Chapter 40 Hunter #2
My cock immediately hardened, and I pulled it out of my pajamas on my way toward him. Smoothing my hands over the warm globes of his ass, I gave him two gentle pats against the backs of his thighs. Lincoln groaned and pushed back against me with a playful wiggle.
The limits of our scenes were a constantly shifting thing, but not in a way that felt impossible to manage.
Lincoln was still learning how to lean into submission without losing himself, and pain was sometimes now a part of that for us.
Dragging my hand to the inside of his leg, I pinched his thigh, and Lincoln whimpered again, burying his face in the sheets.
“You have to be so quiet,” I chided, flipping open the lube and smearing some down my shaft. “Can you do that, or do you need help?”
Another whimper.
“Help,” he croaked.
“Okay,” I told him, twisting and tugging the plug until it slid out of his ass with a plop. The resulting gape had precum pulsing out of my dick, and I wasted no time plunging all the way into him. “Daddy’s got you.”
Fully buried in Lincoln’s ass, I grabbed his harness with one hand and hauled him up so his back arched in the sexiest angle I’d ever seen, and I slid my other hand over his mouth, ready to stifle whatever noises he was about to make.
His mouth was wet against my palm, and I set a pace intended to drive him right to the edge and over it.
Lincoln had been teasing me with his body all day long, and it was time for him to pay the price.
The sound of our skin slapping together drowned out the grunts and groans he loosed against my hand, and I held tight to him until a familiar heat started to burn low and hot at the base of my spine.
Taking my hand away from his mouth, I grabbed Lincoln around his waist and started to fuck into him in earnest, harder thrusts designed to make me come.
“That’s it, Daddy. That’s so good. You’re so good,” he stammered, trying to be quiet. “You’re the best boy, oh fuck. Nobody fucks me the way you do.”
“Touch yourself,” I demanded.
He grabbed his cock and stroked himself twice, not even trying to stifle the cry that tumbled out of his mouth when he came.
I shoved his face down into the sheets and drove into him once more, the pressure of my own release finally exploding.
I came inside of him with a rolling growl, fingers gouging into his hips to hold him steady.
Another thing I’d learned was how to be rough with Lincoln in the ways that made him feel loved.
He truly enjoyed being manhandled, and I trusted him enough to take him at his word.
We still talked all the time about what we wanted to try and what we liked or didn’t, but there was a lot of knowing that existed between us, and I truly believed that was what kept us going so strong.
Beneath me, Lincoln collapsed on the bed, his hand pinned between his stomach and the comforter.
Gently, I eased out of him, a feral sound building in the back of my throat at the sight of his gaping and cum-slick asshole.
I gave him a harder smack against the side of his thigh, and Lincoln crawled onto the bed, then flopped onto his back.
“I think I want you to spank me,” he said, eyes bright and clear, not hazy like they sometimes were after he came.
“I can spank you.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I know you can.”
I gave one last overhand stroke to my half-hard dick and pulled my pajamas back up. My throat was parched, and I was in desperate need of a drink.
“I was thinking, I’d like to bottom again for you soon,” I admitted, biting the tip of my tongue between my teeth.
Lincoln was a phenomenal top, but on account of the fact I came within seconds, it was something we’d still only done that one time. At my ask, though, he lifted his hips off the bed and stroked his cock, pointing it at me.
“I’ll make it so good for you,” he promised.
“I know. I’m going to go get some water. Do you want anything?”
“Well, now, just to fuck you.” Lincoln laughed and kicked free of his leather shorts.
“Did you and Silas have dinner?”
“We had snacks,” he said.
“I’ll make us a sandwich to share.” I bent over the bed and brushed a kiss against his temple, then headed out to the kitchen.
I didn’t think we’d been fucking that long, but the house was already dark and buttoned up, save for the light spilling down the hallway from the guest room.
As quietly as I could manage, I pulled all the ingredients out of the fridge and set to making a turkey sandwich that would hold me and Lincoln over until the morning.
Gathering the plate and a glass of water, I made my way back toward the hallway.
The light in the guest room flipped off, but the hall light turned on just as quickly.
Smith was there in front of me, clearly on his way to the bathroom, but he’d finally taken off that damn hoodie.
His brow knit together over the bridge of his nose, and he had his phone in hand, frowning down at the screen. He didn’t even see me.
“You good?” I asked.
Smith jumped, almost dropping his phone but managing to save it against his chest. He blinked up at me like a raccoon caught in headlights, not quite fast enough to make it out of danger.
“You startled me,” he said obviously. “I was just going to brush my teeth.”
He gestured toward the bathroom to my right, and that was when I saw it. The dark shadows, the elegant script, and designs that stretched from my brother’s wrist to his forearm.
“Smith,” I said slowly, not wanting to grab him but also not wanting him to move. “When the fuck did you get a tattoo?”
Smith Covington's story is called Breaking the Mold.