“Hunter is nice,” he teased, sliding his finger out before pressing it back in. “Outside of the bedroom.”
I huffed out a desperate little laugh at just how astute that observation truly was.
Lincoln made a soft mewling sound, reaching behind his back and dragging his fingers across his ass.
“You’re leaking out of me.”
“I should have asked if it was okay to come inside of you.”
“We’ve already had these conversations.” He grunted, and it didn’t take a stretch of the imagination to know he’d shoved his fingers up his own ass. “I want you to take me whenever you want me.”
I had to close my eyes because the sight of Lincoln on top of me, his chest flushed and his cock swollen was almost too much for me to bear, all things between us considered. Reaching forward, I dragged my fingertips up his stomach toward his chest, and without prompting, he scooted a little closer so I could reach him.
“You like these to hurt, don’t you?” I murmured, flicking one of his nipples.
In response, he groaned and pulled his fingers out of his ass.
“I do.” He showed me his fingers, sticky with lube and cum, and then he reached down again between my legs and shoved my own spend right into my asshole.
“Oh fuck.”
“Stop fighting it, Daddy,” Lincoln coaxed.
I didn’t even need to look at his face to see the playful smile that split his lips, but I did anyway.
“Lincoln,” I murmured his name because, in that moment, it was the only thing I knew.
“Be a good boy and come for me, Daddy.”
His mouth spread into a smile so bright it could have eclipsed the sun, and I had no choice after that, except to give him exactly what he wanted.
CHAPTER 17
LINCOLN
It was the smell of coffee and a dull ache between my legs that woke me up the next morning. Stretching my arms over my head and pointing my toes toward the end of the bed, Hunter’s sheets tangled around my thighs like the very best kind of bondage. With a groan, I rolled onto my side, finding the other pillow empty and a light on somewhere else in the house that cast an amber glow down the hallway.
Climbing out of bed, I stumbled blindly toward the light—which was from the kitchen—wiping sleep out of my eyes the whole way.
“You look well and properly fucked,” Hunter said, and wearing nothing more than my underwear, I smiled at him sleepily.
“That might be an understatement.”
“Did I wake you up?” he asked, pouring coffee into a sleek, black tumbler and twisting closed the lid.
I shook my head.
It was the absence of his body beside mine that had eventually woken me up, but I didn’t think we’d been involved with each other long enough for me to tell him that. I was never not craving the closeness and warmth of him.
“I was going to leave you a note,” he went on, bustling around and arranging things in neat piles on the counter. His coffee, his wallet, his keys, his cell phone. He was mostly dressed, tie undone around his neck and his feet still bare, but he had on his standard slacks and a button-up combo.
“Dear John,” I teased, but he cut me off with a roll of his eyes.
Hunter shoved a sheet of yellow legal paper across the island toward me. I was still half-asleep and everything was blurry, but his handwriting was crisp and legible, short and sure strokes of the pen making up every letter.
Lincoln,
I had to go to work and you looked too good to wake up. I like the sight of you in my bed, so stay there as long as you want. Film a little, if you feel so inclined. The door locks automatically when it closes, so don’t worry about a key. Last night was amazing. You are amazing.
