckling as he painted the cabinets with his release. Linc kept him upright, his hips pistoning into him relentlessly until it was just this side of too much.
Wyatt barely registered Linc’s hoarse shout as he waited for his world to right itself. When Linc kissed between his shoulder blades, Wyatt shivered, knowing Linc’s cum filled him up. The thought shouldn’t be hot. It shouldn’t make him feel safe, seen, cared for, even loved… but it did.
He wished he could get his heart to see this for what it was, but he just didn’t know how. When he was in Linc’s arms it didn’t feel like a fling… it felt like love, and it made Wyatt want to cry.
By the time Linc got Wyatt cleaned up and settled on the couch with his dinner, he’d reverted to moody silence. Linc didn’t know what he’d thought kitchen sex would accomplish other than driving home the point that Wyatt was just—as Charlie put it—a “sex thing.” When he’d asked why Linc acted like he cared, he froze. It was a simple fucking question with a complicated fucking answer.
Of course Linc cared. He cared way too much. Caring about Wyatt was the easiest thing in the world, but caring for Wyatt was a series of landmines. The boy needed a keeper, somebody to look out for him, watch over him, guide him. Linc wanted to be that somebody. He’d meant everything he’d said. Wyatt was perfect just as he was… but he was only twenty-two years old. His life hadn’t even started. Linc felt a hundred years old on a good day and his PTSD was unpredictable. Linc didn’t know how to give Wyatt what he needed when both their lives were such equal but opposite disasters. Still, he could have said something more reassuring than “I’ve wanted to fuck you since I met you,” but it was too late now.
Once he finished straightening up the kitchen he sprawled at the opposite end of the couch, one leg still perched on the floor. Wyatt watched him warily like he was waiting for something. Jesus, Linc had really fucked this up. “Come here, baby.”
Wyatt didn’t hesitate, launching himself toward Linc and collapsing on top of him, his body nestled between Linc’s thighs and his head on his chest. He buried his hand in Wyatt’s curls, dropping a kiss on his head, hoping to convey with actions what he couldn’t say with words. Linc could be happy with just Wyatt in his arms. His eyes drifted shut as Wyatt’s breathing evened out beneath his palms.
He woke to the sound of the door rattling on the frame as somebody tried to force their way into the penthouse.
“Why the hell is the deadbolt latched?”
Wyatt jolted upright, eyes wide at the sound of his father’s voice, his terror clear. The deadbolt in question kept the door from opening wide enough for the senator to see them, but Linc gestured for Wyatt to go to his room, anyway. Wyatt threw one last panicked look toward the door before scrambling to do as Linc asked.
Linc stood, running his fingers through his hair and making sure his clothes didn’t look too rumpled. “One moment, sir.”
He closed the door in the man’s face before releasing the latch and allowing him to enter. Monty straightened his jacket as if temporarily being denied entrance had caused him physical injury. “Why the hell was the door locked?”
