“Don’t think that you’re going to lounge by the fucking pool all day either. You’re going to make yourself useful,” Linc called from somewhere down the hallway.
How the fuck was Wyatt going to do that?
Linc locked himself in his room and headed straight for the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face and cursed himself for being a goddamn idiot. Not even forty-eight hours on the job and he was already playing chicken with a kid half his age. He was a special brand of fucking stupid. Wyatt was spoiled and reckless and a hundred different kinds of damaged, but fuck if Linc’s cock didn’t stand at attention every time the brat stared him down, just begging Linc to make him obey.
Wyatt was perfect in every way. Beautiful, sullen, stubborn… just broken enough to not care that the war had left Linc fucked up in ways he couldn’t even begin to put into words. The look on the kid’s face when Linc had walked away without praising him for doing as he was told… Fuck. How could he not go back? Not give him the words he’d been so desperate for? Linc was only human.
But he needed this fucking job, needed it more than anything. People were counting on him. He couldn’t get distracted. He couldn’t be what Wyatt needed. He stared at himself in the mirror. Why was he even contemplating this? They didn’t even know each other. He needed to get a goddamn grip on himself and his perversions.
But Wyatt wanted him. The boy was a big sucking void and Linc wanted nothing more than to fill him up, again and again, to give him what he so desperately needed. But Linc would be a monster for giving in. Wyatt was one big open wound, desperate for somebody to be all the things his father wasn’t and Linc couldn’t do that, not in the way the kid needed, not the way anybody needed. There was something wrong with him; a wire had gotten crossed and he could never go back.
He needed to jerk off and fucking forget about it. Put all these thoughts in a box and put it on a shelf and just do his fucking job. He should never have gone into Wyatt’s room last night. It went far beyond the call of duty. But after seeing him on that railing, one strong wind or drunken fumble away from death, the bleakness practically radiating from him… Linc knew he wouldn’t sleep without checking to make sure he was okay.
He hadn’t expected to find him blindfolded and naked and laid out for him like an offering. All that pale creamy skin set against that stark black comforter had left Linc hard and leaking just picturing all the things he could do to him. He’d even contemplated sliding his hands into his sweatpants and getting himself off as he watched the boy sleep before he came to his senses.
It would be far too easy to take the boy, to make him his.You’d make a good Daddy.That’s what Wyatt had said. Daddy. The word had bounced around Linc’s head all night as he’d thrust into his tightened fist, eyes clenched shut, imagining Wyatt riding his cock, head thrown back, full red lips parted as he panted, begging his Daddy to give him what he needed. Fuck, Linc wanted that. He wanted to make him beg. Wanted to hear his desperate cries fall from those sinfully perfect lips. Wanted to know what Wyatt looked like bent over and covered in Linc’s handprints.
Goddammit.
Linc slammed his fist against the counter. He was a fucking soldier, and this kid was a job. He was also the son of a powerful conservative senator who had no qualms about treating his own kid as a criminal. Suddenly, the senator’s remarks about his opponent rang in his head.The gays would run amuck.Had this douchebag hired Linc just to make sure his kid stayed firmly in the closet?
He shook his head. He couldn’t get caught up in some political family drama. He couldn’t be what Wyatt needed, no matter how much the thought appealed to him.
“Get it together, asshole.”
Linc needed to blow off some steam. He changed into black athletic shorts and headed down the hall toward the in-house gym Graciela had pointed out on his quick tour yesterday.
He had just crossed the threshold when he heard it. A high-pitched whine, followed by a strangled distressed noise and then Wyatt chanting, “No, no, no, no, no, no.”
Linc turned, heading back toward the kitchen, frowning at the frantic thumping and slamming noises. He was almost back to the living room when Wyatt cried his name. “Linc!”
He’d spent far too many hours last night picturing all the ways he could make Wyatt scream his name, but none had prepared him for the sight of the boy standing in the kitchen slowly being overtaken by a sea of white foam. Linc blinked stupidly, trying to make sense of what unfolded before him.
Wyatt’s wide eyes shot to him, his lips wet and his chest heaving. Jesus, he was gorgeous even when panicked. “What are you doing?” Linc asked, voice calm.
“Making myself useful,” he shouted. Linc didn’t miss the accusation in his tone.
While Linc was putting the pieces together with no problem, he wasn’t quite ready to rescue Wyatt.
“How, exactly?”
“I was doing the dishes,” he said indignantly.
Linc couldn’t help but smile as the bubbles expanded, spilling past the island. Wyatt was adorably flustered, glaring and gesturing toward the white mess as if it had wronged him. Linc took a deep breath and said goodbye to his favorite sneakers before carefully wading into the fray. He grimaced as bubbles clung to his bare legs and water soaked his shoes and socks.
He thought Wyatt would move out of his way as he approached, but he ignored Linc to stab uselessly at the many buttons on the device. In the kid’s defense, Linc had seen missile launch pads with fewer buttons. Was this a dishwasher or a transformer? “Move,” he barked.
Wyatt threw a glare over his shoulder before attempting to comply. He stepped back, his bare foot landing on Linc’s sneaker, causing him to stumble. Linc’s hands shot out, closing around Wyatt’s waist, gripping him tight, pulling him back against his chest with more strength than necessary. Wyatt’s sharp intake of breath sent a jolt of electricity along Linc’s skin, his fingers digging into the grooves of the boy’s narrow hips through the thin layer of cotton fabric.
For a moment they both froze. Wyatt felt good in his arms; he fit perfectly, his riot of curls resting just under Linc’s chin. His hands flexed as Wyatt’s breath punched from him in tiny gasps. Linc wanted to use those angelic curls to tug Wyatt’s head to the side, bite bruises along his neck, mark him for all the world to see. The urge to drag his teeth along all that pale skin had his cock standing at attention and there was no way the boy couldn’t feel his arousal pressing against him.
Wyatt didn’t move, didn’t struggle to get away. He was rigid in Linc’s arms, waiting—waiting on Linc’s orders. The boy would do anything Linc wanted, he knew it in a way he’d never be able to explain to another soul. Wyatt was his: his to kiss, his to fuck, his to protect and discipline. Jesus, none of this made sense, but Linc knew he wasn’t wrong. If he dragged the boy’s sweatpants down right then and there, Wyatt would let him. Linc could slip inside Wyatt’s hot, tight channel and fuck him bent over the kitchen island, hands around his throat while Wyatt gasped for air, taking only what Linc allowed.
He needed to stop this, to let him go. Instead, he wrapped his arm farther around the boy’s waist, tucking him against his chest as he leaned forward and pressed the off button. The mountain of foam stopped pouring from the sides of the machine, but it did nothing to diminish the mess already there.
The dishwasher fell silent, the green light dying. Linc could feel Wyatt’s taut belly rising and falling beneath the broad spread of his fingers as they just stood there paralyzed by whatever this was. Wyatt was so warm against him and he smelled like spice and flowers. “What did you do?” Linc murmured, trying desperately to break the spell.
“What?” Wyatt mumbled, distracted.
